#this particular one has been significantly harder to catch than most others

[alasblogpoetry]

two

i do not remember dying, but i know that i am dead, words have changed in their color, joy has got a diff'rent smell, anger melted into something that i do not understand, hell is frozen, love is liquid, death is dying, life is dead, earth is spinning wrong direction, i and i are not the same, i like thinking i am perfect, but i know that i am not, maybe that is why i'm death'd, maybe why i'll die again, i can't fathom how i'll perish, but i hope i get the chance.

[vendettaparker]

What a Dumbass [P.P]

Summary: Peter’s mistake leads to you being injured. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Swearing, like a substantial amount, suggestive content kinda, gun shot wound, and flustered!Peter 

a/n: I really liked writing this. I couldn’t stop laughing at some of the dialogue. and the mistake peter made to cause the whole set-up of the story is so funny to me. like i can legit see him making this mistake. also, i’m gonna make a permanent tag list, so please send me an ask or message me if you want to be on it! <3

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Peter Benjamin Parker is a fucking dumbass. All the time mostly. Most of the time his dumbassery leads to a lot of annoyed avengers, a lot of clean up, and a lot of spilled secrets. Hence why like three people who definitely shouldn’t know he is Spider-man do. But every once in while his idiocy can lead to an unexpected happily ever after, at least until he fucks something up again. 

     This particular fuck up has yet to be determined as a happy accident or your new 13th reason. It all started when that spider bitch decided it’d be a good idea to watch some explicit content on his laptop. Now, this wasn’t particularly an unknown activity for him to partake in, since we all know about his little impromptu purchase in Germany, but unbeknownst to this dork, his aunt was in the next room over working on a tear in his suit. And to make matters worse, he accidentally just so happened to purchase a subscription using said aunt’s credit card that was pre-setup in his laptop. 

     Now May is a very understanding woman. Very sex-positive, very loving, and inclusive; the whole shebang really. So when she happened to catch this idiot doing what he most certainly shouldn’t have been doing, she wasn’t mad, just thoroughly disturbed. Then she got the notification about the purchase. That was a bit more taboo in her eyes. So Peter was grounded from patrolling for a week and his laptop privileges were revoked for two weeks. That was fucking merciful compared to what this whole fuck up put you through. 

     At the school that following Monday, Peter spent the whole first, second, fourth, and lunch period trying to convince you to take over patrol for a week. Sure, you could definitely handle it, not to pat yourself on the back or anything, but you were significantly stronger than Peter, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But you just really didn’t want to. Peter had his ‘Peter Tingle’ to help him find danger, while you’d actually have to look. It just seemed harder for you to do than it would be for him. 

     “Why are you even grounded?” You sighed after Peter's 3rd time bringing up the possibility of you patrolling for him at lunch. 

     “He got caught watching and buying p—” Ned started laughing.

     “Ned! Shut up!” Peter yelled, slapping his hand over his friend's mouth. 

     “How has your identity not been leaked yet, Jesus Christ.” You mumbled, giggling. You flipped through your chemistry textbook, writing notes to prepare for Friday’s quiz. 

     “Yeah, and how come you didn’t know May was home?” Ned pushed Peter’s hand away. “Where was your ‘Peter Tingle’ then?” 

     “She’s not a threat, dude. But shit, I really wish my tingle detected her.” Peter groaned, a deep blush covering his features. “Please (Y/N). I really, really don’t wanna leave Queens without any protection for a week. I’ll try to convince May to let me go out on the weekend, so really it’s only five days.” 

     “I guess I could help you out, but you owe me. I should really spend this time studying for my chemistry test. Iron bitch is gonna have my head on a spike if I fail another chem test.” You said, highlighting more notes. 

     “Okay! Delmar’s for a week, anytime, anywhere.” Peter said putting his hand out for you to shake. 

     “Make it a month, I know my worth.” 

     Peter hesitated, but eventually gave in, “Fine, but you better do a good job.” 

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     So now you were stuck patrolling from 8:30 to 11:00 every night. It wasn't bad per se, and nothing too eventful happened. You stopped a small convenience store robbery, gave a few kids some tips at the skatepark, ran some errands for an old lady, and saved a cat from a tree. Thursday night was the real kicker though. Your night had barely started and you accidentally got in the middle of a drug deal between some smaller mob and a real messed-up junkie. This should’ve been an easy takedown, only six people in total that needed to be taken out, but like was mentioned before, you don’t have Peter’s goddamn, stupid fucking tingle. So after taking all six of the perps out you started to walk away after alerting the police. Unfortunately, one of those assclowns had come to, and grabbed the gun a few feet away from him and shot it towards you. The bullet went through your thigh and out the other side. Screaming in shock and pain, you used your own throwing knives and knocked the gun out of the mobster’s hand, then you proceeded to knock him out again with a few good punches to his noggin, maybe a few more, just for good measure. But this wound would need to be cleaned and stitched up. And if you went back to the Tower, Steve and Tony would give you an earful about “watching your surroundings” and “being more careful”. So in a moment of pure adrenaline and desperation, you texted Peter. 

You: are you home

Spider-Dork: Yeah, why?

You: i’ll be there in 5 

Spider-Dork: What? Why? Is everything ok?

Spider-Dork: Hello??? (Y/N)????

(Y/N) declined (3) calls 

Spider-Dork: Answer my calls idiot. 

     Peter’s texting and constant calling was cut short from a crash in his room. 

     “(Y/N)? Is that you?” Peter called from the couch in the living room. 

     “Yeah, can I borrow a t-shirt?” You called, fumbling around accidentally knocking over another lamp. “Oops, sorry!”

     “Uh, yeah sure. In the closet!” Peter called back pausing his show, prepared to make his way over to you. 

     “And some sweats?” You called back, blood dripping all over Peter’s hardwood floor. 

     Peter got up to make his way to his room. “Yeah, second drawer on the left side.” He said as he made his way to his bedroom. Knowing you were in there, most likely changing, he knocked. “You decent?” 

     “Nope, not really. I need a pair of your boxers too, though.” You called through the door, now seeing that the blood splattered on your underwear as well. “Also, bring the first aid kit when you come in.” 

     ‘What? Why?” Peter said in a more stressed tone, pushing his way into the room, completely ignoring the fact that you were very much not decent. “Holy shit.” He said seeing you out of your suit, in your bra and underwear, blood dripping down your right leg, pooling onto the floor. Your hand, red and bloody, pressed onto what he only assumed was the wound and blood seeping through your fingers. 

     “Bring a mop too.” 

     Peter ran out of the room to grab the first aid kit, plus some extra bandages and a cleaning solution. When he came back in he found you in the same state, standing in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowed in pain, clutching your right thigh. 

     “What the hell happened?” He gasped, motioning for you to sit on his bed. You hesitated, not wanting to mess up his sheets. He seemed to notice your thought process quickly adding, “I have to wash my sheets anyway.” 

     “Gross.” You mumbled, scrunching up your face in disgust and finally settling down on his bed. 

     “Move your hand and tell me what happened,” Peter said kneeling on the floor next to the bed, positioned right at your hips. You removed your hand, bloody instantly seeping onto the bed. Peter winced looking at the hole in your leg, quickly grabbing the peroxide and dumping heaps of it onto your leg, much to your distaste. 

     “I got shot.” You stated as he cleaned the blood around the hole with alcohol pads.

     “Well, no shit. I mean by who and how?” 

     “Mobster. Sneaky bitch got me while I was walking away.” You winced as Peter inspected the wound further. 

     “I need to stitch this up. Did it go all the way through?” He said lifting your leg to look underneath for an exit wound. 

     “Yeah.” Peter found the exit wound and held your leg up with one hand, pouring peroxide on the back of your thigh with the other. 

     “You have to be more careful, (Y/N)! This looks really nasty.” Peter scolded, setting your leg back down and prepping the needle and sutures. “What if this was in your chest? Or—or if you didn’t get here in time? You could’ve bled out!” 

     “Well sorry that I don’t have your stupid tingle to help me out when I’m being fucking shot at!” You yelped, gripping the bedsheets. 

     “You don’t need spidey sense, you need fucking common sense,” Peter mumbled, stitching his first suture.

     “What the fuck did you just say?” You looked at him incredulously. 

     “I— uh, nothing.” Peter huffed, focusing back on stitching you up.

     “This is your all your fault, to begin with!” You accused, shifting uncomfortably, due to the needle constantly being stuck into your leg. “You’re the one that begged me to go on patrol for you! You’re the dumb bitch that got caught watc—” 

     “Ok! Shut up! For God’s sake, you’re never gonna let me live that down.” Peter groaned, finishing up the last stitch. “Flip over.” He commanded, pushing at the side of your waist to help with the movement. 

     “Well, it was fucking dumb. Don’t you check to make sure nobody’s home? God, we all know you’re a vocal bitch too.” You said, fully situated on your stomach. 

     “What the fuck is that suppose to mean!?” He gasped, prepping another needle. 

     “You’re a sensitive boy.” You shrugged, wincing when Peter started his next stitch. 

     “I-I am not sensitive! I’m emotionally and physically staunch!” He defended, going in for another stitch. 

     You just raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Sure, whatever you say, babe.” You winked at him, blowing an exaggerated kiss. 

     “You're a jerk,” Peter mumbled, finishing up his stitching job. “A jerk with a fucked up leg.” 

     You hummed, quite amused. Peter got up and started to collect his medical supplies. He shuffled out of the room to put everything away. When he returned you were trying to get up and walk, wincing at every slight movement. 

     “Here, let me just—” Peter lifted you up, bridal style. A small yelp coming from you when a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Sorry.”

     “It’s fine. Can you help me get dressed?” You said as he walked you over to his desk and set you down in his desk chair. 

     “Sure.” Peter blushed, painfully aware of your lack of clothes. He picked out some clothes from his closet and drawers. He helped you into them, wallowing in the uncomfortable silence, taking in each whimper and wince from you whenever he brushed against your thigh. 

     “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He sighed after you were all dressed. “This is my fault.” 

     You looked at his distraught face, feeling bad for initially blaming him for the events of tonight. “No, Pete. It’s fine. I should’ve made sure all of the guys were knocked out.” You put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

     “No, I should’ve been more careful when I was watching that stuff. I have my spidey sense, I would’ve been able to avoid getting shot. It’s not your fault that you didn’t get bit by a radioactive spider.”

     “Pete, really, I’ll be better by next week anyway. It’s fine.” 

     Peter shook his head, sighing. “I just feel so bad, I shouldn’t have forced patrolling on you.” You hugged him and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

     “Peter stop. It’s just an unfortunate accident.” You mumbled, hugging him closer. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

     “But it didn’t happen to just anyone (Y/N), it happened to you. And I caused it. I-I don't know what I’d do if something ever happened to you. What if it was worse?”

     You sighed, pulling away from Peter and cupping his face, seeing the regret and shame pooling in his eyes. Without much thought, you pulled him closer, slowly connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. Truly getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the feeling of perfection. 

     Peter’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, before he was kissing you back, reveling in the feeling he’s been dreaming about for months. You finally pulled away to catch your breath. Peter flushed at your actions, unable to stop the wide smile crossing his features. 

     “Sorry,” You mumbled sheepishly, “just needed to shut you up for a second.”

     “Maybe I should talk more, just to see what happens,” Peter smirked, pulling you in for another shorter, but just as sweet, kiss. 

     You hummed against his lips. “I really like you. Even when you're a dumbass.” You sighed against his lips.

     “The feeling is mutual.” 

     “Rude. I’m not a dumbass.” You gasped in faux offense. 

     “You’re the one with a bullet wound.” he deadpanned 

     “You’re the one who got caught watchin—”

     “(Y/N)!”

[buckysgoldenheart]

Just Us

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Henry is sick and tired of you bringing dates back to your shared apartment, and he has no problem letting you know. So basically, mega jealous Henry, which I am a pathetic sucker for.

Warnings: mentions of sex, lots of cursing. I think that’s it.

Notes: this is kind of similar to another fic I did, and I try not to do that, but I just really felt the need to write this, so I did.

Words: 2732

Henry’s mood turned sour the second you walked through the door with your date in tow. You came in with a bright smile on your face that he returned with a scowl, but you did your best to brush it off. Your roommate acting like an overgrown child every time you brought home a guest was nothing new; you certainly weren’t surprised, and you had no intention of stooping to his level.

“Don’t mind us,” You called to Henry from over your shoulder as you shed your coat and draped it on the hook. “This is James.”

Henry only grunted in response, not looking up from fixing his dinner; peanut butter about to be spread messily on a slice of wheat bread. You rolled your eyes, took James’s coat and led him over to the couch where he smiled sweetly when you invited him to sit and offered him a drink.

Entering the kitchen, you opened the fridge door and pulled out two beers. “So?” You asked, your eyebrow raised as you searched for the bottle opener in the junk drawer. Henry dropped the knife with a clang on the countertop, then turned to you and crossed his arms.

“So, you just thought this was fine,” He asked, his voice dripping with aggravated sarcasm as he shrugged his broad shoulders and frowned. “Just whatever, no big deal?”

You chuckled at the weak argument you’d had at least three times before. You wouldn’t have given him the chance to say anything about your date at all if you knew he wasn’t going to hang on to it the entire night just to explode in the morning for bringing a stranger into his home. Your home too, you would often have to remind him. So, it was your mission to let him get the anger out early in the night. You’d be less likely to have to worry about it later and could focus your attention on the man sitting in your living room rather than Henry’s imminent frustration.

“Henry,” You sighed and took a sip of your beer. “As of right now, it’s just the continuation of an innocent date. We’re going to watch a movie.”

“As of right now?” Henry huffed deeply. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that if it gets a little heated, I promise not to make out with him in front of you, but at this current time, you have little to worry about.”

He sucked in a long breath through his nostrils. “Ok, that’s—”

“And we won’t fuck on our couch. I’ll take him to my room so you don’t have to see anything scarring,” You teased with a wink.

“Ok, enough.”

“And we won’t be loud, I swear.”

“Enough!” He snapped. You quickly whipped your head around the corner to see if James heard, but he was still sitting there, playing with his fingernails as he patiently waited for you like the gentleman he was. When you looked back at Henry, he was practically quaking with anger. “Get that asshole out of my apartment.”

“Um, our apartment. And no thank you.” You smiled and cocked your head to the side as innocently as you could. “I’d like to be having sex tonight.”

“With him?” Henry pointed a long finger in your date’s general direction. The fury in his eyes could’ve stabbed James through the back of his head if the wall weren’t in the way.

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously.”

“For fucks sake, Y/N. Have some self-respect.”

Your playful smile instantly dropped, and if you weren’t leaning against the wall, you would’ve stumbled. Henry had said a lot of things before; Hurtful things, things that made you want to slap him, but something about this felt worse. Assuming you were devaluing yourself by wanting to have sex with a man who was sweet, and kind and generous, and million other lovely things men, other than Henry, have never been to you, was like a stab to the gut. Henry was your best friend; you were his. You supported his choices and dreams, and it seemed Henry did the same for you unless it came to this very particular subject. He hated every man you brought around, but bringing them around or getting involved with them did not make you a stupid girl who cannot take care of herself.

“Jesus Henry, stay in your lane, would you?” You said, shaking your head and rubbing at your temple with your free fingers. “I don’t need my best friend giving me shit. Why can’t I bring a guy here without you acting like a complete dick to him and me?”

He stepped closer until you had to look up to meet his glare. “You’re a very smart girl, Y/N. Figure it out,” he growled, then moved around you, but you grabbed his arm before he could escape yet again. Every time, he tried to escape. Every time, he stomped away from you like a grump as if you had some reason to be sorry or ashamed, and you weren’t having it any longer.

“We aren’t children, Henry. I’m not playing this game. If you’ve got a problem with me, say it to my fucking face.”

He stared at you for a long beat, but then shook your hand off him and made his way down the hall, slamming the door to his room once he was inside.

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

James was better than most at kissing you, and you’d kissed your fair share. He knew what you wanted--how you liked things--without you needing to ask, and it was like its own little miracle. There was no fumbling around. His lips were firm and his arms around you were strong. He was confident in his touch on your skin as you straddled his lap, and all of it combined had you a moaning, whimpering mess.

“I wasn’t sure we would actually get to do this,” He said between kisses as you both tried to catch your breath.

“Why?” You lightly chuckled, your fingers skimming down to the little buttons holding his shirt together and easing one open. “I’m certainly having a good time.”

“Believe me sweetheart, I am too, but Superman there looked like he wanted to kick my ass.”

Fucking Superman. That asshole had come out of his room at random, inconvenient times as you and James lightly pawed at one another throughout the movie, and you both could feel Henry’s eyes on you. After the look he gave you the first time he came into the living room, you stopped turning your heads his way when his heavy footsteps thudded against the hardwood.

You made a low humming sound that had James’s cock twitching in his pants, and you moved your head down to peck your lips against his. “Don’t bother with him,” You whispered.

He leaned into the light scratching your nails were giving the side of his scalp, and with a groan, said, “If you say so, babydoll, I won’t give it a second thought.”

“Good.” You smiled, satisfied, then kissed him again but he pulled back barely a minute later.

“It’s just…the way he looks at you.”

“He’s a protective friend.” You snickered and ground your hips down on his a little harder to get him back on track.

He groaned as his fingers dug into your waist, but it didn’t distract him. “No, it’s not only that. It’s like…” His lips pursed trying to find the words. “He looks at you in a way that friends normally do not look at one another.”

“He’s got some weird attitude tonight, ok? It’s nothing.” Grabbing his cheeks, you forced him to look directly at you when you said, “Now keep kissing me before I get too impatient.”

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

At two in the morning, you figured you were safe. You figured there would be a direct and easy path to the front door of your apartment as you let James out with a smile and a goodbye kiss and promises to text one another the next day, though you weren’t sure how much either of you really meant it. And you were right, there was an uninterrupted tiptoeing to the door. It was when you turned back for your bedroom that you realized the path had a roadblock.

Henry stood in front of you, the fumes nearly visibly wafting off him, with the harshest look he had ever directed at you taking over his entire face. It was a disservice to his handsome features and made your stomach twist uneasily.

“Is this for fucking real right now?” He growled so intensely it vibrated in your ears. “Did I just see what I think I saw?”

“Jesus, Henry, you scared me.”

“You actually slept with that guy?”

“Wh—”

“Un-fucking-believable.” Laughing half-heartedly, he ran one of his hands down his face, but that was all it took for the shock to wear off and for your annoyance to set in.

“Ok, I’m done with this. What is your goddamn problem?”

The two of you didn’t fight this way. Not for long anyway, and even so, this time was significantly worse than any other. Outbursts happened for the both of you, snapping, and words you wish you could take back, but Henry was still looking at you the way he had earlier in the night; like you were a reckless child he was losing respect for by the minute, and it broke your heart.

He stared at you as if expecting you to have an answer to your own question, but when you didn’t continue, he shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, and said, “I’m going to a hotel. I can’t be here right now.”

“What? Henry, why?”

His keys were in hand, his phone and wallet tucked into the pockets of his sweatpants, when it finally registered to you that he wasn’t kidding. He was leaving so fast he didn’t care to take anything other than the necessities with him. That’s how much he wanted to get away from you, and you hated it. You never wanted to get away from him.

Light from the hall streamed through the doorway as you finally began to follow after him. You grabbed at his t-shirt when he wouldn’t respond to your repeating calling of his name, and he whipped around fast with a frown down at you. Your mouth kept opening and closing, unsure of what to say.

He sniffed once, thinned his lips, and removed your hand from his body, then as calmly as he had spoken all night, said, “I’m in fucking love with you.”

Then door was slammed behind him, jarring you and leaving you to soak the night in.

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

When he said those words to you, the six words that he would never be able to take back, the ones that irrevocably changed your friendship in the blink of an eye, everything inside of you began to tremble and vibrate and beat with such intensity you could almost feel the functions of your body. Your blood was pumping a hell of a lot faster and you heart was ready to burst.

Your brain, your skin, the nerves and veins under that skin; every bit of you was working overtime to help process what happened and keep you alert as you did so, and maybe it was all a little overkill, but he had said the one thing you never thought you’d hear.

I’m in fucking love with you.

It would repeat over and over in your head, bouncing around the walls of your skull as it tried to find a way to escape, but there was no use. You could never forget his confession, or the way he said it. There was something desperate about it, weak. There was exhaustion, as if he were tired of holding it back and had given up on even trying.

It was too much. You’d never dismiss it, and God, when he got his ass back home you wouldn’t let him brush it aside, but for now, it was too much.

You wanted sleep after sitting completely still for two hours, staring into space. So you carried your body to the closest room, his room, crawled into his bed, and tangled yourself within the sheets until you wouldn’t be able to unwrap yourself without effort you did not possess at such an ungodly hour. You were stuck, trapped, engulfed by him, just like you wanted to be. Then you took his king-sized pillow, massive like his body, and hugged it to your chest, tucking your face in it. It smelled like him, all musky and piney and perfect in a way that always made you dizzy when he would sit a little too close and drape a long arm around your shoulders as you watched tv or read a book.

And you cried yourself to sleep, wishing he was beside you.

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

Henry came back in the morning, though he wasn’t sure how he gathered the courage. Maybe it was the fact that it was you. Just you, his best friend, his roommate. He loved you in more ways than one, and perhaps it was that knowledge that made him a little stronger.

He’d face you, and he’d do it with the intention of making everything clear. He was in love with you and it wasn’t going to change. He loved you as his friend; that wasn’t going to change either, and no way in hell was he going to lose you twice over.

Taking a few deep breaths, Henry unlocked the front door and eased his way inside. You weren’t around the sunlit soaked first floor of the apartment, and when he traipsed upstairs and nudged your door open, you weren’t there either. He wanted you tucked in your bed, not gone and probably terrified at the thought of seeing him, so running to James’s or Jake’s or Jason’s apartment to avoid him. That would be the perfect painful exclamation point on the disaster of his poor decision making.

Then he found you. Not missing, but snug in his bed, warming the mattress with your body as it dipped the slightest under your weight. Everything about the sight killed him and melted his heart simultaneously. There you were, laying peacefully angelic, right where he had wanted you for months. And it looked so beautifully natural.

Not even stopping to think, Henry inched his way to the other side of his bed, lifted the duvet and slid beneath it. He reached an arm around your waist and pulled you close to kiss your forehead, then tucked his face into the crook of your neck. When you stirred, he leaned back to take in your face as your eyebrows scrunched and your lips parted in a yawn.

You didn’t open your eyes but rose a hand, placed it on his cheek, and ran a thumb along the corner of his mouth. As the goosebumps spawned all over his body, he wasn’t even sure you were fully awake, but then you whispered, “It was always you, Henry. Always.”

Henry swallowed hard as your sleepy voice continued.

“I figured you weren’t an option, and I was doing my best working around that.”

After running a hand over your hair and tucking some behind your ear, Henry pressed a kiss to your lips. A short, soft one to see how you’d react. Then you opened your eyes slowly and met your Y/E/C with his blue.

“Do it again,” You said, and so he connected your lips a little firmer, tightening his hold on you, and rolling on his back until your body splayed over his.

You moaned when he caressed his tongue against yours after opening your mouth an inch. Your heart fluttered in your chest the stupid way dramatic, moony-eyed women often described it in novels. You thought it was a myth, the idea that anyone could make you feel so loved just from a kiss, and you’d lost hope for that kind of thing long ago. But Henry ripped your pessimism to shreds in a matter of minutes.

“I want you to be mine,” he mumbled against your lips. “Just mine.”

“Then I’m yours,” You said without hesitation, tilting your head back enough to look in his eyes. You nudged your nose against his. “Just yours.”

---

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[annabethy]

57. “I come here whenever I need a quiet place to think…to sort my head out.”

and/or

36. "How do you even know that this is here?"

in which Percy and Annabeth aren't the best of friends, but meet on the rooftop and discover that maybe, they're exactly what the other needs,, percabeth

It’s two in the morning, and Annabeth finds that she can’t bring herself to sleep.

She tries to hold her eyes shut in hopes of the sleepiness she’s felt all week slipping over her, but another hour passes and she’s still wide awake.

When Annabeth sits up in her bed, she has no intentions of slipping out of the apartment, past her dad’s room, but then she looks out the window where the city lights are awake as can be, and she finds herself already unlocking her window and stepping onto the fire escape.

It’s a long journey up the metal stairs, so she takes her time to appreciate the blow of the winter wind and the noise of New York City that she’s come to love. It’s a biting chill, one that has her wishing she’d put on a jacket prior to her midnight voyage to the top of her apartment building, but it comforting and welcome.

When she does reach the end of the fire escape, she hops onto the ledge of the building and stares off into the skyline. It should be dark so late at night, but instead, it’s glowing. It’s beautiful, she thinks, the industrial feel of the city. It’s so unnatural, but it’s where she’s grown up. She’s used to the honking of horns and the noises that fill the silence.

Annabeth walks along the edge carefully, focusing on the views further in the distance. She wonders if she’d be able to see where the Earth begins to curve and thinks about how big the planet really is (and how small she is in comparison). She can spot the point where the lights seem to have a gap, and she thinks she’s looking at what would be a river in the daylight.

She feels as though she can finally breathe in this moment, though she hadn’t realized how suffocated she had felt before, stuffed into the small space that was her room. Her hair blows in the wind, and she refrains from thinking about how difficult it’ll be to brush it out later. It’s freeing, relieving, and—

“Don’t fall,” a voice warns.

Annabeth rolls her eyes at the voice that is all too familiar, turning her head to she can look over her shoulder. It’s darker atop the building, but even she can spot the mischievous glimmer in her eyes that’s always irked her much more rigid personality.

“Jackson,” she says, a tone of sarcasm in her voice, “What a pleasure.”

“I always am,” he says, grinning. He’s leaning against a metal unit, staring at her, and had they been anywhere else, at any other moment in time, she might’ve made some snarky remark to wipe the grin off his face. She tells herself she doesn’t have the energy to deal with it right now, and that it’s the reason for her silence. “You plan on getting down from there anytime soon?”

“Aw. It’s so sweet you’re worried.” She knows it’s true, despite the small laugh she hears pushed from his lungs. That’s something that she’s discovered about him. Even with the person he hates most in the world, he cares.

“If you fell, people would probably think I pushed you.”

Annabeth snorts.

He’s not particularly wrong. The rivalry they have going on in school is strong, and people probably wouldn’t put murder beyond them.

“Seriously,” he says. “Get down.”

She jumps down from the short ledge towards him. Her eyes adjust slightly to the light, and she can see him better now. He’s in a windbreaker, and his own hair is ruffled in the wind. She finds herself wanting to run her fingers through it before catching herself. It surprises even her – Percy’s made her life nothing but literal hell, and she’d rather die than get caught playing friendly with him.

Annabeth stands next to him but doesn’t sit yet.

“What are you even doing here?” she asks.

“I’m stalking you,” is his answer.

Annabeth kicks him lightly and suppresses a laugh at his dramatic hiss of pain. “What are you actually doing here? You don’t live in this area.”

“I come here whenever I need a quiet place to think…to sort my head out.”

“Percy Jackson can think?”

“Haha, you dick.”

“I’m messing with you,” she says. She chooses then to sit down beside him. She thinks it may be the first time she’s sat near him voluntarily. Annabeth supposes there’s no harm if there’s no one there to see. “How do you even know that this is here?”

Percy shoots her a look, though not an unkind one. It has her neck flushing red despite the temperature outside. “How do I know that this building has a roof?”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

Percy shrugs and extends his legs. His feet nudge hers playfully. “I’ve lived in this corner my entire life. I know just about everything there is.”

“That’s fair.”

“How about you, Chase? Why is my princess out past curfew?”

Annabeth chooses to ignore the nickname she’s hated for so long (and the way he calls her his).

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admits.

“Something bothering you?”

She hums. “Nothing in particular. I just figured if I was going to be awake, I might as well spend it outside.”

“And spend it with me,” Percy teases, elbowing her lightly.

“Because I love spending time with you,” Annabeth says. There’s a particularly harsh blow of wind that has her crossing her arms over her chest.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you want my jacket?”

Annabeth’s never been one to swallow her pride, but it seems to have gotten significantly colder in minutes, and she’d rather not sit outside for who knows how long without any barrier from the wind. Still, she’s hesitant. “Are you sure?”

Percy chuckles lightly and slips his jacket off his shoulders. “Here.”

When she puts it on, it’s immediate relief. It’s still warm from his body heat, and it smells like him. It’s nicer than she cares to admit, and somehow, she feels comfort in the oversized fabric that she’s practically drowning in.

As she tightens it around her, breathing in the scent of him, she mumbles, “Thank you.”

Percy’s response is a brush against her arm with his fingers.

“So, what were you thinking about?” she asks. “When you came to my secret place?”

“Your secret place?”

“I called dibs. If you wanted it to be yours, maybe you should’ve tried harder.”

Percy gives her his lopsided smile at her remark. “I’m not really sure. Life, I guess.”

“About how you plan to torture me at school next week?”

“Oh, of course.”

“That spider was not funny, you know.”

“It’s because I have a crush on you.”

“And here I thought you hated me.”

“Do you think I would give my jacket to someone I hate?”

“I guess not,” she says, laughing. “You can have it back if you want.”

Percy shakes his head. “I’m alright.”

“Are you sure, though? It’s cold outside, and we’re not exactly best friends.”

He grabs her hand from her lap and squeezes it. “I’m alright, Annabeth. I want you to have it.”

Annabeth bites her lower lip, but gives in, sinking further into the jacket. It’s kind of heaven, she hates to admit. She feels as though she should hate this, spending time with Percy Jackson so late into the night, but somehow, she feels more at home than she has in a long time.

“Also,” Percy begins again, “not best friends?”

“Do you really consider us best friends?”

“I mean…you’d definitely have to define best friends. Two people that playfully bully each other? Sure.”

“Playful?” Annabeth chokes out. “Nothing about our relationship is playful. You hit me in the eye with a pencil a few days ago.”

“In my defense, that was actually an accident. I felt really bad about it.”

“Mh-hm.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’re not friends, right? I mean, I’d totally kiss you if you wanted me to. I think that qualifies as friends?”

Annabeth is no stranger to his lighthearted flirting, so she just rolls her eyes fondly. “That qualifies as something entirely different.”

“Probably.” Percy squeezes her hand again, and she realizes that he’d never actually let go. “But I’m actually going to miss bullying you every day once we graduate.”

“You’ll find a way, I’m sure. You’re going to NYU?”

“And you’re going to Columbia,” he responds back.

“I’ll be close enough to be bullied, then.”

“I guess so. Maybe I don’t want to bully you, though.”

“Aw, bummer. What would our relationship be without your flirtatious bullying?”

“Maybe something more?”

Annabeth looks at him then. He seems to be genuine, and so she finds she can’t look away.

“I do actually consider us friends, Annabeth. I mean it.”

Somehow, she knows he does.

“I guess friends isn’t so bad,” Annabeth says quietly, “if sitting up here is any indication.”

“We could have our weekly ventures to our secret spot.”

“My secret spot,” she corrects.

Percy grins brightly.

“But I wouldn’t be so opposed to that, as long as you never try to hit me with a pencil.”

“I didn’t mean to the first time,” he says lightly.

“Then friends,” she says.

“We’re living our own enemies to lover story.”

“Ew. Never mind. I don’t want to be your friend.”

“Aw.”

Annabeth just muffles a laugh into the sleeve of his jacket, choking out a quick kidding, and he pinches her in indignation. They fall into a silence, and the sounds of New York drown out in her ears. All she can hear is the rhythm of his breathing, and she can only focus on the warmth of his body.

“Do you actually have a crush on me?” she asks, suddenly curious.

“Maybe I do. I guess you’ll just have to stick around long enough to find out.”

Annabeth’s heart flutters. “I guess I will.”

Really, she’s starting to think maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world. Perhaps he’s never been as awful as she’s been telling herself. Maybe it was always just her pride.

Maybe Percy Jackson is exactly what she’s always needed.

Annabeth really has no control over it when her eyes begin to flutter shut. She doesn’t even realize it’s happening until Percy opens his arms towards her – an invitation – and she slides right in. His arms wrap around her, his face pressing into the top of her head, and she lets herself drift into the sleep she’s been wishing for.

She doesn’t wake up until the sun begins to peek over the horizon. She’s nestled deep against him, able to feel every breath he takes and hear his heartbeat. He’s sleeping when she lifts her head, so she allows herself to fall back against him, a subtle smile on her face.

It’s unexpected, but she feels safe in his embrace. It’s warm and happy in their secret spot, and she never wants to leave.

Annabeth stays here with him, in their secret spot, for just a bit longer.

[jjackrabbitt]

That Damned AU

Hey guys (gn), I know you’ve heard me talk about this before, but I’ve actually been working on it now, so here’s part of it. It’s called That Damned AU because it’s been waking me up in the middle of the night to think about it for the last two years, so it’s just me damning it. I will probably change the name at some point. If you have any suggestions, I will gladly consider them. Basically, That Damned AU follows the events of the canonical story line of MPHFPC, but I’ve changed some things around, messed with some details, and added a few things. Mostly to fix or add to things that I have complaints about or wanted to hear more of. I will be tagging it as That Damned AU in case you want to block it

Before we begin I would like to thank @finn-nito for letting me talk his ear off about all this and in turn talking my ear off. It’s been a lot of fun doing this with you and getting to know you.

Now for the damned thing:

Ricky actually goes into the house with Jacob when Abe doesn’t immediately answer. Probably makes dumb comments about the decor or some thing. Goes back to his car for the gun when they see the screen door. Tells Jacob to stay there. Rushes back when he hears Jacob yell for Abe when the flashlight is found. Catches up to Jacob just on the edge of the woods and gives him shit for moving. Tries to lighten the mood and reassure Jacob, until they see the trail of blood. Is there with Jacob when he finds Abe. Ricky tries to keep Jacob from touching Abe because he thinks Abe is already dead. Both of them handle the situation Extremely Badly. We actually hear Abe call Jacob “little tiger” this time instead of just retconning it. Ricky alternates between trying to get enough signal to call the police and crouching with Jacob to try and help him. Abe’s riddle is delivered the same as before and Jacob does see the hallowghast. Ricky tries to shoot it but can’t because he doesn’t even know it’s there. When Jacob sees it he does grab onto Ricky and start shaking him with one hand, still holding onto Abe with the other.

Both boys have to be questioned, together and separately. Jacob sees Ricky’s interview because he gets a chance to snoop through the policeman's notes. He gets mad that Ricky wouldn’t admit to seeing the hallow and Ricky gets defensive about it. They don’t stop talking though because they mutually think the other is having a stress reaction and is seeing things/is erasing things from their own memories.

Jacobs parents didn’t really like Ricky before and they really don’t like him now because they think having him around will remind Jacob of finding Abe, but Jacob almost seems less stressed when Ricky’s around so they’ll allow it.

They don’t necessarily see each other more, but their interactions are way more emotionally charged now.

Ricky does start carrying his gun more because while he didn’t see the hallow, that was a scary night and he did hear something. He brings it into Jacobs house several times without Jacobs parents knowledge. This is a point of contention between Ricky and Jacob because if Jacobs parents find out Ricky will not be allowed back and will be cut off.

Because Ricky is still very much attached to Jacob when he starts seeing Dr. Golan this time, Ricky is in more danger of wights.

Dr. Golan hears a lot about Ricky. Probably significantly more than he wants to.

Ricky doesn’t get the medical attention that Jacob does because he’s poor and when Jacob knows Ricky’s having a problem he asks Dr. Golan for advice for Ricky.

Jacob is more resistant to Dr Golan’s work this time, because Ricky is there to call bullshit when he hears it and mentions that Jacob's meds are making him weird. Golan responds to this resistance by trying to convince Jacobs parents that Ricky is bad for Jacob. It does work but both of his parents are fairly shit at computers and they both have to sleep some time, so Jacob can still message Ricky and sneak out at night.

Ricky does appreciate when Jacob gets advice from Dr. Golan for him, but he does still give Jacob shit for therapizing him.

Both of them are being observed by wights at this point. Jacob gets a series of very weird food delivery guys and there’s like, three different cars that consistently follow Ricky. The food delivery guys aren’t outright weird, they just have the same ~*vibe*~ as Golan and some times they say strange shit. One of them knew his name without Jacob introducing himself.

The cars wouldn’t be weird if they weren’t definitely the same cars, didn’t only stop following Ricky when he A) was near his house or B) took random turns without signalling, and didn’t seem to follow any particular pattern to where he was seeing them. If they were in a similar area at similar times every day then okay, he just keeps seeing the same people on their way to work or whatever, but that’s not what’s happening.

Not much comes of it though. Jacob gets a few weird stomach aches, Ricky gets pulled over by a really strange cop once. Some one breaks into Ricky’s house while no one’s there and goes through stuff but doesn’t take anything or make a mess, the door’s open and a few things have moved when he gets home. You know, normal stuff.

Once, Jacobs parents go out of town. One of his mothers cousins is getting married, and they just aren’t sure that Jacob’s ready for travel and relatives and a party and everything. They don’t want to leave him for the weekend, but they both agree that he’s been doing really well lately (and it’s been months. They want to get out of the house and do Normal People Things). They tell Dr. Golan that Jacob’s going to be alone for the weekend and tell Jacob to go across the street to their neighbour for help if anything happens and they give the neighbour Dr. Golan’s number.

Roughly ten minutes after they leave, Ricky shows up. The Crown Vic goes in the garage, Alien is turned on, Chinese food is ordered and the weekend commences.

They barely even watch the movie, they’re busy talking. They fall asleep on the couch and honestly? It’s the best sleep Jacob has in months.

Until it’s about 4 a.m. and Jacob wakes up violently because this time the scene in his dream changed. This time he and Abe are in Abaton. He doesn’t know it’s Abaton, of course, and though the events of the dream have change, this one feels worse some how. Now he’s missing his grandfather and this place that he doesn’t even know what it is. He feels weirdly protective of it.

Dr. Golan Really doesn’t like Ricky. It’s significantly harder to manipulate Jacob if Ricky’s there to call bullshit. It’s still pretty easy to get Jacob to go to Cairnholm though. Even Ricky doesn’t call him a quack over it. Only tells Jacob to send him a post card of the only place on earth that’s more of a nowhere than Englewood, Florida.

Jacob does have some apprehension over being separated from Ricky, but he figures it’ll be okay since there will be a phone at their hotel.

They do spend a lot little more together than usual in the weeks leading up to Cairnholm. It worries both of them that they’ll be more than a 20 minute drive from the other. Jacob’s more obvious about it, Ricky (poorly) pretends it won’t bother him that much.

Jacob does bring one of his dads less favoured cameras with him, to take pictures.

His dad does try to insist that Jacob spends some time with him to look at birds. It’s funny, they keep seeing this one peregrine hanging around. Some times she, Frank says it’s a she, flies over them. She doesn’t seem too interested in hunting. Some times she disappears for a little while, but she comes back most of the time, unless it’s later in the day.

Kev and Martin are dating. I know it says in the book that Kev has a wife but no he doesn’t ❤️. Kev and Martin are dating and in love and very little will convince me otherwise. Everyone on Cairnholm is completely chill with it. They have dinner with Martins uncle on Wednesdays. Kev tried to take Martin fishing once and it went terrible but it was fun.

Jacob meets Martin on the first day, at the Priest Hole. He’s done at the museum for the day and is getting a drink with his sister and working on his poetry. He and his sister are harassing Kev while he’s on the job. They meet because Martins sister, Amelia, sees Frank and Jacob lugging more than they can carry up the stairs and makes Martin come with her to help.

Amelia is one of the very, very few ocs you’ll see in here, I’m not here to add a bunch of people. She’s here because I don’t want Martin to be lonely, as a plot device to make things move forward, and because I think we  should have more women. Yes MPHFPC already has a good amount of active women characters, yes I want more.

They start talking because both Martin and Amelia are huge nerds who would be excited about bird watching. When Martin mentions the museum, Jacob gets interested, as before he thinks it will help him unravel his grandfathers riddle. That’s it for now, but I will try to update again soon, though it probably won’t be as long. if any of you have any ideas or opinions to add, I’d love to hear them!

[yeenybeanies]

Slaying Monsters

i started this three months ago, and decided it was time to finish it. i’ve been wanting to write a piece with dev & some other gang members for a while now i didn’t proofread it yet don’t @ me

red dead redemption | charles smith & devin clarke ( oc )

3,728 words

language, blood, & animal death warnings

thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!! patreon | ko-fi

Unattended bags are always tempting to a borrower. It’s partly survival and partly curiosity that draws the little beings to bags and boxes and other such vessels that contain stuff. Ideally, that stuff would be useful. 

Such is Devin’s idea upon approaching a lone saddlebag. They’ve been watching it for a while now. It has remained unbothered and undisturbed atop a tree stump for over an hour. Surely there’s bound to be something good inside, what with the many members of the Van Der Linde gang constantly coming and going. And surely, whatever those contents may be, small amounts won’t be missed.

The coast is clear. The camp is preoccupied in tending to the daily duties; no one is paying the bag any mind. Devin makes a break for it, keeping low as they run through the grass, to the stump. They pause at the base and give the camp a quick look, pleased to see that no one has taken notice of their presence. For just a moment, they allow themself a prideful smirk, then they refocus on the task at hand: climb the stump and get in the bag. The former is hardly a challenge; deep cracks in the bark provide handholds enough that the borrower doesn’t need their hook or climbing equipment to scale it. Despite the strap and buckle keeping the bag shut, Devin is small enough to slip through a gap and reach the interior. 

The space is dark and cramped, but some light filters in through the gap they’d entered. The first thing Devin notices is the smell of leather and sweat, and fabric beneath their feet. Clothing. It’s best not to take anything from these; missing scraps from a shirt or a pair of pants would definitely be noticed. Deeper down, past the clothes, another smell becomes more prominent: something earthy and floral. That could be useful. Devin crawls through the mounds of fabric, navigating the musty space, until their hand brushes something soft. A bit more pawing around reveals it to be an umbel of little flowers. Intrigued, they grasp the stem and pull the plant into the light for better inspection. 

“ What the hell…. ”   White flowers, jagged leaves…. Devin scrunches their nose, confused. Is their plant identification knowledge failing them? Or is the owner of this bag an idiot? 

Pondering is short-lived. Footsteps approach from the outside––a human. Devin’s heart speeds up. They drop the plant and dive for cover within the clothes just as the bag is lifted. It sways in the air with the human’s long strides, most disorienting. When the swaying stops, the borrower remains hidden, knowing full-well that they are not safe yet. There’s an exchange of words overhead, a brief moment of stillness, and then the world starts tumbling. Devin clutches hard onto the clothing concealing them. Much to their chagrin, this particular jostling is painfully familiar. They’re on a horse. 

Somehow, being in a saddlebag is worse than being stuck under a hat. 

Fuck. 

Suppressing the sickening feeling in their stomach and the myriad of emotions swarming their brain, Devin fights against the horrible shaking and pushes their way out of the fabric folds. Climbing is significantly harder, but they still press on, going so far as to use their knife and hook for more purchase on the tough leather. Slowly but surely, they manage to reach the opening they’d initially climbed through and peek out. The wind whips and frays their hair and makes it difficult to see much of anything. They catch glimpses of the ground speeding below at breakneck speed, and at the horse’s white-and-grey spotted pelt. 

Most surprisingly, and to some relief, though, is the rider. The long, black hair and the big, sawed-off shotgun identify the man: “Charles!” 

Alas, their voice is unheard over the wind. Devin growls, frustrated, and retreats back into the relative safety of the saddlebag. There’s no use trying to get his attention right now. They’re just going to have to endure the bouncing and the shaking until he slows down. They can only pray that it’s soon.

———

Only an hour or so elapsed by the time the galloping slowed, though, to Devin, it felt like a lifetime. Despite their queasiness (courtesy of the bumpy ride), the borrower pushes free of the mountains of fabric and scrambles up the leathery interior, to the opening. They pause at the rim and focus on swallowing the bile in their throat, then, once it’s clear, level the back of the human’s head with a hard stare. 

They breathe in until their chest burns, and let out the loudest yell they can muster: “CHARLES!”  

The man jumps in his saddle and whips his head around, one hand to the shotgun on his hip. His eyes scan the horizon behind him, well over Devin’s head. 

“Down here. Hey!” They wave an arm, trying to ignore how foolish they feel. Even after months of being around Arthur, it still goes against everything they know as a borrower to flag down a human. 

Were the situation different—were Devin not currently fighting some ferocious nausea—they might find it comical how Charles’s expression changes. First he’s struck with recognition, eyes still on the horizon, and then the color in his face pales with realization and horror. Slowly, as if he were making every effort to delay the inevitable find, his gaze lowers to the gap under the saddle bag flap and the little borrower peeking out. 

“Devin?” It still takes him a moment to process their presence, and then he’s all but falling out of the saddle (much to his horse’s displeasure). After he’s got his feet on the ground and his balance under control, the man unbuckles the saddlebag lid and flips it open. The color is rapidly returning to his face in a heated flush. “M-Miss Clarke, I didn’t know you were—why are you in my bag?” His hand nears them, but Devin waves it off. 

“Don’t. I might puke. It’s a marvel that I haven’t already.” They try to suppress a shudder.  “I didn’t know this was your bag. I just saw it sitting back at the camp, untouched for some time. Thought I could get something useful.” 

Charles grimaces sympathetically and lets his hand come to rest on his horse’s flank. He isn’t thrilled to hear that someone was rummaging through his belongings for things to scavenge, but such behavior is to be expected from a borrower, he figures. It does make him feel a little better to know that Devin hadn’t been targeting him specifically. 

“I should take you back to camp. Arthur would kill me if something happened to you.” Never mind the berating Charles would give himself. He might not know Devin as well as Arthur does, but their charm is infectious. They are well on their way to having another human wrapped around their teeny tiny finger. 

“I’d like that. Eventually. But I don’t think I can take much more galloping right now. Riding in Arthur’s hat was better than riding in here.” The borrower leans over the leather with a quiet groan. The nausea is subsiding, albeit slowly. They do stiffen just a little when Charles lightly rubs a knuckle to their back, but the gentle pressure draws another, more content groan from their tiny lungs. 

“I'm alright,” they say after a minute. They glance up at Charles, offering him a weak but grateful smile, and then look to their surroundings. It’s not anywhere they recognize, but that’s not surprising. “So where are we going? ” 

“Well, I was going out foraging,” the man says. “Now that you’re here, though…” He trails off, uncertain. 

“Oh! Speaking of foraging–––” the borrower vanishes back into the bag, leaving Charles perplexed. Once they emerge again, they hold up a sprig of white flowers. “What the hell are you doing with this?” 

Charles squints at the plant, then raises his brow in realization. “You know what that is?” 

The surprise in his voice is a little insulting. Devin scrunches their nose. “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Smith. I’ve lived in the wild most of my life. I know what water hemlock is.” 

He holds his hands up and offers an apologetic shrug. “That’s actually what I was going to forage for. I found some while I was out with Javier the other day, but I didn’t have time to collect more.” 

“Okay.”  Devin inspects the flowers, twirling the stem between their hands. “Still doesn’t explain what you’re going to do with it. Are you planning to poison someone? Is it that Micah guy?” 

That earns them a snort. If only. “No. I use it on my knives and arrowheads. That and oleander sage. Gives them an extra kick.” 

Devin frowns, just a smidge disappointed.  “I suppose that’s a good alternative use. I used to do the same with my knife when I could find hemlock.” They drop the sprig and watch it fall to the ground far below. “It’d be so easy to poison Micah though…” They say so only half-jokingly. 

“Don’t I know it.” Charles shares the sentiment, but he shakes his head. Much as he’d like to see that snake gone, it’s not his place to do anything about his presence. Yet. 

Now that the nausea has passed (for the most part), the borrower pulls themself from the bag and climbs up the saddle, making their way up to the seat. “I’m okay now,” they say. “We’ve already come this far. We might as well go get that hemlock. I can use it too.”

Charles looks a little uncertain, but when he opens his mouth to protest, Devin levels him with a hard stare that makes him think twice. He clears his throat. “Why don’t you ride up here with me?” he offers. “It’d probably be a bit smoother.” 

Smoother would certainly be welcomed. Devin nods and climbs onto the man’s hand when it’s brought down to their level. His skin is warm and rough, similar to Arthur’s hands. Unlike Arthur, though, he carries them with greater caution. Devin pats his thumb. 

“Relax. I’m not made of paper.”  

“Er… right.”  

They can’t fault him for his caution. Charles has significantly less experience handling Devin than does Arthur. If anything, it’s comforting to know that he is actively trying to keep them comfortable. 

He grabs the saddlehorn with his free hand and hauls himself up. First he brings them to his lap, and then, after thinking, lifts them higher to his shoulder, where they climb off. Devin sits just outside of his beaded necklace and takes a handful of his hair. 

“Is this going to bother you?” 

“No, it’s fine. Use what you need. Let me know if you start to slip.” 

Once he’s sure Devin is secure––as secure as they can be on his shoulder––he spurs his horse gently in the ribs. They set off at a slow canter, something a bit less bumpy than the gallop before. Charles is correct: it’s more comfortable riding on his shoulder than it was in the bag, if only a little bit. Devin resigns themself to the reality that they will likely never enjoy travel on horseback, but this is at least tolerable. 

Charles is silent for the most part, which doesn’t bother Devin. They find themself occupied looking at the scenery. From their usual vantage point on the ground, they don’t much get to appreciate views of mountains and trees and vast prairies. Even on the off occasion that they hitch a ride on Arthur’s person, they often take to hiding in his scarf, thus dashing any chances of catching the view. 

Despite the ride’s discomfort, Devin finds themself enjoying this. They are grateful, though, when Charles tugs the reins and brings the horse to a gradual stop. He spares them a glance when they sigh. 

“You doing okay?” 

“Just peachy.” Devin gives the shoulder beneath them a pat. He dismounts rather awkwardly, trying not to jostle them too much. 

It strikes Devin that they have not just one, but two humans invested in their safety and comfort. It leaves them with mixed feelings fluttering about in their chest. 

Best not to dwell on it right now. 

Walking is a little choppy at first, what with Charles figuring out how best to adjust his gait with Devin on his shoulder, but, once he figures out a good rhythm, it smooths out. He steps carefully, eyes scanning the ground for the plants he seeks. Devin watches too, though they’re less focused on the hemlock and more interested in… well, everything else. Hemlock is but one plant in a new area full of things to explore. 

“Hey. Let me down.” Devin gives the man’s hair a light tug, drawing his attention back to them. Though he can’t fully look at them from where they sit, he still furrows his brow in an uncertain expression meant for them. Devin rolls their eyes. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m a big boy, Charles; I walk around on my own every day.”

“I’m sure, but–––”

“Either you let me down or I’m jumping.” That seems to work. Charles acquiesces with a reluctant sigh and gingerly helps the borrower down to the ground. He remains crouched after they hop off of his hand, still looking unsure. Devin waves up at him. “Go on. Keep doing what you were doing. I’m fine.” 

“Yell if you get into trouble,” he says, voice stern. Devin chooses not to take offense. 

“Sure thing.” They part with a final wave and dart off into the grass, out of the human’s view. Still he hesitates, but he does eventually get up and carry on with his task. Devin breathes out an exasperated breath. 

Having the care and concern of two humans is endearing, yes, but it can also be annoying. Devin might need to have a stern talk with the both of them if they keep this overprotective behavior up. They aren’t a child.

Charles does not feel good about just leaving Devin on the ground, but it wouldn’t have been right of him to hold them like some helpless creature. They’ve reminded him twice now that this is the life they live; he makes a mental note to try and be more respectful of that. After all, he reasons that he wouldn’t much appreciate it if someone else tried to keep him from doing the things he does every day. He isn’t palm-sized, but he imagines Devin still doesn’t care to be doted over. So he bites back his unease. He came out here for water hemlock. That’s what he’s going to find. Devin will be okay. 

Following the nearby creek, Charles begins his search. He tests the soil beneath him with his foot, feeling its spring, its moisture, then starts scanning. Familiar white flowers speckle the banks. A faint smile creeps onto his lips. There’s plenty here for him to make use of.

–– –– ––

Devin pushes through the tall foliage, looking high and low for anything that might be useful. They find medicinal herbs, and spices for seasoning. Mentally they commend Charles; he sure knows where to look when it comes to valuable natural resources. Some of these plants are a rare find back at Horseshoe Outlook. They pick and take as much as they can carry, stuffing their bag full. 

All is going fine. It’s going great, even. They’re making their way back down to the ground, munching on a sweet, juicy raspberry. The red fruit soaks their hands, their face, and their clothes, making them appear as though they’d just mauled something. It makes them snicker, thinking how Charles will react to see them like this. Their good humor dies suddenly, though. Devin feels a chill rush down their spine. They pause, alert, head on a swivel. 

In an instant, everything seems to slow down. Devin drops to the ground as a pink, gaping mouth sails just a hair’s breadth over their head. It snaps shut, long fangs closing around air, and the scaly head of a rattlesnake retreats back to its coils, gearing up for another strike. Berry forgotten, Devin pulls their knife and their hook out. They stare the snake down just as it does them. It’s big––not just to them, but by rattlesnake standards. It’s a big fucking snake. The borrower’s heart races in their chest, but they don’t run, nor do they back down.

–– –– ––

Charles takes several clippings of water hemlock and carefully stows them in his satchel. He doesn’t take everything that he sees, not wanting to clear the area of the deadly plant, but he’s pleased with his haul so far. Already he has enough to coat his knives twice over, so he thinks that he could probably give Arthur and Javier some as well, so as not to waste it. He takes a few more stalks, then stands and stretches his back, arms held out to the side. 

“That’s enough,” he mumbles to himself. He turns back to where he’d left Devin and scans the ground. Their tiny footprints are just barely visible in the dirt, and disappear into the grass. 

“Miss Clarke?” he calls, taking a knee near the footprints. They don’t answer. “I think I’m just about done here, so I’m ready to go when you––woah––!” The man jumps back as a rattlesnake head pushes through the grasses. Layers of alarm spike in his brain: it’s a big-ass snake; Devin isn’t here; it has blood on its face; Did it eat Devin––? 

“Just ‘Devin,’ Charles,” says the tiny voice. Charles flinches again. He swears he heard that voice coming from the snake. Did it eat them? He stares on in confusion, pondering whether or not he needs to cut the damn thing open, when its head flops to the side. Hauling it along is the little borrower. 

“Oh my god. Are you––did the snake–––?” He stammers over his words, which surprises Devin. Arthur stammers here and there, but Charles is always so clear and calm when he speaks. They glance down at themself, noting the red stain and slick coating their hands, their head, their clothes… 

“Ah! It’s okay! This isn’t––” they drop the snake and wave their hands, trying to placate the man, “I’m okay! This is all snake blood! And raspberry juice.”

Charles still looks horrified, glancing between the borrower and the rattlesnake. He does note that the blood seems to be coming from a deep wound on its head, right between its vacant eyes. 

“You… killed it?” He gathers himself on his knees and leans forward, gingerly prodding the lifeless body. 

“It tried to kill me first,” they say, sounding almost indignant. “Kinda lucky, though. I haven’t taken down a rattlesnake in a while. I can use it’s fangs and its venom.” 

Charles lifts the carcass from the ground, testing its weight in his hands. His eyebrows shoot up at its heft. When he stands with its head at eye-level, its rattle-tipped tail still touches the ground. 

It’s a big fucking snake. 

“You… killed this monster?” He can’t hide the disbelief––or perhaps it’s awe––in his eyes as he looks back down to Devin.

They huff back up at him, trying not to take offense. “Yeah. I did,” they say, arms crossed over their chest. Charles waves his free hand. 

“I don’t––I don’t mean to doubt you Miss––er, Devin. Sorry, I’m just… impressed.” Impressed would be an understatement. 

Devin rolls their eyes. They adjust their bag and their knife, then trudge on towards Charles. Before they can ask him to, he stoops down and lowers a hand for them to climb onto. Once he has them at his level, Charles can see their annoyance clear as day. 

“I tell you––both you and Arthur, you need to understand that I’m not helpless. I’ve lived my whole life out here. Half of it’s been alone. So spare me your patronizing looks and comments.” There’s venom in their eyes, in their words, as present as that in the venom in the snake’s fangs. 

Charles has no hand free to hold up, but he does dip his head apologetically. “You’re right. I admit, I underestimated you. And I’m sorry for it. I’ve never met anyone like you before, and it’s a learning process.” 

Devin’s features soften a little. They sigh and run a hand through their blood-slicked hair. It’s gross, but it’s not the first time they’ve been covered in blood. It won’t be the last time either. 

“I like you, Charles. A lot. It’s a learning process for me too.” They offer him a half smile, though it does look a bit daunting with their red visage. “I think I’m ready to go home now.” 

The man grimaces. “Think you want to… wash off first? Arthur is going to have a fit if he sees you like this.” 

Devin looks down to themself, returning the grimace. “...yeah, probably. What I can, at least.” The blood wasn’t going to come out of their clothes without any soap, but they could wash their skin and hair off. Maybe they could hide their outerwear from Arthur, too. They had their underclothing on that wouldn’t show bloodstains. 

Rattlesnake draped around his neck, Charles carries the borrower down to the creek and crouches at the bank. He brings his hands down for them to hop off and clean themself off. When they start stripping their outerwear, he turns his head to give them some privacy, and waits for them to draw his attention again when they’re done. Damp, but cleaner, and left in their long underclothes, Devin climbs back into Charles’ hands and scurries up to his shoulder, right next to the snake carcass. 

“You good?” He asks. 

“Yeah, I’m good,” they say. They give his shoulder a pat. 

Charles stands, still a bit awkward with his passenger, but less so than before. “Pearson is gonna love this snake,” he says, tongue in cheek.

Devin bristles and glares daggers at the man. “This snake is my prize. That man is getting none of it. You can have some of it if you want, since you’re carrying it home, but I’m not sharing it with anyone else.” There’s that venom again.

Charles snorts. He pulls himself into his saddle and spurs his horse, gently pushing her to start trotting. “Right. Of course. My apologies, Devin.” 

[filipinoizukuu]

I saw your post about the FA's translations, and I totally agree. Sometimes, when they do not translate accurately, is to make it sound better or cooler in English, but it just ends up taking away a lot from the context and characters. We know how one of the most affected character interpretations is Katsuki's, a main character, no less. And Izuku and Katsuki's relationship too, which is something super super wrong, considering is deeply intertwined with the main plot of the series, thus if someone misinterpreted their dynamic, this person would miss a bigass chunk of the message the story has.

Here is the panel you mentioned before btw

I remember when I read this, only 10 or 11 chapters into the manga (?), and I was like "...I'm...pretty sure this guy didn't say that" khshsjdhs

OK FIRST OF ALL LMAO HELLO MANG!! THANK YOU SO MUCH AND DW ABOUT IT I TOTALLY GET WHAT YOU MEAN !!

(this is your warning for a long post ahead!)

In any case, I still think you're very correct on this! Not to ramble a bit, but Horikoshi's particular talent in developing the plot of MHA is actually very very brilliant and there are a lot of blink-and-you'll-miss-it details that together, assemble the big picture of what MHA is.

Translations are such an integral part of being able to understand foreign media. MHA or otherwise. The simplest of details say a lot about a character and often times make or break a series because everyone knows that strong character dynamics are what carry even the shittiest of plots.

First and foremost, I want to clarify that because of the nature of fan translations and the fact that most of it is volunteer work/ written out of pure enjoyment of the manga--we shouldn't judge these fan translators too harshly (if at all) for interpreting it the way they want to. FA, as far as I can tell, is a fan-based group that works out of donations.

The first thing I wanna bring up is that when it comes to fandom and its works, there are two types: Curatorial and Transformative. Now, the transformative part is something that must be very familiar to a lot of you. Fanfiction, fanart, and most headcanons fall under Transformative Works (i.e. AO3) because they are all about transforming the canon world to fit each individual's personal preferences. Meta-analysis posts and Character Breakdowns are also classified under this.

Curatorial on the other hand are fandom interactions made with the explicit purpose of being as close to canon material as possible. This is working out the logic of quirks, for example, or memorizing as much canon content about your favorite villain as possible. These are more cold, hard undeniable facts that lend themselves to the DIRECT VISION the creator/author had while making this media. If you were to ask me my opinion on this, this would be the moment where I tell you that the Curatorial side of fandom is where fan translations should (for the most part) fall under.

What people need to know though is that oftentimes, fan translations do not.

Translating isn't and has never been a one-is-to-one process. There are hundreds of thousands of aspects in a language that make it so that it isn't perfectly translatable. Colloquialisms to sayings to dialects, to just plain-out words that don't have a proper English translation to them! Manga is made by and for a Japanese audience, so obviously in a lot of instances, there will be cultural nuances that will not be understood by anyone who hasn't immersed themselves in Japanese culture/language.

So what does this mean then for fan scanlations?

It means that a vast majority of translators teach themselves to only get the essence of the message. They take the dialogue as they understand it and translate it to something of their interpretation. When language and cultural barriers exist, translators do what they can in order to make it understandable to the general populace. This means making their own executive decisions on how they see a character speaking. In example, if they see Todoroki using very direct and impersonal Japanese--one translator might interpret it to mean that Shouto is stiff and overly formal, while another may see it as him being rude and aloof.

The problem is, translators are fans just like us.

Like with the image Mang posted above, the translator based the usage of curse words off of their understanding of Bakugou's character. The lack of foul language in the original Japanese might have made the translator think "Oh. There just aren't enough Japanese cusses for his character." And took that as an initiative to make Bakugou's lines more colorful and violent because this was working off of the image Bakugou had had at this point in canon.

But Codi! You may cry. Wasn't it proven multiple times that Bakugou prefers concise and short lines? They should've known better!

Yes. Maybe they should've known better. But tell me honestly in your first watch-through of MHA, did you perfectly understand Bakugou's character either? Did you catch the whole 'direct and no flowery language' aspect of his language when you first saw Season 2?

Most people don't. I only really understood this fact after I'd read multiple discussions of it and even double-checked the manga myself. These are the kinds of things that only become noticeable with a sharp eye and some time to scrutiny. But the fact of the matter is that when it comes to fan translations, the clout and recognition are always going to go to who can post the quickest.

Am I excusing erroneous translations? A bit, I guess. It's hard for us to go in and expect translators to catch all these errors before release when we ourselves only catch these errors like 4 months in with a hundred times more canon context than these scanlation groups did at the time of its release.

Still, there are plenty of harms that come with faulty translations.

When a translation is more divorced from the original's meaning than usual, it creates a dissonance between what is actually happening versus what the audience sees is happening. This looks like decently-written character arcs being overruled and rejected by most of the readers because of how 'jarring' and 'clumsy' it seems. By the time translators had caught on to the fact that Bakugou was more than just a ticking time bomb, we were already several steps into showing how significantly he cares for Deku.

The characters affected most by these translation errors are often those with the most subtle and well-written character arcs. A single mistake in how the source material is translated can make or break the international reception of a certain character to everyone who isn't invested enough in them to look deeper into the canon source.

It creates hiccups in plots. Things that seem out of character but really aren't. Going back to MHA in specific, the way that inaccurate translations hurt both the 'curatorial' and 'transformative' parts of the fandom is that people have begun to cite them as proof of the main cast's characterization.

Bakugou and Todoroki are undeniably some of the biggest examples of mistranslation injustices.

Katsuki, in a lot of people's minds, has yet to break out of the 'overly-aggressive rival' archetype box that people had been placing him in since Season 1. One of the most amazing aspects and biggest downfalls of Hori's writing was that at first, nearly every character fit into a very neat stereotype for Shonen Animes (Deku being the talking-no-jutsu sunshine MC, Uraraka being the overly bubbly main girl, Todoroki being the aloof and formal rival). He made the audience make assumptions about everyone's characters and then pulled the rug beneath our feet when he revealed deeper sides of them to play around within canon.

What made this part about Horikoshi's set-up so good though were the many clues we were given from the very beginning that these characters were more than what they acted like. Even from the very first chapters, for example, we learn that Katsuki (as much as he acts like a delinquent) dislikes smoking because it could get him in trouble.

That is just a single instance of MHA's use of dialogue to subtly divert our expectations of a character.

Another example is when they replaced 318's dialogue of the Second User saying that Katsuki "completes" Deku with him saying that Katsuki merely "bolsters" him. This presents a different situation, as that line was meant to reinforce the importance of those two's relationship as well as complete the character foils that MHA is partially centered around. By downplaying their developed connection, it becomes harder for the MHA manga scanlations to justify any future significance these two's words have on each other without mottling the pacing of the story.

AKA, it butchers the plot.

With every new volume, there are dozens and dozens more of these hints and bits scattered around! So many cues and subtle foreshadowing at the trajectory of everyone's character arcs--yet mistranslations or inaccurate scans make it so that we don't notice them. This is what I mean when I said that some character arcs are being done great injustices.

Until now, many people can't accept that Katsuki Bakugou cares for anyone other than himself (much less his rival and MC, Izuku Midoriya), nor can they accept that Todoroki would ever willingly work by Endeavor's side. The bottom-line then becomes that because of people missing heavy bits of characterization that become very plot-significant in the future.

When it comes to the point where people can no longer accept or fit their interpretation of the earlier manga events to what is happening in canon, the point of a translation fails completely because it has lead people to follow an entirely different story.

TL;DR - Fan scans are hard. Translating is hard. Don't get too mad at fan translations, but also maybe don't treat them as the catch-all for how characters truly operate. Thanks.

Side note: DO NOT harass FA for any of these things. FA is actually a pretty legit and okay source for scans (they've been operating since like 2014 ffs), but regardless of that they still don't deserve to get flack for their work. You can have any opinion or perspective of canon that you want, I don't care. These are just my two (more like two million tbh) cents on translations. I suggest reading takes from actual Japanese audiences tbh if you wanna know more about the source material of MHA. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[write-orflight]

Cherry Wine: SpencerXReader

*gif not mine*

Pairings: SpencerXReader (Angst w/ happy ending oneshot)

Rating: M

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: SMUT! very, very, angsty! TW/CW: Drug abuse, attempted suicide, murder

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Inspired by Cherry Wine by Hozier. (Listen while reading)

The first thing they tell you when getting clean is to not date anyone from group. Unfortunately, neither of you can follow rules. 

A.N: Please! do not read this is drug abuse or suicide will be triggering for you protect yourself please! Much love, Cia

The first thing they told you when trying to get clean was not to date anyone from the group. 

But you and Spencer couldn’t help how you fell into each other. 

You remembered the first day you walked into group. The way the heel of your boots clacked hard against the dirty linoleum floor. You were wearing your dad’s old sweater and ratty shorts. You didn’t think anything of your outfit but Spencer would later tell you that he thought you were the most radiant thing on the earth when he saw you in that moment.

You kept your hood up as you plopped into the squeaky folding chairs. You looked over to your left to see the tall, lanky man wringing his hands together constantly. Your eyes trailed up and down his body from his battered converse to the hard outline of his set jaw. You knew you had to have him in that moment. 

You leaned over. “Hey.” you said. He jumped out of his skin practically, trying to put as much distance between the both of you as possible. You hold your hands up in surrender. “Sorry, you just look nervous and I thought you would want a friend.” 

“I-I do…” He stutters over his words. Moving back into the space and inadvertently closer to you. “I’m Spencer.” He says. 

“Spencer…” You test the word out on your lips. It’s not bad, you’ve moaned worst names. You dated a guy named Harold for a spell, nothing was worse than that. “Hi, Spencer. I’m Y/N. First NA meeting?” 

He looks down at his feet. “Yea.” 

“What was your poison?” You ask. You’re not supposed to ask that but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“Dilaudid.” He says, awkwardly.

You nod. “That’s rough. How are you adjusting?” 

“I’m getting there, I just feel like an idiot being here.” 

“Well, why’s that?” 

“I have an IQ of 187, Several degrees and PhDs. I’m not necessarily the audience for drug addiction.” He says, frustrated. 

 “Well, I have my master’s in Engineering. I may not have a genius IQ but I’m by no means an idiot.” You say. “But I got hooked on pills just as bad as the next guy, you’re not dumb for needing help.” 

That’s how the two of you started. It was innocent at first, staying a little longer at meetings just to talk to each other, meeting for coffee. But pretty soon it was exchanging numbers and late night calls. 

One particular phone call was when you shifted. Whether it was for the better or worse you could not tell. 

“You sped out the meeting yesterday, I didn’t get to tell you happy 6 months.” Spencer said, over the line. You couldn’t help the gentle swoon that came with hearing that raspy voice praise you. 

“Yea, I had an early day today. Sorry.” 

“What’s wrong?” Spencer says, immediately able to tell something was up with you. “You seem upset.” 

You sigh. “I’d like to preface this by saying that I didn’t do it, I promise.”  you say, shuffling your feet that were laid on your coffee table. “I’ve been thinking about using, a lot lately.” 

Spencer gasps slightly. “And you haven’t?” 

“No, I didn’t Spencer. At least not yet, but work has been stressful and I’ve just been thinking about it alot.”  

“Well, what did you do to destress before?” 

“Honestly?” You ask. “I had sex, like a crazy amount of sex. I know it’s not the best coping mechanism but it’s better than OD’ing. I used to regularly hit up this guy but he got a job in Portland recently. So that fountain is dried up.” 

You hear Spencer mumble something. “What’d you say?” You ask.

“I said, I could do it.” He rushes through the sentence. 

“Do what, Spencer?” 

“We could… have sex…” He says, awkwardly. 

You look at the phone in shock at that. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable taking your virginity, Spencer.” 

You hear Spencer sputter on the other line. “I-I’m not a virgin.” 

“Really?” You say. That was a shock for sure.  “Could’ve fooled me.”  

You hear those words that changed everything next. “Come over.” 

“What?” 

“Now.” He says, hanging up the phone at the moment. 

You go and grab your keys not needing to be told twice. 

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

You knock on Spencer’s door a rough 15 minutes later. The door swings open and a hand is already circling your wrist, pulling you in. It’s not long before that door is slammed and you’re being pressed up against it. You try to move the hand he’s holding down but Spencer is deceptively strong, probably needed in his line of work. You look at him, eyes blown wide with lust and initial shock. 

“Will you tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable?” He asks, looking you in the eye. 

“Are you saying I need a safeword, Dr. Reid?” 

His eyes darken significantly as he hears his profession past your lips. “It’d probably be wise to have one.” 

You think for a second. “How about Tardis?” You say, you and Spencer had bonded over your shared love of Doctor Who.

“That works.” He says, Tugging on your wrist, pulling you deeper into the Apartment until you reach your final destination, his bedroom. 

He lets you go and shuts the door. 

“Strip.” He says, leaning against the dresser. You narrow your eyes at him to see if he was serious. He looks back at you with a waiting expression, to show you that he was. 

Might as well… you think, tugging your shirt off. You continue to look Spencer in the eyes as you shed the rest of your clothes. His eyes travel down and back up your body. He steps towards you in that moment, tilting your chin up to look at him. 

“You’re breathtaking.” He says, sweeping you into a passionate kiss. You moan against his lips as his arms bracket under your thighs to lift you up, dropping you onto the bed. You look up at him, eyes blown wide as he takes his shirt and pants off before rejoining you on the bed. You moan loudly as he sucks bruises onto your neck, grinding his erection against your sex. He leaves hot, bruising kisses down your body. Your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. Until they meet their all-time destination, right above your sex. 

He rubs a hand against your sex, kissing bruises into your inner thigh. “Look at how needy you are for me. I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked.” He says, thumb circling your clit.

You moan, moving your hips to get some kind of friction. “S-Spencer, please--” 

“What do you want, baby?” He says. “Use your words.” 

“Please, your mouth…” you manage. 

“What do you want me to do with my mouth, huh?” He says, taunting you. You squirm under the scrutiny. “I need to hear you say it.” He said, slipping two fingers into your wet heat, curling instantly. 

You babble for a second, trying to formulate the words. “Spencer- Spen, Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He whispers before giving a deep quick lick to your clit. Your head thrashes back in ecstasy as he curls two fingers inside of you. It wasn’t long before you felt that tell-tale ball tightening in your lower abdomen. 

“Spencer, fuck- I’m going to--” 

“I know, baby. Go ahead and cum for me.” Not knowing you were waiting on permission, you release yourself on his fingers. He leaves small kisses on your thighs while coaxing you through your orgasm. Once you’ve come down, he crawls back up your body. You pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel him crawling out of his underwear while you’re kissing. 

“Do I need anything?” He says, his tip already dragging along your wet folds.

You moan, slightly. “You can use a condom if you want but I’m clean. And I’m on birth control.” 

He smiles wickedly at you. “I’m clean too.” He whispers to you, still teasing you. 

“Spencer.”  You moan. “Please fuck me.” 

He smiles before pushing into you, not needing much convincing. You both gasp at the first contact. The hands on your hips are practically bruising. He waits searching your eyes, making sure you aren’t hurt. You don’t like that, when people look at you like you’re of value. 

“Move.” You say, Spencer happily obliges, opting to go slow. You instantly start moving your hips to make him move faster. He looks at you slightly confused but keeps his pace. You sigh, frustrated. “Are you going to actually fuck me or what, Spencer?” 

His hips snap into you harshly at that moment, making all the air in your lungs expel. “Excuse me?” He says, instantly fucking into you harder, his hand circles your throat, squeezing the sides. You moan loudly. Well, as loud as you can with him cutting your air supply while he fucks into you roughly. 

“This is mine. Don’t tell me how to fuck it, ok?” He says, moving faster, other hand traveling down your body to rub your clit roughly. He lifts you leg over his shoulder so he’s almost impossibly deep inside you. You scream out, it was too much.

“Spencer.” You whine. “I-I can’t.” 

“You know your safeword.” He says roughly. “Unless you’re going to use it, I suggest shutting up and taking it.” You moan loudly at that, liking nothing more than the feeling of being used. 

“Spencer-fuck-I’m going come.” You moan. 

“Fuck-me too.” He says. “Go ahead and cum on my cock, baby.” You head thrashes back as your orgasm takes over, Spencer following close behind. 

He collapses on top of you for a second while the two of you catch your breath. The second he’s off of you, he moves to pull you close to him but you’re already up out of the bed. You stop in the bathroom to pee and clean yourself off. Once back in the room, Spencer watches you in confusion as you put your clothes on. 

“Are you in a rush?” He asks. The awkward kid you’ve known for months now back replacing the man you had just been in bed with. “You could stay.” 

You walk over to where he is on the bed, placing a small kiss on his forehead before patting his cheek lightly. “It’s probably best if I don’t stay.” You say, patting his bare leg. “I don’t want either of us to get the wrong idea.” 

“Wrong idea?” He asks. 

You sigh. “You know, sex and drugs release a lot of the same brain chemicals.” You watch him nod. “Of course you do, you know everything. I’m just saying, this is a nice simple way to stay clean, I use you when I need the distraction from pills. And… you use me when you need it.” 

“But, I don’t want to use you. I lik-” 

“Don’t finish that sentence. Please, Spencer.” You sigh, tapping him lightly on the forehead. “This is why I don’t want to sleep over. If I do, those chemicals in that big brain will confuse the high from good sex with love and… I’m not the person you want to fall in love with right now, it’s not the right time for us. I’m a fuckup.” You say, standing up and grabbing your purse. “You may not like this now, but you’re going to have a really bad day probably, that’ll make you want to use again and if that happens…. I’d rather you call me before you do.” You ruffle his hair before walking out of the apartment into the brisk air. 

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

It’s weeks before you hear from Spencer again. You almost counted him up as a loss by the sheer amount the two of you didn’t speak after you had sex. You respected his decision not to contact you and you figured even though you lost a friend at least that friend had made you cum twice before leaving you out to dry.  

You were sitting on your couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and Netflix queued up when you got the call. 

“Hello?” You said around the spoon. 

“Come over.” You heard Spencer say on the other line. 

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his rough tone. “I’m in my sweats.” You say. 

“I don’t care.” He says, hanging up. 

You shrug, jumping up to put your ice cream in the freezer before running out the door. 

When you get to Spencer’s place, he answers the door almost as soon as you knock as if he’s been waiting. His eyes are puffy and red. 

“You’ve been crying.” You say, stating the obvious. 

He rolls his eyes. “Do you remember your safeword?” 

“Yes.”

“Then get inside.” 

Thus began the vicious cycle that was you and Spencer. You would call him, typically after a long day of being interrupted and ridiculed by your colleagues. He’d call you after rough cases, and you’d fuck each others brains out. One time. No encore performances. No sleeping over. No falling in love. 

It worked for a while, a long while. Spencer was still a nice friend. You’d text him about new episodes of Doctor Who or ask him obscure questions you needed answers too when you didn’t feel like googling it. He always had an answer for you. 

But of course just like most things in your life, you couldn’t have a good thing without finding some way to fuck it up. 

It started with one time Spencer called you to come over after you had worked a 12 hour shift. You didn’t tell him that, you just still went. After you guys hooked up, he watched you sleepily try to put your clothes on. Not even able to keep your eyes completely open. 

“Y/N, just stay.” He says. “I can’t let you drive home like this.” 

“No, I’m fine. I’ll go.” You say, mid-yawn. 

“Yea, real convincing.” He laughs. “Get in the bed, Y/N/N.” 

You were very tired. Spencer’s bed is pretty comfy. Why not? You think. 

“This doesn’t mean anything. It’s still not time.” You say, as you crawl back in. “I’m just tired.” 

Spencer says nothing, just turns off the light next to his bedside. “Goodnight, Y/N” 

You wake up that morning, warm and wrapped around Spencer. You leave before he can wake up 

Things really change when you get the call. 

After your mother found you on the living room floor covered in your own vomit, you could never speak to her again, not until you were clean. Fully clean and a fully functioning adult that didn’t need pills to cope. You were getting there and you thought you had time. 

That was until you were called to identify a body. 

They told you it was a robbery gone bad, that they robbed your mother’s store and was upset about the amount of money that wasn’t in the drawer. And they just shot her with no remorse. The only person in your life who cared about you, gone in seconds. 

Fuck, you really needed it right now. 

After being sober for months, your cravings weren’t bad but right now you needed to feel nothing. You wanted to drift into nothing right. You thought about how easy it would be to just float away right then, how easy it would be to join your mother. 

You should probably call someone. 

So you called Spencer. Several times. You needed the distraction, even if he couldn’t fuck you, you needed something to take your mind off the ache. But every time you dialed, you only got his voicemail. You left him a nonchalant message the first time. Just a simple hey call me back when you get a chance but after the 5th 6th and 7th time you called you never left a message, just slipped deeper into that hole you were digging. You were foolish to think he cared enough about you to be there when you needed him. You were nothing but a warm body to him. Just like you were to every guy you’ve had the misfortune of meeting. 

No one cares what happens to you. Why should you?

That was the last thought you had before your fist circled the cylindrical body of an old friend. 

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

Spencer didn’t know why you called so much, but he knew something was wrong. Which was why as soon as he checked his phone he rushed to your apartment. He knocked harshly several times before you swung the door open, leaning on the door frame to support your weight. 

“What, Spencer?” You say, eyes heavy.

“What do you mean what? You called me several times. What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing anymore, so if you’ll excuse me.” You say moving to close the door. His hand springs out to stop you. Eyes narrowing at you. 

“Are you high, Y/N?” 

“It’s none of your business, Reid.” 

“Like hell it is.” He says, brushing past you into the apartment. “Where is it? I’m fucking dumping it.” 

“Spencer, leave!”

“Absolutely not! Where the fuck is it?” He says angrily. Before his eyes land on the now empty bottle you had sitting on your nightstand. “Did you take all of these?” 

Spence--” 

“DID YOU TAKE ALL OF THESE?!?” He asks again, screaming. You don’t say anything, he takes your silence as an answer, pulling out his phone to dial 911. 

“Spence, don’t.” You say as you hear him rattling off your address to the operator. He’s tugging you into the bathroom. 

“Make yourself vomit, now.” 

“No, Spencer.” You say. 

“Either you do it, or I’m going to do it Y/N.” you look him in his eyes, before wobbling off to the toilet to try to make yourself throw up. 

You don’t make it very far, you pass out on your bathroom floor. 

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

You wake up to fluorescent lights hurting your eyes. You sit up looking around, you were in the hospital. 

“Don’t try to sit up.” You hear next to you. You look to your side to see Spencer. 

“What’re you doing here?” You say annoyed. 

“Well, contrary to popular belief, one of us actually cares if you live. So I wanted to make sure you were ok before I left.” 

“Well, I’m fine you can go.” 

Spencer runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Why did you do it, Y/N.” He asks, tears welling. “You were doing so good.” 

“You don’t think I know that!” You snap. “My mom died.” You choke on your words. 

“Y/N/N…” 

“The one person on this earth who cared about me was murdered in cold blood. I lost everything, I had no one.” 

“Don’t say that, Y/N. You had me.” 

“And where were you?” You yell. “Because I called you and you WEREN’T THERE! Don’t act like you fucking care now because I’m in a hospital bed, Spence. You just use me for a quick fuck and then I never hear from you.” 

“I use you?!” He says, words almost venomous. “You’re the one who told me that you only wanted to fuck. I wanted you, Y/N! I wanted to be with you, I loved you. And you told me no!” 

“I told you it wasn’t time--” 

“Oh yea, it’s not time yet, it’s not time yet.  So I’m just supposed to wait and be in love with you while you treat me like shit and try to kill yourself?!” Spencer says, angrily. “Because it’s not time yet! What does that even mean, Y/N!” 

“It’s not time for me to be in love with you!” You yell. “I can’t right now, Spencer. I don’t have anything in my heart to give you and I wish I did. I wish I could sit here and tell you I’m in love with you and that I want to be with you right now but I can’t, Spencer. I can’t love you when I don’t even love me!” You cry, Spencer stays across from you, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and sweep you in his arms. “You deserve more than that.” you whisper. 

“I don’t want more, I want you.” He whispers back. You look up to see the tears falling down his face too. 

“You need to leave, Spencer.” You say. 

“Y/N--” 

“Now!” You yell. “Please don’t make me call a nurse.” 

Spencer sighs, taking one last look at you before leaving you. 

You cry for 2 weeks straight after that. 

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

Some years later, you quit your job. It caused you nothing but stress anyway. 

You travel for some time, spending your savings backpacking through europe and asia. You made some amazing friends, ate some good food, and had some good experiences. Life went on and thankfully got better. 

You were now 7 years sober and this time with, thankfully, healthy coping mechanisms. You took better care of your body, exercising daily and the only time you really splurged was a giant ice cream sundae on your sober anniversary. You found a good therapist and you were offered a job teaching Engineering at a local university. Which you happily took, there weren’t enough female professors in STEM. 

You had a relatively small 8AM class (no one really liked waking up.) and during a silent note taking portion you couldn’t help but hear two of your female students talking. 

“I’m telling you Whitney, that professor is fine as hell.” You heard one of them say. “I mean, personally I have no interest in Criminal Psychology but I’d be interested in anything he had to say. You should come audit the class with me so you can see for yourself.” 

“Something you want to share with the class, Ms. Rivera?” You say.  

“I’m just talking about the new professor, Ms. Y/L/N.” Addie smiles.

“New Professor?” You ask, you hadn’t heard anything about a new professor. Then again, STEM and humanities didn’t really cross paths. 

“Yea, He’s hot.” Addie says. “Name’s Dr. Reid.” 

Your heart stops when you hear that. Spencer was here, teaching. The students must’ve noticed your pause, all looking at you confused. 

“Focus on your work.” You call out. All eyes leave you, suddenly going back to their papers. 

You knew in that moment you had to go see him. Even if nothing came of it the least you could do was thank him for saving your life that night. You decided to also go audit his class. The lecture hall was already full of college age girls, meticulous putting on makeup to impress the professor. You opt for a seat in the back. 

You watched as he came out and greeted the class briefly with a bright smile before going through his lesson. You can’t help the way your heart swoons, his hair is longer and more fluffy. Like he stopped putting that product he used to slick it back with in his hair. He was older definitely but so were you. And as you watched him give his lesson you saw nothing about him had really changed at all. He was still the same excited-to-learn, nerd you fell for in the first place. 

You stuck back for a while after he dismissed his class, waiting in the far corner while a girl tried and failed to flirt with the man. You laughed slightly, Spencer never could take a hint. You watched him pack up his messenger bag before saying something. 

“Hey, Spen.” You say, the man instantly spins around, looking at you in shock. 

“Y/N?” He asks. You nod. “Oh my god, you look good, healthy.” He smiles at you, you can’t help the smile you give back. “Are you…” 

You know what he’s asking. He wants to know if you’re clean. You nod. “7 years, as of last tuesday.” You say. 

“That’s good, I’m so proud of you.” You preen a bit at the praise. 

“How have you been?” You ask. “Are you..?” 

“I’ve been better, but I’m still clean, yea.” 

“That’s good.” You say. You look at each other in silence, the conversation now stale. “I just wanted to say thank you, for that night. You saved my life, Spence and I was so ungrateful.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” He says. 

“Do you maybe want to get coffee? Catch up maybe?” 

“I can’t do that, Y/N.” He says, you look down, trying not to seem upset. “I want to but, there’s still a big part of me that has all these feelings for you and I can’t just get coffee and have it mean nothing.” He sighs. 

“What if I want it to mean something?” You say, looking him in the eyes. 

“Y/N…” He takes a step closer to you, you hate how welcome he already feels in your space. “Are you telling me it’s time?” 

“There’s never going to be a right time for us, Spencer.” You say, looking him in the eye. He looks downtrodden.  “But what I can say is that I want you now, and I want to try being with you now. If you also want that.”  

He smiles at you. “I’ll always want that. I’ll always want you.” 

You smile back. 

It isn’t perfect but at least it’s now.

Perm. Taglist: @diesinspanishbcimhispanic​

[gretavanfanfic]

Noisy Neighbor

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x (F) Reader

Warnings: Smut! 18+ only

Word Count: 5000ish

Summary: The walls in your apartment are a bit thin and Neighbor!Josh likes to make noise.

You can’t deny that you have a bit of a crush on your neighbor, Josh. From the day he moved into the apartment next to yours, you were immediately attracted to his looks. And then, a few weeks later, he introduced himself to you in the hallway and you found out that he’s actually the sweetest person in the world. Your attraction intensified tenfold. Now, every time you enter or leave your apartment, you can’t stop yourself from hoping that you’ll run into him in the halls.

Though you’ve only spoken to Josh on a handful of occasions, you feel as though you know him on an intimate level due to the paper thin walls of your home. You’ve concluded that your living rooms must share a wall, because you can hear absolutely everything Josh does in the main room of your suite. You weren’t surprised when you discovered this though, considering the low price you pay for rent each month. What did surprise you was that you found it didn’t annoy you in the slightest. Josh makes quite a bit of noise, but honestly, you very much enjoy the chaos that regularly flows out of his apartment. 

You hate to admit it, because you know it’s creepy, but sometimes you intentionally eavesdrop on the goings-on in Josh’s apartment. A lot of the time, it’s more entertaining than anything you could watch on TV. Josh has 3 friends (or maybe brothers, they look like they may be related) that visit so often, you frequently wonder why they all didn’t just move in together. When they’re over, the shouting and laughter is constant, and you get a major kick out of listening to their stories and antics. And then there’s Josh’s singing. Whenever he’s home alone, you can hear his angelic voice belting out song after song, some that you recognize and others that you don’t. His voice is so gorgeous, you’re sure he could sing the phone book and make it sound amazing. Why would you listen to music on your speakers when you have a front row seat to Josh’s beautiful live performances? You feel a bit guilty for your snooping, but you figure it’s harmless. If Josh didn’t want anyone to hear him, he’d quiet down.

This particular evening, though, your eavesdropping doesn’t seem quite as harmless as usual. You’re not deliberately spying on Josh. At first. You’re just settling in for a night of Chinese takeout and Netflix when a noise through the wall catches your attention. A...sexy noise. It isn’t loud, definitely more quiet than most of the sounds coming from Josh’s unit, but you hear it nonetheless. Curious, you turn the volume on the TV down and lean closer to the wall behind your couch, waiting to hear if it happens again.

A few moments later and there it is once more, an unmistakable moan. Just that small sound makes your entire body feel hot, and you press your ear even closer to the wall. Is he doing what I think he’s doing? You can’t hear anything else that would give you any more hints, but why else would he be letting out little moans here and there? The image of Josh touching himself causes wetness to build between your thighs. 

Then you’re struck by another thought, one that lessens your desire slightly. What if he’s with someone? If you’re being honest with yourself, you would probably be devastated if that was the case. Though you wouldn’t even really consider Josh a friend, you’ve held out on the hope that maybe something would happen between the two of you someday. You never thought that he may have a girlfriend, or even about him sleeping with other girls.

You begin to feel dejected, until you realize that you’re getting ahead of yourself. You’ve been home for hours, and not once did you hear Josh’s front door open or close. You also hadn’t heard him talk to anyone during the day. He had been singing for a bit earlier, and his TV was on briefly, but that was it. If a girl had been there, you’re sure you would have heard her at some point. And so, you allow yourself to believe that Josh is in his apartment alone, scratching his own itch.

Another low groan sounds a few moments later, and you squirm in your seat, getting wetter and wetter by the second. Invested now, you mute the TV altogether so you can hear Josh without any background static. Voyeurism is not something you engage in on a regular basis, so you can’t help feeling a little dirty listening in on his “personal time.” But you can’t make yourself turn a blind eye and resume your show on Netflix either. All you can focus on is Josh and the arousal he’s brought on.

Josh’s moans are becoming louder and more frequent now. Some are small grunts, whereas others are drawn out and higher in pitch, almost whiny. You’ve never heard anything hotter in your life, and before long, you’re practically aching for him. You want to see his body, which you’re certain is toned but not overly muscular, and run your fingertips over every inch of his skin. You yearn for him to kiss you, so you can glide your tongue over his luscious lips and feel the vibration of his groans in your mouth. More than anything, you want to fuck him. Feel the pleasant stretch as he thrusts into you over and over, filling you up and satisfying your needs.

Unable to stop yourself, your right hand travels past the waistband of your leggings and into your underwear. Using your middle finger, you gather some of your wetness and drag it up to your clit, rubbing slow circles over the sensitive nerve. Your eyes fall shut at the feeling it elicits. 

This isn’t the first time you’ve thought of Josh while getting yourself off. He’s been a staple in your fantasies ever since the day he introduced himself. Pretending it’s Josh and not your vibrator working you to orgasm makes the whole process go much more quickly. The toy has seen a significant increase in action since he moved in.

Listening to Josh masturbating on just the other side of the wall has you hot enough that you don’t even need your favorite toy right now. You’ve just barely started stimulating your clit and you’re already ridiculously close to orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears and a light sweat has broken out across the back of your neck. You’re so wet, you can feel it leaking out of you and into your underwear. Only a few more circles and you know you’ll be cumming harder than you have in a long time.

And then it happens. From the other side of the wall, you hear Josh’s husky voice whine, “Oh fuck, Y/N!” 

Your hand stills in your pants and your jaw drops open in disbelief. Did he just say my name? You had to have heard wrong. Or maybe you were just so horny and caught up in the moment that you imagined it. 

But then, there it is again.

“Y/N! Fuck, oh my god,” followed by a much louder and lower groan. 

This time, there is no mistaking it. Josh Kiszka just moaned your name while he came. 

Your body is absolutely rigid, with the exception of your legs, which are visibly shaking. Being so close to the edge and then abruptly stopping stimulation will do that to you. 

Inhaling deeply, you attempt to center yourself and process what you just heard. Which is impossible; you’re too turned on to even have a chance of thinking rationally. The only thing going on in your mind is: Josh! Josh! Josh!

As badly as you want to just shove your hand back down your pants and finish yourself off right now, Josh’s utterance of your name has brought out a carnal desire in you that you’re positive can only be fulfilled by actual physical contact with him. And you can’t wait for it. You need it now.

So with a stroke of courage like you’ve never experienced before, you quickly get up and wash your hands in the kitchen sink, then march toward your front door and swing it open. Foregoing shoes, you walk swiftly toward the door to Josh’s apartment and rap your knuckles against the dark green wood emblazoned with the number 201.

There’s no response at first, and you’re not really surprised considering you’re calling on him right after he finished jerking himself off. So you knock again, and this time you hear him shout, “Just a second!”

As you stand outside his door, waiting for him to appear, you begin to feel butterflies in your stomach. The worries that should have popped into your head earlier are now showing themselves, and there’s a lot of them. What if he really is with a girl? What if I’m not the Y/N he’s thinking about? Why did I not change before coming over here? Is my hair a mess? Did I even put on deodorant today? What if he’s not interested?

And then the door clicks open and there stands a pink-cheeked Josh, shirtless with a pair of black sweatpants riding low on his slim hips. You can tell you’ve caught him off-guard because his eyes widen significantly when they land on you. Unable to exercise any form of self-control, you allow yourself to examine his bare torso, eyes dancing from his pecs, past his toned abdomen, to the wispy happy trail that disappears under his low-slung pants. On your way up, you ogle his muscular arms. He catches you staring, and you see the blush spread down to his chest, small red patches cropping up as he takes you in.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Y/N! Hi! Sorry, I- uh, I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”

“Yeah, that’s my bad. Sorry,” you apologize, bouncing from foot to foot. “Are- are you busy?” 

You figure this is a safe way to start the conversation. Not being too straightforward, but also making it clear that you’re here for a reason and it may take up some of his time.

Josh looks even more surprised and you can hear the shock in his voice when he too loudly exclaims, “No! No, come on in.” He moves backward and opens up the door wider, allowing you to step through the frame. 

The door shuts behind you, and you and Josh stand awkwardly in his entryway for a moment. Taking the opportunity to see how Josh lives, you glance around the living area and note that it looks exactly like you expected it to. With a layout identical to yours, it is messy, but not overly so, and cozy, with personal touches like photos and knick knacks spread throughout the room. Every inch is reminiscent of Josh. Then you catch sight of Josh’s phone, lying upside down on the sofa, like it was thrown down quickly when he got up to answer the door, and a dark green t-shirt crumpled into a ball on the floor.

The shirt reminds you of Josh’s current state of undress, and your eyes flick back to his half-naked frame. His body is more gorgeous than you imagined, and you long to put your hands on him. You feel almost predatory as you gawk at him and lick your lips.

Breaking the silence, Josh asks, “So what can I do for you, neighbor? Need to borrow a cup of sugar?” He grins at you, making eye contact for a moment, then glances away and rubs his palm along the back of his neck. 

You let out a nervous giggle at the cliche and greedily take in the sight of his newly exposed underarm. He’s so pretty, you think to yourself. 

Shaking your head, you answer, “No, um, actually I had a question for you.” 

Before you make your move, you need to be absolutely certain that Josh doesn’t have a girlfriend. You would never forgive yourself for unknowingly moving in on someone else’s significant other.

“Okay,” Josh shrugs his shoulders. “Shoot,” he says, sticking his hands in his pockets. 

You know you’re being forward, and you know this could end up being a very uncomfortable situation, but you force yourself to question, “Are you single?”

It’s not what Josh is expecting to hear. His back straightens and his eyebrows shoot up, shock evident. He hastily recovers, however, and begins to nod rapidly. “Yeah, I am. Why do you ask?” Once the words leave his mouth, you watch as he bites his bottom lip, then soothes where he bit with his tongue. The action makes your clit throb with want.

What do you say now? “That’s great, because I want to fuck you?” Definitely not. You scour your brain for a way to casually bring up your attraction to him, beginning to lose the burst of confidence that brought you here in the first place. But then, you look up to Josh’s face to see that his eyes are black, pupils fully dilated despite being in a well-lit room. Really, the only explanation for it that you can think of is desire. And you’re sure if you were to look in a mirror right now, your pupils would be dilated as well.

At last, your hunger for him overtakes your nerves and you state, “You know, the walls here are pretty thin…”

Josh’s eyes practically bulge out of his head and you watch him nervously run a hand through his hair. He doesn’t make eye contact when he finally breathes out, “Oh.”

Feeling bold, you walk a few steps forward so that you’re almost toe to toe with Josh. He audibly sucks in a breath, taken aback by your close proximity. His eyes search your face for an explanation for your closeness, while yours eagerly examine his impeccable features. You allow yourself a moment to study his nicely shaped eyebrows, rich, chocolate eyes, nose that is perfectly sized for his face, plump, pink lips, and his skin, dotted with a small number of acne scars, but glowing nevertheless. You’re dying to reach out and touch him.

Instead, you admit, “I heard you a few minutes ago...it sounded an awful lot like you were moaning my name.”

Looking up at him from under your eyelashes, you see Josh’s cheeks flush bright red. He doesn’t reply right away, just darts his eyes around the room with noticeable tension in his jaw. His hand rises up again to run through his hair, then falls to his chest where he uses his short nails to scratch across the skin there. His palm stays splayed across his chest as he focuses his stare on his feet and confesses, “Listen, I’m sorry. I know it’s weird, but I didn’t realize I was being that loud. I really hope you don’t think I’m some disgusting creep. I just- I find you really attractive and my thoughts just sort of naturally land on you when I’m je- when I’m doing that.”

Truthfully, you were not expecting Josh to readily confirm your suspicions, but you’re definitely pleased that he did not hold back. A thrill runs through your body at his words, and again, you feel a rush of wetness between your legs. Fidgeting back and forth on your feet, you unconsciously rub your thighs together.

You know that Josh witnesses the motion because he openly gawks at you and the hand on his chest abruptly falls to his side. Your eyes follow his arm, and on their way down, you notice a sizable bulge has formed in his sweatpants. A shiver runs down your spine and your heart flutters knowing he’s just as turned on as you are right now.

Ready to relieve yourself of the tension you’ve been feeling for at least 20 minutes now, you close the distance between your bodies and firmly set your palms on Josh’s chest. Not allowing him time to question your closeness, you divulge, “Actually, I thought it was pretty hot. I, uh, I wish I was able to witness it with my eyes and not just my ears. But it kind of looks like you’re ready to go again, and I know I cou-”

Josh doesn’t let you finish your sentence, placing both hands on either side of your face and crashing his lips to yours. You respond readily, tracing his full lower lip with your tongue until it parts from his top lip and allows you entrance. Busying your tongue with his, you both relax into the kiss, and he combs some hair out of your face with his fingers. Driven by pure lust, you slide your right hand down his chest, fingertips combing through the happy trail that quite frankly, makes your mouth water, then break the kiss. In a whisper, you ask, “Can I?” and gesture towards his prominent bulge. He answers with a quick nod, and you cup the tent in his pants in your palm.

Groaning into your mouth (like you hoped he would), Josh grips your ass and tugs you forward so there is no space between your bodies. Your hand is sandwiched between both of your groins, but you do your best to stroke his dick through his pants, and revel in the small sounds he emits. 

Pulling away from your mouth, Josh kisses a trail over your jaw and down your throat, lightly sucking your pulse point, then soothes the area with his tongue. Meanwhile, his right hand snakes under your shirt and lingers on the skin of your waist for just a moment, before venturing higher and cupping your breast through your thin bralette. The pad of his thumb locates your nipple through the fabric and begins rubbing slow circles, causing you to inadvertently let out a small squeal. 

Josh chuckles against your neck at the noise, but the laugh turns strained as you increase the pressure your hand is applying to his very hard member. In retaliation, his left hand finds its way under your top and lightly pinches your other nipple, both of them now achingly stiff and sensitive. Each time his fingertips make contact, you feel the pleasure shoot straight down to your pussy. 

Craving more skin to skin contact, you suddenly take a step back and yank your shirt over your head, followed directly by your flimsy bra. Josh hungrily inspects your exposed breasts for just a minute, then drags you back into him so your naked torsos are flush against each other. Pressing his lips back to yours, your tongues again battle for dominance. 

Not even a minute later, Josh begins shuffling the two of you backwards, until you find yourself in his bedroom with your legs hitting the edge of his bed. There, he encourages you onto the navy blue comforter and you scoot up so you can lie back against the soft white pillows. You’re surprised to find that his bed is neatly made, and his room is free of clutter. You kind of expected it to be a pig-sty. 

Josh steals your attention again by crawling up your body and settling himself between your legs. Instead of kissing you, he attaches his lips to your collarbone, where he sucks for a second, then works his way down to the swell of your boob. His mouth closes around your nipple and sucks, causing you to breathe out a sigh of satisfaction.

You wrap your legs around his waist and buck up into him, hoping he’ll get the hint and return the favor by grinding down into you. He does, and you close your eyes and throw your head back against the pillow. 

Josh switches sides and begins lavishing your other nipple with his tongue, while you find the waistband of his pants and reach inside, quickly discovering that he decided against wearing underwear today. You’re not disappointed by the easy access he’s provided to his thick cock. 

Grasping it in your palm, you give his dick a few strokes, then run your thumb over the tip in circles. Josh appreciates this, as indicated by the slow, “Fuckkk,” he breathes out. You continue your motions, loving watching Josh react to your touch almost as much as the feel of his mouth on your bare skin. 

When he’s had enough of torturing your nipples, Josh’s mouth descends down your torso, kissing a circle around your belly button, and continues lower until he reaches the top of your leggings. He silently asks for permission with his eyes, and when you give it to him, he slips his fingers under the waistband and slides both the pants and your (very damp) underwear down your legs. The movement forces you to let go of his cock, and you mourn the loss of contact. 

You’re not upset for long, however, because, after Josh tosses your clothing to the ground, he positions himself on his stomach between your thighs, face lined up with your dripping heat. He lets out a deep groan at the sight of your exposed lower half. Teasing you, he attaches his lips to your inner thigh, kissing down it and toward your center before moving to the other side. This time, when he reaches the top of your inner thigh, he begins sucking on the skin, causing a gasp to escape your lips. He doesn’t let up until he’s left a dark purple bruise, which you’re certain will sting tomorrow and remind you of the fantasy come true that’s occurring right now. 

After he’s satisfied with the hickey, Josh pushes your thighs apart so you’re spread wide open in front of him. You see a small smirk form on his lips right before he leans forward and licks a slow stripe up your slit. As soon as his tongue touches your clit, your back arches off the mattress and a quiet whimper sounds from your mouth. He grins against you at your response and repeats the gesture multiple times in quick succession. When he adds his fingers to the mix, one gently probing your entrance while his tongue’s attention stays on your clit, your hands fly to his head and clutch his curls in bliss. 

He continues licking and sucking your bundle of nerves in perfect time with the thrust of his fingers until you’re panting and absolutely desperate for more. You know he’s also craving more, because he’s begun grinding his hips into the mattress in dire need of friction. 

Giving his curls a small tug, you watch as he lifts his head and darts his tongue out to lick your wetness off his lips. He stares back, waiting for a queue from you on what you want next.

Once you catch your breath, you pull him up for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips, then practically beg, “Josh, I really, really need you to fuck me right now. Please.”

Not wasting a second, Josh scurries off the bed and speedily removes his pants, his rigid cock springing free from its confines. You shamelessly stare as he strolls over to his nightstand and retrieves a condom, then kneels next to your body on the mattress. 

It’s in this moment that it dawns on you that you’re about to sleep with the boy you’ve had a crush on for months now. The thought makes your stomach do a flip-flop in your abdomen. You allow yourself to hope that something else may bloom from this, that this isn’t the last time you’ll be naked in Josh Kiszka’s bed.

Once Josh has finished putting on the condom, he nudges his way back between your legs and leans forward so that your body is supporting most of his weight. You delight in the feel of his naked form crushing yours. Holding himself up with one hand on the mattress, he reconnects your lips and licks into your mouth, giving you the most sensual kiss yet. As he kisses you, he reaches down and grabs hold of himself, tapping your clit with the tip of his dick and making you let out a soft moan.

Lips breaking away from yours, Josh looks you directly in the eye and asks, “Are you sure?”

Appreciating his need for explicit consent, you smile at him and wind your arms around the back of his neck. Playing with the curls there, you reply, “Yes, definitely,” and pull him down so you can busy your lips on his neck. 

While you’re sucking your own hickey onto his skin, he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in until you can feel his balls against your ass. You mewl against his neck at the feeling of fullness and fist the comforter in your hands. He feels so good you could cry.

Once he’s fully seated in you, Josh blows out a shaky breath, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head. He stays still for a moment, giving you some time to adjust to his length, before pulling out slightly and thrusting back into your heat. His rhythm is slow at first, but you don’t mind since it gives you some time to just feel him. And he appears to be enjoying himself, if his eyes being clamped shut and his mouth wide open is any indication.

When he does decide to pick up the pace, the noises your bodies make as he slips in and out of you amplify. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it hot. Looking down to where you are connected intensifies the experience even more, the sight of your slick all over his cock and in his pubic hair making you clench around him.

Josh groans at the sudden tightness and follows your line of sight. “Holy shit, you’re so wet. Oh my god,” he whimpers. Then, he drags the fingers of his right hand down your body, runs them through your wetness, and begins massaging your clit. 

You’re on cloud nine, and you never want to leave. You truly didn’t know sex could be this fantastic. Josh is attending to your every need like no one else has before, and you’re beyond happy that you made the decision to knock on his door.

His pace picks up even more and you lift your hips off the beds to meet his, thrust for thrust. Hoping to pull him in even closer, you dig your heels into his ass and use it as leverage for your thrusts. Doing this changes the angle just the smallest amount, but now there’s a delicious pressure being applied to the perfect place inside you every time Josh fills you up. This combination of his cock hitting your g-spot and his thumb on your clit has you quickly approaching climax, your face inadvertently scrunching up and your breathing becoming more labored.

Josh notices the changes in your facial expression and breathing and lowers himself to plant a kiss on your lips. Speeding up his motions on your clit, he kisses over to your ear and whispers, “That’s it, baby. Let me see what you look like when you cum.”

The words set something off inside you and you reach your peak, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly as a loud gasp leaves your lips. Eyes screwed shut, you moan out, “Josh! Fuck!” and feel yourself gush around him. Your orgasm is prolonged by Josh continuing his movements, making your legs shake and sweat bead at your forehead. The feeling is so intense, you have to swat at Josh’s hand to get him to stop petting your clit and overstimulating you.

Your orgasm has caused your pussy to clench around Josh, and you know he’s affected because his thrusts start to become more erratic. Even though you’re absolutely spent, you reach up to nibble on his ear and run your nails down his back, encouraging him to let go. He plunges into you just a few more times, and then he’s letting out a low grunt and calling out your name in a strained voice. 

Josh doesn’t pull out right away, remaining inside you while the both of you come down from your highs and catch your breath. He kisses you, slow and gentle this time, making you feel all sorts of things that it is definitely too soon for you to be feeling. When he finally pulls away, he smiles down at you, then pulls out and gets up to dispose of the condom. 

He’s back a second later, flopping beside you on his bed and tossing an arm over his forehead. Still grinning, he turns to you and says, “God, that was so hot. Definitely better than I imagined.”

A contented hum sounds from your lips. “Yeah? I’m glad. You can go ahead and add that to your spank bank.”

Josh chuckles at your joke, then extends his hand to play with your hair. Looking at him now, you know that you can’t allow this to be your last time together, and so, you decide to make a little confession of your own.

“I think about you, too, sometimes. When I- when I touch myself, I think about you, too.” 

Josh looks surprised for only a second, and then a light giggle leaves his mouth. 

“Do you happen to own a vibrator, Y/N?” he questions, a smirk etched on his face. 

Cheeks burning, you look away in embarrassment, but still confirm his suspicions with a small, “Yes.”

At your answer, Josh’s face lights up in a full blown grin and he drapes his body over you once more, lips hovering over yours. With a mischievous gleam in his eye, he playfully jests, “You know, thin walls go both ways. The sound of small appliances, say, vibrators, travels pretty easily. And it sounds like yours gets quite a bit of use.”

You know it’s stupid to feel embarrassed, since you’re naked in his bed, but you can’t help averting your eyes from his.

Now giggling at your awkwardness, Josh taps your nose with his to get you to look at him again. “Hey,” he laughs, “Next time you’re thinking of whipping that vibrator out, you can just come see me instead. I’ll take care of you.”

Laughing along with him, you jokingly whisper back, “I’ll keep that in mind,” and seal your lips to his, feeling unusually grateful that you were given such a noisy neighbor.

[mage-parivir]

Lore question!

Among the four magic branches, which one is the most commonly used? Also how common is magic and mages in your world? Also among the four is there any particular magic type that is harder to learn and do than the others?

Thank you so much for this ask! Not only does it give me the opportunity to talk about stuff I haven’t been able to showcase in the demo, but it also deepened my own understanding of the universe.

Big nerdy rant ahead!

On the rarity of magic branches

There are actually five branches of magic commonly used in Arvanand: Alchemy, Thaum, Enchantment, Spiritism, and Theurgy. Theurgy (aka healing magic) is a branch that’s exclusive to devotees of the Jovian Church, however, so MC doesn’t have access to it.

Among the 5, the rarest is definitely Spiritism. It has a long and troubled history with the Jovian Church (and therefore state authorities, as the Church wields significant influence politically, especially in Param). Spiritism has its roots in the (largely extinct) school of Necromancy, which the Jovian Church brands as a subjugation and desecration of the dead; it is only recently that a Salantir noble was able to exhibit that certain Necromancy techniques are collaborative in nature, with the spirits consenting to being commanded by the caster. The spells under this category were codified under the school of Spiritism, which is one the Church grudgingly sanctioned.

It being the case that the ban was lifted a mere 15 years ago, textbooks on Spiritism and basic understanding thereof is very limited. Hence, practitioners are few and far between!

The second rarest school is Theurgy, due to its exclusivity. The highest levels of the art are available only to clergymen/women of the Jovian Church, and even for the lower levels, individuals seeking to learn theurgy must go to training centers in Param’s biggest churches and demonstrate an appropriate level of faith.

Thaum is the most popular of the bunch: one, because its underlying principles and theorems are easiest to understand, and two, because it’s the easiest to apply to practical use (i.e. combat). The two other branches see roughly the same amount of usage!

Lastly, of course, we have arcana, which can produce essentially any kind of magical effect imaginable. The catch is that arcana is directly tied to several rare bloodlines, making it an extremely elusive art. Additionally, each arcanist only has access to a very small portion of the arcana ‘library’, so to speak

On the rarity of mages

Everyone has some potential for magic, but for most people that only means that if they devote the rest of their life to the pursuit of magic, they may be able to light a fire in their palm when they’ve got one foot in the grave. Hardly a wise investment. People with enough magical potential to meaningfully use it in combat (i.e. Saine’s blinking, which is powered by mana) make up perhaps 30% of the population. Meanwhile, the ones who can become mages (those whose potentials are strong enough to justify them exclusively using magic in combat), make up around 2%.

Potential for magic is largely a hereditary trait, meaning that you are more likely to exhibit strong talents for it if your parents are much the same way. As a consequence of this, magical talents are unevenly spread across Arvanand’s ethnic groups; it is most likely to manifest in Arcadian genes, then Salantir, then Yotai, and lastly Parami. This makes the MC a particularly valuable asset to the Parami court!

On the difficulty of learning certain branches

I’ve largely broached this topic under the first discussion, so a quick summary:

- Spiritism is difficult to learn due to less access to resources (with the ban on its practice being lifted only 15 years ago)

- Theurgy is difficult to learn due to the exclusive nature of its dissemination, though how difficult it is to actually sit down and learn it is unknowable without actually undergoing initiation. The Jovian Church is notoriously opaque on the subject.

- Thaum is easiest to learn: it sees the most demand by mages, and so has the most amount of literature and resources built around it. The underlying theorems are also easiest to understand: you pick an element, pour mana into it, and make sure the mana doesn’t go haywire. The more mana you pour in, the stronger the thaum becomes, but also the more difficult it is to control. The art reveals its complexities the deeper you delve into it, but building a serviceable base of thaum spells is reasonably easier in comparison to other branches.

- Enchantment is second-easiest to learn. Though the school’s underlying principles are essentially the same as thaum, the process of differentiating the types of enchantment is more difficult than its counterpart in thaum (i.e. picking an element). This is because the nature of the spell’s impact is significantly different from enchantment to enchantment, whereas thaum is always designed to damage. It’s also far more difficult to use as a standalone art in combat (vs thaum), and so not many chooses to specialize in it unless they’re confident they can work within parties for the rest of their career. This means less research and resources for upstart enchanters to fall back on!

- With alchemy you need to understand the countless permutations of which ingredients to use, how much of it to use, how do you layer it with other ingredients--in order to achieve the desired effect. As such, it is technically the hardest to learn, but it is far more accessible and has more resources backing it up than Theurgy and Spiritism.

Phew, that was a mouthful! Again, many thanks for the ask, anon. This was a delightful exercise in lorebuilding. :)

[hankwritten]

Quodlibet

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for ImSorry, College

“How do you even know this guy anyway?” Jeremy asked, leaning over Jane’s back in such a intrusive distillation of his character that this particular instant could have come from any singular moment throughout the semester, right down to the mortal threat to Jane’s class project.

“Watch it, Buster! You are dangerously close to causing the greatest second dolphin extinction event since the invention of the six-pack!”

Trying to dislodge his suitemate, Jane threw his shoulder, pushing Jeremy and his grasping arms backwards and away from the fragile, pseudo-aquatic diorama.

Jeremy slid down Jane’s spine. “Fine, jeez, I wasn’t going to squish your bath toys.” He went boneless just long enough to reach the floor, then promptly popped to his feet and began looking at the aquarium from the other side. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don't know what you mean by ‘this guy’,” Jane grumbled. “This is clearly a diorama. Not a guy.”

“The guy, man,” Scout nagged, and Jane could already feel the migraine coming on. Jeremy was actually the human embodiment of head pains, to the point where sometimes Jane wondered if he had escaped from a lab that had been trying to bio-engineer the most aggravating person in existence. “This guy that’s making you go wackadoo and put like ten times more effort into a freaking GED project than anyone ever should.”

“This has nothing to do with him.” Jane put an aggressive amount of glue on his last dolphin.

“Right, sure,” Jeremy snickered. “But as soon as I said ‘guy you have a weird rivalry with’ you immediately jumped to him.” When Jane grit his teeth, Jeremy laughed again. “So what is it with you two? You didn’t get the urge to start tearing each other’s intellectual dicks off just because of some Economics of Marine Biology class, right?”

“Applied Oceanography,” Jane corrected, pointedly not looking up.

“C’mon pally, you know what I meant-”

“Hrrn nn brrdaa”

The voice of their third and final suitemate spoke up from a nearby beanbag chair, where its owner was trying to ignite a textbook with a lighter.

Jeremy looked to them, then to Jane. “Really? He plays for the Brawlers too?”

“Yes,” Jane snarled. “Mystery solved. The new power guard is in my oceanography class, and now you will shut your trap, shortstop, so that I can proceed to kick his ass in diorama making and prove that I am the superior guard.”

“That ain’t exactly a perfect chain of events, but you do you pally.” Jeremy pulled to the far end of the couch, drawing his legs into a fold. “Ain’t like, you supposed to develop deep-seated rivalries with players from other schools? Not your own?”

“If you met him, you would understand.” Jane placed some cherry bombs at the bottom of the glass tank. “Plus, he-...” Swallowing his fury, he said, “he got me moved to small guard.”

“To- what?”

“Hurmm umma,” their third put in helpfully.

Jeremy absorbed this for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Oh, oh man. There’s literally a position called small guard? That’s- that’s fucking hilarious you gotta admit.”

“I have to admit no such thing!” Jane rounded on him, diverting his attention from his precious project for the first time in over three hours. “I used to be power guard! Then some one-eyed, Scottish, lay-about, freshman comes in and thinks he can take my spot? This is betrayal of the highest order! A perversion of our constitution!”

“Mrra hudda.”

“I do not care if small guard is ‘technically a step up’,” Jane huffed. “Power guard is further to the front. That makes it better.”

“Basketball’s for chumps anyway,” Jeremy said, apparently having derived all the entertainment he’d wanted from the conversation, laying until he could reach his arms behind his head and dropping his legs in Jane’s lap. “You should try out for a real sport. But hey! Hope your little fish tank fills your inadequacy or whatever.”

“Oh it will.” Jane lowered his face to the glass, breath fogging and obscuring the magnum opus within. “It will.”

#

“And here you will see what happens when America finally colonizes the ocean!” Jane said to the drooling, glassy eyes of an 8am class.

They were significantly less slumberous when he threw a final cherry bomb into his demonstration, causing a chain reaction as dozens of ‘fireworks’ went off under the ocean, celebrating America’s eventual conquest. To really send the message home, he pulled the ripcord in the back, dropping a miniature stars and stripes behind the tank.

“Oorah!” he concluded.

“...Thank you Mister Doe,” the professor said. “Your time allotted for presenting is up.”

He turned and gave her a big thumbs up.

While some staff at Teufort U insisted you call them by their first names, this professor was not one of them, and it was rumored that the TA who had once dared to call her ‘Helen’ in front of her students was never seen again. However, no one could be that much of a hardass all the time; Jane was confident his project had just blown her out of the water (pun intended.)

She eyed his thumbs up with her perpetually sour face. “...That means return to your seat, Mister Doe.”

Jane picked up his aquarium and strolled jauntily back to his desk.

His good mood dissipated as soon as Tavish was announced as the next presenter. The usurper pulled his aquarium in on a cart, a sheet draped over to allow for a dramatic reveal. Dammit. Jane should have thought about dramatic reveals.

Tavish grinned at his audience, whisking away the blanket with a flourish.

“Behold!” he declared. “You’ve heard of desalination to deal with the oncoming global water shortages, but my proposal is this: a complete and total refinement. Salt water? Pah! Whiskey oceans are where it’s at.”

The tanked sloshed, full of something clearly scrumpy or scrumpy adjacent. Within the alcohol floated an awfully realistic looking octopus, expertly crafted and swishing with the tank’s movements. An eyepatch covered its left side.

“With the addition of boozed-based life forms of course, for an entirely new ecosystem.”

Jane curled his lip. Damn. He was good.

“...Mister DeGroot,” the professor said, “might I remind you that this is an alcohol free campus, regardless of any student’s legal status to drink? And, even without that, you are not currently twenty-one years of age?”

“Drinking age is sixteen in Scotland, Ma’am.”

“Sit, DeGroot.”

Tavish sat. He shot Jane a smug grin. Jane scowled.

“That concludes our presentations for today.” If the professor’s voice got any more disappointed, she could have been a ringer for a Badlands Brawlers fan. “As you know, the diorama that scores the highest marks will receive extra credit toward our upcoming final exam. I use the remainder of the class time to grade, and announce the winner shortly. Please return on the bell if you wish to receive those extra credits.”

The ‘bell’, unlike those rinky dinky little red bowl things they had in high school, was actually a proper bell tower, situated over the science building and able to be heard anywhere on campus. This was where Jane retreated to wait out his nerves, pacing around the semi-enclosed area and mulling over his chances. Fine, Tavish’s had been good. He was used to Tavish being good, the bastard, but Jane’s was better, and this time he was going to mop the floor with him.

“I am going to mop the floor with you!” he declared to the heavens.

“Not with that sad display you won’t.”

Jane jumped. A quiet moment of solitude foiled, besieged by his mortal enemy who’d somehow snuck up on him in order to lean cockily against the door to the stairs.

“My display was anything but sad.” Jane shook his fist. “It was joyous! Victorious! Other words that mean not sad!” When Tavish continued to smirk at him, he added, “plus, your idea is bad anyway.”

“Aye?” Tavish challenged. “How so?”

Dammit. Jane hadn’t thought this far. Replacing the oceans with whiskey really did seem foolproof...except…

“If there is no more water, then you can’t make other type of booze either!” he declared triumphantly.

Tavish jaw clenched. Ha! Good. Let him get angry for once.

He walked over and got right in Jane’s face. “Well what about you? How are you going to light off the fireworks underwater?”

“Oil, salt, and various temperature and pressure difference!” Jane didn’t like the other man in his space, and gave him a shove. They were always doing that to each other during practice, blocking and shoulder-checking harder than necessary, doing things that would certainly be penalties in an actual game.

“Who cares?” Tavish shoved him back. “No one’s going to see them anyway.”

Jane grabbed him by the front of the shirt and shouted, “the dolphins will! You would know that if YOU HAD BEEN PAYING ATTENTION.”

One, dangling, aggravating second stretched on, catching friction as they pressed noses and breathed heavy with the effort. Then they reacted simultaneously, lunging forward and attacking each other in mouth to mouth combat.

Jane growled furiously, trying to gain the upper hand, but Tavish was just as motivated not to let him get it. The pair of them sucked at each other’s faces, mastication muscles competing for this year’s WWE championship belt, crashing against the nearest half-wall surrounding the roof. A more wary observer might have worried about them careening over the edge, but Tavish and Jane had more pressing things on their minds. (And ‘more pressing’ was exactly how they were going to resolve it.) Just a whole mismatched ball of absolute frustration as they worked out several months of pent-up attraction.

Their combined rage might have carried them to hell and back, had the bell not struck 9am at that exact moment.

They both screamed, trying desperately to cover their ears as they hundred and fifty year old bell GONGED above them, rattling teeth inside skulls and causing tears to spring to their eyes.

“God! Why don’t they have a warning sign up? Bloody hell!” Tavish moaned, having found his way to the floor and using his beanie to futilely cover his head.

“What???” Jane, who already didn’t have a good ear at the best of times, worried briefly that he’d finally gone deaf.

“What?” Tavish asked. “I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.”

“What?”

This went on for several minutes, the two men lying on the floor of the bell tower.

When they finally staggered down to class, it was in a terribly haggard state, and new bruises around their mouths.

“Hello professor,” Tavish, the least winded of them, declared. “It’s alright, you can tell us which one was the winner now. We’ve worked out our differences, and determined to let the best man win.”

“The best man will be me, but yeah what he said!” Jane put in.

“If you’re going for flashy, maybe, but on sheer sustainability-”

“No one’s going to eat alcohol-based sushi, cyclops-”

“Enough,” the professor cut in. “Neither of you won the extra credit points.”

“What?” Tavish gaped. “But ours were the best out of anyone’s! How could we possibly lose?”

“The assignment,” she said in a clipped voice that spoke of years of dealing with the exact idiots that Teufort tended to attract, “was to create a physical display of algae chemical reactions at different levels of light and pressure as found in the oceanic zones. Not only did you not win, you have failed this project. Now, since I have a lecture in Hale Hall in fifteen minutes, I suggest you both move out of my way, otherwise you will not have the chance to recuperate those points on the final exam. Goodbye gentleman.”

She stripped the last of the grading notes off her desk, shoved them into a manila folder, and disappeared out the door.

Tavish and Jane watched her go. The minutes ticked by on the wall mounted analog clock, which probably could have told them the time just as well as the giant bell that had nearly deafened them.

“Hey,” Tavish said, elbowing Jane in the side. “I got to take Basic Intergluteal Numismatics next semester.”

“...Yeah? And?”

“Bet I can solve systematic inflation before you can.”

“Oh, you’re on son.”

[one-boring-person]

Only Traitors Consort With The Damned. (Part Ten)

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: blood, mentioned death, injury, gun violence

Context: The SRS have finally arrived, in time for Halloween.

A/N: This is a little bit late, but it's slightly Halloween themed, so I hope that it's still alright! Spot the reference I "accidentally" left in there😉😅

Masterlist

Eerie music plays from hidden speakers as the costumed crowd ambles by, children screaming and laughing as scare actors jump out at them, the variety of zombies, witches and mummies, not to mention vampires, too, astounding, movie characters and even some book characters making appearances around every turn, familiar and unfamiliar lines being spoken to cheerful bypassers. Painted masks and faces litter the mixed throng of people, the twinkling, orange-cast lights throwing the crevices of each visage into sharper definition, ghoulish grins becoming longer, twisted grimaces becoming even more painful, the many slashers roaming the Boardwalk now covered in a blacker blood than before, each fake knife, axe and machete lathered in the stuff. A sickly sweet odour lingers in the air as sweets and chocolate are passed around, often accompanied by a smoking joint, or sachet of some other high-class substance, the strong reek of sweat providing an unpleasant undertone as the stifling costumes heat their wearers despite the late October chill.

As a child, I used to love Halloween. There was always something enchanting about it: you could become anything, or anyone you wanted for the night, and no one would question you on your choice, or look at you oddly because everyone was doing the same. A cheery atmosphere always seemed to hang over the annual event, the leading pumpkins that glittered along the streets and the creative decorations building up the necessary excitement over the weeks before the 31st; a fun game of mine had been to run down the streets of my hometown and count every pumpkin we could see, separately, and see who had the highest tally at the end of the day. Once the winner had been decided, they'd get first dibs on the treats handed to us at each door when we later went Trick-Or-Treating, a rule which drew many arguments to the table when we eventually compiled our loot.

Now, as I watch the roaming children, all I can think of is how easy it is for the supernatural to wreck havoc on this night, given that the spiritual veil is much thinner than usual, and no one suspects anyone of the authenticity of their outfit until it's too late. On his night, the SRS always have their hands full, meaning everyone is deployed, not just the normal Hunters: the retired Soldiers still capable of fighting, Clean-Up teams and A.R.O (Aftermath Recon Operatives) Soldiers all made to help out with the bloody massacres that occur all over the country. The holiday has a morbid side that no one sees, and there's always a high body count the next morning.

Beside me, Marko pushes and shoves at people that come too close, the vampire loudly criticizing any costume made to look like his species, his "improvements" just a little too specific to be joking ones, not quite realising that I'm not listening to him. Instead, I'm scanning the crowds, looking out for the tell tale uniform and tactics used by the SRS Clean-Up teams, eyeing any suspicious person keenly until they prove to me they aren't a threat, often earning me harsh stares from their companions. The two of us look out of place in our "normal" clothing, neither of us dressing up, as we forgot that it was, in fact, the 31st, meaning a costume would've provided a good disguise in case we do come across any dangers. Even as we walk, I bite at my lip, feeling very exposed in my current state, my fists clenching at my sides as I try to stop myself from fidgeting too much, knowing that a nervous disposition is a great disadvantage in a fight, should one break out.

"Hey can we get something to eat? I kinda want some food." Marko suddenly asks me, not waiting for my reply as he pulls me over to a nearby sweet stand, the vampire excited by the prospect of buying the sugary treats.

Uneasy, I stand and turn back to the crowd, watching each face closely, my gut starting to feel odd as I notice something odd about a certain few members of the crowd. Eyes widening in realisation, I grab the back of Marko's coat and drag him away from the stand and into the alley behind it, ignoring his protests as I clap a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet." I command him in a low voice, giving him a warning look as I slowly take my hand away from his mouth.

"What are you doing?" He hisses at me, eyes narrowed.

"They're here." I respond, looking out at the crowd as I try to figure out what to do, thinking over my options until I notice that someone has spotted us over here; someone who I've already identified.

As I watch, they start to make their way over to the stand, casually wading through the people around them as they try to look inconspicuous, though the mere sight of them makes my pulse hitch.

Thinking quickly, I grab the front of Marko's jacket and pull him closer, pressing my back to the wall as I lean closer to his face, ignoring his shocked expression.

"Kiss me, quick!" I order him, wrapping my hands around his neck as he splutters slightly.

"What?"

"Do it!" I growl, pulling him closer.

Still shocked, the vampire leans in and presses his lips to mine, carefully kissing me until I yank on his hair, silently asking him to be a little more rough, to which he responds by shoving me harder into the wall, his hands gripping my hips much tighter. Groaning slightly, I momentarily forget why we're in this situation, letting myself enjoy the rough kisses as he ravishes my mouth with his tongue, only opening my eyes again to look briefly over his shoulder at the Boardwalk, noticing that the person is no longer there. Knowing this, I let the kiss come to its natural end, before pulling away.

"Thanks..." I say, awkwardly, blushing as he reluctantly lets me go, the vampire clearly wanting more as he allows his hand to linger at my hip a little longer than necessary.

"No problem." He wipes his mouth, grinning at me as he regains his composure, "What did you need it for?"

"One of them was coming over here, and it was the first thing I could think of." I admit sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck.

"Right." Marko lifts an eyebrow, smirking, "How did you know it was one of them?"

I laugh, dryly, gesturing with my head for him to follow me back out into the crowd.

"Well, back in New Orleans, the head of the SRS realised one Halloween that our Soldiers need a disguise for this particular night, without being too conspicuous, so that they fit in but can also be recognised by each other. She decided that the mask of a plague doctor would be fitting. She said it works for us, because we're ridding the world of a "plague", just as they were." I roll my eyes, "Obviosuly, this makes them very easy for me to spot them, seeing as I used to dress up the same way."

"Oh, right." Marko nods, understandingly, evidently sending some mental explanation to the rest of the vampires, who are stationed around the Boardwalk.

"You can tell them apart, because they have a golden cross engraved just below the right eye on the mask, so we don't get mixed up with others." I clarify for him.

"Good to know." He frowns, "Did you say she decided? As in the head of the SRS is a girl?"

I nod, a little annoyed by the question, but knowing where he's coming from.

"Yep. Her name is Valentine Fletcher. She's the best fighter we've ever had and has the largest body count of all. Not even the Generals around the world come close to her efficiency, she's just too good. I've met her once, and she was also one of the most stuck-up princesses I've ever come across."

"I guess that's why she's the leader, then." Marko chuckles, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

"Excuse me." An unfamiliar voice interrupts us, a hand placing itself firmly on my shoulder as I turn around to face the person. My heart drops as I take in the eerie black beak-shaped mask, the golden cross glittering under the right eye as they catch the lights, the cloaked figure keeping a strong grip on my arm.

"Can I help you?" I ask, getting ready to run as Marko notices the cross, too.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could come with me." The Soldier says, though the tone in her voice is much more demanding, informing me that there is, in fact, no choice.

"I'd rather not." Without a second thought, I slam my arm into her elbow, snapping it inwards as she lets out a surprised cry, allwoig me time to duck under her and and push past her, sprinting away into the crowd with Marko hot on my heels.

Five loud gunshots sound behind us, the Soldier having shot at us with a hidden gun through the crowd, screams and shouts of fear and panic suddenly tearing through the air as the atmosphere suddenly becomes too real, the bullets smashing into the ground behind the two of us terrifying the costumed Boardwalk-goers. Instantly, the crowd around us starts pushing and shoving each other, the heaving current of people now pushing us along as they scramble to get to safety, arms flailing and legs kicking as they go, slowing our progress significantly. Growling in frustration, I pull Marko to the side, intending to reach the alley again, wincing when there are two more shots behind us, though I make it to safety without a scratch. It's only when I hear Marko's laboured breathing that I realise he wasn't so lucky.

"Shit, Marko, are you going to be alright? Can you keep moving?" I ask him, being to figure out where he was shot as he starts to sway on his feet, eyes drooping closed as the pain starts to eat away at him. Grimacing, I swiftly scan the area, spotting a large bin a little way away, which I drag him over to.

"Get in there and close the lid, you'll be safe." I tell him, opening it and giving him a leg up into the reeking interior, helping him settle as quickly as I can, before I go to move again, "I'll be back."

With one last look at him, I firmly shut the lid and start running down the alley, taking as many winding corners as I can, hoping to throw them off as I start to hear pounding footsteps behind me, shouts and calls seemingly coming from everywhere as I start to breathe harder, my pulse pounding in my ears. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, giving me the speed I need to get away from my pursuer, the air rushing harshly into my throat as I turn down another backroad.

A sudden gunshot, followed by a spike of agony in the back of my knee brings me to the floor, my body crashing into a discarded car as it rolls awkwardly to a halt, groans of pain swiftly starting to leave me. Gripping at the new wound on my leg, I try to force myself upright again, only to be kicked back to the ground again by a cloaked figure, who keeps kicking until I'm cowering on the ground, blood pouring down my face. When they are finished, they reach down and force me into a standing position, half-dragging me out of the alley and to the car park conveniently placed by the mouth of the road, where a circle of similarly clad people are waiting, the forms of three kneeling people visible in the dim light of the streetlights. Pulling me over to them, my attacker throws me to the ground in the centre of the circle, manhandling me onto my knees, drawing a small cry of pain from me.

Looking around at the three kneeling people, I feel my heart stop as I instantly recognise them: David, Dwayne and Paul, the three of them bloodied and beaten, burn marks littering their faces from the holy water that was most likely used on them. Horror and guilt flood me as I see them, David's head coming up so he can make eye contact with me, his blue eyes filled with hate and anger.

"Are we all here now?" Someone asks, their voice unfamiliar to me.

"No, there is one more." A voice calls from a little way away, Marko soon being forced onto his knees beside Paul as he is dragged into the light. The vampire is pale now, dark circles appearing under his eyes as his vampiric features break through, his body trying to keep itself from shutting down as he slowly bleeds out, the bullet wounds still oozing the crimson stuff out onto his shirt.

"Ok, that's everyone, we can get started." The person speaks again, this time sounding more decisive.

"(Y/n) (Y/l/n), you have been arrested for conspiring with the enemy, and for shooting a senior officer, willingly, instead of a vampire that was held hostage. Do you accept these charges?" Someone else says, the voice somewhat familiar, though I don't remember where from.

Knowing it is pointless to resist, I lower my head to my chest and reply.

"I do."

"And you are aware of the punishments that these crimes bring upon you?"

"I am."

"And they are?"

I take a deep breath, my muscles tense as I try to ignore the pain in my body.

"Execution on the sight of capture." I recite robotically, knowing them well.

"Good, you remember some form of honour." They sneer, before addressing the rest of the gathered Soldiers, "Are there any volunteers among us who would like to carry out the deed?"

"I do." My blood runs cold at the sound of the voice, my head lifting to look up at the Hunter that has stepped forwards.

"Elijah Forsyth, you wish to perform the necessary execution of (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?" The first speaker questions, confirming the name to me even as they take off their mask.

Instantly, the cold blue eyes lock with mine, the dark-haired Hunter giving me a poisonous look as he limps over to me.

"I do."

"Then it shall be so. Do what you must."

With those words, Elijah steps over to me, drawing a gun from his belt and cocking it deliberately, maintaining eye contact as he lowers it to my forehead.

As the weapon is brought to my skin, I keep my chin up, refusing to feel bad about the actions that brought me here in the first place. Without a word, I accept the fate that will befall me.

Part Eleven

[crystalelemental]

I have 20 minutes before I have to feed the cat and get started on these courses that finally allowed me access, so let’s take a moment to talk about my good friend Thracia 776.

I made it through Chapter 5, and got both sidequest chapters along the way.  So that’s fun.  I decided to play on Paragon mode, because I don’t give a shit about challenge, I’m here to try and enjoy the experience for a game whose story I actually really like.

Currently, Leif is doing pretty well, mostly seems to do great with strength and speed, but his skill is bad and I don’t think he’s gained any build so that’s fun.  I think Macha’s been the most unprecedented hero so far.  She’s had two 6 point levels.  That’s really good.  Brighton’s had mostly 1 point levels so he’s not doing so hot.  Asbel seems super magic screwed, he still only has like 4 magic at level 7.  Not looking forward to that long-term.  Tanya actually got some fantastic levels too, including a lot of extra strength, so I’ll be doing my damnedest to get her back.

Chapters 1-3 remain pretty enjoyable.  Moreso now that I understand capturing as a mechanic and how to do that effectively.  A big issue before was not knowing how to set up a good capture, but now that I’m in the swing of it...I kinda like this feature?  Like it’s kinda cool.  Only kinda, though.  And the “only kinda” part kicks in as soon as you hit Chapter 4, where everything starts breaking down, but I’ll get to that.

I’m currently playing with the Lil Munster patch, which also allows me to see the hidden skills for units.  Such as Miracle+ on Eyvel, which just literally prevents her from ever dying.  I did not know that was a thing, and let me tell you, everything going on with Chapter 5′s pitfighters is suddenly a lot less bullshit.  Yes, you can argue all you want that it increases the tension when you don’t know it’s there, but also fuck that.

Chapter 4 is really where I think I’m going to start complaining.  Which is funny because on a second playthrough?  This is actually a pretty fun chapter.  You know, mostly.  Facilitating the escape of the civilians was pretty simple and fun, and it honestly helped out Karin the most, since she wasn’t particularly threatened by a guard holding a captive.  I was also pleasantly surprised at how engaging that map managed to be in terms of just...gathering Vulneraries.  Like, looking at it, I expected a disaster, but judicious use of the thieves and maybe a capture here and there actually nets you enough to equip everyone with a full vulnerary.

Until the trouble.  Let me be frank: I am always one for soft resetting when a character dies, and I’m trying to break myself of that particular habit a bit.  It’s not that I want to not care about characters, so much as recognizing that some characters I don’t give a shit about so why reset everyone else for them?  I play a quick run of Shadow Dragon before this, and just let people die, and honestly it was a lot more engaging when you’re not resetting for stupid things.  But there was one unit who causes two of the three resets, because I couldn’t afford to lose him.  Julian.  I couldn’t just lose the thief and that utility.  Resets occur not because of character love, but because you cannot give up the utility presented.

I feel like that’s part of early Thracia’s problem.  Chapters 1-3, it’s pretty easy to keep everyone alive, especially with Eyvel being actually invincible, and having three super units in Eyvel, Dagdar, and Finn.  If you got the Vouge and the Brave Axe, Osian and Halvan are actually ridiculous too.  But once you hit Chapter 4, things feel like they change to a level that’s a bit absurd?  If you didn’t successfully set up recruitment of Dalsin, I kinda feel like Chapter 4 and 4x are just impossible.  The only way to damage these armor knights are Leif’s Light Brand at range, and Dalsin’s axe.  Pretty much everyone else is dealing about 2 damage, and hoping for a crit, with none of them having the B-rank swords to make use of Armorslayer.  So the chokepoint strategy to the north feels decisively impossible because of how much damage you take, how little you deal in response, and how hard it is to actually break through and take out the mages when their numbers dwindle.  Not to mention one less unit means you have less defense against the soldier reinforcements, and it’s that much harder to protect your thieves.  Which, actually, speaking of: Thieves plural.  Which requires you actually got Lithis.  You probably did, his condition is super easy to achieve.  But.  My recollection is that the original version of this game didn’t give you little icons to tell you when people could talk to one another.  So unless you just figured out that Leif can talk to Eyvel (but not the other way around, that’s too much), you’d miss the hint about “Just catch him and hold onto him.”  At which point I feel it is fair to say people might release him after taking his stuff.  And then you only have one thief.  Which is.  Not great.  And slows down that prison escape significantly.

Then there’s 4x, where you really need 4 strong frontliners to block off attacks, and if you don’t have Dalsin I honestly feel like you’re just hosed, both in terms of taking too much damage, and having too few units to deal with the mages.  I’m not going to say it’s impossible to deal with, but for a putz like me it feels pretty impossible without the big tank man on deck.

Then there’s the issue of capturing.  Capturing only works if your build is higher than the opponent.  If you have a lower build, you can’t capture anyone.  Which is all well and good when you have four chunky axe bros and a cav on your side.  Then you can capture just about anything, especially with Tanya and Ronan giving you some nice chip damage to set up those easy captures.  But Chapter 4-5, you really don’t have many options.  Brighton is consistently able to capture, but Fergus isn’t.  8 build isn’t bad, but it’s not enough to capture one of the soldiers and take their vulneraries.  So if you didn’t get Dalsin, you have one guy who can consistently capture people.  One.  The thieves can steal, but Lara’s build is so low she basically can’t steal anything heavier than a vulnerary or door key, and she’s got 14HP so good luck leaving her in range of anything.  So like.  That’s fun.

Point being, some of these challenges feel distinctly impossible without save states as a result.  I think the biggest offender was admittedly an optional one: the two Loptyr mages in front of the chests in Chapter 5.  Man, those guys are fucked.  Tremendous damage output, poison, and had an absurdly high crit rate that would one-shot anyone if it hit.  I think Leif was able to deny the crits with Light Brand but I’m honestly not sure.  The fact you had to deal with two of them, or risk Leif having to chip them 3 damage at a time at range, was kind of a problem.  That’s the kind of thing where I don’t really know how you’re supposed to manage that, and save states feel incredibly necessary if you’re going to stand a chance.  Granted, this is optional, you can escape and just leave those chests.  But this isn’t the only situation I can think of where the game just plays stupid, and usually the stupid is with mages, because magic is resistance and no one has any.  Except Karin, who is delightfully too weak to actually KO a mage in response.  So that helps.  Situations across Chapters 4-5 have been difficult, because of the presence of magical hits that can 2-shot people if they connect, and a lot of situations feel like you’re desperately hoping for a particular attack to connect so you don’t start losing people left and right.  And then the attack misses anyway because 100% accuracy doesn’t exist, and whoops now you’re gone.

Despite that, I’m still enjoying this more than my first time through.  Maybe it’s familiarity with the game and its mechanics, but I do feel like being able to clear Chapter 4 without screaming is a good indicator that maybe it’s not as bad as I remembered.  We’ll see though, there’s much worse to come.

[bigskydreaming]

The multiverse trip trope, with the canon Batfam ending up in a No Capes AU, where their counterparts, being equally hyper-competent but having no secret identities to hide or vigilantism as the primary focus for channeling their energies into....are equally ridiculous to all vigilante versions of the Batfam, but in vastly different ways.

With no need to hide his athletic abilities or to try and distance himself from immediate association with his past acrobatics, Dick focuses his time and efforts on gymnastics after Bruce takes him in. He’s an Olympic gold medalist before he’s twenty, hailed for practically reinventing the nature of high-bar routines thanks to his innovative ways of melding elements of his former acrobatics with his gymnastics regimens. 

Because of his many medals and natural charisma, he’s also a highly sought after brand face, asked to endorse or act as a spokesmodel for all kinds of things. He takes a particular savage joy in having his revenge on society as a whole, for the grief they gave him growing up, between the jokes about his circus background and ‘garish’ ensembles he patterns after his old costumes. Each year, he himself quietly seeks out talented designers who because of their backgrounds and the elitism of the high fashion world, are only able to advance so far in that industry. 

Acting as a silent investor for them with the funds from his endorsement deals, he charms his way through backroom deals and opens the necessary doors to get his designers into the high profile fashion shows that can make designers’ careers, allowing them the much needed opportunities to showcase their designs and get them out into the world and in front of potential buyers. 

But in addition to their own designs, Dick then commissions the designers he patrons, to design for him the most absurd things they can come up with. The kind of high fashion wtf’s that Ugly Betty’s wardrobe department could only dream of making, and then making into a punchline. Design for me an outfit you wouldn’t even inflict on your most hated enemy, Dick says to them.

And each year they do, and Dick models those looks personally. Then he sits back with his siblings and cackles with malevolent glee as the snobby ‘it crowds’ of his generation later turn out in droves to purchase his ‘signature looks.’ Strutting around town in imitation of the poise and charisma he pulls off effortlessly - but those, no amount of money can buy, and given they’re the only reason Dick Grayson alone can get away with wearing this stuff and still look as good as he does when doing so - well, the socialite circles inevitably end up looking utterly ridiculous. The harder they try and sell it with artificial confidence that Page Six and talk show hosts see right through, the more they get shredded to pieces with scathing jokes and headlines that put anything they ever managed to come up with to shame.

Meanwhile, the revenue from their frenzied purchases of these ‘must-have’ looks of the season? More than enough to launch the careers of Dick’s designers, right up to the A-List, where Dick leaves them to do what they want and make the most of it, with his eternal gratitude for humoring him and his rich kid eccentricities. (Not that his designers haven’t all since long figured out the joke and gotten vindication of their own out of it, as the designers and buyers who tried previously to shut them out because of their humble backgrounds, now all rush to try and rip off their more out there and high profile ‘Dick Grayson Looks’ with their own versions, over-saturating that particular market demographic just as people start catching on that these designs were always doomed to fizzle without Dick wearing them himself......leaving Dick’s designers with an open, uncluttered path right to the demographics they actually want to sell to, with the designs nobody’s attempted to imitate yet because they were too busy keeping eyes glued to Dick’s peacock ensembles).

Bruce has long since given up expecting he’ll ever understand his various children without them making an effort to translate first.....so the first time he walks in on Dick, Jason and Duke watching E! with a focus they’ve never displayed for sports, and with the coffee table covered in so many papers and flow charts and graphs, the den looks more like a War Room rather than just three of his boys watching Entertainment Tonight with frightening intensity. 

Bruce just waits in the doorway for them to notice him and arches one eyebrow when they do. Oh, there’s a point to all of this, he’s sure. But damned if he can figure out on his own just what the hell it might be.

His eldest just beams at him with his thousand watt smile.

“Love me or hate me, they all want to be me,” Dick sing-songs. Then he shrugs innocently, as though that explains it all.

It doesn’t, Bruce is fairly certain.

“Why?” He asks somewhat plaintively, after his struggle to select one of the many, many questions buzzing in his head glitches on that one syllable and refuses to budge until he at least voices that much.

“We’ve been over this, B. Its part of our Twenty Seven Step Plan to Destroy the Upper Class,” Jason says impatiently, still jotting notes in pen on one of the graphs, eyes still locked on the TV. “God, its like you never listen, I fucking swear.”

“That running joke you two had when you were in high school?” Bruce asks blankly, focusing on his two eldest. Duke is paying absolutely no attention to him any way, leaning over to cross something out on the same graph Jason’s working on, scrawling some kind of correction while Jason nods like that makes total sense in whatever bizarre arithmetic they’re all working off of.

Dick sighs in the fond manner of a parent whose child has just done something particularly endearing. “You gotta admit, its kinda cute he still thinks we’re joking when we talk about class warfare.”

“Eh,” Jason grunts noncommittally. “Benjamin Button he is not.”

“If you boys don’t mind, could you do me a favor and make sure to clarify when you’re making fun of me? I have trouble spotting the insults otherwise,” Bruce says dryly.

“But that’s what makes it fun!” Duke says, beaming with his own version of Dick’s thousand watt grin. Equal in intensity, but where Dick’s tends to burst into being all at once like a supernova, Duke’s tends to sneak up on you, slowly increasing the illumination until you realize you’re blinking spots out of your vision and it hits you that you haven’t been able to see anything but blinding luminescence for awhile now, and you don’t even know for sure how long.

“Well how about just this once, you boys take pity on me and cut your old man a break,” Bruce says, still in tones as parched as Saharan dunes. “Explain what I’m looking at here as though I’m five.”

“Christ, B, you’re not freaking geriatric,” Jason mutters. “You’re only in your forties, its way too soon for you to try and milk the senility angle.”

“We’re documenting record of public reactions to the latest fashion crimes of Gotham’s A-List,” Dick cuts off Jason, taking the aforementioned pity on his father as he provides an explanation that is in no way helpful.

Bruce squints at the screen. “But aren’t those the same outfits you wore during your Fashion Week thing last month?”

“Well yeah, but on me they look good,” Dick shrugs.

“Don’t gloat,” Jason says to his brother. “It’s tacky.”

“Facts are facts,” Dick says without a hint of apology. “Lying in the name of false modesty would be the true dishonesty.”

“Incredible. You even manage to put a pious-sounding spin on being an egotistical shit,” Jason marvels. “How do you do that?”

Dick shrugs again. “It’s a gift.”

Bruce clears his throat. “And what’s all this documentation for, anyway?”

“Dick’s book,” Duke says matter of factly. Bruce would be flattered by his children’s apparent belief he can intuitively leap from one esoteric comment straight to an epiphany like some kind of goddamn gazelle - if he weren’t still so lost.

“Dick has a book? Since when? I thought Jason was the writer in this family,” Bruce frowns. “And I’m quite certain there was a big to-do made when you were all much younger, where it was decided that each of you would focus yourself on distinct pursuits not overlapping with any other siblings’, so as not to kill each other in your inevitable quest to be number one.”

“Well first off, Dad, if you couldn’t handle a little competition between your children, you shouldn’t have adopted competitive children,” Dick lectures absently, still scribbling away at those damn pages.

“Its not like you all came labeled with future character traits,” Bruce says crankily. They ignore him.

“And secondly, upon discovering that the agreement we all signed was the end product of carefully dropped hints aimed at making us believe we all came to the table of our own volition, when in fact, they were merely the machinations of the mastermind known as our meddling father,” Jason intoned, finally looking up at Bruce to raise one eyebrow at him significantly, “the Treaty of Wayne Manor’s South Family Room circa 2012, was thus deemed by all signatories to be fruit of the poisonous tree, and subsequently rendered null and void.”

Bruce’s frown deepens. “How did you figure that out? And why are you suddenly talking like a Bond villain?”

“Well it was mostly more of a theory until just now,” Dick beams at him. Dammit. You’d think he’d know better than to walk right into things like that by now. “But Tim had a hunch pretty much from the start, except then we all ended up branching out towards different interests anyway so it didn’t seem to matter that much, and we figured why not let you keep thinking you got a win there, you know?”

“I have the most thoughtful children.” 

“We do try,” Jason hums.

“We try,” Duke snorts. “You add snarky commentary.”

“That was implied.”

Duke rolls his eyes and rolls right past that. “And Jason’s talking like that because he’s got that book tour coming up in a couple weeks, and he’s test driving new Eccentric Author Aesthetics.”

“Gotta give the people what they want,” Jason shrugs. “My fanbase expects the precociously grumpy darling of the New York literary circuit to be baffling and unpredictable, I give them baffling and unpredictable.”

“And here I thought you’d said you hated your fanbase. And rather then giving them anything, last I heard you were claiming to be withholding your sophomore manuscript just to spite them,” Bruce says. His voice is still lost and wandering in the desert, not a hint of precipitation to be found. “In fact, I distinctly recall wanting to take you out to celebrate the rave reviews of your debut novel, the week of its release. Only you were busy having a diatribe about how ridiculous the reviews were and how nobody had any business calling the barely coherent linguistic finger paintings of an emotionally stunted twenty-one year old the ‘next great American novel’ and it called the entire slate of reviews’ credibility into question as any brains capable of producing thoughts that erroneous should be required to display a count of their individual brain cells before anyone even considers viewing any thought produced by them as potentially being credible.”

“And you thought he never listens,” Duke snickers at his older brother. “Sounds like a direct quote to me.”

Jason just shrugs again, not remotely moved. “Yeah but I hate everything, so its not like that really means anything. Also, I’m full of shit. I thought everyone knew that.”

“He’s not subtle,” Dick informs Bruce.

“Subtlety’s for losers,” Jason defends himself. “Like tact.”

Bruce clears his throat again. “Back to the matter of Dick’s book?”

“Oh, right!” Dick chirps. “I have a book. Well, will have. This is research for it.”

“So you are taking up writing after all?” 

“Hah!” Jason barks out loudly. “Dick can’t write for shit. He can’t even write a thank you card, forget about a whole fucking novel.”

“Umm, I can write, I merely choose not to,” Dick sniffs pointedly. Then he rolls his eyes in disgust. “And Jesus Christ, chill, Prince Passive Aggressive. I can’t believe you’re still making such a big deal about that. Let it go already.”

He and Jason both shoot quick looks over at Duke about two seconds after Dick’s last sentence. Duke looks up just in time to catch their glances darting away again.

“Hang on, why did you both look at me, like you thought I was about to start singing that stupid song from Frozen?” Duke frowns at them suspiciously. “You guys do know that I’m not Stephanie, right?”

“Yeah but you have been hanging around her an awful lot lately, and she’s contagious,” Jason points out. Duke’s frown deepens for a moment, but then it wings out of sight and he shrugs, perfectly at ease again.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Anyway, its Dick’s tell-all book on Gotham high society,” Jason continues on. “I’ll be the one actually writing it of course. He’s just the pretty face getting slapped on the cover, but I mean, that’s the only reason people are gonna wanna buy it, so I’ll probably just phone it in anyway.”

Bruce focuses on the only part of that reveal he can handle at the moment. “Jay, you’re not remotely capable of ever phoning something in.”

“How dare you accuse me of having a work ethic. Rude and disrespectful. My reputation isn’t built to withstand that kind of slander.”

“And feel free to mock all you want, but my pretty face on that cover is what’s going to earn me my first SCPF,” Dick announces loftily.

Duke looks up. Opens his mouth. Shakes his head. Closes it. Looks back down. Sighs. Looks back up again. 

“Not that I don’t know better than to ask, but what the hell is an SCPF?”

“My version of an EGOT that I just made up while Jay was being offended by a compliment to his work ethic. Spokesmodel, cover model, print model, fashion model. The four cornerstones of the modeling world, which I will then have conquered, leaving me free to move on to other endeavors.”

Jason studies his older brother gravely. Then he shakes his head.

“Even as a complete and utter joke, that combination of words disgusts me. You make me physically nauseous sometimes, you know.”

“Another gift of mine, I suppose. I have so many,” Dick muses, leaning back and examining something on the chart he was scribbling on, as if trying to take in another angle for some no doubt ridiculous reason. Why were his children like this. 

“Before this migraine finishes settling in and pitches its tent for the night, anyone care to tell me just what exactly this tell-all will be telling?” Bruce sighs. It was never too early to start damage control when this particular combination of his kids were conspiring together.

“Oh, everything,” Dick says breezily. “Who had affairs, who embezzled from their companies, who bribed or blackmailed or bought off this or that. All kinds of juicy sordid stuff, real page turner stuff, you know? You’d think important people would do a better job of keeping high stake secrets all hush hush instead of dropping them all willy nilly at various galas over the years, but c’est la vie.”

“Its almost like there are potential hazards to condescendingly assuming the uneducated circus brat someone adopted as an obvious PR stunt, like, just can’t understand a lick of what people say around him, what with his thick foreign accent obviously conveying he just don’t know English words so good nope, nope, nopers,” Dick concludes merrily, a familiar sparkle in his eye. One that usually heralded social cataclysms to come.

“And so you’ve taken it upon yourself to warn the public of those potential hazards. Good for you, son,” Bruce says sardonically. Despite his best efforts, the corners of his lips keep tugging stubbornly upwards.

“Just trying my best to give back to the community that’s given me so much,” Dick shrugs in the closest approximation to an ‘aw shucks’ vibe that Bruce has ever seen his son manage in as long as he’s known him. Jason reaches over and smacks the back of Dick’s head.

“Hey!” The elder brother snaps back, rubbing the back of his head with wounded dignity. He glares at his smirking brother.

“My bad. I thought you were against false modesty. Just trying to help keep you honest, bro.”

Dick narrows his eyes at him. “Touche,” is all he says.

“Last question before I give up and admit defeat,” Bruce interjects before that escalates. As tends to happen in moments like the previous. With no limit to how long or how far that escalation might last. By his count, his two eldest boys were somehow still engaged in four entirely different extended, longterm feuds they seemed somehow able to treat as separate and distinct from each other, with one of those stretching all the way back a good ten years, and still no end in sight as far as anyone knew. 

How did they determine what fights would end in minutes and which warranted stretching out over a course of years? Bruce really couldn’t say. How did they manage to stop and start the same argument off and on for all that time, without letting the last-addressed state of the argument affect how they interacted when their fight was back on ‘pause’? No idea. How did they seem able to treat each different matter they fought about as its own distinct entity that had no bearing on anything outside that particular argument, with no overlap or cross-pollination as far as anyone else had ever been witness to, and why did they even bother doing so in the first place? God, Bruce dearly wishes he knew.

Unfortunately, for all that his entire horde of children often at times seem to exist on a wholly separate and private plane unreachable by the rest of humanity, Bruce’s first two children to fill the halls of Wayne Manor with laughs, screeches and occasional declarations of war and an intent to maim, dismember and murder - 

Well. They at times seemed to possess a language and extra senses unique just to them, and baffling to the entire rest of the world and their own siblings as well.

Oh well. At least Bruce could take some small comfort in Duke’s occasional glance of wary confusion, thrown towards one or both of his brothers when they weren’t looking.

“Yo, this is Planet Earth, hailing one eternally out of touch bachelor billionaire way up in the atmosphere,” Jason sharply cuts into Bruce’s distraction with a snap of his fingers. “Are you trying to milk the senility thing again? We’ve been over this. You need at least another decade of mileage before we’ll validate your senior citizen card.”

“Right.” Bruce rolls his eyes at his son, but shakes his head to clear it nevertheless. Ah, yes. “Yes. Indulge me, please. What exactly does what you’re watching have to do with Dick’s....tell-all, and how does whatever all of this is count as research?”

“Oh, we’re just keeping record of public shaming of every snobby rich jackass to buy one of the fashion monstrosities Dick wears at Fashion Week, only to then look utterly ridiculous and absurd when they try and wear it in public and everyone points and laughs,” Duke chimes in.

“I see,” Bruce says, his lips twitching again. “And this of course all ties back into class warfare and...what was it again...oh yes, the Twenty Seven Step Plan To Destroy The Upper Class?”

“That’s right,” Duke nods.

“I even know what the title is going to be already,” Dick smiles with bared teeth. “I’m going with: ‘Weapons of Choice.’“

“Of course, as I keep explaining to him, nobody gets final say on the title of their book, and there’s every chance the publisher will end up changing the title to something they pick,” Jason says with a pointed look at his brother. 

Dick’s willful obliviousness visibly deflects Jay’s arched gaze long before any point can hit and make an impact. “And as I keep explaining to him, if they try and change the title, I will simply explain to them that they are incorrect and it already has the perfect title and one can not improve upon perfection.”

Jason strangles a gutteral, incoherent growl before it can fully escape from his throat. “I want to throttle you.”

“I know,” Dick says sunnily.

“Well, as long as you’ve thought this through, which you clearly have, I have no doubt you’ll get the results you’re after,” Bruce says. Doubtfully. Though of what, he’s not entirely sure. His sanity, thinking that yes, half a dozen precocious, willful and utterly incomprehensible children, that’s the ticket, exactly what my life needs. Yes, that was probably the matter actually in doubt.

“Ugh, B, you’re not getting it,” Dick complains. He exchanges frustrated glances with his brothers. “He’s not getting it.”

“It’s not rocket science,” Jason says patiently. “Basic rule of street fighting....the most effective takedowns come from aiming at someone’s weakest point. Whenever possible, go for the throat. What’s the equivalent of the throat as far as Gotham’s upper class is considered? Public image.”

“Destroy their public image, destroy them,” Dick finishes cheerfully. “They crack, get egg on their face like the nursery rhyme says, and bam, Humpty Dumpty has a great fall and all the queen’s knights working as a team still can’t put them together again and while they’re distracted the pawns can slip past them and become queens!”

Jason stares at him. “I know what you’re doing and its not going to work.”

“What am I doing?”

“Deliberately mangling the fuck out of a bunch of different well known sayings that you know perfectly well how they really go, while doing that thing where you act like you’re the most airheaded ditz to ever live and have a brain that runs off of helium instead of oxygen like the rest of us. Because you know damn well how obnoxious that is to anyone who knows exactly how intelligent you really are and that you actually have a mind like a steel trap that remembers fucking everything, no matter how inane, which is fucking rude, because that’s wasted on you and also, stop it. I told you. Its not going to work.” 

“Oh Jay.” Dick tilts his head to the side and grins wider. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Uh huh,” Jason says, unconvinced. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing?”

“That thing where I trick you into believing I’m doing the more obvious seeming thing and then annoy you with my fake airhead routine until you end up flattering me and paying me compliments when pointing out why my airhead routine could never work on you and is thus just annoying,” Dick says brightly.

Jason’s eyebrows inch incrementally together with the slow, ominous scrape of stone grinding across stone. Dick is entirely undeterred, and simply shrugs again with a painfully fake display of innocence.

“Its dinner time and my ego needed feeding. Thanks for that bee tee dubs, it was getting hungry. Nom nom.”

“Yeah,” Jason says casually, after a good ten second pause. He nods decisively. “Okay, I’m going to murder you now.”

He lunges for his brother, but Dick’s resting pose is the equivalent of anyone else impatiently waiting at the starting block of a race. He’s up and on his feet, gracefully dancing out of range of his younger but bigger brother’s wider reach, and has darted halfway towards the other exit to the room by the time Jason finishes scrambling to his feet. Not that any of that delays the younger man from taking off in a dead sprint in pursuit of his laughing sprite of a brother the second he does. 

Bruce stares after them for a moment and then shifts his gaze down to Duke, who’s still seated contentedly on the floor, blithely unaffected by Dick and Jason’s mad dash out the room as he continues scribbling down notes.

“I will pay you all the money I have, not to grow up to be like them,” Bruce says in the gravest possible tone he can manage. “You don’t even have to wait til I’m dead.”

Duke sighs and shakes his head. “B, c’mon, man. I’m clearly on Team Class Warfare. I’m insulted you think I can be bought.”

Bruce frowns. “You all are way, way too fond of this trolling thing you do.”

“Mmm. Agree to disagree.”

[oikawa-tuwu]

Kitchen (gn!Reader x Osamu)

Rated T, 1.5k words

Not Home for the Holidays Masterlist

"Can I hide in here?"

You spend most of your time surrounded by people. Entertaining guests and providing homey hospitality is half your job after all. Therefore, you tend to relish the time you have to yourself. Cooking dinner, like you do every evening, is one of those times.

Unfortunately, it seems like one of your guests didn't get that memo.

“Can I hide in here?”

You blink. One second ago, you were alone in the kitchen, washing vegetables for dinner, but now there’s a man, tucked against the wall of the kitchen, glancing fearfully into the hallway.

“Not from the cops, I hope.”

“No,” the man says, even though the intensity wedged deep into the furrow of his eyebrows says otherwise. “My brother.”

Ah. He’s one of your guests. Now you recognize him as one of the twins that you checked in yesterday, the one that slapped his brother on the arm as you led them to their room. You never did get an explanation for the assault, but hey. Siblings.

The man in front of you shifts his feet a little, glancing back out into the hallway, and you remember that he asked a question. While you're not exactly used to having an audience while you cook, you also can't find a reason to tell him to leave, so you shrug and the man sighs, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Thanks. I’m Miya Osamu, by the way.”

“Y/n.”

Miya nods his head in greeting, sliding into one of the barstools at the end of the kitchen island. He pulls out his phone and you continue washing potatoes. It’s quiet, and a little awkward, but not unbearable.

Then, Osamu’s phone starts to ring. Well, vibrate, to be more accurate, spasming violently in Osamu’s hand, and it startles him so much that he almost drops it, before catching it in his other hand and trying to pretend like that slip never happened.

Meanwhile, the phone keeps ringing.

“Are you gonna get that?”

“Nope,” Osamu says. He flips through something on his phone, and the ringing stops, even though his phone on the counter stays lit up with the notification of an incoming call from contact name: Asshole.

“Is there a particular reason why you’re trying so hard to avoid your brother?”

Osamu scowls, and somehow scowls even harder when his phone lights up again. Incoming call from Asshole.

“It was his idea to come here as a sibling bonding vacation,” Osamu says, emphasizing that last part with unenthusiastic air quotes. “I haven’t spent this much time with him since we were in high school. I just need a second alone.”

“Sounds like you two are close.”

Osamu makes an uncommitted sound, somewhere between a grunt and a huff, and rejects the next phone call that comes in. “If you call driving each other up the wall everytime we’re in the same room as each other as close, then yeah.”

“Distance helps with that,” you say, as you pull out a cutting board for your freshly washed vegetables. “If you spend enough time apart, you’ll start to appreciate the time you can spend with each other.”

At first, Osamu doesn’t respond, just watches as you slowly begin to chip away at the mountain of vegetables you need to chop for the stew. Hesitantly, he finally asks, “Do you want help with that?”

“This is kind of what you’re paying me for,” you laugh. “Besides, no offense, but my reputation as a host is dependent on evenly cooked vegetables, so if you mess up...”

“I own a restaurant,” Osamu says, deadpan. “I don’t think I’ll fuck up chopping carrots.”

With a shrug, you get out a second cutting board and knife, sliding it across the counter. “If that’s how you want to spend your vacation.”

Osamu washes his hands, cracks his knuckles, and gets to work. He’s quick with the knife, quicker than you, so you start on the actual base of stew as he works, dicing and chopping. You're a little surprised at how... nice... it is to cook with someone else for a change, working in silence as you both attend to your tasks.

After cooking the floured beef, you add a few splashes of red wine and keep stirring. Once it's ready, you add the broth, and wait for it to come to a simmer.

Osamu, on the other hand, made quick work of the pile of potatoes, onions, and carrots and he quietly slides the pile of diced produce towards you.

“Stew?” He asks, peeking into the pot with a watchful eye.

“Yep. It’s cold outside, and this stew recipe is pretty hearty, so…”

“It’s a good idea,” Osamu says, with a quiet, fond smile. As he talks, one hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck, a strangely endearing nervous tic. “My mom used to make stew for us after we got home from spring nationals every year back in high school. It smells like her recipe.”

“Do you want to try it?” You ask, digging for a spoon in the silverware drawer. “Obviously, it's not done, but…”

Osamu accepts your offer anyways, and takes the spoon from you, closing his eyes as he lets the beef broth and wine run down his throat. “Tastes like her recipe.”

“Do you mind getting out the tableware? Bowls are in the top cupboard to the right of the sink.”

“And you sound like her, too,” Osamu grumbles, but he laughs when you do, and obediently traipses across the kitchen.

The quiet returns, briefly, but this time it's tainted, distantly, by the sound of someone yelling. Although muffled, it sounds vaguely like they’re shouting a name, so you tilt your head and listen harder to make out the syllables.

“‘Samu!” The voice yells again, significantly louder this time, as the speaker gets closer to the kitchen.

“Is that-” You start to ask, but the scowl on Osamu’s face answers your question for you. Before you can think better of it, you point to the door in the corner of the room. “You can hide in the pantry?”

Osamu blinks, and it takes him a second to process the words, but then he grins, darting into the tiny space and shutting the door just as the kitchen door opens.

“Is Osamu in here?” The other Miya asks, grinning as he leans into the kitchen. “Looks like me, except dark hair and less handsome?”

“Hm,” you hum, as you go back to stirring the stew. “No, I haven’t seen anyone like that.”

The blond Miya nods thoughtfully, but, unfortunately, doesn’t leave. Instead, he slides into the seat that had been previously occupied by Osamu, still sporting that same mischievous grin. “The name’s Atsumu.”

“Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you. You know, my brother is a chef.”

“Really?” You ask, biting your lip to keep from laughing. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah,” Atsumu continues, his smile growing. “He’s good, too. Makes the best onigiri I’ve ever eaten, which is good, because if he quit playing volleyball to do something he sucked at, I think I would have to disown him. Did I mention that? We played volleyball together. He honestly could have gone professional if he wanted to, like me, but I suppose I can forgive him since he’s so successful-”

“Miya,” you interrupt. “Are you talking up your brother to me?”

Atsumu shuts up, and has the decency to at least look a little embarrassed, as his cheeks flush a little and his grin loosens up just the tiniest bit. He rubs his neck, a gesture that you saw only a few moments earlier on his twin brother, and says, sheepishly, “You got me. But… just between you and me,” he takes a second to glance about the room, like confirming his brother wasn’t actually in the room and he just hadn’t noticed the first time, before leaning forward and stage-whispering conspiratorially, “he thought you were cute when you checked us in yesterday.”

“Did he now?”

“Uh-huh,” Atsumu says, that mischievous glint back in his eye. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

And with that, Atsumu winks, rising from his chair and leaving back through the door, giving one last wave before it closes shut behind him.

You give it a moment, but when the pantry door doesn’t open, you say, “You can come out now, Osamu.”

“I don’t want to,” comes the muffled response.

For the second time, you have to bite your lip to stop the laugh that threatens to escape. “Not even if I offer you another taste of the stew?”

Slowly, the pantry door swings open. Osamu walks out, one hand self-consciously running through his hair, not quite looking you in the eyes.

“Is it possible for you to forget everything my brother said?”

You tilt your head, a teasing lilt to your words as you ask, “You think I’m cute?”

“When you’re not conspiring with my brother,” Osamu replies, shuffling his feet in a way that could only be described as quietly self-conscious. “Then yeah. I think you’re cute.”

For some reason, the admission takes you by surprise, and your cheeks flush even though you were the one that goaded him to it in the first place.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat and looking back down at the stew. “I guess you made an effective sous chef, Miya, so if you would like to return tomorrow, I won’t complain.”

Osamu smiles, and you’re pleased to note that his eyes drift up from the floor to you, frown sliding into something more like that playful grin like his brother’s just a second ago. “I guess that depends. What’s on the menu?”

“I was thinking… onigiri. Know anyone that could help me with that?”

(A/N: Its not my favorite I've written, but it's done! Also shoutout to my mom for dealing with her daughter running into the living room and demanding she recite a stew recipe from memory. Which she did. I also posted this to AO3, so you can find the link to that on the masterlist! See you on 12/5 for Tendou's! Dw, the next ones will be more holiday/winter inspired than this one ;) )

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: “The Enemy of Trust”

Welcome to the finale, folks! A quick fun fact for you all. Total length of RWBY Recaps Volume 7 is:

68,611 words, or 115 pages single spaced. Yeesh. No wonder I never got anything else done on Saturdays.

Overall thoughts on the finale? There are pieces embedded in this episode that I really liked. Meaning, all these conflicts and reveals could be seen as truly wonderful bits of storytelling... provided you ignore the horrible, messy context it’s all situated in. For example, I greatly enjoyed that fight with Neo... provided I ignore the stupidity that was the group keeping the relic in the first place. I love the idea of Penny becoming the Winter Maiden... it’s just too bad there wasn’t any setup for that in the form of Penny’s emotional growth, either by re-bonding with Ruby or by something amounting from that frame job. I adore that Ozpin is finally back!! ...So I guess I just have to ignore how he pretty much only existed as thematic exposition and that his bad treatment by the writers hangs over his return. It’s all very “Could have been good if the rest hadn’t been so astoundingly bad.”

First though, before the plot, I wanted to dip by toe into some of the questions we went into this volume with and some of the primary ones that sprung up along the way. Simple answers are attached.

Will the group’s dangerous attitude be addressed along with the introduced hypocrisy in regards to secret keeping? Ha! Not at all. Everything was thoroughly reinforced and last we saw the group---besides generic airship shots---they were triumphantly defeating Ironwood’s evil Ace Ops. So that’s that on that.

Will Ozpin come back and will there be reconciliation with the group? Yes! But also no! Why have a volume tackling with the biggest personal conflict the group has ever faced when you could instead just have another “Ozpin speaks a handful of words during a life-and-death situation”? Yes, yes he gets that massive monologue. We’ll get to that, but suffice to say it doesn’t exactly accomplish anything. Just hammers home how desperate I am to have his character back that I’ll take anything they’re willing to give me.

How will the group handle the death of Adam---one of the most significant deaths to date next to Pyrrha’s---and how will the reveal of his brand impact Weiss and her time at home? It won’t. Blake and Yang vaguely reference him once and that’s it. Apparently killing your abuser in self-defense creates no lasting trauma we should deal with and major reveals from villains straight up don’t matter.

What will the story do with their new character Maria? Uh, nothing. She exists off screen for the entire volume, only popping up in the last second to (maybe?) help Pietro get the scrolls working again. Oh, and she’s stolen another airship.

How will Qrow’s alcoholism continue to impact the group and how will he learn to start managing his addiction? No idea because that happened off screen. And then was presumably erased when Clover died.

Will the group ever discuss the hopelessness attached to their mission and come to the realization that their fight is worthwhile even though they can’t kill Salem? Sort of...? Because yeah they come to that realization but, again, it happens off screen. More significantly, it happens so well, apparently, that the group is now willing to feed Ironwood’s own false hope (like the fandom claims Ozpin did to them) and will be able to stand in front of Salem herself and announce that she’s totally beatable. And we’re going to risk a whole Kingdom on that came-out-of-nowhere confidence.

What does the Staff of Creation do and how will our characters potentially use it in their plans against Salem? We learn that the staff keeps Atlas afloat and it’s definitely a part of Ironwood’s plans, so there’s that.

How will Ruby continue to train and improve her Silver Eye powers? In the messiest and most contradictory manner possible. We’re shown twice in the last three episodes that she can’t get them to work and then suddenly they’re working again when the plot wants Cinder to skedaddle because there’s five minutes of the episode left. Like Qrow’s semblance, Ruby’s eyes are based on a switch that the writers turn on or off depending on their whim.

What will this volume tell us about Nora given all the hype surrounding the importance of her character this season? Nothing, really. All Nora does is solidify her relationship with Ren in a non-consenting manner and yell at Ironwood about Mantle while helping to orchestrate the city’s lack of resources. Even ignoring the issues inherent in these scenes, what we “learned” about Nora this volume is that she loves Ren, is protective of those who come from a similar background as she does, and will run to hug Oscar when given the chance. So...nothing. 

Now the reason I provided this long-ass introduction is so that a) we can remember what we actually hoped/expected the volume to accomplish now that we’ve reached the end (RWBY introduces so many things that viewers---myself included---outright forget that we were supposed to tackle certain plot points or character beats) and b) to demonstrate just some of the writing problems that are impacting this finale. This is what I mean when I say that this finale could have been really solid if not for... all of that. And “that” is just a small sampling of the issues we’ve built up over the last two years. 

But on to the actual plot.

We open on Jaune yelling, “Give up!” at Neo, which isn’t a heavy-handed reflection of the entire RWBYJNR group or anything. As said though, I did really enjoy the choreography of this fight. Oscar gets that excellent moment where he catches the relic with his cane, as well as when he grabs hold of Neo’s legs to keep her from fleeing. Jaune manages to protect them with two different kinds of shields now embedded in his shield. It’s a shield-shield. And Neo herself is always a joy to watch, demonstrating so much personality as she teases her way through each attack. I was thinking throughout this scene that I’d love to see her and Tyrian fighting together. That would be an excellent blend of insane/arrogant enjoyment.

The problem is that Neo is just having such an easy time of it. Which, I should be clear, is what I wanted based on the logic of the situation. Neo should be able to kick their asses with relative ease. The only reason why this is an issue is because it severely complicates what we saw last episode. How was Oscar able to survive her attack for however long? How was he able to land such a solid punch when now Ren and Nora fly at her with the same kind of obviousness and Neo deflects them with ease? I’m thrilled that the finale gave us such a long moment with Oscar, but the series as a whole still has a problem with relegating most of his development off screen. Seeing the comparatively vulnerable farm boy face off against one of our strongest villains should have been a focus last episode, not something that happens in the ether of, “Well I guess all that worked out somehow despite Neo kicking their asses here.” It’s an issue of consistency and convenience primarily. The show seems to have the characters on a very malleable power scale nowadays. Oscar isn’t strong enough to help with the geist, but he’s strong enough to land the first solid hit on Neo. Team RWBY is strong enough to take out the most elite group of huntsmen in Atlas, but Team JNR isn’t strong enough to take out a single villain four to one. It makes it harder to invest in anyone or anything because we’re always on shaky ground. The viewers never know when the writing will obey the rules it has set up or chuck them away on a whim.

The fight is interrupted though when the guards spot them. Did Ruby mention that they were being arrested in her announcement? Did Ironwood announce that before or after Ruby called? I honestly can’t remember and right now I’m too lazy to check. I was just a little surprised that Jaune immediately knew to run from the guards, rather than going, “Hey, crazy woman attacking us please help.” But eh, I’m happy enough to chalk that up to either my own shaky memory or a small connection lost. RWBY has way bigger problems than details like, “How did so-and-so know about such-and-such?” Not unless that information holds way more weight.

So they flee and we actually get to see some reaction to fighting for once. Oscar in particular is clearly exhausted and his clothes are done-in from the battle. Later, while hiding in the training room, all four of them will be leaning against the wall, heaving after facing Neo. Again, this is good. This is how newly-minted huntsmen should be reacting to fighting people way beyond their skill level. It’s only a problem when we compare these details to what we got last week with Team RWBY. Showing JNOR’s exhaustion from a quick bout with Neo no way aligns with RWBY’s perky, totally fine, no auras broken and no tiredness characterization after facing off against four Ace Ops for a significantly longer period.

So there’s some serious plot armor at work there. It became even more clear this episode that Team RWBY won because Team RWBY always gets what they want, not because it makes any sense in-world. But we’ll have to deal with any other consequences of that next volume because they’re barely in the rest of this episode. Instead, we return to the Winter, Penny, and Cinder fight where Cinder casually tosses Penny aside with her grimm arm. She’s briefly held back by Winter’s summoned birds, but that’s hardly going to faze her in the grand scheme of things. In fact, Cinder still has enough energy and confidence to start some philosophizing while she fights. She tells Winter that she may think “hoarding power means you’ll keep it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier.” Self-fulfilling words from the woman hell-bent on acquiring and hoarding all the Maiden powers? As absurd as Cinder’s beliefs are, that “And I refuse to starve” line was pretty badass. On the whole I think she’s a boring villain, but every once in a blue moon Cinder will have a cool moment before she becomes irrelevant again.

The fight continues as Penny returns to the fray and it sounded to me that she was making more noise during this fight than normal. Granted, we’ve rarely seen Penny engage in an all-out brawl that lasts for more than a few seconds, but the additions certainly help with where she’s heading this episode. Particularly moments such as when they’re outside and Cinder’s sword blows up in Penny’s face, causing her to outright scream. It’s a very human sound, setting up the reveal that yes, an android is human enough to take on the Maiden powers. And if you go by some fan theories, “woman enough” (for lack of a better term) given that her aura is a man’s, Pietro’s. Penny is a girl regardless of starting out with male aura, leading to some wonderful and interesting takes on her as a trans character. Now I’m not giving that praise to Rooster Teeth---this isn’t them giving us representation---rather, I’m praising the fandom’s ingenuity and ability to adopt characters into their own communities. You don’t need “evidence” to headcanon transness, but having a girl born of a man’s aura go on to acquire woman-only power can definitely help. 

Granted, Penny’s vocalizing here is just a tiny detail that I’m choosing to apply positively to an outcome. I nevertheless stand by my early belief that Penny simply didn’t have the development needed to land her in the Maiden position. Having her grapple with her own death, Ruby her resurrection, and the loss of Mantle’s support would have achieved that. It’s clear now why Rooster Teeth brought her back, but that doesn’t mean they’ve treated her character well for the last twelve episodes. Instead, in true RWBY fashion, a lot was introduced with no followup.

As said though, they take things outside to give us a decently cool battle between three characters who can fly. While in the air though Winter’s aura is broken and she starts to plummet. Obviously Penny catches her, to which Winter replies, “What are you doing? My life doesn’t matter!”

Sometimes I wonder if Rooster Teeth bothers to think about the dialogue they put in characters’ mouths. I mean seriously? Winter is not stupid. Nor is she so hard that---as the episode hammers home---she wouldn’t experience fear. So:

Anyone is going to be happy about being caught from a 100% deadly fall. In a situation like this survival instinct trumps responsibility. Even if it didn’t “responsibility” doesn’t make any sense here because:

They’re not giving up on the Maiden. Penny isn’t making a decision here that requires forever and always choosing Winter over Fria. They’re gonna turn right around and continue the fight

Seriously, it takes a few seconds to catch her. This isn’t that big a deal

The fight thus far has clearly proven that they need all the help they can get. Penny can’t take Cinder on her own and indeed, even with her aura broken Winter manages to be incalculably helpful

Fria still has her powers, which she’s about to demonstrate. Does Winter really not realize that Fria is still pretty capable of defending herself?

In short, this line is stupid. More than just stupid it’s twisting a character to get them to fit with the volume’s badly imposed theme. Oh look Winter cares sooooo much about her orders that she would needlessly die for them. Penny must teach her the value of her own life and how “blindly” obeying Ironwood is a big, bad thing. Come on. Lines like these---Harriet claiming the Ace Ops aren’t friends even though they clearly are, Qrow blaming Ironwood for Clover’s death when he’s not even there, Yang sniping at Elm about how she can’t think for herself---only serve to say Protagonists Good; Ironwood Bad. Rooster Teeth really loves to introduce justified and sympathetic characters, only to have other characters go OOC to backtrack on that verbally. Ignore what you’ve seen and just believe the nonsense words that never would have come out of this character’s mouth otherwise. And yes, that includes Yang and her comment to Elm. She is by far the most loyal character, considering that she’s canonically done things she did not want (following Ozpin) purely because Ruby was doing it. If the story had any sense embedded in it Yang would be the one who understood where the Ace Ops were coming from in their devotion to Ironwood, or at the very least the narrative would call her out on her hypocricy. As it is, the story functions around the “fact” that following Ruby is just intrinsically good. No matter what Ruby herself might do and how it does or does not compare to others’ actions. She’s the hero, always. In the same way, having Winter spout such a nonsense line works only to say, “See? Following Ironwood destroys all your self-wroth. Following Ruby? Like Penny does? You learn the value of friendship!” Never-mind that the first thing Ironwood does this episode is congratulate and apologize to Winter when he thinks he’s coming down into the vault...

Enjoyable pieces aside, I’m obviously still salty, but we’ll get to Ironwood in a minute. For now, Oscar is seriously dragging behind JNR and manages to get separated. He’s hidden from the guards by “Nora” who is, obviously Neo. Within the span of a second she’s gotten the relic and will keep it until she hands it over to Cinder.

Congratulations, team! Not only did you allow Ironwood to harm Mantle for weeks on end when you knew his plan was doomed to fail, you’ve also lost the relic you came to secure in the first place, thoroughly betrayed the one powerful ally you had in this war (just like you did Ozpin), have destroyed any hope of escape as---surprise!---Salem actually showed up, and you took out the one elite team who might have helped you fight her. Oh, and Qrow, you got arrested in the end anyway so congrats on getting your friend killed along the way. Seriously, how does anyone---how does the narrative---insist that these people are heroes? At this point this is a story about fallen heroes, but rather than emphasizing precisely how badly the group has screwed up the last two volumes and taking them on a journey back from the brink, they’re still being painted in a perfect light.

So... yeah. Relic is gone. Which we all saw coming the second Ruby happily agreed to keep holding onto it, then got protective when Ironwood mentioned taking it back. Loyalty aside, you cannot possibly think the relic is safer on your or Oscar’s belt than it is in a freaking magical vault. The group should be denied the title of “heroes” for their stupidity and arrogance alone. Especially when they never bothered to tell Ironwood that there was still a question left. That might have changed his mind about letting them carry it around. 

Thus, relic in hand, Neo makes easy work of the rest of the team. Most notably by keeping Nora’s face and giving Ren sad eyes when he tries to strike her. This is a really good moment of visual storytelling and more how RWBY should be using their fights to do double-duty and develop characterization. Neo’s trick not only demonstrates her cruel skills, but tells us precisely how deeply Ren cares for Nora. Even knowing that’s not her he hesitates. Then, obviously, we’ve got the tears as the team runs off. So obviously things are still eating at him and their relationship is a big part of that... which just makes me all the more frustrated that the story passed over his fears at the party. I really don’t care how eager everyone (myself included) was to finally get a renora kiss. We never should have seen Nora ignoring those problems and insisting on moving the relationship forward in a way he clearly wasn’t ready for yet. Ren’s words told us that, as does his grief now. Everyone was wondering if ignoring his anxiety would come to a head in the form of Ren siding with Ironwood, but we didn’t get the chance to find that out this volume. Which, I get it. RWBY doesn’t have a lot of time, but that’s precisely the problem. Tiny tid-bits are dropped and then ignored for weeks, if not years on end. That moment between Ren and Neo was excellently crafted and told us a lot about both, but ultimately it’s just another moment cast adrift from everything else. Who knows if this plot-line will actually continue in Volume 8’s premier, if at all.

So Neo wanders off in an Atlas disguise and hands the relic off to Cinder. What’s Cinder going to do with the relic precisely? Not sure. Gonna have to wait on that one. We do have some decent setup for Neo’s betrayal though. She not only looked pissed at Cinder just snatching the prize, but sad about it too. Neo has always been driven by her own, messed up love, notably for Roman. Now that he’s gone it seems like she was looking for someone else to latch onto. Now that Cinder has proven that Neo is only a tool to her, she’d better watch her back.

Returning to Fria. She, as said, still has a lot of kick in her and easily pushes Cinder back. “That’s the power of a fully realized Maiden,” Winter says as crazy power shoots into the sky. Again, good setup... if I believed RWBY was capable of following up on anything. Remember at the beginning of the volume when Harriet dropped setup on Ruby’s semblance? Yeah, nothing came of that either. And though it still might, again, when? I know I use this example a lot, but you can’t introduce Raven speaking with Tai, drop that for three years (or longer), and then pick it back up like that’s still a relevant thread to follow. By having Winter proclaim that this is a “fully realized” power we imply that others, such as Cinder, may be able to become more powerful as well, but there’s little faith on the viewer’s part that such a line will actually amount to anything. Or if it does, it will happen so far in the future that most viewers will have forgotten about it.

For now though Fria is super-duper powerful. Cinder and Winter can’t even get near her. So it’s up to Penny, the one person not made of flesh and blood, to get the job done. I like that. Great use of difference as a strength. So she dives in and gets Fria to calm down, reigning her power back in. They discuss transferring the power and when Penny tries to remind her of the consequences we get, “I’ll be gone. I know I have a hard time remembering, but I remember that.” Hey. Hey, hey. I want the entire fandom to pay attention to this line because a lot of you still have a tendency to erase agency so as to more easily pin the blame on characters you don’t like. Pyrrha didn’t choose to fight Cinder against Ozpin’s orders, Ozpin killed her! Qrow didn’t choose to fight Clover and team up with Tyrian, Ironwood killed Clover! The Ace Ops didn’t choose to be loyal and maintain the responsibility they swore as military huntsmen, Ironwood just brainwashed them into being obedient puppets! Here, we get another glorious reminder that yes, these characters can actually think and act for themselves. Even the characters with dementia. Asking someone to do the hard thing (Pyrrha) is not in any way comparable to making them. It’s crystal clear from Fria’s line here that Ironwood spoke to her about the situation. He, like Ozpin, was upfront about the consequences. She in turn decided to accept this duty. Yes, I know I’ll die. I’ve accepted that. I have a job to do and I intend to complete it.

So yeah, #stop-taking-away-one-character’s-agency-just-because-you-don’t-like-another-2020.

Penny is thus faced with a glaring responsibility of her own: will she take on the Maiden powers? Because Fria may remember her job, but not who else was supposed to complete the job with her. Was it you? Penny, meanwhile, is looking at all that ice and wondering if Winter can even get here in time. It may well only be her... unless they want it to be Cinder.

As she thinks through this decision we return to JNR. Ren has a brief freak-out about how “We weren’t ready to become huntsmen” but instead of a truthful statement about their maturity and skill levels, the story twists it into a false statement by having Ren start yelling at Nora and placing unnecessary blame. We’re not supposed to believe him here because he’s irrational and lashing out... even though I think “We weren’t ready to become huntsmen” is a 100% truthful statement. The last two volumes have proven to me, if no one else, that having a job with that much power and responsibility isn’t just about whether you can swing your scythe really well. It’s about having the emotional fortitude and, as said, majority to treat it as a job and put that responsibility ahead of your own desires. RWBYJNR has consistently demonstrated that they’re unwilling to do that. It’s their way or the highway, damn promises, responsibility, loyalty, or consequences.

Before things can really break in the group though more soldiers show up and as they’re hiding behind Jaune’s shield he realizes that Oscar is missing. Over the comms Oscar says that he has something he needs to do alone, heading for the vault. I really appreciate this moment because Oscar is the one person in this group who has actually extended some of the unity and sympathy that RWBYJNR keeps yelling that everyone needs to give to them first. He apologizes to Ironwood whereas Yang sticks her nose in the air and insists she did nothing wrong. He approaches Ironwood and asks to find a way forward together while Ruby yells that Harriet has to do what she wants or no, I won’t stop attacking you. We get that moment where Ironwood thinks it’s Winter descending and goes, “I know that must have been hard for you. I’m so sorry,” demonstrating his own care and compassion. We see Oscar embodying Ozpin in his folded hands, use of the cane, and harder eyes, despite the fact that it’s still him in control. 

He has a piece of that maturity the rest of his team lacks. He’s open, Ironwood is open, they’re poised to do what the others around them can’t...

Too bad it all goes to total shit.

You know, I feel like I should be more mad about this but at this point I’m just kind of numb. Why in the world would I be surprised that Rooster Teeth would erase all the work above to turn Ironwood into a generic villain? They did it before, or did I suddenly forget the twenty-minutes that humanized Ozpin only to be followed with two volumes of bashing him non-stop? I knew Ironwood was going to get screwed, I just didn’t think they’d go so far as to do it like this. And shame on me because I should have.

There are times when things happen on screen... but by god it isn’t canon. Because it’s just too stupid to be canon. It’s so horrifically out of character that the only explanation is that this is an impersonator and the writers just forgot to tell us that along the way. Because James Ironwood would never kill a child. Or hell, maybe he would, but it would have to be under RADICALLY different circumstances from these. People realize right that this is so beyond out of character as to be laughable, right? We get:

A man who has devoted himself to fighting the biggest evil his world has ever seen

Learning the importance of care over brute strength, adopting Ozpin’s lessons by giving Mantle Penny

Has spent the last year trying desperately to keep all his people safe, making the hard calls in order to achieve that

Was beyond delighted when the group first appeared, kneeling down before Oscar and hugging Qrow

Has frequently asked after Ozpin throughout the volume, demonstrating a strong desire for him to return

Immediately forgave the group even after learning about Salem’s immortality, still pushing forward with them

Just sacrificed his arm in an effort to continue protecting those around him

Finally realized he didn’t have allies in this team and called only for their arrest, not any violence or mistreatment

Hired the Ace Ops, a group whose conflict was their need to perform that arrest pushing against their desire not to hurt anyone

Ironwood just began the scene by extending sympathy and apologies to another

And you’re going to tell me that this man, this man defined by his compassion and desperate need to protect others... is going to shoot the 14yo kid housing one of his oldest friends? Shoot to kill?

Because make no mistake, that was a killing shot. Ironwood knew Oscar was at the edge. Even if it hadn’t broken Oscar’s aura, that fall isn’t anything you can survive without Humanity 1.0 magic---magic Ironwood clearly wasn’t counting on to save him. They literally took this man and erased EVERYTHING that made him-him, deciding that randomly Ironwood kills kids now because he dislikes a conversation. Kills Ozpin too. It makes zero sense... but you know all precisely why they did it. Because Ironwood is the villain now. He dared disagree with Team RWBY and now that he’s an antagonist they had to make sure he did something he couldn’t come back from. You don’t try to kill the youngest of the group and then come back into the fold. Ironwood is finished. He’s either going to die next volume or the group is going to lock him behind bars as a “witty” parallel of him trying to arrest them, dropping a one-liner about how they’re sorry it came to this.

Which, obviously, I absolutely despise. The rest of the episode? Had a lot going for it. Cool and interesting developments that might have been great if not attached to the horror show of the last twenty-five episodes... but still cool and interesting nonetheless. This? This is the worst thing RWBY has done to date because they not only irrevocably messed up one of their best characters, but they did so in a way that highlights everything that has been wrong with the show the last two years. There was no buildup to this. None. Don’t @ me with “But Ironwood is unstable and the Tin Man has no heart.” No and also no. Rooster Teeth simply decided that they wanted him as a villain and made that happen in the span of a few seconds. It’s just as absurd and insulting as if, last volume while angry at Qrow, Ruby had picked up her scythe and cut through Weiss as a form of anger management. Ironwood aiming to kill the kid he’s been bonding with all volume and Ozpin to boot because they’re having a slightly heated conversation is insane. 

Which isn’t to say that conversation itself helped matters. Because Ironwood remains right. Those are all pretty, philosophical questions, Oscar, but what are we going to do about our situation? Oscar might express more sympathy then Team RWBY, but he’s just as naive and dangerously stubborn. He doesn’t have a plan either, just a continuing insistence that they try. In fact, his arguments are really... nonsensical in places? He says that if Ironwood abandons Mantle they’ll lose hope of uniting the whole world, even though we’ve never established why that’s still a goal when a world-wide army can’t defeat Salem. He likewise makes the absurd claim that because Ironwood is thinking about the big picture “Then you’re as dangerous as she is, James.”

No??

If RWBY is going to incorporate philosophy and moral conundrums into their writing then they actually need to do the work to think them through. Because sorry but the man making a currently still necessary sacrifice in order to keep the world as a whole safe is not the same thing as the genocidal grimm queen hell-bent on destroying it. Again, do they think about the words they’re putting into the characters’ mouths? The worst is how many viewers just eat it up. Because Good Boy Oscar said something vaguely wise-sounding then it must be true...never-mind the absurdity of the statement itself. I love Oscar to bits, just not when the writing uses him as a prop to promote these absurd themes. Not to keep dragging Witcher into every possible part of my life, but it immediately reminded me of this quote from Geralt. “You wizards are all the same...

Just because Oscar says it with confidence doesn’t mean it makes any sense.

Which is where we end up. Oscar falling, Ozpin arriving, the two of them managing to survive the fall. I have to admit that at this point Ozpin’s return just felt damn underwhelming to me. Like yes, of course I’m thrilled he’s back, but watching them mangle James like that just kicked all the enjoyment out of the rest of the episode. That, combined with the fact that Ozpin’s return actually was pretty lackluster. I mean, I feel like a shit for complaining about the thing I’ve wanted since the beginning of Volume 6... but is that really all we get? Ozpin doesn’t save him, Oscar saves them both, because he apparently has complete access to the magic and memories now. What does Ozpin matter then? Ozpin doesn’t speak really, just says Oscar’s name and is then cut off because Oscar doesn’t want to hear anything he has to say unless it’s about saving Atlas. He does express something like gratitude though--- “You’re back, aren’t you? You saved me”---so that’s more than we’ve gotten from anyone else. And Ozpin does narrate... but who is that to? Obviously very reminiscent of our series’ premier, but is he speaking to Salem again? We’re not told---or shown---and as it is that monologue exists purely for the audience. It’s a speech we could have gotten from any character and just happened to get it from Ozpin. It’s not being spoken to Oscar and therefore not forwarding any of the relationships that still need to be mended. In fact, this could well be a speech Ozpin gave years ago, disconnected from who he is now. Perhaps the biggest issue is that the speech is all about fear, further hammering home the finale’s BS stance that Ironwood being afraid of actual, legitimate threats made him into an unhinged child-killer.

Because his “paranoia”? It’s about this. This is what Ironwood was afraid of.

And oh look it’s here.

So yeah... I just can’t fall in love with this moment as I feel I should. RWBY has burned me too many times lately---the last time seconds before this scene---and frankly now that Ozpin is back I don’t trust them to treat his character well. So his return is automatically laced with more worry than excitement to see what comes next. Because if they do this to Ironwood, somehow who has done nothing but try to help this whole volume, what the hell are they going to do to Ozpin, someone who actually lied to and kept secrets from the precious team? I want him back, but not while we’ve got these themes going. I’m legit worried about how the group will react to his return and what the narrative is going to make Ozpin do as penance for his supposed sins. I’m not really thrilled about the prospect of watching more assault that’s painted as heroic justice. Normally I’d be going, “Well you never know, RWBY could prove me wrong...” except that after Ironwood? I really don’t think it will. Because Ozpin may ask, “Will you forgive them? Will you understand why they felt the need to do the things they did?” but it’s “staring back at you is the very thing you should have feared from the start” is what we get when Ironwood is shown again when he’s told Winter doesn’t have the power, he can’t open the vault, and he has no way of escaping this army. Rather than painting this as a tragedy that’s on our “heroes,” Ironwood is just made to look deranged. The story doesn’t encourage us to forgive him, no matter Ozpin’s words. 

The scne was pretty though! lol. Stunningly gorgeous, really. If I just turn my brain off and don’t think about everything surrounding Oscar falling while Ozpin re-joins him, it’s an absolutely fantastic scene...

Yeah, the rest of the episode is mostly things I’ve already covered. Maria picks everyone up in their “getaway ship” because her character apparently only exists now to provide comic relief in the form of illegal actions. 

Penny takes on the Maiden powers while Winter holds Cinder off with no aura. That was badass as hell.  Go Winter, you’re still one of my faves this volume.

Ruby conveniently uses her silver eyes even though they’ve failed twice in the last three to four episodes. 

Qrow is arrested and holds onto Clover’s blood-stained badge. 

Robyn is apparently just fine. 

Watts is potentially getting freed by Tyrian, or else was just distracted by the arrival of Salem, I honestly wasn’t sure. 

The only other thing of consequence is that Winter and Weiss acknowledge that they’re on different paths. They can’t support one another in who they’re loyal to, but Winter will still give her sister a head start.

Oh, that moment and this, of course.

I’ve already spoken about my very iffy feelings about introducing Salem as an actual enemy before the final volume and those feelings are compounded by this absurd denouncement of hard, practical choices. I mean... seriously. What is the group going to do at the start of next volume? “These readings can’t be right,” an Atlas soldier says, horrified at the number of grimm that are appearing around them from an ominous red cloud. That entire army we saw at the end of Volume 6. Plus a giant whale grimm that could easily swallow any of our heroes (Pinocchio reference, anyone?), plus the immortal sorceress who could do any number of things to obliterate you---and take all the time in the world to do it. Like... they’re screwed. They are dead and Ironwood was 100% right to try and take whoever he could to safety and regroup. Except that obviously the series doesn’t end in tragedy here so they’ll wiggle their way out of things somehow. It just won’t be satisfying. Because we absolutely have a hopeless situation here and the story hasn’t allowed the group to acknowledge and then try to circumvent that in any practical manner. Ruby’s silver eyes will inexplicably get crazy powerful. Or Salem will randomly decide to leave. Or they’ll discover some new and untapped skill through the power of friendship. Then, at the end of it all, we’ll be told to look back at Ironwood and call him crazy for trying to save lives with a realistic approach because see? We managed a miracle after all.

I can’t believe I’m going to watch that nonsense. But I will. Because RWBY was a show that I loved and some small part of me still hopes it’ll return to what it once was. At the very least I need to find out what happens to these characters---no matter how stupid and insulting---and this episode, despite all my expectations, did give me tiny glimmers into what RWBY used to be. Moments that were fun or badass or legitimately touching. I almost wish it wouldn’t, just so I could make a clean break with the show. Absolute trash is better than trash that demonstrates skill just enough to make you think there might be hope for a better written story the next time around. Ah well. At least writing the recaps is always fun!

So I’ll still be here, answering asks and chucking out nonsense. Feel free to come join me if you’re ever inclined.  

Until next volume 💜