#I'm SO SORRY Jacques... I know this is way more than what you asked for.

[memento-morri-writes]

Hey!!! Since you said you have a lot figured out for your WIPs I'm interested in your answers!!

what natural resources does each nation have that the others don't? do they export/trade it at all? (For any WIP you wanna answer for!)

@bloodlessheirbyjacques 👀❤️‍🔥

JACQUES, I LOVE YOU!!!!!! I'll try to keep this at least somewhat brief, but be warned, you have NO idea what floodgates you have just opened. (I actually intended to make a post like this literally over a year ago, so thank you for helping me make it!!)

Get ready for:

Econ 101 - A Crash-Course in Continental Trade Policy

Before we get started, here's some things you might find helpful:

a map of the continent (see below)

an explanation of why Anvia and Oryn don't get along

under the cut because hoo boy, this is a LOT.

Anvia, the kingdom where ATQH takes place (and which Fallon rules) is primarily an agricultural society. The country's position in the middle of the continent, plus the river running through the kingdom providing fertile land, gives makes it the best-suited area for agriculture on the continent. (Side Note: It gets colder as you got west-northwest on this continent. Oryn is cold, with long winters and short summers, while Oraine is extremely hot and the land dries up quickly.)

They grow crops and raise animals not only for their own survival, but for export to the neighboring nations. Anvia also has a decent number of craftspeople living in its larger cities, who use crop byproducts (or non-food crops) and animal products to make other products, such as textiles, leather products, etc.

Thus, Anvia's main products/exports are food crops (apples, wheat, strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, lettuce, cabbages, carrots, peas, hops, among other things), created food products (wine, ale, baked goods, jams, jellies, preserves) as well as animal products (largely wool, but things like eggs, cheese, and milk may also be exported), and craftsproduts (textiles and leather products, for example).

Due to the fact that most of Anvia is farmland, be it crop fields or livestock pastures, there is very little opportunity for logging. Even the areas that haven't been developed for farming are largely prairie-like areas. Also, Anvia lacks substantial access to mountains or mineral deposits for mining. So they are lacking in construction materials such as timber, stone, and metals.

Oryn, on the other hand, is ripe with construction goods. They have massive mines scattered throughout the kingdom, especially along the mountain range that borders with Anvia. (Ironkeep, the fortress to the Northeast of Westcliff, is a major stronghold built to protect Oryn's most profitable mines.) Additionally, a massive portion of the kingdom is covered in forests, so logging is another major industry.

(Side Note: Kristopher's father and the current king of Oryn, Pierre, has increased both of these industries massively. The working conditions in both tend to be hazardous, with many people being injured or killed. (Fun Fact: If you want to know how Pierre runs his kingdom, listen to Eat Your Young by Hozier.) Kristopher believes that his father is ruining Oryn, not only by ruining much of its natural land, but also by working the people so hard.)

Notably, Oryn is also home to significant number of craftspeople, specializing in blacksmithing, metalworking, and jeweling. Orynian weapons and armor are said to be stronger and more durable than any others, and jewelry made by Orynian jewelers with Orynian stones is highly prized across the continent and beyond.

Oryn's main exports are lumber, stone, metal (raw, processed, and crafted into items), and jewels (raw, processed, and made into jewelry).

However, what Oryn severely lacks is fertile farmland. Not only is most of the land covered in trees, but the soil is quite rocky -- far from ideal for large-scale farming. (The hilly, mountainous terrain doesn't help.)

So, you can probably see why Oryn and Anvia need each other. They are forced to trade with one another to ensure the survival of both kingdoms. However, as I've explained in the past, the two kingdoms have a long history of tension between them -- which actually was the result of conflict over resources to begin with. However, despite this obvious codependency, neither one has been willing to suck up their pride and open direct negotiations between the two nations. (Fallon has tried several times during her rule, but has never once received a response from Pierre.)

So, this is where Oraine steps in. Oraine has a very hot environment, and aside from a few choice crops, not much of trade value grows there. (Their main exports, aside from a few "exotic delicacies", are fancy goods, such as fine clothes, art, and fancy furniture.) However, what Oraine does have is massive amounts of accessible coastline. Because of this, they have a long history of ship-building and maritime trade. Fortuitously for Oraine, Anvia and Oryn's border is mostly treacherous mountains, which makes overland travel difficult.

So, at some point in the past few centuries, some clever Orainian had an idea, and Orain graciously stepped in, offering to conduct trade between the two kingdoms -- for a fee, of course. Eager to continue their mutual cold-shoulder treatment, Anvia and Oryn were quick to accept the proposal. It was agreed upon that both Anvia and Oryn would be able to use Orainian ships to send their goods to each other, to Oraine, and beyond.

There are multiple companies (each owned by wealthy merchant families) that offer these services, both within the continent and beyond, and each is free to set their own price and negotiate their own service contracts with individuals, companies, or the nations themselves. However, they are charge a hefty tax that goes directly to the pockets of the ruler (currently Empress Adrienne) of Oraine.

Not only that, but Orainian merchants are well aware of how necessary their services are to both Anvia and Oryn. As such, their fees are often ridiculously overpriced. And Anvia and Oryn pay them, because they don't have any other choice. (Well, they could choose to talk to each other and begin their own trading initiatives instead of settling for Oraine's horrid prices, but why would they ever do that?)

To tie all this back to the messy international politics of the continent, the Empress of Oraine has her own fleet of trading ships that carry out trades on her behalf. It is these ships that the rulers of Anvia and Oryn are required to use when they wish to send something more between them for political purposes. Orainian leaders have long claimed this is to "supervise" and "prevent increased hostility", but in reality it's just another way to line the ruler's pockets.

The rulers of both kingdoms have signed contracts with the Empire, including a rate of charge for the service. The Empress continually pushes to raise said rate, with the monarchs attempt to negotiate a lower price -- or at least keep the same one they had before. But it's a precarious slope, because if they push too hard, the Empress could retract her offer altogether, which would be disastrous (at least in the short term) for the two kingdoms, until they were able to communicate in a civil manner and establish their own trade barriers. (Of course, the Empress has no intention of actually rescinding her offer -- it's far too profitable -- but the monarchs don't know that...)

And that's all, folks!! To anyone who read all 1,092 words of this, I am hugging you (if you accept), and buying you your favorite meal. Hopefully this isn't too boring of a read...

[funficwriter]

A Wolf and A Snake - Letters' Interlude #4

Taglist: @yue-caelum, @reyy-chanx, @mis-disaster, @ladyarchiviste, @keigo-hawks-takami-simp

Warnings: Cursing, sexism, corruption, mention of violence, some yandere shit but you know that by now. Moral dilemma? Lol.

From: Lady Y/N Balthazar - Balthazar Manor, Court Region, Fontaine

To: Duke Wriothesley of Meropide, Fortress of Meropide, Liffey Region, Fontaine

Wriothesley,

I know I risk sounding like a broken record saying this, but I really do wear each day. I'm just happy that I can still write to you because I feel that it's one of the few pleasures I have left. Between my piano lessons and reading time being interrupted by meeting with Archandelle, my parents' constant nagging, and the fact that I constantly have to sneak around their backs even for things unrelated to my marriage prospects... I'm exhausted, my love. And troubled. That's why I'm writing this.

When our last meeting ended abruptly, there was so much more I wanted to say to you. I was barely scraping the bottom of the barrel and our day lives tore us apart again. At least Frosty is good company and patiently waiting for me to finish this letter and send it to you.

Yesterday, I snuck out to the police station under the pretense of 'shopping'. Do you remember that young officer I once mentioned? Jacques? He looked scared when they let me in his office, even though everyone else seemed excited for him. I guess the visit of a noble does that.

I'm a terrible person, Wriothesley.

The first time I came here, I picked him specifically because he was young and new and a little naive, as all new cops are. He was so ready to help me, even more so when I said: "An injustice is being done upon me. I need evidence to counter it.". He almost jumped out of his seat until he understood what I meant: The 'injustice' is merely procedure. What woman says this, only for it to be her engagement that she, her parents, and the suitor agreed to? What sort of injustice was noble tradition that was carried out for centuries?

And I shoved the cash on the table, and it increased in volume. And I invoked his poor family that he was trying to feed, the girl he wanted to marry... "Do you really want to wait forever on your shitty wage, when you could propose in an hour? All you have to do is give me what I asked for. It's not that hard.". He couldn't. I was corrupting him, and by Focalors, what sort of noble am I - a Balthazar no less - if I use the very enemy of justice for my own selfish gains? All of this to not get married?

It was lengthy. It was uncomfortable and I could feel the fibers of my being twisting to accommodate this act that I would never have dreamed of committing. It was like exerting a muscle I didn't use, but way more intense. In the end, he gave me the pile you saw last time.

I did it again this evening. Wriothesley, last time, I was ridden with guilt. I think you'd understand why better than most. But this time? I started justifying it. With each reason I gave as to why this was fine, good even, my guilt washed away. After all, there would be no need to resort to such extreme measures if I could just be with you from the start. And then I thought: "I've never justified my father's deed until I started committing it. I am more like him and less just than I thought.". I wanted to cry. Who is this new person - no, these new people and this new logic? Why am I less like what I used to be?

Fuck my life, why do I have to be less like what I used to be just so I can marry the one I love? A privilege that many girls today have?

I'm sorry for the plaintive note today. I'm just... So torn. Yes, I think 'torn' comes closest to it. I am turning into what I was warned about my entire life, but it's not like I'm doing it to embezzle money or get someone wrongfully convicted. I just want to be with you, but even that's too much to ask in this stupid class and family...

Total truth? There are times where I want do more. Once, my father was talking to his friends about how excited he was for my prospects. Do you know what my brother said? "I was worried she wouldn't get her eyes off of that Meropide mutt. At least she's probably forgotten about him, as she should.". They laughed a lot and later joked about Father's lack of control during my first social. They said that they couldn't tell who needed a leash more: You for being "a dog", or me for giving you "loving eyes" back then, as if I wanted you for a bit. Father dismissed them by talking about another man's daughter and her bad marriage. He was embarrassed, but I wanted to go over there and scratch his eyes out. Maybe my brother's too, and the other men who were joking. I wanted to wrench my hand into Lord Carmichael's back and make his wife a widow to be judged. Maybe then he'd enjoy it down in hell. Or have some emotional intelligence.

I'm thinking of you, and hoping we can see each other soon. Maybe my spirits will be lifted....

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

From: Duke Wriothesley of Meropide - Fortress of Meropide, Liffey Region, Fontaine

To: Lady Y/N Balthazar - Balthazar Manor, Court Region, Fontaine

Y/N dear,

It was only a matter of time until you sent me such a letter. For one, during our latest meeting, you looked like you had way more to say. I can only look forward to a life where the dawn doesn't shut us up and away.

First of all, please don't apologize for the sadness that you feel. Unlike that idiot suitor and father, I don't expect you to be happy 24/7, even if at your own inconvenience. I may call you 'my doll', but I know you've got a far wider emotional range than that.

I don't know how effective saying this would be, but your message reads a lot like my younger self. How it saddens me that you had to realize the double-faced quality of Fontainian justice like this... Even if you knew it deep down, as you grew up and understood how so many noblemen get away with their crimes, engaging with it is a whole greater beast. Sometimes I wonder whether there are judges, prosecutors, lawyers and other potential lawful agents who have lost faith in our judicial systems. Many of our current judges are indeed doing their best to combat it (I know Neuvillette will never rest as long as this issue remains), but it doesn't change the fact that many are still being failed today. Orphans. Young noble ladies. Poor people. Us. By Focalors, us.

As Meropide's administrator and a noble, I'm certain that you would think of me as a man of justice, just like many others. I think of myself that way, too. I know I have the power to end the laws and traditions that are screwing us over (and sometimes I wonder: How many other couples like us?). It sounds hypocritical, doesn't it? I am hiring back-alley investigators and threatening data out of whoever knows what I need. And you, a lady raised in the hearth of justice, you're lying to your parents and corrupting police officers. How could we possibly be good, you may ask?

After these few months, I came to a conclusion: A man of justice should not mean being a doormat, especially if the injustice will cost him his love.

For one, the change that could benefit us is nowhere near as fast as needed. What does this result in? Potentially happy couples are being torn apart. The point behind justice is to protect one's right to a life that he desires, that his loved ones desire and that harms no one. Is our union based on economic exploitation, power dynamics, sexism or leveraging? No. How is it that most noble couples stand on these crimes, while the only one with ours is that I am not fully human and that you want me? I am not going around slaughtering people or terrorizing the city. You, an angel sent by Focalors herself, have never commissioned your husband to kill, silence or bribe. Archons, what did you do to deserve this fate when I can think of women far more rotten than you?

Now you may counter me and say that you have engaged in bribery yourself, and that's bad. But you know what? It doesn't matter to me. I couldn't care less about it. This may sound worrisome to hear from a man of justice. But as a man, without fancy titles and more emotions and feelings, I'm getting real sick of this. I don't bring myself to care about judicial principles if an obvious double standard is taking place, one that is taking you away from me. I know what makes me get up and do my best everyday. I know what I'd turn savage for, who I'd risk a life sentence and a downfall for, and it's not justice. Justice can't enjoy brownies with me on a star-lit night. Justice can't lie in my bed. Justice can't wake me up with a good morning kiss and take me to go swim in Belleau. All of that is you, and it will always be you.

I care about justice. I really do. But justice, along with your father, money and Fontaine, can go fuck itself if it compromises my wife.

I look forward to the day that the noble class is held accountable, and choice unions are the norm. Until then, I'm just going to have to fight tooth and nail for my own. It's actually a must, my dear. We need to set a new precedent for the upcoming generation. Backing down is not going to challenge what your parents and their fellow nobles have always done.

I know your schedule is getting more hectic by the day. When you can, though, please let me know if a free window opens up. Perhaps we can see and update each other on our findings.

Always yours, and you're always mine,

Wriothesley.

[lirusstories]

Egotober day 3: Jewel(ed brooch)

A/N: I needed to write this I'm sorry Jacques

Tw: Paranoia, Knives, possession, attempted murder through possession(slit throat), protag not being believed, Drinking

“Excuse me sir.” A rather posh voice interrupts Jacques’ conversation.

Jacques turns, the little group he was talking to all staring at the man that interrupted him with well disguised looks of annoyance.

“Can I help you?” The painter asks, voice stern.

“I am here to deliver you a gift, from a fan.” The mysterious man says, lifting a small box typically reserved for gifting brooches into their sights.

The group's attitude well disguised annoyance to well disguised intrigue as Jacques carefully takes the box and thanks the man who leave with little fan fare.

“What is it?” One of the group members ask.

“I shall see after I retire for the night.” Jacques in forms them, he already knows better than to open a potentially valuable gift in front of a crowd like this.

They don’t even bother hiding their disappointment this time.

------

Jacques eyes the box wearily when he gets home, it’s not the first time a fan has given him a gift. But it’s the first time that hasn’t been painting supplies or a wine.

He carefully opens before relaxing as he sees that it is just a brooch. And a rather beautiful one at that. 

His hand trembles a little as he lifts it up, recognize the flower after a moment. 

An Irish Eyebright. Made out of different shades of green jewels and silver.

He looks down at the box, looking for a code, go so fair as to shake it but when not card or note is found, it unleashes a whole new anxiety.

Someone knows someone has to, why else would they pick this flower?

Jacques quickly stops himself, taking a deep shaky breath, reminding himself that there's no way anyone could’ve known. He’s made sure of it, it’s impossible.

Perhaps it really is just a coincidence?

Jacques huffs and shakes his head, when would he ever be so lucky.

----

Now don’t get him wrong however, he’s never been one to turn down pretty things, and the brooch blends in perfectly with his outfits, almost like it was made just for him.

He subtly preens under the compliments he gets on it, even more so when they mention how well it fits him.

Alas, he has to let them down gently when they ask where he obtained it. Informing them it was a gift from an admirer of his work.

Their eyes flash with interest at the very thought.

---

Jacques has become, more reclusive than usual. Unhappy with his paintings, filled with figures he’s begun to see the past few months, with the only solace being the extra wine that never seems to stop coming.

“Oh fuck off” Jacques hisses to the newest shadowed corner, eyes watching him intently much to his frustration.

It’s green eyes blink and Jacques feels his anger spike harshly and the next thing he knows, the 6 thousand dollar bottle of wine is being launched at the shadowed corner, smashing and exploding everywhere as he screams for it to leave him alone.

Jacques wanders off to bed blankly after that.

He’s never-... He hasn’t felt so angry and years. 

It’s scaring him.

--

Jacques sits impatiently at the table, leg bouncing anxiously as he messes with the rings on his fingers, bags under his eyes and his hair unkempt and skin paler than it’s ever been.

Right now he has an acquaintance looking around his apartment for him.

He could’ve sworn he saw someone crawling on the ceiling in his room. He didn’t get a full view of the figure before he was bolting out of bed and grabbing a knife from his kitchen (how did he even get there so fast?)

“Nothing.” Adam says, hiding an exasperated tone that Jacques would have missed if it was not needed for his.

“Just those creepy paintings from your imagination.”

“I see them” Jacques hisses at the man, tears burning in his eyes as he tries not to feel hurt, he should know better by now, “I-... Never mind.”

Adam sighs before taking a moment to respond, “Look, you just need to get out more, maybe lay back on the wine, and stop painting those freaky fucking drawings.”

Jacques stares at the man across from him before, “Get out.”

Adam sighs, rolling his eyes, “Look Jac, You can’t-”

Adam jumps as Jacques slams his hands down on the table, eyes molten with sudden fury. “Do not. Call me that.”

Jacques then takes a shaky breath and wraps his arms around himself. 

“Now get out.” He hisses at the former acquaintance.

“Jacques-”

“OUT!”

-

Jacques is trembling, hand on his weakly bleeding neck as the knife he was just holding clatters to the table.

Tears are in his eyes as his gaze is torn away from the knife and to the mirror in front of him.

The creature is back, but it looks different. It looks like him.

Jacques can feel his heart racing as the very green copycat (the green matches the jewels on his brooch…), grins, far wider than any humans should be.

It’s eyes glow uncannily, watching him as it seems to move closer, yet its legs don’t move, and it doesn’t appear to be floating.

There's a sob lodged in his throat as he can only stand, frozen with fear as the entity that's been torturing him alongside countless others looms over him impossibly so. 

The copycats face suddenly twits angrily, Jacques blood running cold at the sight.

“Somnum” A new voice whispers.

Jacques’ world goes black, an anger that isn’t his curling under his rib cage beneath his jeweled brooch..

Jacques reaction to brooch is because he hid the fact that he's Irish in French high society and also about his... magical past as a child trying to survive.

Either iris or the magic circle gave it to him to slowly break him down and get Anti to possess him.

Marvin is the one at the end saving them

-

Tags: @randowaffle @glitchyartist

Hello! If you enjoy our work and wish to see more, including spoilers, cut scene's or replaced scene's feel free to join our discord!

And if you really enjoy our work and want/are able to help us out, feel free to buy us a ko-fi or send us somethin on paypal!

[hannahssimblr]

For Simblr Gratitude Day!

This year, 2023 has been a really really amazing year for me creatively. I wrote over 270K words, I started and finished both parts 2 and 3 of Lucky Girl and I started Lucky Boy! When I began writing last year I really didn't see myself at this point, having written so much, having improved so much, and most importantly, having falling completely head over heels for this amazing community

Without the support and amazing feedback from so many people I would have quit a long time ago, but coming here and talking to you guys and being so incredibly inspired by other work is what really pushed me past the finish line. I want to express my gratitude for every single person who engaged with me this year, for those who liked and commented and shared and left me questions and anon asks, and even those who didn't, and just read along in silence - I see you there! You can't hide! Thank you so much.

This graph only shows my top 10, but I reached over 50 countries this year! that's pure mad.

You can see that it's the Americans and the British who really came through for me, and I'm sorry for poking gentle fun at you in my story - I know you are more than semi-automatic machine guns, UFOs & undesirable tourists, you know how it is, we're like the ignored middle child between you two and I'd be going against my cultural heritage if I didn't act up a little bit.

Most importantly I want to thank specific people today! Starting with @armoricaroyalty for making this day happen, and @daniigh0ul for coming up with the idea. I'm really excited to get to know you both much better in the new year & finally find the time to start reading your stuff - I've heard only good things.

to @sirianasims for poking me to join the writers group that has now absolutely swallowed up my free time (in a good way lmao) and for being hilarious and fun and just generally a gorgeous, open and supportive person. I've been reading Siri's story lately and I INSIST you check it out - I'm on gen 3 and completely obsessed by the thought that goes into this, the complexity of the relationships and really sensitive exploration of difficult material.

to @lynzishell for always being so positive and engaged, always taking the time to leave thoughtful comments and get genuinely excited over everyone's work! I'm DUG INTO her legacy, which is still on gen 1 and it makes my day better every single time I see an update from her - and I'm not even just saying that to be nice. It's an honest to god thrill for me to get to read about her characters. I'm beyond excited for what she's going to do in the new year

@mannylikessims deserves a shout out too for writing some of the best and funniest simlit I've had the pleasure of reading in a long time. Those Villarreal kids (and Jacques, obviously) have me on the edge of my seat. I feel insatiable for this story, like, give me more, all of the time. Just shovel it into my mouth. Manny has also brought me to literal tears with her comments. It's rare enough that you meet a reader that seems to truly understand what you're trying to say in your work - like, right to the heart of it, and Manny is one of those people.

I've just recently started reading @rebouks Somnium and Forever In Between (Don't do what I did if you haven't read yet - start with Somnium) and when I say I am HOOKED I mean it. The visuals alone are enough to make me want to burst into tears with the knowledge that I will never wrangle something so beautiful from the game, but you know what, that's okay, because I can come here and sob over Becca's work instead. I'm not even halfway through and I'm already bowled over by the character development, the dialogue, the humour, everything. The only thing I wish is that I had unlimited free time and 0 commitments so I could absolutely consume this work in one sitting, but I guess savoring it is good too.. Thank you Becca for pure inspiration <3

@pixelnrd for The Langston Legacy, a decades challenge which was actually the first sims 4 legacy I ever read - I stumbled across it on my very first day on simblr and I've loved loved loved it every since. The visuals are gorgeous, the story lines are always engaging, and just about every topic under the sun has been covered now. The dedication to accuracy is really admirable, and now that we've reached the 80s I'm genuinely beginning to feel nostalgic. I always find myself wanting more. I'm so much looking forward to the 90s! (And I can't believe you've made it this far, that's an achievement and a half)

Other storytellers and creators I want to shout out are @simstrashkingdom, @bakersimmer @simmysunset @igglemouse @simsstuph - You guys have created some really great stories this year, and I so long forward to reading more!

To @nexility-sims for creating our wonderful writing group (and for pairing with me) I'm dying to start reading your work properly, because even the small bits I've read have been so beautiful.

And to everyone else in the writing group! I know I have so many stories to catch up on, and I'm very intimidated by that fact, but I know that it means that 2024 holds a lot of exciting times! I want to learn from you all and be inspired and support you, so this is the year I'm going to do it <3

[kinaesthetiqueer]

I CAN'T DECIDE SO I'LL ASK YOU

what was YOUR favorite part of that HUGE chapter?

*vibrates* uuuh oh fuck oh gods

to write or to read? for the payoff or for the future implications? planned or unplanned? hey get back here!!!!!

just kidding, you know I'm going to answer all of those

[chapter 19 spoilers below]

to write: weiss having that really gay thirsty moment @ yang. this toed the line between weiss being gay and weiss being a [vampire] but i think it was fun to play with the idea of repression and desire. definitely had some moments of being like damn this is gayer than i expected but still fun. the fight overall was fun to write but even moreso because i knew how the aftermath went. i was happy to write that first.

to read: i love weiss' emergency conversation with klein. i think her relationship with him is so interesting and when she needed to get away from the room, i had to think about what would she do? she was at a point where she needed to talk to someone. the idea of him having been someone she could go to on the DL and confide in feels right to me. i put waaaaay too much thought into a way for them to chat that skirted plausible deniability. as implied, weiss' everything is connected and monitored. more on that later

for the payoff: ashes to ashes to ashes! poor weiss, so fond of fine cuisine from the very beginning, no longer being able to taste anything she likes. someone pointed out in a comment that ive been leading up to that since the very beginning with the steak and lemon pie and that made me giggle so happily. food has been so important, one because i love cooking but also two because i knew where this was going the whole damn time

for the implications: the velvet/yatsu study sesh is me trying to find that natural rhythm that leads to velvet describing weiss as a close friend in after the fall. as im (un)healthily obsessed with the novels, i take a lot of vibes from them. there's a lot of future implications that i cannot fucking talk about with this scene, but it's fine. :)

planned: ugghhhhhh it's a toss up between the very beginning and the very end. the 'weiss doesn't know what to freak about about first' thru to 'tooth, that's a tooth, my tooth' and 'weiss screams herself awake' were some of the only pieces actually written when i finished 18. i love the cliffhanger a lot but i love weiss just waking up in absolute horror. ch 19 was a single page of those two bits and a few mini plot beats. which is why i thought it was gonna be short but lmao. longest chapter to date. I'd say weiss is trying fight nora for her queen of the castle status but they're gonna kiss [eventually], not fight.

unplanned: the fucking rage of weiss when she learned what jacques did. i did nooooot see that coming. that just spilled out of me. she was mad. i was mad. it just happened and it was a loose end that needed some closure. i wanted to hug her so bad because she's pissed but she's also aware it was a disproportionate response but also not but also scary. i want her to be mad about it

sorry this got cut abruptly bc i had to pay attention in class! but yeah, those are some of my favorites and that's definitely not all of them.

[the-path-to-redemption]

ask meme - renora, elm x vine, frostbite

ask meme

Long post ahead

Renora

Get my boy Ren away from that white bitch, she does not deserve him. SHE DOES NOT DESERVE REN FOR THE BULLSHIT SHE PUT HIM THROUGH.

This ship is another one that Canon made me DESPISE it, and by extension Nora. I'm sorry, but I was fucking seething at the way she treated him. Nora didn't give a shit that Ren was stressed out about their situation (rightfully so), instead of listening to his worries she kissed him without consent, when he got justifiably angry with the crew, she joined the rest of them white bitches and made him out to be the VILLAIN when he came in to check on her.

Hello? Nora, Ren just got through hell, being slammed through rocks, dragged across the tundra trying to save Oscar, had to save Jaune and Yang's useless asses, got shit on by Yang for being frustrated, met the devil and barely survived an explosion, and you still think he was being irrational?? And it's his fault that your relationship deteriorate??? Bitch, have some fucking self awareness.

I legit have no love for Nora or the ship anymore. Sign this petition to get Ren better friends, God bless 🙏

Elm x Vine

Jesus Christ, were these two done wrong.

I wanted to see more of them to be honest, but both Elm and Vine were victims of RT's racism, so sadly we have shit for them. I wanted them to be on screen more damn it, I know these two are married!!

But overall, it's the same with any Clover ships. They're cute, but nothing more because these guys don't got shit to them.

Frostbite (Adam x Weiss)

Fuck you RT, they are fucking foils to each other and if you would let them meet, your show would've worth something FUCK YOU GIVE THEM TO ME SOBS

Adam and Weiss should have met, and they should've kicked Jacques' ass together. Weiss should have been confronted with the sin of her family's legacy, and Adam should have been able to have his pain be fuckimg recognized. WE DESERVED BETTER THAN THIS.

They were hurt by the same name, by the same man, and lost a part of themselves that they will never physically or mentally get back. These two have so much narrative foil to each other, and I will never be happy again thinking about what canon did to this potential. FUCK YOU RT.

[memento-fugaces]

The Wicked Way Exchange

Hi ! The work after the cut is for the Jacques and Quigley prompt. I hope you like it :) @nothing-to-see-here-bye-yall @asouefanworkevent

A taxi of an alarming shade of yellow dashed through street after street in a seemingly nonsensical pattern until it crashed to a halt; out of it and past a row of serpentine hedges, a tall man with an aquiline face and a nervous energy bounded. As he slipped out of the vehicle, he whispered 'May the world be quiet here' and so fled the taxi eagerly. The building before him was somehow different now, confirming the terrible telegram he had received only yesterday, which hear means news of Monty's death. So many friends had perished of late- most of them by fire- but he held fast to the hope it would be worth it if they could finally extinguish the terrible fire that disquieted the world.

Within the house, Quigley was watching all this fearfully: the stranger and his bewildering actions. He had packed to leave and was almost ready before he was interrupted by turbulent sounds outside. It was with care that he threw himself into the cupboard from which he was to observe this unknown figure. Having lost his parents and siblings recently, he had gained a weariness toward those he did not know. So it was that he retreated into his mother's advice on being able to tell the true character of a person by their actions.

Jacques's activity as he burst through the door was frantic and frenzied and as full of fear as Quigley felt but what it did not suggest was a villain. For his part, Jacques knew both that the Baudelaires were not to be found here and that something was off but he had a file to find so got out his commonplace book and began leafing through pages 197-198 in all the books he could find, scrawling down notes as he went. This behaviour was enough to convince Quigley and so he stepped out of the cupboard with mock confidence and the sound of an incomplete tea set crashing, startling Jacques. Instinctively, the stranger reached into his lower left pocket and presented a blurry, unclear picture of three siblings whom Quigley did not recognise. They were at a dock of some sort with a sword dangled dangerously above them and they were not the Quagmires. 'The Baudelaires, have you seen them?' he asked a little too loudly.

Quigley was perplexed by this faintly familiar man and his strange actions. 'No I'm-'

'Quigley Quagmire, the third triplet!' Jacques realised with excitement. 'You're alive!' Something lurked behind his exuberant grin for an instant then flickered out. They conversed quickly, without pause, growing intrigued by the other's life. Both found common ground in having been considered dead by The Daily Punctilio.

'Siblings can be like that; I'm as worried about mine as you are Duncan and Isadora,' he tried to reassure Quigley. He knew how hard it was to be dragged from the world you know and felt he ought to offer Quigley what comfort he could.

Sharp as a stick drawn to a point, Quigley asked, 'How do you know who my siblings are. Who are you anyway?' He was a little defensive after the perilous series of events that had brought him here, feeling alone and wishing desperately that he did not sound so like a scared child.

'I'm sorry,' Jacques replied more to the tone of Quigley's voice than his words. He recognised a fierce courage beneath the temporary yet heavy coats of misfortune, which he found unexpectedly familiar. 'I was a friend of your parents. Actually, I think I've met you once before at a dinner party when you were just a few years old.'

With some strain, Quigley remembered the stranger who was not really a stranger and began to trust the unsteady hand that squeezed his shoulder. They had only met briefly but it was something, which here means enough for Quigley to be able to trust Jacques a little. 'How did you know my parents?'

'We were all once members of the same noble organisation.'

'Can they help me get to my siblings?' Quigley enquired.

'I'm afraid you mustn't go after them. It would be unsafe for you to be seen in public or you might be captured by our enemies.' Unconvincingly, Jacques tried to reassure Quigley what little he could. However, sensing Quigley's unaltered determination he made a promise that as soon as it was possible, they would go together in search of the other Quagmire children.

'Which organisation?' replied Quigley, attempting to gather information as his parents had taught him- he missed them a great deal.

'VFD, though it's not what it once was' Jacques said, gradually trailing off into the recesses of his own mind. 'Not since the schism.' Truthfully, he felt guilty for having told Quigley so much; he had slowly found the organisation less noble than he had believed- he thought it better not to reveal much lest Quigley find himself embroiled in the bitter troubles of VFD.

'What does it stand for?' questioned Quigley who was not certain what Jacques had meant.

'Tell you what, I've got a present for you: it'll help make sense of the world,' said Jacques with undue hopefulness. Research was a powerful thing but it would neither help them make sense of their sadness or what had happened. Regardless, he produced a purple commonplace book as if it were the calm after a storm, though the storm was hardly over.

'Is that a commonplace book?'

'Yes. You can use it to help navigate this murky world. For now, though, you ought to get some rest.'

And so, after a little resistance from Quigley who would much rather be looking for his siblings but was also extremely tired, he slept. Jacques watched over Quigley for a while, face flushed with anguish at another orphan, a victim of the firestarters. Tomorrow he would get to know Quigley.

*

Next morning early, Quigley started awake from a nightmare- the exhaustion gone, his memories of the fire amassed. The roar of shattering glass and the cloudy plumes of smoke and then the wretched silence.

It was bright outside so he must've overslept: he was eager to learn more from this person he had met last night. So it was that he leapt out of bed only to be surprised by the overly loud creak of floorboards that told of an eerie stillness. Hot with panic, he let himself downstairs with his newly gotten commonplace book and decided to make notes as he looked for signs of Jacques. It was oddly calming.

He was sad, alone again after the merest flicker of company. The house felt bare and abandoned as the walls started to swallow Quigley up, which here means left him in desolation once more. In his search, he became even more acquainted with the rooms and in particular the library, expansive and full of obscure volumes but what interested Quigley the most was a book entitled 'Remarkable phenomena of the Mortmain Mountains' that seemed to contain many maps.

At last, he came upon a small postcard sized note, though the paper was thin as papyrus, that attempted an explanation: 'I'm sorry to have had to leave you all alone, was unavoidably detained- VFD business. I promise to be back by half past one at the outside, for brunch.' Beneath it was a signature in a flamboyant hand that stretched up and down, carving out loops in which Quigley could find some precious little comfort. Eventually his attention wandered to a vaguely familiar symbol of an eye that, as he remarked in his commonplace book, seemed to be part of the page itself. Where had he seen it before?

But before he had time to find answers to his questions, Jacques vaulted through the door and towards him with slightly too much friendliness. What drew Quigley's attention, however, was the tattoo on Jacques's left ankle- the eye. Jacques gave a fraternal embrace as Quigley peered over his shoulder and let out a tear. There was a theatrical clock on the wall with green and purple hands, which Quigley soon realised were reptiles, most probably snakes, that informed him it was not quite yet one o'clock. People who arrived early were likely to be noble, his father had taught him, for they have little time for villainous deeds. Still, he decided that he would not mention either the monogram of the eye or the tattoo; he could make his own little research into the matter.

He took to the embrace with a little exertion and they each found a little comfort in the other's company.

Once they had managed to separate themselves, Jacques took his turn to look at the clock. This time, the silver snake hissed in fear as it indicated thirteen minutes to one. He was earlier than even he had expected to be, he realised, but felt guilty anyway for having left Quigley alone at all. He made an apologetic smile, which here means attempted to make amends for having already been unable to be as reliable as he would have liked. The tattoo on his left ankle seared.

'Since I'm back early, shall we spend some time together before brunch?' he asked, almost calling this place home. Was he really so lost in this loud world that he had already grown accustomed to this place?

Quigely nodded in assent as a singular concoction of emotions bubbled over in his heart- anger, fear, love.

'Tell me, have you ever heard of the piece La Forza del Destino?' He had remembered Monty's piano, an extravagant gift from him actually, which would help them pass the time together. The piece was one Quigley would need to know about at some point, perhaps already did, so he thought this might at least be a less painful introduction to it.

In fact, Quigley had: his mother and father had talked incessantly about it for a while. It was impressive with its dramatic, bellowing melody but it hardly seemed anything much special to him. Quigley's medley of emotions, however, had an unexpected effect. 'No,' he lied. 'I should be happy to hear you play it.'

Without another word, they both embarked toward the piano room. They remained silent, though not for lack of questions such as where have you been?, how are you coping with what has happened? and wouldn't it make more sense to just have an early brunch.

The piano was a rich maroon, patterned intricately with swirls and engraved reptiles: on his first day in the herpetologist's house, Quigley had noted this remarkable instrument and was glad once more of its comfortable grandeur. Resolutely, Jacques set himself before the piano and began to play this piece that had once meant only a fictional tragedy which here means was previously not associated with the fires that had torn apart his organisation. The noise swelled, rising and falling rhythmically to a climactic crescendo and Jacques let out a silent tear. How much had been lost? Quigley was reminded of his mother who had often played to him in the evenings before that awful event and he felt a shiver of loss arc across his spine. Once what felt like an eternity had passed, the strokes on the piano reached their conclusion.

'I didn't realise this was a sad occasion,' Quigley said quietly to Jacques, remembering indistinctly something he had been told by his parents. He felt determined to offer some comfort to Jacques.

'The world is quiet here,' Jacques returned. 'That is the reply you should give; it is part of a secret code- one used to identify noble people. But then I suppose your parents taught you that. They were good volunteers.'

'Volunteers?' Quigley asked. What could he possibly mean by using such an odd word. How did this man know his parents so well, he wondered. 'Yes,' Jacques said solemnly then broke off. 'I'm afraid I'm only here on my search for the Baudelaires and as such won't be here all the time. In fact, it's likely VFD will need me elsewhere soon enough.'

Unusually distraught at this, the usually brave Quagmire asked something of Jacques. 'Stay.'

I'm afraid, however, Jacques felt a certain responsibility to the Baudelaire children who were in gravest danger, which he explained solemnly, and he was therefore unable to stay as he wanted. If he had, it is possible he would have lived to grow close to Quigley, though in truth it is likely this would not have kept them safe from other fires. Instead he promised with the kind of lie reserved for those one loves that his absences would not slowly lengthen until he was gone entirely.

Their emotions overpowering, the two departed afterwards to brunch in silence.

At first, the meal was quiet but Quigley was determined to put on a brave face, here meaning hide his sadness much like his companion. Conversation, then, was not hard to come by.

At length did they talk about Quigley's parents, exchanging trivial bittersweet anecdotes until they began to feel time slipping away around them. They painted vivid memories of the happiness that their lives had held before descending into chaos. Within the glorious tales, Quigley noticed something about Jacques's stories- something of his parents that he did not recognise. Although he maintained a smile, he began to feel disoriented by the discovery that his parents had kept secrets from him. Jacques reacted subtly and gradually shifted conversation from their tragic pasts to a future that would never be realised.

Quigley learnt that Jacques had been up all night researching and, against Jacques's protests, offered to help him in this search for the Baudelaires.

Each night, they sat together on the carpeted floor of the library, in the radiant heat of the fireplace for hours on end, poring over countless documents together. This help, it turned out, was vital as Quigley's adeptness with maps allowed them to determine that the Baudelaires had moved on to Paltryville.

[dowhatteverer]

For the character ask: James and Yang, please?

Alright! Sorry I advanced if I wrote some of these out of order.

James Ironwood:

Sexuality headcannon

Gay, Demi Romantic

Otp

Ironqrow, obviously

Brotp

Glynda!

Notp

I'mma be honest with you, I don't think that there is a James ship I don't like or at least I'm not curious about. Except for maybe shipping him with any of the teenage characters because large age gaps and underage x adult squick me the heck out. Problematic adult pairings like Jacques/James interest me from a storytelling perspective rather than a genuine want for them to be together, because believe me, James deserves so much better than him.

First headcannon that pops into my head

James has body issues and a mild case of body dysmorphia. This has a lot to do with feeling ostracized because of his prosthetics and how people will react to them, but also extends to normal middle aged man insecurities like worrying about his weight and his greying hair.

Favorite line from this character

"Well that's about all the pomp I have in me, *adjusts tie* now I have to get back to running this operation.*turns, and the turns back with a smile* Enjoy the Cake!" This moment is so awkward and genuine it lives in my head rent free.

One way in which I relate to this Character

I hardcore headcannon him as being Autistic, so a lot of this might be projecting, but it's the implication that he thinks about everything in a different way from most other characters in the show and what makes sense to him is somehow universally pushed against and rejected as a solution, but they also get mad at him for not doing the thing that they didn't want him to do. It almost feels like no one's really trying to make an effort to understand him and instead try to read into all of his behaviors as being malicious in nature. I think every autistic person has had this happen to them at least once in their lives.

Thing that gives me second hand embarrassment from this character.

His flirting with Glynda in the earlier seasons. The heteronormativity really made things awkward back then.

Cinnamon roll, or problematic fave?

Problematic fave for sure, even when he wasn't being a poorly thought out villain, he still made a lot of choices that actually had an effect on the story with positive and negative consequences. Which as we all know in RWBY, you are evil to do if you're not a main protagonist.

Yang!

Sexuality headcannon

Definitely bisexual

Otp

Freezer burn!

Brotp

I think Yang and Nora would be an unstoppable duo and should totally hang out more.

Notp

Get bumblby the hell away from me please. I mean, make it cannon for fucks sake, and then keep it the hell away from me.

First headcannon that pops in my head

She used to make Ruby breakfast in the morning but since she was still a young kid while trying to take care of her sister, a lot of her food items were not exactly healthy. Like putting chocolate milk and cookie crumbs in marshmallow cereal.

One thing I relate to about this character.

I wasn't abandoned by a parent or had one die on me, but I was raised by two people who had untreated mental health issues, my mom had a drinking problem and bipolar mood swings when I was young, while my dad was a closets bisexual man who was dealing with a divorce and being in contact with his catholic (and quite homophobic) family while not taking any antidepressants for his emotional issues. So Yang having two parental figures who still loved and cared about her, but whose mental health issues ended up affecting her later in life even though they were trying their best? That hits close too home.

Favorite line from this character

"but you are special, at least to me" I know this is from her first appearance in the first episode, but something about the genuine love for her little sister she showcases in those words alone just makes me think about all the things I love about Yang.

Thing that gives me second hand embarrassment from this character.

Her openly growling at shirtless boys while in the hall before the first day of school. It's just so awkward, even if it was set up for a joke about how Jaune isn't masculine enough (even though that in of itself sucks)

Cinnamon roll, or problematic fave?

Problematic fave for sure. Although I'm not sure I can really call her a fave after what the show did with her. It's just so hard to enjoy her now that they've made her main personality trait being angry and completely forgot that her anger was something she was supposed to be overcoming, Not wallowing in. And also absolutely nobody on team RWBY came out looking good after the Atlas arc. I don't care how many times the writers are going to rewrite the history of their show.

[wehaveagathering]

hiiii

🦆 If I were to make a summoning circle for you, what food could I summon you with?

🐺 Build a NHL starting line up (3F, 2D, 1G) based on a really weird criteria for comedic effect (e.g. guys with names that sound like Dylan).

🔥 Give me an unpopular opinion on hockey. Preferably Hot Takes (not serious).

💣 Blow it up: pick one NHL team. Change its name, mascot, logo/colors. Tell me why you chose the new elements.

🪽 Name a NHL player whom you would: Sacrifice to the Gods, Do Hard Crimes With, and Save the World With.

🎶 What would your goal song be and why?

🏒What was your first impression of hockey? Why? Has it changed? If so, why?

🎰 What is a gamble/risky decision you have made recently that has paid off?

omg guys 🥺 number four for the ask game????

🦆 If I were to make a summoning circle for you, what food could I summon you with?

crab rangoons. easy. next.

🐺 Build a NHL starting line up (3F, 2D, 1G) based on a really weird criteria for comedic effect (e.g. guys with names that sound like Dylan).

G - Jacques Plante

D - Leo Bourgeault

D - Aaron Ward

F/LW - Viktor Ståhlberg

F/RW - Sylvain Turgeon

F/C - Jeremy Roenick

figure it out!! >:)

🔥 Give me an unpopular opinion on hockey. Preferably Hot Takes (not serious).

TORTORELLA WAS RIGHT WHEN HE SAID THAT GUYS DONT KNOW HOW TO TAKE HITS THESE DAYS. and guess what – it's not their faults!!

okay, hear me out. Hathaway got 5 for boarding Luke Hughes, but watch the play I linked. the hit A.) doesn't come until AFTER the ref's whistle blew for icing. B.) THIS ISN'T EVEN BOARDING. boarding is a check on a defenseless opponent – Hathaway not only thought the play was still good, but he could not have more clearly checked Luke's shoulder, not his back; he was fully in LHughes' line of sight and C.) jesus h christ, hughes. he just crumples like a house of cards. both Hathaway and Luke Hughes are 6'2"; Luke Hughes is 184 lbs and Hathaway is 212 lbs. but luke is a d-man in the NHL, where these kinds of hits are allowed, and these are BIG DUDES. 184 is still pretty fucking heavy. sorry your man went down, but the check was good. if the NHL wants to institute safety rules about checking or fighting, then do that, because the culture is changing, but don't fucking pick and choose when/where/who/how to enforce rules, because that check is still fucking good. and he's right, the league is smaller, faster, less violent, so young guys are coming in having played a different kind of hockey than what's currently being played in the NHL, and they're getting hurt because of it! either change the rules or make sure your guys know how to protect themselves. but they can't have it both ways.

i went serious. sorry

💣 Blow it up: pick one NHL team. Change its name, mascot, logo/colors. Tell me why you chose the new elements.

we still going with the blackhawks baby! every time!! racist ass. change that shit

🪽 Name a NHL player whom you would: Sacrifice to the Gods, Do Hard Crimes With, and Save the World With.

ANOTHA ONE >:)

i'm going with matthew tkachuk as my second option, and i think yall are going to agree with this one more than joseph woll LMAOOOOO

1. i feel like a lot of people would love to throw him into a volcano to appease the hockey gods. 2. i think he'd be down for hard crimes. (i think he's DONE crimes.) 3. and i think sometimes, you need a fucking hard-headed asshole to save the world with!

🎶 What would your goal song be and why?

i'm not changing it from megan thee stallion's verse from dolla sign slime, but if i had to pick a second? one way or another, by blondie!

🏒What was your first impression of hockey? Why? Has it changed? If so, why?

this one i already answered, and i don't have a second choice about the past!

🎰 What is a gamble/risky decision you have made recently that has paid off?

HAHAHA speaking of second choices about the past!

honestly i am really not much of a risk taker, i'm very very safe and i stick to what i know and hate doing new things. doing things scares me! but sometimes saying yes to going out with people i don't know well and doing new things is really fun! i recently went ice-skating with a bunch of friends from school that i don't know very well, and i was really nervous bc i've actually never skated before and they were all better friends with each other than they were with me – but it was actually so much fun, and every time i look back on that night i feel so happy!

thank you so much for the ask!! <3

[imthebadguyyy]

Temporary Fix

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (fem!F1 driver!reader)

Fandom - F1

Summary - You're the only female F1 driver, and you're damn good at your job. Oh, and you also have a friends with benefits relationship with a certain 7x World Champion.

Warnings - smut, best friends -> lovers, slight exhibitionism

A/N - you have the second merc seat in this, so Valterri isn't here : (( not proof read

Sometimes, you hated yourself for following your passion. Driving a F1 car had been your dream ever since you could remember. The long process from karting to F1 had been a difficult one. When you were seven, you had a go kart track manager that you couldn't race there because you were a girl. That had cemented your will to be the best you could be, and you had done it.

You had made it into a Mercedes F1 seat after spending two years in Williams. It was safe to say that you were one of the best drivers, with killer instinct and an excellent eye for overtakes. The likes of Mika Hakkinen, Niki Lauda, Jacques Villeneuve and others had praised your skills, naming you one of the best talents in the current driver pool.

But the glory, the fame, the praise, sometimes you wished you could just evaporate into thin air. This was one of those times. Press conferences sucked, they really did. Reporters and journalists thought they were entitled to ask you the most sexist of questions, brushing them off by saying it was 'just a simple question'. Sometimes the drivers you were paired up with defended you, like Seb or Pierre or Lewis or even Kimi. Sometimes people didn't want to say anything, or they just laughed it off or answered for you.

This was not one of those times. Charles was supposed to be your partner for the press conference, but he wasn't feeling too great so you were on your own. It had started off fine, with the usual questions like 'how are you feeling about the race?' 'is it gonna be a good weekend for Mercedes?' and then it had gone to 'Do you think you being the only woman here, you should have a special suit?' or 'Are you sure it's a good idea for you to continue another year in F1?' that's what had irked you off.

With a roll of your eyes and a shake of your head, you bit back the cutting response that had sprung to your lips, opting to simply look disapprovingly in silence, speaking more words in the quiet. Eventually, the conference was over, and you made your way out of the hall, deep in thought, so lost in your own world, you didn't notice when a pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into one of the nearby storage closets.

Your protest of "Hey!-" was cut off by a pair of lips pressing to yours, strong arms wrapping around your torso. "Heard you had a bad day with the press" Lewis mumbled against your lips, brow furrowing when you sighed and let your head drop onto his shoulder. "Yeah they're such fucking jerks" you replied, closing your eyes. "I'm sorry you have to deal with them every time" he continued, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Eh, I mean I'd rather not talk about it" you continued, letting your fingers trace a pattern on his chest.

The silence in the room was disturbed by the ringing of Lewis's phone, making you jump softly. "Bono" he answered, looking down at the screen. "Pick it up"

"Hello?"

"Lewis, we're waiting for the meeting? And is Y/N with you?" Bono's voice rang through the tiny closet, as you turned to look at Lewis with wide eyes. Shit, the debrief. "Yeah, I'm coming! Oh, and I'll see if I can find Y/N" he replied, making you suppress a smile. The moment he put the phone down, the both of you burst into giggles, before he leaned down to press another kiss to your lips. "Well, we should go" he said, biting back a smile when you sighed, and cuddled into his shoulder. "Fine"

"But I'll make it up to you tonight baby" he continued, as a shiver ran down your spine. Oh yeah, you two had a friends with benefits situation going on too. No biggie

Except, well, you know you couldn't tell anyone, and you were definitely in love with each other, but I mean, of course it was better to be stupid and just simply refuse to acknowledge those feelings for each other.

♥︎☾☁︎

It had happened, when Lewis won his championship in Turkey. The team had thrown a (socially distant) party, and you had gotten just a little more drunk than you should have, but the champagne was flowing, tequila shots were being taken, beer was being chugged so you just jumped in and had a few more glasses of wine than you should have, and participated in a few rounds of shots.

Before you had known, a pair of hot lips had crashed onto yours, and your arms had tightly held onto a broad pair of shoulders, as the pair of you had stumbled up to your hotel room, crashing backwards onto the bed. Your drunken mind had been sober enough to recognise the 'Still I Rise' tattoo across his back when he tugged his shirt off.

At the same time, Lewis had recognised your face, heart speeding up ever so slightly because holy shit he was making out with you, and he really, really liked you. Before he knew it, your dress was down to your knees, and his shirt was a rumpled mess on the floor, your friendship gone far beyond repair, but only in the best way possible.

The next morning, you had let out a groan when the sunshine had flashed into your eyes, rolling over to find Lewis lying next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist as he slept peacefully. Your heart rate had sped up, and you had shot up, scaring the living day light out of Lewis. He had awoken with a start, confusion present in his brown eyes, before realization had sunk in, and he had shot out of bed, wrapping one of the towels around his lower body.

But before the two of you could get awkward, he had strutted over to you, grabbing your face in his hands before pulling you in for a kiss that made you feel weak and light headed.

And then the both of you came to the conclusion that you two wanted something loose and flexible, something fun with no commitment.

But was it what you wanted?

♥︎☾☁︎

Sometimes debriefs could drag on. And on. And on. Eventually, the engineers left the room, leaving only Toto, Lewis, Bono, Angela, James and yourself in the room. Over the years, it had become like a family for you, and you loved them to absolute bits. The mood in the room had changed, as you all joked around for a while.

Watching from the other side of the room, Lewis couldn't help the smile that etched itself onto his face, when he saw you throw your head back with laughter at something Toto said, inhaling sharply when your neck came into clear view, a sudden urge to mark you up settling in on his body.

It was a thrill, to think of how many times you had come undone on his fingers and his tongue, how many nights you begged for him to fill you up with his cock. It was a thrill to think of all the times he had cried your name out in ecstasy while your tongue worked wonders around him. And yet, here you were, acting as if you two were just best friends, not two people who could barely keep their hands off of each other.

Just two nights ago, he had made you scream his name so loud, the person the next room, who just happened to be Daniel, had not let him hear the end of it. Thankfully, the Aussie hadn't realized it was you in his bed. Two nights ago, he had made you see stars, and after that you had rewarded him with the performance of his life to Nights Like This by Kehlani.

Snapping back to reality when a slight poke was applied to his shoulder, Lewis looked over to see Angela looking at him with a slight smirk on her face. He strongly suspected that the woman definitely had some sort of inkling about the both of you. How ? No idea. But she was a crazy smart woman, and was bound to have figured out that he was seeing someone.

It didn't help that atleast half the people on the grid had at some point teased him, telling him the both of you were made for each other. It was like the universe was pushing the both of you to be together, and he kept pushing it away

"So are we feeling confident going into this weekend?" Toto asked, grabbing his attention from the smirking blonde.

"Yup!" Your cheery answer elicited a smile from everyone in the room. "Yeah I think so" he said, watching as you flashed him a quick smile. "Okay, then, I think we're done for now. Any questions?" Bono asked, scanning a data sheet in front of him. "No, i'm good" you replied, reaching over to grab your phone. "Yeah me too" Lewis said, far too concerned with what was going to happen later that night to pay his full attention to Bono.

"Okay then. We'll see you tomorrow"

And with that they departed. Before Lewis could follow you, a hand grabbed his and he turned to see Angela, Toto and Bono looking at him expectantly. "So whose got you all distracted and flustered?" Angela asked, earning a smirk from Toto. "What? No one" he replied, slapping himself mentally for being all day dreamy during a meeting. "Oh really? I'm willing to bet you didn't hear anything I said during the meet except the last bit" Bono said, smiling when his driver got visibly flustered.

"So do we know her?" Angela continued, watching him closely for any giveaway reactions. "How would you know her if I don't like anyone?" Lewis said, hoping to God it didn't come across as awkward as it sounded.

"Never said you liked anyone. I'm saying you're in love with someone" Angela said, watching as her friend's eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head profusely. "Okay are you on something? I'm just gonna head back to the hotel now" he murmured, confused, and somewhat taken aback by her bluntness.

Ignoring the looks on the others faces, he made his way out to the paddock, trying his hardest to make sense of his feelings. Was a casual relationship with you what he wanted? He wanted so much more than that.

Lewis knew, deep down in his heart, that he wanted to hold your hand in public, and kiss you right on the lips in front of everyone when you shared a podium. He wanted to be able to call you his, to not just spend the night with you, but to spend all his days with you. But you didn't want that.

Or so he thought.

♥︎☾☁︎

Back at the hotel, Lewis busied himself with working out, trying to push all his frustrations out via the workout. He knew that you were going to turn up in the night, and he looked so damn forward to seeing you each night, but god, he hated it when you left in the morning. Every morning when your warm body slipped out from under the sheet, his arms would tighten for a moment, before your giggle would bring him back to reality and he'd hastily draw back, smiling at you. His favourite moment was when he came to your hotel room in Spain. In the morning, he had woken up before you, and before leaving, he had pressed a little kiss to your forehead. The most gorgeous smile had curled onto your lips, and his heart had melted into a little puddle when you rested your cheek on his hand

And then in Monaco, when he had taken you to his apartment, you had woken up before him, and he had woken up to the sight of you bringing a tray of pancakes and fruits, followed by a soft kiss to his cheek.

It was those moments he cherished, but it was those same moments that confused him.

His train of thought was broken when a knock echoed in the room, as he walked over to the door, opening it to find : you

"Hey" you greeted him, walking in and shedding your jacket. "Hey" he replied, reaching for a towel to wipe the sweat off of his body. "Wow um, is this a bad time?" You asked, eyes trailing down his abs, watching as his body glistened in the fading sun light. "No its fine, I just finished my workout. You hungry?" He continued, biting back a smirk when he saw your eyes roaming his body.

"W-what? Yeah, i, um, suppose - yeah" you murmured, mind already far down the gutter.

"For food darling, not for sex" he said, making you blush and let out a small gasp. "Lewis!" You chided, shoving him softly. "You know you were thinking it" he mumbled, pushing you up against the wall. "Yeah I was" you whispered back, yanking him forward by his shoulders, slamming your lips against his.

Lifting you up from the waist, he pressed his body further into yours, one of his hands wandering down to your ass, squeezing harshly, earning a moan from your lips. Taking the opportunity, he pushed his tongue into your mouth, groaning when you let your core grind against him.

Leading you towards the bed, he stopped in confusion when you stopped him, maneuvering him towards the balcony. "Want you to fuck me against the window or in the balcony" you gasped out, earning a moan from him.

"Right where anyone could see us, hmm? Didn't know you were into that baby" he growled, grabbing your earlobe in between his teeth, earning an airy gasp from you, as the wetness threatened to seep down your legs.

"Mmhmm" was all you could muster, your mind so clouded with desperation you couldn't form a single coherent thought. The only thing you were aware of was that only Lewis could make you feel the pleasure you wanted to feel, only he would take you to that little piece of heaven, only he would hold your hand and fuck you into oblivion, and he would still be there to clean you down with a sponge softly.

"If you insist"

Grabbing you roughly, he slammed your body against the massive hotel room window, ripping the mercedes team shirt you were wearing off of your quivering form, letting it drop to the floor, before he hooked his fingers into the material of your jeans, tugging the denim down your legs

With a soft groan, you pulled his nike shorts down his legs, moaning when his cock came into view, the throbbing in between your legs making you whimper, arousal and need growing tenfold in your tummy.

"Please" you whispered, meeting his eyes, so he could see the pure desperation in your eyes. "Please what?" He said, a certain roughness you hadn't heard before creeping into his voice

"Please fuck me" you moaned, gasping when he brought his hand up to your neck, squeezing ever so slightly. "Oh trust me doll, i will. But first, i want to have you dripping wet and ready for me. I want to make you cum on my fingers, so you're wet and ready for my cock. Do you want my fingers princess?" he continued, feeling his arousal grow when you whimpered and whined.

"Words baby girl. Or I'll just leave you here with your pathetic fingers. I bet you can't even reach all those spots inside you that make you scream, when your tiny little fingers try to please yourself. I bet you just feel like sinking into yourself, but the thought of my fingers keeps you awake. Do you do that, sweet girl? Do you pretend your fingers are mine when you're touching yourself, hmm?'

When you didn't answer, he delivered a smack to your ass, groaning when you moaned at the pleasurable sting. "Yes" you whispered abashed.

"Don't be shy baby. Its okay. I know you feel so good when I love on you. I can see it when you scream my name" and with that, his pointer finger began circling your clit, rubbing circles around it before shifting so he was rubbing the sensitive bud directly.

Your moans of ecstasy were music to his ear, a smile gracing his features, as he let his middle finger slip into you, thrusting it in and out of you. Your soft cry of "fuck" cracked when he shoved his pointer into you as well, scissoring them in and out of you

"Oh fucking hell Lew-" "Shh my darling, i didn't say you could talk, did I?" He said, fingers working at an indescribably quick pace, as the knot in your tummy tightened and threatened to loosen. "I'm gonna-" "go ahead baby" he murmured, using his pointer and thumb to pinch your clit roughly, as you came around his fingers with a scream

"Good girl. You wanna put that pretty little mouth to use somewhere else?" he asked, watching as you dropped to your knees eagerly, (just like I would do irl) reaching up to rest your hands on his hips.

"Someone's eager to suck my cock hmm? Be a good girl for me, and don't waste time" he ordered, a shudder running down his body when your nails traced the veins on his cock, and then as they reached downwards, your thumb circling his tip, collecting his pre cum on your finger. Then you shoved your thumb in your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, before sucking softly on your digit, rolling your eyes back. You were snapped back to reality when Lewis roughly yanked your head up, pure arousal clouding his pupils

"You better use your mouth right now, or i swear i will leave you here alone to pleasure yourself" he threatened, moaning when you took his tip into your mouth at once, sucking softly before swirling your tongue upwards.

The feel of your tongue on him made him buck his hips into your mouth, the unexpected movement pushed him quite far back in your mouth, looking up at him, you hollowed out your cheeks, taking more and more of his cock into your mouth, the sounds he was making above you fuelling you. You took him as far back as you could without gagging, as a strangled moan of "Fuck Y/N!"left his lips. He grabbed your hair, tugging upwards, the tingling on your scalp sending shockwaves of pleasure through you. "Fuck baby, you're gonna have to stop now, I really want to fuck you now" he growled out, pulling you up before pushing you towards to balcony railing

Lining up with your entrance, he watched as you let out a shaky breath, eyes falling shut, as you clenched in anticipation.

"Are you sure you want this Y/N?" he asked, eyes searching your face for any sign that he was being too rough, or that you didn't want what was coming next

"Turning your head around to face him, you pulled him in for a passionate kiss. "I've never been more sure baby" was your affirming reply.

Kissing you back with the same fervour, he slowly pushed into you from behind, the both of you groaning in sync when your walls enveloped him. "fuck you feel so good darling. So fucking tight" lewis moaned, making you moan as well as the pleasure coursed through your veins.

Reaching around you, Lewis rubbed your clit while he continued to snap his hips against yours, making your breasts bounce against your chest, your hands gripping the balcony railing for dear life. Thank god it was dark.

He continued to rub and pinch you clit, before swiping his fingers through your wet folds. Then he shoved his fingers into your mouth, prompting you to suck on them

"Be an angel and suck on my fingers for me" he growled, moaning when your mouth eagerly closed around his fingers, sucking them with fervour.

Snapping his hips into you desperately, his hands encircled your waist, pulling you back to meet his thrusts, swishing his fingers around in your mouth. "Fuck baby thats it, i'm gonna cum" he groaned, capturing your earlobe in between his teeth, moaning when you clenched down on him again

"Oh fucking hell-" with a moan, he came into you, pulling his fingers out of your mouth to rub your clit again, sighing with satisfaction when you came around him with a scream of "Lewis!"

Panting, he dragged you back to the bed, both of you collapsing into the covers.

Your chest rising and falling rapidly, you curled up into his chest, letting your head droop onto his shoulder, as his fingers traced his initials onto your hip.

"Well princess, we seem to have a problem here" he said, as you snapped your head up to look at him in confusion.

"I think i'm in love with you"

♡☾☁︎

A/N - part 2? Also feel free to drop a comment, i'd really appreciate it 🤍 thank you so much for reading 🤍

[xxiamtiebrousxx]

Chapter 4 "A Night Out" (The Woman in Red| Spy x Reader)

A/n: www.youtube.com/watch?v=8MGq7vTIDmE&list=PLPexScw8s91xwJX58a9HfphleQhTEDDRp&index=294

Spy led the enamored Y/n to a table. He sat her down and took his seat across from her. Santiago brought over the good stuff. “It’s on the house,” he said, placing down the glasses. “Thank you my friend,” Y/n said. Santiago winked and gave his thick mustache a twirl. Spy grabbed the glass and raised it in the air. “Cheers,” he said. Y/n raised her’s and clinked it against Spy’s glass. They both took a gulp. Y/n wiped her mouth. “So out of all the women here, why pick me?” she asked. “What do you mean?” “You could’ve danced with another woman, but instead you decided to dance with me,” she answered. Spy chuckled. “There’s something about you,” he said. “Perhaps you give off this aura, this feeling of comfort, non?” Y/n smiled, clasping her hands together. “Jacques,” she said, “how about you and I dance a little more?”  “I’d be honored too,” he replied, standing up. He walked over to the woman and held his hand out. “Would you dance with me, madame?”  “Of course,” Y/n answered, taking his hand. He took her onto the dance floor and pulled her into a slow dance, resting his hands on her waist.  “I'm sentimental So I walk in the rain I've got some habits Even I can't explain Go to the corner I end up in Spain” She placed her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him. Jacques smiled, resting his head against hers. “Why try to change me now? I sit and daydream I've got daydreams galore Cigarette ashes.” He spun her around slowly, pulling Y/n closer again. She blushed. Spy caressed her cheeks, resuming  the dance. “There they go on the floor Go away weekends Leave my keys in the door Why try to change me now?” They swayed in sync, like willow trees on a cool, summer day. The flower bloomed between them. “Why can't I be more conventional? People talk and they stare, so I try But that can't be 'cause I can't see My strange little world just go passing me by.” Y/n rested her head on his chest, feeling Jacques’ heartbeat speed up a little. “Let people wonder Let 'em laugh Let 'em frown You know I'll love you till the moon's upside down Don't you remember I was always your clown Why try to change me now? Why can't I be more conventional? People talk and they stare, so I try But that can't be because I can't see My strange little world just go passing me by.” They were closer than ever before, their lips nearly touching. Y/n took Spy’s hand and they waltzed slowly. “So let people wonder Let 'em laugh Let 'em frown You know I'll love you till the moon's upside down Don't you remember I was always your clown So why try to change me? Why would you want to change me? Why try to change me now?” Y/n pulled away as the song ended. She had fallen for another man.  “I’m sorry,” she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have to go.” “Will I be seeing you again?” Spy asked, taking her hand. Y/n turned around. “Come here tomorrow or next weekend,” she said. “I’ll be there.” Santiago came from behind and gave his friend her purse. “Thanks.”  “Goodbye,” Jacques called out. “Goodbye!” Y/n replied.  He watched as she ran off again. He inhaled as the familiar scent of Y/n faded away. Spy took a seat and finished his drink. “That went well.” He groaned. Scout took a seat in front of his father. “She’s a pretty doll, a shame you let her leave without offering to walk her back to the car.” “She had to go,” Jacques said, returning to his normal voice. “Okay, that was creepy,” Jeremy answered, taking a sip from Y/n glass. “Does she suspect anything?” “No,” Spy said. “I fear I’ve placed her in a fictitious love triangle.” “How so?”  “She’s torn between my masked self and my real self,” Spy said. “But, eventually I’ll reveal the truth, which will end in two or four ways.” “Lemme guess,” Scout said. “The first way, she smacks you and breaks your heart. The second way, she smacks you, but decides to stay with ya. The third way, she says “I knew it” and smacks you. The fourth way, she says “I knew it” but stays with you.” “In a way, yes.” Scout chuckled. “Well, you better go

get her as your masked self,” he said. “I had Heavy act as some big ol’ mugger.” “What?!?!” Spy exclaimed. “‘Ou dragged ze others into zhis?!” He jumped out of his chair and rushed outside, pulling his mask on.  Y/n walked past Jason, bidding him goodnight. Hannah was still parked across the street, waiting. Y/n sighed, relieved. Her friend was still waiting for her.  “Vhere does leetle girl think she is going?” Y/n gasped. A large man stood before her, with his arms crossed. Y/n held her hands up. “COME AT ME!!!” she yelled, throwing punches at the man. Heavy felt like he was being softly tapped. He raised his arms, ready to “strike.” “I won’t allow zhis!!!” Spy crashed into the heavy weapons guy. Heavy acted as if he was affected, which he really wasn’t, and fell to the ground. Spy was panting. All that force it took to take down his teammate was a lot. Y/n looked at the masked man. He really came after all. “Sorry about that,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again,” she said. Spy smiled, turning his charm on. He kissed her hand, and a little bit of her arm.  “Mon amour, c'est toujours un plaisir de te voir,” he said. “Now, where are ‘ou off to?” “I was about to head home,” Y/n replied. “My friend is waiting for me.” Spy smirked. “Before I offer to walk ‘ou to ze car,” he said, “may I get a name?” he asked. Her heart skipped a couple of beats.  “Uh, sure, it’s Y/n,” she stammered.  Spy smirked once again. “Y/n, I like it.” What was she getting herself into?

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

hello! how are you? i hope you're doing fine, um i'm here because i wanted to ask if you can write about armin falling in love with someone who's related to art, like a painter and suddenly discovering a whole new world. i will be so happy if you can do it.

thank you and please, stay healthy! 💗

Hi💛 of course! I really love that idea! Plus as a painter myself the struggle is real man, just yesterday i was having an overwhelming meltdown over what type of brushes to buy.

You seem really lovely so here's a mini fic! 🌸

Armin falling in love with a Painter!reader

{ Armin x reader | tw: none | fluff, pinning | modern }

{ "The Cathedral of Saint Jacques le Mineur, Liege" 1846 by Jenaro Pérez Villaamil 1807 - 1854 }

Reading is Armin's best friend, it always has been. It kept him company on countless sleepless nights as a child, and now it offered the escape his soul needed when overwhelmed with troubles of being a living human in this current world.    

"It's just captivating," he explained to you one day while walking together, happily clutching the bags of books he just baught. You like how they smell. For someone who reads a lot, he surely seems to be out of words when it comes to describing things he's passionate about.

The winds picks up, your steps slow down. Armin is staring at your face, but it's not your eyes he's looking at. You smile and it brings him back to reality, he looks away, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

You offer to hold some of the heavy bags for him, he gives a warm smile. You think the faint color on his cheek is a really nice shade of pink, it looks lovely under the sun.

The more he took you with him on trips to the far away bookshop near the Riverside, the more you started to understand how a rearranging of words can pull him inside an entirely different world.

It was like he could be his true self when there, carefully reading the description at the back of the books. Frowning whenever he finds a review instead of a summary. you didn't mind tho, because it ment he'd have to read a few pages into the book and the shop had a nice corner couch you two would sit in.

He'd apologise for troubling you, you'd say he's never a bother for you that and reassure him that you enjoyed every last second.

Ah, there it is, that nice shade of pink again.   

 

-

In some way he managed to share his love for books with you, as you spend entire afternoons just sitting near each other. Your sketchbook in hand, the sound of your pencil lightly scratching the paper. Him next to you, his book in hand and reading just loud enough for you to hear.

You think he has a nice voice, so you say it out loud. For the rest of the evening, he stuttered through half the book.

You laugh at the funny moments together, be it a clever joke the author weaved in a serious moment or an incredibly redundant cliche trope that while predictable, was still as enticing.     

He would always look at you whenever you let a chuckle escape, staring just for a couple seconds longer than necessary.

That sketch ended up getting turned into a painting when Armin walked you home that day.

-

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to!"

Blue glass shards are scattered on the table and floor, what remained of Armin's favourite mug. The puddle of coffee already sweeping into the canvas you left to dry there this morning.

It took you three days just for the layering.

It was a big canvas, cotton paper and natural wood. It cost a lot.

You know this feeling when you're so so broken about something that your brain just skips the denial and anger and jumps straight into depression? To say you were mad was an underestimated, and rightfully so.

Armin is trying to remove the coffee stains with the nearest towel he could find, it only smudges the paint more.

He looks terrfied.

"It was an accident I swear, I'd never..." his voice takes a higher pitch, hands shaking. "I'd never, ever mean to do this...I..." he hiccups, Voice quivering..

And just like that, all you anger fades away.

"Armin, hey" you take a step closer, carefully avoiding the broken glass.

He doesn't look at you, he's still desperate wiping the canvas. "I'll fix it, please I'll figure out a way."

The clutch he has on the towel only intensifies when you put your hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," you say "it's fine really, look at me."

And he does, with shame filled eyes. "No no no, it's not. I ruined it, your worked so hard on this and I just..." He looks down "it's NOT okay."

"Yes it is." You try to guide him away from the glass. "That's just a material object Armin, what's important is that you're okay."

He reluctantly follows, you both sit on the couch. His hands are clutching his knees. "I'm really sorry, it's okay if you want to yell at me you have the right to."

You cup his face in your hands, "don't say that, that's not true. It was an accident, I'd never ever yell at you."

Shock is clear in his eyes, his arms leave his knees to wrap around you, pulling you closer. His face buried in your shoulder. You stroke his back. Both of you stay like this for a long while, neither of you seems to want to let go.

At night, when he's getting ready to leave and go back home. You walk him to the door and he kisses your cheek as a goodbye.

the shade of pink you grew to love really goes along with his smile.

-

"Close your eyes and hold out your hand."

With the sparkle in his blue eyes and his hands hiding something behind his back, how could you say no.

So you do, and you feel his hand brushing against yours before a light weight is dropped on your palms. He gives you the okay so you open your eyes, an envelope.

It's cream white with a straw ribbon around it, it looks too good to open but you do anyway.

"Is that..." his smile grows as you pull out the card and paper inside, "a membership card."

"For the art course you've been saving up for! You seemed really excited when talking about it." He takes a step closer, tilting his head to the side as his blond hair brush against his neck. "Do you like it?"

"Armin I love it!" You're so happy that you don't dwell on it before pulling him into a hug, he eagrly hugs back and his hand lingers on you when you pull away. "But...isn't it too expensive ? How did you.."

His lips press into a thin line as he looks to the side, "don't worry about it, I've been also saving for a different reason."

Oh...yeah you know the reason, Eren’s been telling it to everyone after all. The three of them agreed to go on a trip overseas, even Mikasa seemed genuinely excited.

You look at him, you look at the envelope containing the art course of your dreams, you put the card back inside.

"I can't, " you hold it out for him, "you can still return this, they're very lean with their policies."

He doesn't take it. "Yes, yes you can. This isn't just because I feel bad for what i did, it's because..." he holds your hand in his, "because I want you to have it, you deserve the world and if i can I'd give it to you."

"But what about Mikasa and Eren, you know they've been looking forward for this."

"They'll understand that i can't come, and if they don't it's okay, they'll still enjoy it by themselves." He cups your face, looking at you like you're the only person in the world, "It's just a material thing after all, you aren't."

-

Armin likes to get out of his comfort zone evey once in a while, he likes to try new things no matter how intimidating they look.

Which is why, seeing him hesitantly entering the art classroom was not a surprise. His wide eyes switching their focuses between all the different objects in the room, from the canvas with a glaze shine on them, ready to get painted. Or the different shapes and sizes or brushes, the ones near the water jars looking softer than the rest.

You should've seen this coming, with Eren and Mikasa away on their trip, Armin has been hanging around you all the time. Not that you're complaining.

Looking at your still drying canvas, you quickly cleaned off your brush before using a towel to wipe your hands and elbows from paint stains.

"Armin," you said, amusement in your voice at seeing the blond out of his usual element. His curious eyes focus on you and he says a small hi with a wave.

You walk him through the basics, he nods while you explain the pros and cons of each paint type, what type of paintings it goes with and which techniques are the most common.      

After a couple minutes of him asking you to show him to use certain things and hold some brushes, he settles down for watercolors. You think it's adorably fitting.

While picking his brushes, you explain how in order to not damage the cotton papers, they have the softest hairs. To make your point, you take his arm in your hand and run a soft brush against his palm. He laughs softly saying it tickles, it's contagious and you're laughing too soon.

He picks the seat next to you, looking lost with the short brush in his hand and the already wet canvase. But it's a nice kind of lost, like the way a child would look at a new toy.

While he expriments at the corner of the canvas with different brushes and swipes the colors, other people start filling the room and soon enough everyone has taken their seats.

The instructer begans setting up today's study object, a couple of pink Camellias in a tinted turquoise vase, creating a nise color contrast.

You stare at them for a while, wondering where did you see that fimilar faint of pink. The question answers itself when Armin taps your shoulder and ask how to start layering the paint

-

It's around sunset when the two of you are walking together, he's talking about all the new things he never knew about art that he just discovered today. You're listening to him while nodding occasionally, it's when he stops mid-rant that you look at him.

"I just realised something" he says, before facing you.

"Oh? And what is it"

He looks at you, really looks at you. The sun is shining behind you as it says its last goodbyes for the day, making you look heavenly. "I realised that...I'm deeply in love with you"

[thirstyforred]

hello, some flaming rose incorrect quotes

Ulrich to Siegfried: What is toothpaste, if not bone soap?

Roderick: Existence is a prison and being the same rank as you two is maximum security.

***

Siegfried: What are all these dead bodies doing here?!

Jacques: Honestly, not much.

***

Roderick: Yesterday I overheard Siegfried saying “Are you sure this is a good idea?” and Ulrich replying “Trust me.” and I have never moved from one room to another so fast in my goddamn life.

***

Ulrich: How long does your ideal hug last?

Siegfried: 38-45 minutes.

Ulrich: That seems... impractical.

Siegfried: You said ideal, not realistic.

***

Siegfried: I’m friendly, I’m loyal, I’m energetic…

Siegfried: I just described a dog, didn’t I?

Ulrich: Well yeah, but people love dogs.

***

Ulrich: I’m just saying, when I die in mysterious and unexplained circumstances I want you all to make sure that everybody knows it.

Ulrich: Instead of saying how I was “a friend to everyone” and that I “lit up a room” when I entered it, I want people to shake their heads while muttering that I “asked too many questions for my own good” and talk about how they “warned me that I was getting in way over my head” and that I “always had a knack for finding trouble” wherever I went. If you don’t make me a local urban legend you’ve failed me.

Siegfried: I’m sorry, “when you die in mysterious and unexplained circumstances”?

***

Roderick: There is no better duo than my crippling fear of abandonment and my anxiety.

Nathaniel: There’s you and me.

Roderick, doubtful but tearing up: Yeah, okay

***

Roderick: Honestly, I’m a little scared of Siegfried and Ulrich.

Jacques: They wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Roderick: That’s reassuring.

Jacques: They’d kill a man though.

***

Siegfried: *hugs Jacques, inhaling deeply*

Siegfried: You smell like a father figure

Jacques, a bit weirded out: Please stop

***

Jacques: My assistance will be an act of beneviolence.

Eternal Fire priests: …Don’t you mean benevolence?

Jacques: No.

***

Siegfried: Okay, two person huddle.

Ulrich: You can’t huddle with two people. That’s just a hug.

Siegfried: Then hug?

Ulrich: Sure.

***

Siegfried, learning how to prank people: *puts salt in coffee and gives it to Ulrich*

Ulrich: *drinks it all*

Siegfried: …Didn’t the coffee taste weird?

Ulrich: Yeah, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all.

Siegfried, tearing up: Okay.

***

Ulrich: I gave Roderick a “get better soon” card

Siegfried: Aww, that’s really sweet of you

Ulrich: He wasn’t sick or anything. I just thought that he should do better

***

Roderick: This is a crazy idea. Insane. Stupid. It doesn’t make any sense.

Jacques: …so you’ll do it?

Roderick: For you? Of course.

***

Ulrich: Jacques just banned overly specific nicknames. I guess we can all thank Rat Snitch Roderick The Good Time Ruiner for that.

***

Ulrich: If Siegfried and I were drowning, who would you save?

Roderick: You morons can’t even swim?

Siegfried: It’s just a hypothetical question. Who would you save?

Roderick: My time and effort

***

Ulrich: Right before I die, I'm going to swallow a handful of popcorn kernels just to make the cremation more interesting

Siegfried: Please, Ulrich, it's three in the morning-

***

Jacques: I left instructions for everyone while I'm gone

Roderick: Mine just says, "Roderick, no"

Jacques: I want you to apply it to every. Possible. Situation.

[itsclydebitches]

Sorry to be agitated in your asks, but I just finished catching up on V8 and I'm hung up on a LOT but one of the big things I haven't seen many people talk about is the attitude towards Atlas? The way the show has constantly beaten in that Atlas is BAD, the city as just being the wealthy (and the irl association that that brings to fill in the gaps), with no redeeming qualities and actual decent people being few and far between (hello, Cinder backstory), makes it horribly difficult for us as an audience to connect to its current peril. I had a group of fans I talk with genuinely say that the civilians of Atlas deserve to be slaughtered because, really, "are they even innocent?" - like, what??? How does a show gaff up so badly that the massacre of a city is cathartic or wanted?

You’ve come to the right place, anon, because we’ve indeed been discussing that over here! Not that I can easily point you towards any posts because my blog remains a disorganized mess lol. 

In all seriousness though, yeah. All of the above. The more I think about it, the more I’m leaning towards the claim that the current treatment of Atlas is akin to the current treatment of Ironwood. Which is to say, made illogically, simplistically evil because RWBY does not know how to write (or is simply uninterested in tackling) a situation with this much gray in it. I say this because Atlas wasn’t treated as this #evil city up until late Volume 7/Volume 8. Originally, Weiss represented Atlas, which means we came to think of Atlas as we thought of her: flawed (very much so), but with a good core. Then the Vytal festival introduced us to Atlas students and we learned that Weiss, as the privileged Schnee, really is an exception rather than the rule. Atlas is also (perhaps even mostly) made up of those who are her opposite. Here’s a working class son whose family was screwed over by the Schnees. Here’s a fun, energetic faunus decked out in rainbows. Indeed, Weiss’ comment that she expects military-focused, highly organized fighters is blown out of the water, telling us that her view of the city (and what she as an individual supposedly represents of that city) isn’t accurate. Our other characters reinforce this. Winter appears to be the strict, military official... who eagerly greets her sister and cares that she’s making friends, not succeeding in her studies. Ironwood is the scary-seeming general... who actually listens to his allies and is 100% out to help others as much as he can. Time and again Atlas was shown to be a complicated, but ultimately caring place and that was shown to us through the people it produced and sent out into the world. Even when we hit Volume 7 and were introduced to a very dystopian looking Mantle, the story undermined that simplicity by having the group realize oh, Ironwood is crafting a plan to take out Salem and taking logical precautions to ensure his kingdom survives until then. He’s not just screwing over the city because yay rich people and boo the poor. Things began to fall apart when the group assisted in perpetuating these sacrifices (Amity), became an official part of this flawed system (huntsmen working under Ironwood), and actively undermined Ironwood in his attempts to get something good out of all this (secrets, lies, betrayal) while trying to paint them as the Good Guys to his Bad Decisions, but at least that complexity existed for the viewer to engage with, even if the show refused to acknowledge it. 

But then... late Volume 7. Ironwood shoots an unarmed, allied kid for no reason and with that about-face came a slew of anti-Atlas writing. Whereas before things were a bit more balanced (such as showing us racism in Mantle too) now Atlas is the Bad City to Mantle’s Good one. See how everyone talks about how awful Atlas is, only worthwhile for the protection it can give Mantle citizen? See how the Happy Huntresses have moved from being pro-Mantle to anti-Atlas? See the lack of scenes that give Atlas a human, sympathetic face? Mantle gets that with toys lost in the streets, or abandoned family photos. Atlas has privileged folks having picnics during the end of the world and military men so stupid they run out of the room - right past the heroes! - screaming about coffee on their pants. Atlas is now the transphobic city when transphobia was never introduced in this world before, and it’s the place where our villain was sold as a slave and horrendously tortured with a shock collar for years. Are there at least other, redeeming characters in this story? Only one and the fandom has decided to hate him. 

To be clear, I’m not out to claim that Atlas wasn’t framed as “bad” prior to this, but it’s crucial that nearly everything was filtered through Jacques Schnee. Ballroom full of idiotic, privileged folk who don’t care about the Fall of Beacon? They’re all Jacques’ guests (with Weiss and Ironwood standing as their contrasts). Awful brand on Adam’s face? That’s from the Schnee Dust Company too! Atlas was a city with wealth and that wealth not only created disparity, but allowed a few really bad individuals, like Jacques, to exploit systematic problems. Major flaws to be sure, but otherwise a city like any other, producing good that the audience is meant to love even as it grapples with its problems: Weiss, Winter, the FNKI group, and yes, Ironwood. It’s only when the story decided to turn Ironwood into a villain that we likewise saw this extreme turn towards Atlas as a fully corrupt, irredeemable city. Which makes a certain amount of sense to me because Ironwood represents Atlas and the city represents him in turn. They are are intimately connected. RWBY wanted simplicity despite failing to write a simple problem, so if you’re going to claim, “Ironwood wanting to save the people he feasibly can” is an objectively bad stance, you can’t make those people sympathetic. The audience can’t want Atlas to survive because that makes Ironwood too sympathetic in turn for trying to help them. The general trying to save a city filled with plenty of good people is a hero. The general trying to save a city filled with nothing but rich, racist assholes? Oh, he’s OBVIOUSLY evil.  

You’re right that the way Atlas has been presented makes it difficult to care about its peril. I think that’s the point. It’s really easy to take what RWBY is currently saying at face value and I think that’s why so much of the fandom has reached a “are they even innocent?” mindset. You need to take that second step of asking things like, “So if Atlas is all irredeemable trash, does that mean we should hate Weiss too? If Weiss is an exception because of what Team RWBY taught her, does no one else in the city deserve the chance to learn what she did? What about Winter still working for Ironwood? What about the group’s friends still in the academy? The non-Atlas students attending school? People from other kingdoms who were in the city when the borders closed?” etc. Getting to the point of realizing, “Huh, I don’t think an entire city deserves to perish because of systematic problems largely outside of individual citizens’ control and a few, heinous assholes,” but that requires thinking past what the show is saying right here, right now. 

RWBY now banks almost entirely on its audience believe whatever the claim of the week is. Starting with Ozpin in Volume 6, the show has made a habit of arguing things that are unsupported by the writing that came before this moment, or even, sometimes, the writing that’s happening right now. The latest in this long list is Atlas and, though disappointing, at this point I can’t claim I’m surprised. 

[theoriquewitherseld]

Heck I DO wanna know more! I'm super interested in thia fic 👀

OK I am SUPER happy receiving this ask, but alas all I can offer is a lot of excerpts,, more under the cut

When Jacques arrives at Stain'd, he finds the records to be VERY accurate: it's a deadzone. That would likely explain the weird look the conductor gave him when he requested to get off. There's no longer anybody here

Back then there must have been some, perhaps, in order to enact Lem's apprenticeship. But he still regards the situation with an air of apprehension. Large chunk of reports were missing, reports that were leading up to his disappearance. It could be that VFD hid it, of course, but intentional or not, its denominator remains the same: something monumentally terrible occured for that to happen.

And he will have to walk straight to it. Or at least, its aftermath.

The rattle of the train leaving startles him, and he shakes off his nerves. He wants so badly to get back on the train, jump on the railings perhaps but the rear has gotten quite a distance away. He's already alone.

(Oh God I just realized I have no idea what people do after they get off trains. Should there be like people taking ur tickets or something?? Ive been on a train only once and that was super long ago)

The Stain'd Station was utterly deprived of life. Everything was cracked and looked in the danger of falling apart. Litter and dirt was strewn all around. There was no place that Jacques just wanted more to bail out of immediately (except, perhaps, that one wasp-infested area but that is besides the point). It unnerves him, to listen to the echoes of his footsteps in the abandoned station, with its business nothing more than a ghost of its past. It rattles him more than the rattle of train wheels on the tracks. But he trudges on, hoping to find some clue.

Out on the street was no better. All buildings were boarded up, some windows smashed. Brown grass was growing out of the sidewalks. There was few vehicles on the side of the road: a brown rusty one with its hood popped up and its insides gone, a yellow cab so terribly dented, and a black one with its paint job scratched and all four of its tires missing. It was a miserable place, not fit for any human life, much less an apprenticeship. He grimaces in dismay. This is where they dumped his brother? Even as a containment procedure, it was a bit much. No person should be in this place.

But that wasn't the most pressing issue. The most pressing issue is where to start. He does not have the faintest idea where he is in this desolate town, much less where his brother stayed for the duration in the past — except for the address of The Lost Arms. But that information was useless without a map, and every other map he scoured to know about the town has vehemently insisted that Stain'd-By-The-Sea does not exist. Whether VFD has already tampered with those maps, he can not tell.

He had hoped there may be a clue in there, some forgotten item, a thing accidentally left behind. But with no map, his best course of action is to simply search every establishment and hope for serendipity. Not all of the best things are necessarily good things.

He hears a rumble of an engine.

His gaze snaps upwards, puzzled if whether or not he had imagined it. Then he can see the yellow dented cab making its way towards him at a snail's pace. Jacques's heart stops, and gripped his suitcase until his knuckles turned white. It was a trusty little suitcase, filled with tools and files that are of great use of him, but he's not so sure if it were of any use against a damned ghost cab. If it were really a ghost. If Kit was here, she would've scoffed at him. But he's not really feeling up to an argument, not when his feet was stuck to the pavement, body frozen into place. He stares, heart pounding like there was no tomorrow as the taxi pulls up to its side, exactly right in front of him, and stops.

But then the window rolls down, and Jacques felt very, very foolish, but immensely relieved, as it reveals a worn and much younger face of a boy with a busted blue cap.

"Well, hello there friend," he says, with a voice just as tired. "Another visitor was the last thing we expected, but —" he gives a small shrug, "— here we are. Need a taxi?"

It took him a moment to realize how stupid he looked with his mouth gaping open. "I-I'm sorry," Jacques stammered, once he found his voice. "We?"

Another younger face pops up from below the young driver, and Jacques nearly jumps in surprise. "That would be us, the Bellerophon brothers," he reveals with a squeaky but cracked voice. "I'm Pecuchet, and this—" he points upward, and his brother tipped his hat at him, " — is Bouvard, but that makes people's tongue tired, so you can call him Pip, and me, Squeak."

The driver known as "Pip" frowned. "Are you alright though? You've looked like you've seen a ghost."

His eyes fluttered. "Er  — Yes, yes, I... I am afraid I also didn't expect anyone to come here either." He tips his white hat at them in turn. "Greetings to you, I am Ja— James Moore."

Internally, he cringed. It was a sloppy pseudonym, but he can't risk revealing who he is in the potential situation VFD managed to track his trail, they wouldn't be able to hold incriminating evidence against him. Curiously, it didn't arouse much suspicion from the odd duo, except for a slight tilt of the head.

"Well, nice to meet you Mr. Moore. Do you need a ride anywhere?"

Jacques is not quite sure what to think of climbing into a cab with kids of odd names in an abandoned town. However, his relief in discovering that there is fellow life, inexplicable as it is, and a likelier possibility of gaining information triumphed over whatever reservations he had at the moment. In the pursuit of his search, with its very nonexistent lead, he'd take anything.

"I'd like to go to the Lost Arms please."

"Sure," Pip reached out behind him and opened the door. "Hop in."

He pauses, and then climbs in and closes it shut, and soon enough, the two brothers drive away from the Station with startlingly expert hands on both wheel and brakes. Jacques is fairly impressed at their coordination.

"Say," Pip starts, once they got a quite the distance away. "Apologies if it sounds prying, friend, but out of curiosity, what business does a stranger have with Stain'd-By-The-Sea?"

That shook him out of his stupor. Idiotically, he hasn't prepared for that, he was ascertain there won't be anyone here, he even got business cards and all but it's not in his suitcase (which he wants to smack himself on). His mind blanks for a moment, but he manages to scramble an answer that isn’t necessarily a lie nor a truth. "I am private investigator hired to search for someone last seen in this town."

Pip looked at him through the rearview mirror, which was a bit dirty and cracked. "Oh? That certainly does explain why someone wants to be in this town."

Jacques didn't bother to clarify he does NOT want to be here at all, but he nods his head instead.

He expertly steered the wheel. "You wouldn't happen to be allowed the details no? Sorry, but interesting things have rarely happened here since..."

"I'm afraid not, no," Jacques blinks. That felt off. "Speaking of visitors, you haven't happened to have driven someone around lately no?"

"Until you came along? Not one for the past year. No outsiders at the very least."

He deflates a little, but he's unsurprised. So he really wasn't here recently. He was about ask more, when the taxi came to a stop in front of a shabby and derelict building he would presume to be the Lost Arms.

Once again, Pip reached out to open the door for him. "Here we are then, Mr. Moore."

"Thank you," he says, retrieving his wallet. "How much is the fare?"

Pip blinked in surprise. Then his eyes flickered towards the wallet, and his eyes widened further. "Huh, I never expected a paying customer today either."

It puzzles him so much that he tilts his head. Did they just let him ride as a charity? "Well, it's only natural to pay for a service, no?"

He just shrugged. "It's alright. Keep the money, it's not gonna be much use anyways, with the state of the town. You may wanna give that to the proprietor though —" he nods to the building, "— Prosper Lost."

"Well, I shan't dare to think of leaving this taxi without giving something in return," Jacques insisted.

"How about a tip then?"

"A tip?" he frowns. "A tip what?"

"Anything really, s'long as its useful."

That got him thinking. He thought of giving them a tip of accepting money when they get it and leave this terrifying place, but decided against. He then looks up.

"Here's a tip, there's this book that..." he trails off, feeling a painful lump form in his throat. "That my associate enjoys. Champion of the World, heard of it?"

~

Ellington feels the bitter sweetness on her tongue. The air was damp and cold after the shower, having ceased into droplets. Everything reminded her the cool greens and blues of a watercolor painting. At the distance, the light of the morning sun peaks through. She's glad she's getting some pieces of her back, but some of the damage will be permanent, and some things are just lost forever. Seeing the Association and strangers and natives to Killdeer fields all work together to set things right was amazing, but also drove home on the tragedy of Armstrong Feint, whose pursuit of vengeance blinded him, destroyed himself and set back hopes of recovery for years. The pain he inflicted was an unnecessary cruelty, that if he had bothered to spare, even the tinniest bit of mercy and offered his help, he would've witnessed the return of the sea and the recovery of the environment, and they could've been together.

But he had made a decision. All of their parents did — the Mallahans, the Hixes, the Knights, the Bellerophons, the Losts. What's done is done.

She remembers a line that her father read her once, many years ago. It was the book where Snicket claimed a wizard was not so very helpful, and that her father loved because of its elaborate descriptions of trees. Many elaborate description of trees.

"'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo." Ellington murmurs to herself.

"'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'"

She stares at the sky.

~

But there was a knock at the door

They both froze. Moxie is still on the phone — with who, Kellar didn't hear.

It could be anyone, Kellar thought, perhaps some coworkers who forgot their stuff, or has the intention to work overtime. It may even be some neighbor, asking for help or providing assistance. It could even be a fellow Associate. There's no reason really, to think there could be enemies on the other side.

But he walked anyway. His breathing far too loud and uneven, yet his pace cautious and fearful. He calls out, "Who's there?"

No answer.

"I'm warning you," he says slowly, attempting to keep the tremble out of his voice, "that I'm armed."

Silence. It's a blatant lie of course, but no matter how he strained his ears, he still can't hear anyone walking away. They’re not fooled.

He motions to Moxie to get ready to run. A few seconds, he could buy that. Enough seconds to scramble whatever data they need and bolt like hell. Kellar doesn't see if she saw it.

The door is inches away from him now. His heart pounded in his chest. His hands carefully placed on the dark wood, and he looked into the peephole.

Kellar had barely moved his head in time just to dodge the blast shot that would've blown away bits of his brain, but had blown off half of his right ear instead.

He screamed, it hurt, hurt worse than anything he'd known and he's sure he's lost his hearing there, but he let the wound bleed and instead ducked and braced himself against the door to keep them from opening it. "Moxie run!"

~

"Look at him. Look. At. Him." Pip hissed, and Squeak looked at them with an air of innocence. "You think that's an angel?? A beacon of innocence?? Wrong. That's bastard incarnate. The single source of maliciousness on this earthly realm. Look. Look how evil he looks. He's a little prick."

~

"Frankly, I'd love to have a sibling," Cleo said.

Kellar looked at her as if she said something deranged and jabs a thumb towards Lizzie. "No, you don't. I love my sister, but you think she won't sell me off to the circus first chance she gets?" He shook his head. "Think again."

~

"Dibs."

"What the—" Moxie then scowled. "That was too fast."

Snicket just shrugged. "I have two older siblings, Moxie. The true nature of siblings... Is natural selection."

"Are you certain you should be using big boy words like that?" Ellington asked, bemused. "I'm fairly certain you can't even differentiate a crocodile and an alligator."

~

"If I may introduce you to my family," Jacques says.

He points to Kit emerging from his side. "— Parasite number one—".

And he points to Snicket as he emerges from the other. "— and Parasite number two."

~

"Alright, does anyone have any questions?" Jacques asks tiredly.

They all raise their hands.

"That isn’t sarcastic," he snaps.

They all lowered their hands, disappointed.

Jacques sighs. "Lizzie, you've got the stage."

~

"Just what time is it?" Ellington inquires, exhausted.

"Hang on," Kit smiled, and instead of whipping out a clock, she instead produces a clarinet. She took a deep breath, and blew. Before she could even make it to the second note, they look up at the ceiling— startled— suddenly hearing a very muffled but very clear yell from Jacques, Kit, are you seriously playing the clarinet at 2 IN THE DAMN MORNING.

They look down. Kit still has a devilish smile plastered.

"It's 2 am," she announces.

[rwbyremnants]

NOTE: Working on more fics, I promise! For now I'm gonna try to not sleep on this one so much.

=Chapter 32

Fortunately, they only had to wait inside with Mrs. Nikos for about half an hour. She was quite accommodating and understanding, having heard from her husband how unreasonable Jacques had been when they confronted their daughters together - and hearing first-hand his shouting after them as they walked up the street scant minutes before. Most of the small town knew about the incident by now, and while a man might have sided with Jacques, few women would do the same. She had no problem providing Willow with tea and sympathy, and a handkerchief to bawl into.

The minute Pyrrha walked in the door, she knew something was wrong without even having to ask. But she did.

“What's wrong? What happened?”

Mrs. Nikos attempted to field the question herself, adjusting her spectacles. “The Schnees are having… a disagreement. Would you mind driving them to a motel or wherever they need to go, sweetie?”

“A disagreement?” Her friend swallowed hard. “Oh no… oh no, he got out.”

“What?”

“He did,” Mrs. Schnee answered for her, looking wearier by the moment. “And as much as I hate the idea of causing a scene, I can't put my daughter in danger. Not knowingly. If he could drug another poor girl once, send her after Weiss with a knife…”

Mrs. Nikos shook her head, red bob bouncing to and fro. Pyrrha definitely favored her father a bit more in terms of features and size, but the hair was unmistakable. “To think he could treat his own family that way! Absolutely disgraceful - and right here in Atlas Heights!”

“I know, Mom,” Pyrrha said calmly, even though Weiss could tell that she was extremely upset beneath the facade. “But he's hurt them more times in the past. I hate to see any family fall apart, but…”

“Mia zoí malákas!” She spat downward three times; Weiss and her mother were a little surprised, but Pyrrha merely nodded solemnly. “Not that I could believe that of my Nick, of course… but one can never be too careful.”

At their continued confusion, Pyrrha explained, “Old superstition - she's warding off the same evil happening to our family.”

“A-ah,” Willow stammered, not having been prepared for what a high society woman such as she would consider to be a display of extremely unladylike behavior. Weiss knew it probably wasn't unladylike in Mrs. Nikos' culture, of course, but her mother was even less worldly.

“Where will you go?" Pyrrha asked. "I mean… I'm sorry, I don't mean to ask too many questions, but…”

Mrs. Schnee waved that away. “It’s alright, dear. I think… well, maybe I'm presuming too much, but Kali once told me to come to her for anything I might need. And we were talking about my marriage, all the financials. So…”

“Oh! Oh, that's fine - I can definitely drive you there. What about your clothes and things? Do you want me to see if Mr. Schnee will let me in to collect-”

“NO!” When everyone else was surprised by Weiss’s outburst, she hurried to follow up with, “Pyrrha, this isn't your job. Besides, I'm worried he would take out his frustrations with us on you.”

Before she could protest, Pyrrha’s mother said, “Listen to her, kóri. Best to only go in there with more than one of you. It's safer. My God, I never thought I would have to say that about someone in this neighborhood…”

They bade Mrs. Nikos goodnight and piled into Pyrrha's car. The minute they had pulled away down the street, Weiss turned to look at the driver.

“Don't go to Kali's house.”

“What?” they both said.

“Not straight there. I don't want Father having you followed and leading him straight to us, or putting you in danger, like your mom said. You’ve already had to protect me once and that’s more than you ever should have.” She thought frantically. “Let's go to the Branwen's. Then Yang and her mother can take us to the Belladonna's. Just an… an extra, um…”

“A precaution,” her mother finished for her, nodding. She had to crane her neck to see her. “My smart daughter. It might not be necessary, but you're right; better safe than sorry.”

Pyrrha reached over and took up Weiss's hand, drawing her gaze as they came to a stop sign and paused there. “But I would gladly protect you again. I know you would do the same for me! But… oh, you're right. We shouldn't invite trouble when it can be avoided.”

So they did exactly as they planned. Weiss could see that her mother was growing more and more uncomfortable as they got deeper into the poorer part of town, but she was trying to pretend otherwise, maintaining light conversation about the weather and asking after Pyrrha's studies. The other two women were much better at small talk than Weiss was.

Her nerves spiked as they got closer to the Branwen house. Yang’s mother was decidedly no fan of hers, but she had been marginally more civil the last couple of times she visited, so maybe there was some hope.

“Both of you wait here,” she commanded them, reaching for the door handle. “This shouldn't take long. Either she'll help us, or she won't. Simple as that.”

“Be careful, sweetie,” her mother bade her as she slipped out of the car and walked up to the house.

Raven answered after the first knock. She rolled her eyes when she saw the young cheerleader on her doorstep, but made no other derisive comment or gesture - only stood back to let her into the house.

“Actually, we can't stay, Mrs. Branwen. I wondered if I could ask you or Yang for a favor?”

Her bottomless eyes narrowed further. “Like what? And who's ‘we’?”

“Well… it's a long story. The short version is, my father is out of jail and we'd like a ride to Kali's house because we don't want him to strangle us in our sleep.”

She had been expecting some kind of snarky comment, or at the very least a demand for further explanation. Instead, Raven nodded for a moment, then held up a finger before retreating into the house. Weiss was just beginning to worry that she had been ignored when the woman returned, jacket on and keys in hand. It wasn't the kind of coat the Dragons normally sported, but one of a red leather with black fur around the collar. Sunglasses were clipped to the breast pocket, almost as an afterthought.

“Mrs. Branwen? What- I mean, um, what about Yang?”

“This is a grown-up problem, girl. The grown-ups should handle it.” She headed straight for her rusty old car, barely pausing to call over her shoulder, “Whoever's coming had better hurry up. I ain't got all day.”

Pyrrha followed them back to Atlas Heights in her vehicle. Even though she privately thought her mother would be just as comfortable staying with her friend as riding with Raven, if not moreso, she came along, anyway. It was a fairly tense trip.

“He knocked you around?” she asked Willow without preamble.

“What? Oh… yes, I'm… I'm afraid so.”

“Both of you? And you just took it?”

“Raven!” Weiss hissed, unable to help herself. The glare of doom she saw in the rearview mirror made her rethink the action, but she stood her ground.

“Don't you sass me, girl. Grown women are talking.”

Before Weiss could reply, her mother held up a hand to signal that she could field the question herself. “It's fine. She's right; I should have done something about this situation long ago. But I… well, I convinced myself that keeping the peace within our family was more important than my own safety. I was wrong.”

“Damn right you were wrong. If my Taiyang had ever so much as tweaked my girl's nose wrong, I would have slit his throat. That goes for most mothers, I'd wager - and if I'm actually a better parent than you are, that's pretty sad.”

Again, Weiss wanted to argue with her, but this time she stopped herself. That was the most solid proof thus far that Raven wasn't quite the negligent parent that she seemed to be. Maybe this wasn't the time to shout her down. Though she certainly resolved to comfort her mother later, and assure her that she didn't think of her as a bad parent.

Not when they had her father to compare her to.

“Must we do this?” Willow asked in a shaking voice as they pulled into her own driveway. “Shouldn't we leave well enough alone for a while?”

Raven spared her a dark little smirk as she turned off the engine. “A highfalutin’ woman like you? Probably wouldn't last two days without her collection of lipsticks and pantyhose. No, we’d better do this now.”

The walk up to the front door seemed to last an eternity. Both Weiss and her mother were trembling, and she could feel her own palms were moist, stomach clenching in anticipation of another fight, or a shouting match… or worse.

It was Whitley who answered the door. He looked shocked enough to see his own family members, and yet more when he noticed the strange woman glaring down at him as if he had been spawned from a swamp.

“What-?”

“Excuse us.” Raven pushed her way past him without even waiting for him to finish a sentence. After only a second or two spent getting her bearings, she headed for the stairs. Weiss and her mother hurried to follow, the flustered boy tagging along at their heels.

“Your room?” When Weiss nodded, she stormed in and looked around. “Suitcase?”

“Up here, in the closet.” She went to get it herself, hoping that if she wasn’t completely useless she might earn some tiny shred of Raven’s respect. The woman started yanking open drawers, shoving her hands into piles of panties. “H-hey! Don’t touch those!”

Her lip curled as she tossed them unceremoniously into her bag. “Please. You have to be this tall to ride this roller coaster.” She held her hand out at the height that just happened to match that of her mother, and she snorted when she noticed. “Huh. Look at that.”

“Excuse me?” Willow breathed.

“Nothin'. Hurry up, Weiss.” Then she steered the older woman out of her room.

It took another few seconds for Weiss to snap out of her dazed state and begin to pack. They wouldn’t have much time; so far, they had been lucky that her father wasn’t around to interrupt their desperate grab for their personal effects. She focused on clothes first, then began to grab for school supplies, makeup, other things that could be easily picked up and moved. Lastly, she made sure to pluck from the bottom of her closet the single slipper that had lost its mate to her love, tucking it in the corner before she shut the case.

“Do you really think you two will get away with this?”

When she glanced up, it was to see her brother looking quite livid, fists clenched at his side. Sighing as she pulled the suitcase down from the bed to rest on the floor, she finally snapped, “Get away with what?”

“Abandoning Father when he needs us most!” he half-shouted, pasty little face livid. “You already got him thrown in prison, and he’s finally shown that he is willing to reason with you and Mother after all of this… and still you throw that back in his face?”

“Reason with- Whitley, he attacked us! There's nothing for us to feel sorry about - we had to protect ourselves!”

“Of course there is! If you hadn't been… well, you know! Hanging around those bad girls! Why would you keep doing that when you could simply do as Father says and… and ensure your future with the company, with this family? You're even crazier than I thought!”

Weiss had been prepared to hate Whitley for siding with their father. To lash out, to try and make him see reason. Instead, the most prominent emotion she felt… was pity.

“Oh, you poor little idiot.”

“I am not poor and I am not an idiot!” he snarled with a stomp of his foot.

“You are. You just don't know it yet.” As she began to haul the suitcase toward her doorway, she grunted, “You're still welcome to come with us instead of staying here with a dangerous lunatic. But I have a feeling you won't.”

Rolling his eyes, he folded his arms over his chest. “Don't be absurd.” When she kept going, he jogged a bit to catch up and asked, “Where will you be staying?”

“The Starlight Motel.” The lie felt disgusting in her mouth, but it was for their own safety. “Don't bother calling; we are staying under assumed names and asking not to be disturbed.”

“You would rather stay in a fleabag motel than with your own family?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she hissed, “That man is not my family anymore.”

Then she walked into the hallway. Hers and Yang's mothers had yet to return; that was no surprise. Her mother always took forever to pack. It was one of the many and varied topics she and her husband argued about, nearly every time they took a vacation. Before her mother had stopped arguing and started drinking, of course.

“Thinking about raiding our good silver?”

“Shut up, Whitley.”

“This isn't over, you know,” he sighed in a would-be causal voice. The trembling gave away that he was much more frustrated than that, of course. “Father will make you come back. Or at least return these things you're stealing.”

Taken aback, she snapped, “They're my things! My clothes and books! And do you really expect me to believe you think this is Father's pantyhose in my suitcase?”

“Yes. Oh - well, not in that way!” he burst out in annoyance. “I meant that he paid for all these things and you know that!”

Weiss was about to argue about that, take him down a peg, when the older women emerged from the master bedroom. Two bags were packed - Weiss now wished she had done the same, but she had been trying to pack light and take only the bare necessities. Her mother obviously didn't agree with the same definition of “necessities”.

“...quite a shock at first,” Willow was saying as they approached. Were they actually talking? Raven and her mother?! “But, well… I don't have much room to throw stones in my glass house.”

“I keep telling you, that's not what I care about.” But the instant she saw Weiss standing there, she buttoned her lip. “Hmm.”

“Yes?” Weiss gently prompted.

“Nothing. You ready?”

“I am. Is… everything alright?”

Raven spared her mother a glance. They looked a little more at ease around each other now, which she found as confusing as encouraging. “Think so. Let's go before Willow tries to pack a tea set or something.”

As they descended the stairs, Weiss goggling at Yang's mother calling hers by name, the woman in question whispered, “Oh… the tea set…”

They had just put the second bag into Raven's trunk when another car pulled into the driveway. They were blocked in. Even worse was the man getting out of said car.

“Ah,” he said, face aglow with a self-satisfied smirk that Weiss found infuriating. “Already crawling back with your tail between your legs, eh, Willow? I might have known it wouldn't take long.”

“Jacques,” she said in a dignified voice, which did nothing to hide her obvious fear.

“Wait…” His eyes finally took in the way Raven was stashing the last suitcase and slamming the trunk door closed. “Who is this? What are- did you come back to burgle me? Can you really be that pathetic?”

Raising a hand as if already warding off an attack, his wife backed up until the car pressed into her rear. “We came for what is rightfully ours. Please just… don't cause a fuss.”

“This is absurd!” Weiss almost wanted to laugh at him using the same word choice his son had scant minutes ago. “You really mean to do this! To abandon everything we've built together over some petty squabble! Where will you even stay? With this, this… bitter hag?”

Though Raven’s jaw tightened, she made no other move and offered no word. Weiss had a feeling that was a lot clearer sign of danger than if she had replied.

“At the Starlight Motel,” Weiss repeated loudly, cutting off whatever her mother had been about to say. “And don't bother asking for us; we're using assumed names and… and told them…”

Her voice faded as he turned the withering glare upon her. A few quick steps took him into her personal space, and she felt her flesh crawling in disgust for a man she had once trusted to provide for her, to protect and guide her into adulthood.

“This is all your doing,” he growled into her face, sounding more like a beast than a man. “Poisoning my own wife against me, dividing our home in two. You and those people you fraternize with now, skulking around and doing God knows what! And we both know what you're doing with that Chinese girl!”

She wasn't sure where the moment of boldness came from. Straightening up to her full height, despite it still being half a foot shorter than that of her father, she hissed as sharply as possible, “We do know that, Father. I'm in love with her and there's not a damn thing you can do about it!”

All the color drained from his face as he stared, open mouth, at his youngest daughter. If nothing else, at least she had accomplished shutting the man up for once.

“You…” He ground back to life like a toy having just been wound up again. One of his hands clamped hard on her bicep. “Disgusting… ungrateful… degenerate! Going against God’s laws - the laws of nature! We'll see about that! You're going up to your room, and you're going to stay there until I come up to teach you some-”

His words suddenly cut off. At first, Weiss thought he simply ran out of things to say in his frustration with her. Then he took a step back, and she saw a hand clamped on his shoulder at least as hard as the one on her own bicep.

“Careful, Papa Schnee,” Raven told him in a low, rattling voice. “Don't forget that you aren't alone in your house anymore. People are watching.”

His eyes raised, glancing wildly around the neighborhood. No one was looking out of their windows, or staring from the sidewalk. “Who is ‘people’? You? Please. Some barren old maid who looks like Evil Kineval? I'll thank you to stay out of things that are none of your concern.”

“Look again.”

Even Weiss had to do a double-take to notice what Raven was talking about. Two cars were parked on the other side of the street, their drivers staring intently at the Schnee household. Pyrrha and Kali - her personal knights in shining armor. Though Pyrrha looked a little bit more scared, Kali was filled with grim determination. Even as they stared, the latter's door opened and one of her high heels extended to rest on the pavement, ready to sprint toward the house at a moment's notice.

“You really think I'm scared of a bunch of women?” he scoffed, turning back to look at Weiss as if there had been no interruption. “I've seen the inside of a prison. Nothing you can do can compare with the atrocities I saw there.”

“Really?”

A loud click filled the air between them. When both Weiss and her father looked around, it was to see a prominent bulge in Raven's jacket pocket. Only a truly innocent lamb could mistake it for anything other than…

“A gun?!” she hissed at her. “Again?!”

“Why does everybody act so surprised that I have this and am ready to use it?”

Jacques flicked his beady eyes between the pocket and Raven's passively determined expression. He licked his lips, finally lowering his hand from Weiss's bicep to clench at his side. “It's a bluff. You're bluffing; I've never heard of a woman carrying around a pistol in all my life.”

“Keep threatening my daughter's girlfriend and you'll call my bluff,” she growled in a purely murderous tone, despite the cold smile on her lips. “Nobody gets to do that but me.”

Weiss wanted to sigh but decided she shouldn't.

“Jacques,” Willow set in a firmer tone than Weiss remembered hearing from her. “Please be reasonable. We just want to leave in one piece. Don't be stubborn and get someone hurt. Please?”

To drive home the point, Raven added, “I haven't even decided for sure that I won't shoot you if you do back off. Men like you make me sick. Really not smart to push me right now.”

“I'll have the police haul you in,” he growled angrily, his cheeks beginning to flush with redness due to the sheer levels of anger he was reaching. “You won't get away with threatening me! Do you have any idea who I am? How much power I have in this city?”

“Do you have any idea how little I care? Stop trying to impress me with the size of your piece and go away. I guarantee mine is bigger.”

Never before in her life had Weiss seen her father look so flustered and - to echo Raven's sentiments - impotent before. He glanced toward the front door, where Whitley was watching with an open mouth and an anxious expression, and again at the two women watching from their cars. By now, Kali had exited her vehicle and had one arm resting on the open door. Weiss cautiously retreated to stand next to her mother, silently reaching down to clasp her hand in solidarity. She felt the fingers flex and latch onto her own hard.

“Yes, I see, I see,” he muttered. “Battle of the sexes, is it? Well… we'll see about this. Yes, we will.” Glaring down at Weiss, he hissed in a venomous tone, “You have no idea how much worse I can make your life, ungrateful child.”

“Yes, we do. And we've had enough.” She pointed at the house with a shaking limb and said, “Go, Father. Just go.”

He went. Even though he looked like he had a million more things to shout at them, he seemed to realize that they no longer wanted to listen. His steps toward the front door were sure and swift - Whitley had to jump out of the way to avoid being mowed down in his determination.

Their mother hesitated for a moment, watching Whitley's worried expression. Then she took a step toward the house. “Come with us, son. I don't want to leave you in his care. I really don't! But I won’t force you.”

“Mother…” He sighed, lowering his eyes. Though he looked as if he regretted it, he turned and went back inside the house, pulling the door closed behind him. Weiss had a sneaking suspicion that at least some of what she had said to him sank in, but he wasn't ready to fully believe it yet.

“Glad that's over,” Raven snorted. There was a distant clicking in her pocket again; uncocking her pistol, most likely. “Some men have heads full of sawdust, I swear to-”

The rest of her sentence was cut off by Willow throwing her arms around her, squeezing with all of her might. Weiss took a step backward in shock. The next emotion that flared up in her was pure worry; Raven wasn't exactly a touchy-feely kind of person. How would she react?

“Oh, thank you so much!” Willow breathed urgently against her shoulder. “That was terrifying, and you were so… calm, and made him listen, and you… I've never seen such a strong woman before! Standing up to a man like him!”

The only thing that could have been more surprising would be if Raven embraced her back. Which was exactly what she did - only patting her in the middle of her back with one hand, but it was still more than Weiss expected. She looked mostly wide-eyed and confused. “No big deal.”

“But it is!” She drew back and kissed Raven on either cheek. Privately, Weiss knew that she was just being sociable in the same way she would have with the ladies at the Country Club, but was amused when she realized how it might come across to Raven instead. “How can I ever repay you?”

Sure enough, for just a moment, there was a slight bashfulness in Yang's mother's expression. The shy grin spoke volumes. “Honestly, don't mention it. Ever again.”

“Well, well, you two look cozy.” They had been so wrapped up in the various events that they didn't even hear Kali approach. Her own features were a curious mixture of bemusement and irritation.

“Kali!” Raven gasped - proving that she had completely forgotten she was even there. “This isn't- I mean, I only came to help them get their stuff from the creep in there. That's it, I promise.”

Smirking as she folded her arms over her chest, the Belladonna matriarch needled her, “Never could resist a blonde in distress, could you? But it's all right. You handled that really well and I'm proud of you.”

Her smile was obviously pleased, despite her response being, “Like I care if you're proud or not. But thanks for the backup.”

“Wait,” Willow asked, “you know each other?”

“Boy, does she know me,” Raven half-purred, and Kali rolled her eyes.

“I hate to interrupt this… whatever this is,” Pyrrha announced in a nervous voice, even though none of them had noticed her approach, either, “but I think we should go to Mrs. Belladonna's house before we continue this conversation. I don't like knowing he's in there, watching us like this.”

Their eyes turned as one to the house just in time to see one of the upstairs curtains be wrenched shut. Raven grunted under her breath, “Good idea. Don't want the cops to arrive and find me with this piece in my pocket.”

As they went to their separate cars, Willow asked her, “So you weren't kidding? That's really a gun in your pocket, not just a bluff? I didn't even know women could buy guns!”

“Of course we can. Not that I bought it through strictly legal channels…” She started the car and glanced at the two platinum-haired women in her passenger seats. “You did good. Maybe… I was wrong about you, Little Schnee.”

That was about the most glowing praise Weiss could ever hope to receive from Raven, and she couldn't help the huge grin that broke out across her face. It made the older woman grimace and turn back around.

“How are we going to get out?” Willow asked. “Jacques boxed us in.”

“Did he?”

The next several seconds were like something out of a movie. Raven threw her car into gear, nearly plowed into the fence, then cut the steering wheel hard so she would reverse into the front yard around her father's car. Deep gouges were left into the grass and earth that would take a groundskeeper many hours to fix. As if an intentional finishing touch, she backed over the mailbox before winding up on the road again, shifting into drive and taking off at top speed.

That was fine with Weiss. She hated being boxed in.

“Oh, our mailbox…” After a brief second, Willow turned to nervously say, “But it's fine! I… we can buy another!”

“Who is ‘we’? Thought you were done living with that walking pile of dog shit.”

Simple as that statement was, it shattered the excitement for the two Schnee women and left them with nothing but melancholy and regrets. A chapter in their life had ended forever, leaving only an uncertain future looming on the horizon through the cracked windshield of Raven Branwen’s old rusty Dodge.