#and fact checking and not letting them get away with lies to the general public and refusing to let their rhetoric dictate reality

[thesporkidentity]

[Image: “Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.”]

this quote is actually by jean-paul sartre

the vonnegut quote i think op might have been referring to is this one, from his book mother night, the fictional memoirs of an american who moved to germany and became a playwright and nazi propagandist

This once-proud country of ours is falling into the hands of the wrong people,' said Jones. He nodded, and so did Father Keeley and the Black Fuehrer. 'And, before it gets back on the right track,' said Jones, 'some heads are going to roll.' I have never seen a more sublime demonstration of the totalitarian mind, a mind which might be likened unto a system of gears whose teeth have been filed off at random. Such a snaggle-toothed thought machine, driven by a standard or even a substandard libido, whirls with the jerky, noisy, gaudy pointlessness of a cuckoo clock in Hell. The boss G-man concluded wrongly that there were no teeth on the gears in the mind of Jones. 'You're completely crazy,' he said. Jones wasn't completely crazy. The dismaying thing about the classic totalitarian mind is that any given gear, though mutilated, will have at its circumference unbroken sequences of teeth that are immaculately maintained, that are exquisitely machined. Hence the cuckoo clock in Hell — keeping perfect time for eight minutes and thirty-three seconds, jumping ahead fourteen minutes, keeping perfect time for six seconds, jumping ahead two seconds, keeping perfect time for two hours and one second, then jumping ahead a year. The missing teeth, of course, are simple, obvious truths, truths available and comprehensible even to ten-year-olds, in most cases. The willful filing off of gear teeth, the willful doing without certain obvious pieces of information — That was how a household as contradictory as one composed of Jones, Father Keeley, Vice-Bundesfuebrer Krapptauer, and the Black Fuehrer could exist in relative harmony — That was how my father-in-law could contain in one mind an indifference toward slave women and love for a blue vase — That was how Rudolf Hoess, Commandant of Auschwitz, could alternate over the loudspeakers of Auschwitz great music and calls for corpse-carriers — That was how Nazi Germany could sense no important differences between civilization and hydrophobia — That is the closest I can come to explaining the legions, the nations of lunatics I've seen in my time.

everyone trying to own trump about the "he doesn't know sex isn't determined at conception" thing really fundamentally does not understand what the point of that was, and learned basically nothing from his first term. he is not invested in scienve, biology, or any rational discussion where his provably false beliefs would be subject to scrutiny. he is signaling to everyone in the country that it does not matter what you say, he will never care and he will take every action to enforce these views and embolden his followers with the same rhetoric. you cannot logically talk to a person like this when they are reasoning with emotion, not logic. you cannot dunk the transphobia away. someone post the vonnegut quote.

[bestfriend491]

Okoye and reader. Sorta continued from fainting ones

Reader and okoye are on a romantic date night, when readers ex girlfriend comes into the picture. Okoye knows it's her because of the way reader reacts, and our beautiful general goes into total protection mode?

Reality Check (Lies of Omission Prt.3)

A VALENTINE'S WEEK SPECIAL

Okoye x Female Reader

Summary: Months since she found out about everything, it is Valentine's Day and you decide to go out on a nice date day. Unfortunately, bad company seems to interrupt your night. Read Part 1 and Part 2 before reading this. Or don't. I'm not the boss of you. 😌

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Brief Mentions of Past Abuse,

“Love recognizes no barriers, it jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination, full of hope.”- Maya Angelou

You woke up after barely a few hours of sleep, getting up and ready to put the final touches on the present you had for Okoye. It was your first (technically second) Valentine's Day together and you were beyond excited to spoil your love. 

You had the whole day planned, where you would pamper and spoil her to the highest degree. And she didn’t have to do anything. Okoye was vaguely aware of your plans since you had told her not to plan anything at all, but she was nowhere near aware of the true detail that you had put into planning the perfect day. 

You had silently been planning the day since the new year started, getting the reservations needed and asking around for people’s help when necessary. Now, people were sick of you bothering them for things specifically for this day, but it was finally here, and you were excited to allow Okoye to take a break from constantly working and just have a nice relaxed day off. 

She had training in the early morning, so she was gone. It was the one non-negotiable when it came to her not working, so you let her have it. It gave you an extra hour to yourself for the final details. 

You were completely prepared to make a fool out of yourself today, and you planned to have Okoye join you in the foolishness. 

You got into your planned clothing, and got your equipment to leave your house. 

As you entered the palace grounds, you got Aneka’s help in setting your first event up. Okoye was at the training grounds, with a group of new Dora Milaje. 

Just as you had anticipated, her back was turned away from you. Aneka held a bouquet of flowers 5 times bigger than her head, while you handled the microphone and speaker that you were to use. 

Stopping in the middle of the outside field, you put your things down, and began to play your music. Even before you had increased the volume on it, Okoye had turned, recognising your favourite song from anywhere. She stood, smiling at you as the intro played away. 

Then, you started to hum, an indication that you were about to sing. Her eyes grew wide as the rest of the Dora Milaje, and a few other people from inside came out to see what the noise was about. You grew a bit more nervous seeing the turnout, but seeing as the elders were yet to arrive, you had no reason to remain respectable. 

“I just wanted to dedicate this song to my one love.” you said, in a deep voice. 

It was right before you belted out the love song that you constantly played at home, singing like a performer at a full stadium on a Wakandan Public Holiday. 

Whether you could carry a note was irrelevant at the time, although you thought you had a decent enough voice. 

As the chorus came along, you put your hand out to Okoye, who was being cheered out by your audience. She walked to you, taking your extended hand as you got into the second verse. 

With her close to you, you could see her face completely flushed with shock. You knew for a fact that internally, she was blushing, even if she would later use her melanated skin to deny it. 

You got a bit slower during the second verse, singing your own version of the song. Changing the lyrics to ones that you knew Okoye would love. 

Halfway through the verse, even she forgot that you had company around, letting you finish the song with her in your embrace. She loved when you expressed your extra loving side. Even when you were making a fool of yourself. She didn’t hold the same belief that your voice was the best, but that didn’t matter. As long as you were the one singing to her, she didn’t care how many notes you missed. 

As the song came to a close, your eyes were both closed. She whispered in your ear as she opened her eyes. “We’ll work on that high note.” you gasped dramatically as she laughed at her words. 

“ I just serenaded you in public. Give me some credit.” you smiled a toothy smile as she kissed you softly. 

As you untangled from your position. You got back to business, making Okoye stand in front of you as you held your mic to your lips again. 

“On this beautiful day, I just wanted to ask this amazing love of my life a question everyone.” 

Okoye's eyebrows raised in confusion. 

“Will you… go to breakfast with me and spend the day as my valentine?” you said. 

She chuckled, nodding her head. You put the mic down, taking the bouquet from Aneka and thanking her. Okoye gasped at the size of it, definitely questioning why that was the size you chose.

“You’re quite the valentine.” she complimented. 

“I’ll say. This is just the beginning, my love.”

By now, the crowd had dissipated, but you knew that a few videos were taken, so everyone would know about it at some point. 

You directed Okoye to a smaller dining area in the palace, where a private breakfast had been prepared. 

You sat down next to each other and ate, enjoying the casual conversation that came, as though you hadn’t just done what you had. 

“Is the whole day going to be like this?” She asked. 

“Like what? Romantic?” you got worried, because it was going to be filled with romance, and if she didn’t want that then the entire day would be terrible for her. 

“No. I know it’s going to be romantic. But. is it going to be as public as that?” She hesitated to say it, not wanting to ruin any one of your plans.

You shook your head in relief. “ No! That was the only thing. I had to start off big. Everything else will mostly just be the two of us.”

“Mostly?” 

“Yes, mostly. I couldn’t plan a great day without any sort of help.” 

She nodded, not being able to argue with logic. Her morning training stiffness had already faded in your presence. Having a nice breakfast with her was rare. She would usually obsess about you having fainted at night, or she was gone to the palace and you were busy with your own work. 

It was a rare moment where none of those worries were mentioned, mostly because you had banned her from asking if you were okay at any point in the day. You wanted just one day where she didn’t have to worry about you.

The two of you finished and got ready, while you handed Okoye the clothes she needed to change into. It was still training garments, but a lot less casual. 

She gave you eyes of question when you handed them to her but obliged and wore the clothes before taking your hand in hers and allowing you to lead the way. 

Thirty Minutes Later

“Where are we going, Y/n?” Okoye asked you as you continued to walk to your destination. When you told her that you would take a quick walk to your next planned date, she thought you meant that it was 5 minutes away. She didn’t realise that you actually planned to take an entire walk. 

“We’re almost there, Sthandwa. Not even 5 minutes away, I promise.” you responded. 

She sighed, not saying anything else. She really wanted to know if you were okay, having travelled by foot for many metres, but you had made her promise not to ask you anything about the way you felt physically for the whole day. 

She was a woman who kept to her word, but she hated every second of it. She knew that her concern could sometimes be overbearing and she knew that she needed to work on it, but she just wanted to make sure that you were okay. It had been many months since she had found out, but she still worried like the first time it had happened. 

She couldn’t help her protectiveness for you. Her love for you was just too strong for her to want to let anything happen to you. 

You could tell that she wanted to ask. She barely went that long without doing a check in with you, but you loved how she respected her promise to you.

As you slowed down, Okoye followed you, not having a clue where the two of you were. It was only when you were only a few metres away from your destination that Okoye was connecting the dots on what you had planned for your portion of the day. 

She stopped dead in her tracks, grabbing your arm to stop you while giving you a bewildered look. 

"Y/n. Why are we in front of Wakanda's most prestigious dance instructors' house?" She asked you, Watching you struggle to find a reasonable answer as you smiled mischievously.

"I booked a lesson for us. I thought it would be fun. We don't do these things that often." 

She let out a chuckle, "We both have 2 left feet. Why do you think we of all people should do this?" 

"Like I said, I thought, and still think that it will be fun." 

“Hmm.” She scoffed, letting you lead the way to the entrance. You gladly knocked on the door of the home, not having any fear after your singing. Not a single other plan for the day scared you now that you were done with that. 

You were excitedly greeted by S'Yata, Wakanda’s famed dance instructor. She specialised in choreographing wedding dancing, and she was well known for making the most sensual first dances for the marrying couples that hired her. 

Okoye again wanted to know why you were there if you had no plans to get married soon, and even if you did, she would never want to do a first dance choreographed by S’Yata at her wedding. They were known to be difficult to the average couple, but the two of you were not an average couple. Not when it came to dancing. One thing that the two of you desperately lacked was rhythm. Granted, it wasn;t as bad as Okoye made it in her head. You could dance a little. And she could move her body on command too. 

It was just the formal stuff that the two of you weren’t too good at. After a tragic wedding dance proved this point, the two of you had refrained from doing any form of wedding dances ever since.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” S’Yata said, welcoming you inside. You looked back at Okoye and gave her a not so reassuring lopsided smile.

1 hour later…

"Okoye you're too far away. Come closer." You instructed. The two of you had finally got the basics to the dance down, and you didn’t want to lose the flow.

"I'm as close as I'll allow myself to be in public, Y/n. This position already feels extremely indecent for others to see." Okoye said, looking at S’Yata as she said it.

You laughed, seeing what she was trying to imply by 'public'. To her defence, the two of you were more minimalistic in your public displays of affection. And you had promised to keep the rest of the day less public. But S’Yata was only one person, and you really wanted to get the dance right. 

The two of you were already chest to chest and leg to leg, so there wasn’t much room to spare. But Okoye needed to hug you closely as you slowly swayed. 

“Please. For your Valentine?” You asked, kissing her cheek sweetly. 

Instantly, she hugged you closely, and you swayed back and forth. 

“I love you.” you whispered. 

“I love you more.” she said. 

You stayed like that, even getting enough flow for S’Yata to just leave the two of you in her studio, allowing you to enjoy the moment.

“You’re going to like what we do next, Okoye. I promise. Just the two of us from here on out.” 

Okoye smiled at that, still winded from the dancing. You seemed to be in high spirits, and you hadn’t slowed down to even catch your breath.

When the quinjet arrived in the sky, and landed not too far from the two of you, She got excited once again. You walked her inside, and she saw how advanced the quinjet was. It was far more advanced than the ones that were used currently. 

“Shuri allowed me to use the new prototype for a few hours.” You explained. 

“How did you know about this before I did? I’m the General.”

“Being noisy comes with perks, Okoye.” you joked. 

The two of you sat in the pilot seats that were situated in front, wanting to see the view, but you kept the jet on autopilot like it had arrived, wanting to enjoy seeing wakanda from the sky without worrying about steering. 

The jet lifted into the air, and you spent an hour just staring out of the window, admiring your country. It was only when you noticed that Okoye had gotten strangely quiet, that you broke the silence.

“Say it.” you said, getting her to turn to you. 

She looked at you in confusion, “ Say what?”

“Ask me the golden question. I know you want to and that’s why you refuse to relax, Okoye. So just ask me this one time.” 

She smiled, “How are you feeling?” 

“Pretty good. I’m on the best date in the world, with the one woman that I love and she agreed to do this for me so I-”

“-Y/n,” She said, seeing what you were doing, “That is not what I meant.” 

You let out an exaggerated sigh, before finally getting serious. “I’m okay, Okoye. I haven’t felt dizzy or anything today. So I’d say that I feel very good.”

She eased up at that, but still there was a trace of tension in her face, and that was not the point of valentines day. 

“How are you feeling, darling?”

“I feel good.”

“Don’t lie to me.” you said. flat-toned.

“Okay. Honestly, I feel good about today. And about you. But, I worry that I’m overbearing and that might chase you away.” 

“You can’t chase me away. I’m here for the long run.” you reassured her, “But… you are overbearing.” 

“I love that you care enough to make sure that I’m okay. But I’m a grown woman, Okoye. I’m done with the lies and I always tell you when I don’t feel well, so there is no need to constantly try to protect me.” you had been getting frustrated with the constant worry that she carried around when you were together. And the worry that doubled when you were apart. 

“I’m sorry. I’m going to work on it. I promise I will, sthandwa sam.”

You got up from your seat, and went to sit with her. The chair was not big enough to fit two grown people, so you ended up just sitting on Okoye’s lap, kissing her head and wrapping your arms around her. 

“I promise I won’t leave, Okoye. I just want you to trust me when I say that I'm okay.”

You’d grown tremendously over the past months, and your ability to be honest with people had gotten better. You had slowly been telling more people about your fainting spells, being more accepting of your not so new reality. The people around you were always supporting you. 

They were there to catch you when you unexpectedly fainted, and the released stress from hiding had reduced the amount of spells you had in general. You no longer had to lie and say that you were okay when you weren’t. And it was all thanks to the woman that held you. 

You would never leave her, as long as you heart felt the way that it did. 

“I’m not leaving either.” Okoye whispered, before the two of you closed your eyes and fell asleep. 

By the time that you woke up, you were back on ground, and the evening sun had started fading into darkness. 

You had one thing left, a nice dinner. 

The two of you went home, and freshened up, getting dressed a lot more formally before leaving the house. 

You had made reservations at a new restaurant in the city. The place had just opened during the new year, and they had luckily had openings for the night when you called. 

You were directed to a table in the corner. A loveseat that you had paid extra for. Scoping the menus and choosing your meals before the server arrived. 

“Thank you for today. I really loved being your valentine.” Okoye complimented, and your lips involuntarily spread into a wide smile. One of the many that the day had brought. 

“Hi, can I please get the bill?” a voice came.

Your blood ran cold as the voice of your nightmares spoke. Your smile was immediately wiped clean and your body grew rigid. Flashbacks of your ex came rushing back and when you looked to the left and saw her, not in prison, your body instantly grew anxious. 

Okoye saw the change as soon as it happened, and when you didn’t reply to her calling you she got worried. 

“Y/n, what's wrong?” she took your hand in hers, massaging your palm to calm you down. 

“It’s her.” you let out, with no further explanation. Your breathing got shaky and your heart rate increased as you tried to take a breath.

Okoye wanted to ask who you were talking about, but seeing you she knew that there was only one person who could make you that anxious. 

She stood up slightly, and saw what you had, recognising her from your descriptions of her. She was tall and muscular but she wasn’t very intimidating. She only looked like a threat to the people that knew what she was capable of. 

Okoye’s blood started to boil, seeing the woman smile so happily. She ruined you for so long, and you were only just starting to land on your feet. If it were up to her she would rot in as a prisoner for the rest of her miserable life. 

“Okay, let’s go. I can cook dinner.” She said, already getting out of her chair to help you up. 

Your body cooperated without your mind's consent, as your mind was in a different world. Okoye politely told the waiters that you were leaving, and helped you take your shoes off to walk easier. 

As you walked out into the empty street, the voice came again. 

“Y/n. I guess we meet again.” 

You turned around to look at her, but Okoye stood firmly in front of you as she took stared daggers at Chedano, who had a proud smile smothered on her face.

“ I see you got protection now. Scared to be alone with your one true love.” 

“If I were you, I would tread lightly and think very carefully about the next thing you said.” Okoye said sharply, reaching for her spear as she secured your position behind her. You didn’t move, you body paralysed in place as you looked at the women who used to hurt and torture you. 

“You know, we never formally broke up, so whatever this it between you and the General is cheating ,Y/n” she sneered “We wouldn’t want to have to teach you a thing or two about loyalty, would we.” 

Okoye unleashed her spear, pointing it at the woman. 

“Threaten her one more time and see what happens Chedano. I have no problem taking you back to prison.” 

Chedano, backed away at the sight, and her smile faded at the word prison. 

Okoye approached her, pointing her spear right at her chest. 

“If I ever so much as catch a whiff of you being near her, or communicating with her. Prison will be the least of your worries.” Okoye said, jumping towards her abruptly and grazing her spear only slightly through her arm. Leaving a big gash. 

Chedano nodded, running away as blood dripped on the street. 

Immediately, Okoye turned to you and was by your side. 

“My love…” she said as you broke down in her arms, the tears flushing out.

“I’m sorry. Let’s go home.” she said, lifting you and wrapping your legs around her waist as you cried into her shirt while she walked you to your house. 

She kept comforting you as she walked, allowing you to let it out, your fear only increasing as the minutes went by. 

By the time you got home, you were in a full blown panic attack, your body in a full panic. 

She put you down on your bed, standing in front of you as she comforted you, helping you breathe through it. The night had settled in, and the darkness only brought more fear. 

You breathed with Okoye, holding her hands as your heart settled into a slower rhythm. 

“I think I'm gonna faint, Okoye.” you said, feeling it coming. 

“That’s okay. I’m here, Y/n. I’m he-” 

You passed out. 

Okoye laid you on the bed, placing you on your side and waiting. 

After a gruesome 10 minute wait, you started to open your eyes. You were calmer when you saw Okoye there. 

She kissed you head, going to get you water, while you sat up in your bed. 

“Thank you.” you said as she handed you the water. 

You drank it while focusing on remaining calm, like you had worked on. Okoye stayed with you, getting into bed with you and holding your hand. 

“I’m here. I love you."she whispered to you as your eyes slowly started to close. You nodded your head, defeated. 

“I love you so much. And you planned the best date I’ve ever had today. We don’t have to talk about what happened now, but I'm here. I will always be here to protect you, my love. You are my entire world, and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever again.” 

“Thank you.” you whispered again, but a tear rolled down your face. She wiped it away for you. 

“I love you. Thank you.” you said, and allowed yourself to hug her. 

”Healing is an art. It takes time, it takes practice. It takes love.” – Maza Dohta 

Author's Note: After a long wait, Part 3 is here. I loved writing this. It was sort of healing. This is of course my contribution to Valentine's Week, but I do think there were a few things that I wanted to say in terms of love. 

I want every person reading this to know that it is okay if you didn’t realise that your abuser was abusing you. There is no shame in taking a lot of time to fully recover from it either. Those types of things can take a lot from you. Many of us were never told that abusive behaviours were actually abusive. Being queer, it's even harder to navigate that world because we are so busy fighting the world to prove that we are valid and our love is valid, it leaves us more vulnerable to being unknowingly manipulated and hurt without us realising it.

You deserve the type of love that fights for you, not with you. 

Happy Valentine's Week, and I love you. 💙

[ohioelectricityrates]

Shopper Alert! Watch Out for AI Inaccurate Ohio Energy Choice Info

New Post has been published on https://www.ohenergyratings.com/blog/shopper-alert-watch-out-for-ai-inaccurate-ohio-energy-choice-info/

Shopper Alert! Watch Out for AI Inaccurate Ohio Energy Choice Info

Don’t Let AI Distort Your Electricity Choices

Our carbon-based writer shows what AI blogs get wrong about Ohio Energy Choice. Learn where consumers should go for the best and most useful shopping information.

Hey there. I don’t usually get to talk to you like this, but my name is Justine. I’ve been writing about Ohio electricity rates for just over 3 years now and deregulated energy markets for 8 years. I’m also an actual carbon-based human! I spend hours poring over news and documents to understand your Ohio electricity market. But now, there are websites using inaccurate AI generated content to hijack your attention. And unfortunately, their information is so bad that following it could cost you a lot on your monthly bills.

AI Uses Artificial Information

Click-bait AI sites give bad information but they’re easy to identify. AI tends to repeat words and phrases over and over again. For example, “potential wind potential”. Repeated topics throughout the post that are not discussed can also give away AI written blogs.

But the real problem lies in the bad information they put out that Ohio consumers need to avoid. In one confused AI article, the ‘writer’ says to contact your energy provider for any electricity emergencies. Well, that’s wrong. Because your local utility owns and maintains the local grid, you have to contact them in an emergency. Likewise, an AI written page claims shopping a fixed rate is more complicated than shopping for a variable rate plan. Malarky! It’s just as easy to get one or the other. And that’s especially true if you’re using the best tools to shop for the best electric supplier.

Vague, Incomplete, and Wrong

Worst of all, much of the AI information tends to be vague, incomplete, or wrong. For example, one AI piece stated variable rate plans were cheaper than fixed rate plans. In fact, that usually only applies to variable rate plans offering a low introductory rate. And while intro rates may beat most fixed rate plans, they only do that for the first month. And on day one of the second month, their rates climb to 3-5 times what most fixed rate plans charge.

AI also uses industry terms incorrectly. In one AI posting, it describes how “seasonal tariff changes” may effect suppliers’ variable rate prices. Sounds “informative”, right? But, In Ohio, public utility law calls the utility distribution rate a “tariff”. This tariff has no effect on suppliers’ variable rate prices.

We research, interpret, and provide useful information to help Ohio consumers shop and save on their energy plans.

Lastly, these AI written articles usually give no useful information about how to compare energy plans Apples-to-Apples. For example, they miss things like how to understand your energy usage or how to compare provider rewards programs. They also ignore where to find real customer reviews or which plan may cost you more when it expires. Apart from saying “seasonally”, AI can’t even state the best months to shop for plans in Ohio. We, however, know them as “shoulder months.”

AI Can’t Do What I Do

AI is a great tool for searching through giant vats of facts and figures. But not a great tool to use to help Ohio energy customers decide on the best deal. Ohio energy shoppers need to trust a real person who knows what they’re talking about. My goal is to help you save money. So, I certainly try to bring you the most accurate information I can find about how to do that.

You can read more about your electricity that’s written by an actual human. Check out all of my work for Ohio at www.ohenergyratings.com 

[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​ @turtletaylor98​ @lyarr24​ @deanwanddamons​ @peridottea91​ @tvdspngirl314​

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern​

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

[ceruleanchillin]

Honeymoon Headcanons: Mayans Edition

Characters: Angel, Coco, EZ x F!Reader

Miami (Angel)

It wasn’t difficult at all to decide where the two of you would take your honeymoon. When you weren’t gonna be naked, Angel wanted you in sundresses and bikinis. You wanted him in linen shirts, and to feel him up in a club. Couple that with you both wanting a tropical environment, and Miami it is.

Angel letting you handle the accommodations, because you seem to know more about what you wanna see/where you wanna go than he does. He only cares about a bed and shower for when he’s not taking you in the inappropriate places. He just hands over the cash, though he complains about his hurt wallet.

Angel hard as a rock when he sees your new name on your plane ticket.

The two of you nearly missing your flight because your husband needs to “show his wife he loves her”.

You babying him on the flight, because Angel has never flown anywhere before.

“Mami, it’s perfectly valid to feel like a flying toaster can’t safely get you anywhere but a casket. Which they can’t even put you in, because you’ll be everywhere!”

Cue you distracting him with kisses and dirty words in his ear, which gets you initiated into the Mile High Club

Barely making it into the cute little condo before the two of you are at it again, collapsing in the late hours to jet lag and mutual satisfaction.

Your first official day is spent dragging Angel around the humid streets. Knowing he stresses easily if you plan things too tightly, and wanting to wing it yourself. It’s surprising how well you to fit in, it almost feels like home.

Angel switching from being jealous, because your tiny cotton sundress is attracting more than just his attention, to him kissing all over your dewy skin because so much of it is visible.

You getting as jealous as Angel, because it seems like each place you drag him to has openly interested ladies. It’s the white linen shirt that he won’t fully button no matter how many times you try to make him.

Angel basking in the attention, and even playing it up to force you to be the one to initiate inappropriate public sex.

Smirking when you break after a woman pays for his (and unintentionally yours) order at a small cafe you stepped into and you snap and drag him to a hidden place.

“I only love you querida, mi alma.” he whispers in your ear when he bottoms out inside you.

You two are a beautiful couple. Photogenic as all hell. Alone, neither of you have a problem attracting interest, but together, you make people want to be seen around you. That’s why you have no problem club hopping to all the exclusive places.

Angel taking photos and videos of you dancing because he’s so enthralled. He can’t wait to show your kids one day when they ask why he fell for you, and he explains how full of life you are.

Getting enough liquor in Angel to get him dance somewhere away from the club, especially since he (lies) and says he can’t.

You and Angel competing to see who can get the most people to buy your drinks + the two of you losing track because you both get drunk.

A quickie in the coatroom is the prize, Angel fucking you to the hypnotic beat.

Spending a few hours apart the following day, only to still keep texting and FaceTiming each other until you met up, touch starved, at a small restaurant.

Deciding to spend the rest of the day at your Airbnb laid up under each other after Angel scores weed. Teasing Angel about his monetary complaints when you spend all night enjoying the small backyard pool.

Angel thanking God for getting an adventure loving woman as his soulmate when you wake him up the next afternoon to inform him you rented jet skis for the day.

You being impressed when, while jet skiing, Angel silver tongues your way into an invitation to a nearby yacht party out of the host.

FaceTiming Gilly to make him jealous that you two are doing Hookah and drinking Casamigos in a hot tub.

Angel ramping up the mockery when EZ and Coco appear on screen, attracted by Gilly’s whining. Everyone looking overworked and salty, while you and Angel are living your best non-sober lives.

Slipping away from the party to one of the rooms on the boat, because once again, you and Angel never know when to stop teasing each other before it ends up in sex.

Feeling bold enough to suggest that since Angel’s been documenting so much of the trip, that maybe he should film this too.

The aftermath being a surprisingly sweet series of kisses and confessions where the two of you express how thankful you are to have found each other. How you can’t wait to build a forever together.

Marfa + Roswell (Coco)

No one knew how you got Coco to agree to travel for your honeymoon until you finally revealed where you were going. Splitting a week between Marfa and Roswell.

You and Coco are that “weird” conspiracy, incense, and weed couple, so it makes sense.

Giving Coco an edible before you leave, because like Angel, he doesn’t fuck with air travel like that.

“They got me with that bullshit in the military, but that was out of my control. You askin’ a lot right now, you’re lucky you’re cute mujer.”

Coco getting progressively handsy during the flight as the edible hits. Eventually, you stop fake-fighting his neck kisses and forward touches.

Also like Angel in that he’s unafraid to become a member of the Mile High Club.

The ride from the El Paso airport, to the car rental place, to Marfa takes far longer than Coco would like.

He’s used to long stretches of trip on his bike, and when you notice him becoming antsy, you distract him with interesting facts about Marfa.

The entire time, Coco can’t help but think that you’re the perfect road trip co-pilot, only to realize he actually meant his life in general now.

Coco proud as hell when you fall in love with his accommodations choice like he did. The colorful airstream trailers of the El Cosmico hotel are the two of you through and through.

You both trying to be responsible adults and refresh after travel, but continuing to get lost in each other during the whole process.

Shower sex -> Making out while drying off -> Touching while searching through your bags for something to wear -> bed sex -> repeat

Looking thoroughly mauled when you finally manage to get Coco off of you and into the car in search of food the next afternoon.

Coco being happy you can’t cover up due to the heat, while you wonder what superpower he and his boys have that let them wear flannel and long sleeves in the heat.

Dragging Coco to a cute cafe you saw on instagram, and him knowing, by the hipster design of it, that his wallet is about to cry.

Stealing food from his plate, and laughing at him sucking his teeth and whining when he catches you.

“You’re stuck with me forever now Johnny sooo….get used to this.”

“Small price to pay for that I guess.”

Finding small shops to go to and being Siamese twins in every one. Coco showing he has good taste in a lot of things one might think he wouldn’t. Him opening up his wallet at everything you 'ooh' and 'aww' at. He can’t help it, he likes you happy, and your kisses and adoring looks are addicting.

For almost everything you get, Letty gets something too. Neither of you wants that tantrum when you get back.

You fighting yourself to avoid the art supply store, and Coco not having it.

“I have so many supplies already, it’s an addiction at this point.”

“So? Get some more. It’s our week, we shouldn’t stress about shit.”

Coco bragging on your talents and successes to the art shop cashier when you checkout.

“Cocoooo.” you murmur hiding your face in his shoulder, arms around his waist.

“Don’t be shy ma, you’re fucking amazing. I love your skills.”

Cue the cashier swooning at the two of you.

Finding unique liquor stores and getting tipsy on samples. It becomes twice as fun when locals, and other tourists alike, start discussing the Marfa lights with you, and you and Coco impress everyone with your ideas.

Being invited to a bonfire smoke session with the other El Cosmico guests when you get back.

Sketching Coco by the firelight, because he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in that moment, and now he’s officially yours.

The sex being on another level of intimate that night, because all day you and Coco have been engaging in your respective love languages, and it culminates in mutual need for each other.

The drive to Roswell being more tolerable for Coco, but he still misses his bike. Your excitement about AlienFest is so palpable however, he quickly forgets.

Your hotel being more conventional, but the people you meet making up for it. Finally, you and Coco aren’t the weirdest ones in the room.

Taking the time before the festival starts to check in with friends and family and accumulate odd souvenirs for them. You believe Coco is intentionally getting them stuff they’ll hate.

“Taza won’t wear that baby, he has better taste in jewelry than UFO earrings.”

“Ok, but can he bitch about us not getting him anything? Plus, you can guilt anyone into anything.”

Doing cute edible pastries at the festival.

“You know Aliens are demons right? Jack Parsons and L. Ron Hubbard were doing summoning rituals in the Mojave in 1946, and Roswell was the following year.”

“Word?…Shit. Tell me that again when we’re not rolling. I wanna read about it………you’re so smart mami.”

Coco realizing between every snack stop, every dance he shares with you, every trinket you pick up, and every little conspiracy tidbit you share, that you’re his wife now. That the peace he’s been feeling all week, that he thought he’d never have, is going to be his new normal.

New Orleans (EZ)

You and EZ both enjoy engaging with history and culture, and felt that your honeymoon should be built off of your shared interests. During your meticulous wedding planning, it was decided New Orleans would be the honeymoon destination. It didn’t hurt that you missed your southern roots too, even if you weren’t from New Orleans.

Traveling with EZ is a dream considering you’re both pretty organized, together people. He’s not afraid of flying, but you’re always a little nervous.

EZ being Best Husband™️ and soothing even the most minor of your stresses by turning your attention to the excitement of your trip and your new relationship status.

Teasing EZ in-flight won’t get you Mile High Club initiated, because he finds it much more entertaining to punish you by letting you work the both of you up, and making you stay that way for the duration of the flight. He’s got enough will power to suffer through it, because your soft whines make it worth it.

The airbnb is everything it was promised to be, and you’d appreciate that later, but all you can think of is your husband when you step through the door. That’s the other half of why EZ likes to leave you waiting. Your aggression and exclusive desire for him gets, and keeps, him hard.

It rains the following day, which is just as well, because neither of you are quite ready to stop physically expressing your love for each other. The day consists of ordering food, falling out of your clothes and onto each other, separating to read, falling back on each other, and quick naps.

Angel sending mocking texts in your Reyes group about how you’re trying to turn his brother bamma like you, only to stop when you threaten him with no souvenirs.

EZ and you taking responsibility for your own tour because let’s face it, you both know exactly what you want to see, and can plan a more satisfying tour for the both of you. You take turns deciding where to go next.

When it’s his turn, EZ picks an art museum, and can’t quit smiling about it. You think it’s because he picked a place he really wanted to go to.

“Babe, I have a surprise for you.”

“What?” your excitement always makes EZ’s heart race with his own.

He hands you the guide brochure he picked up at the door, folded to the section he wants you to look at.

“Faith Ringgold exhibit?!”

He hums and nods, grunting when you knock into him with a hug.

“Thank you for thinking of me. I love you.” you look up at him, eyes shining with unshed tears and he just kisses you, afraid he’ll cry if he says anything.

The two of you avoid the tourist trap spots for lunch and find a cute family owned cafe. You order for the both of you based on what you know about southern cuisine and both of your tastes.

You love watching EZ fall in love with the food as he keeps asking “Can you make this?” about everything he eats.

The two of you walking through the Garden District in the evening. Hands swinging between you with no plans but to admire the beautiful homes and foliage.

EZ noting how awestruck you are, and you describing what you love about the historic, towering homes.

He catches that when you describe what your dream home in the area would be, he and your future children are mentioned frequently, and it makes butterflies dance in his stomach. He can picture your family in the yards around him.

The two of you almost make it back to your Airbnb, but give into your baser urges after all the domestic conversation. EZ pulls you into an alley for a quickie, the two of you fighting to silence the other’s vocal expression.

You teasing EZ after that he’s more like his brother than he thinks. Him teasing back the two of you would’ve been caught and arrested if he was like Angel.

The following day is relaxed and less planned. The both of you getting thoughtful gifts for each member of your family, blood and otherwise. EZ scores major points for the gifts he suggests for your mom and dad, and you kind of want to jump him again.

EZ is glad you’re impressed, but it’s nothing to him. It all comes naturally because he loves you so much, and refuses to be anything other than the husband he knows you deserve.

AN:

I didn’t want to add this, cuz I wanted to end on a sweet note, but you just know Angel would accidentally send that vid to one of his boys.

Personally, I lose it for shit like this. Anything domestic in writings is my jam, so I decided to make these headcanons.

- Fun fact: Jet Ski is kind of like Bandaid in that it’s become the generic term for “personal water vehicles”, but it’s actually a specific brand’s name for their PWVs. I learned this while writing this enjoy💀.

[diavolosthots]

Hi, hope this comes out right, been looking forward to making a request. So, I was hoping for hurt and comfort scenario where a reader is oddly reminded of their families passing, and is obviously not good at pretending they're fine and Lucifer or Satan calls their bluff, and offers mc a shoulder to cry on. Sorry for the weird ask, it's been rough.

Hey babes im so sorry it took so long for me to get this. Wherever you are, if you're still around, I hope you're doing okay ❤

Warning: mentions of death

A Good Book (SATAN X GN!READER)

The Devildom was so pretty, or at least, it was to you. The endless night sky that never once seemed to falter, filled with millions of stars that you didn’t recognize, filled you with a sense of comfort. Odd flowers native to the area brought curiosity to your mind, and even the animals that some might deem as creepy gave you a feeling of joy. The Devildom, although meant for sinners only, was beautiful, and maybe, just maybe, you would prefer it over heaven. Diavolo does well in keeping it up right and of course, even with most of its citizens being demons, the general public does a great job at helping out with that. If someone had told you that hell would be like this, you may have called them crazy, but maybe they just want you to think it’s bad because it’s, well, hell. You’re not supposed to enjoy it, after all. 

Truthfully, under different circumstances, you may not have enjoyed it as much, but the darkness and change of scenery actually gave you time to forget about things going on in your regular life, and the friendships you have formed along the way also allowed you to think of new things, different things. A smile crept across your face as you recalled the many shenanigans that you and the brothers have come up with over the past few months and your heart ached at the thought of you potentially having to leave this place. “I love it here….” it was spoken more so to yourself, but it held power outside of yourself. You did love it here and you loved everyone you meet here. Still, today you couldn’t shake off the feeling of sadness. Everything reminded you of them and it took everything inside you to hold it together for the rest of your day at RAD, up until the point where you would be back at the House of Lamentation, at which point you would allow yourself to break down. 

And you did! You made it all the way to the house, but right as you were about to enter through the door, a yellow butterfly flew past you. “Butterfly…” which caused you to break down immediately. Thankfully, the brothers were nowhere near you at the moment and you managed to run up the stairs and into your room, where you threw yourself on your bed and cried. A stupid butterfly just had to come and ruin it, didn’t it? Where did it even come from? You didn’t know. Did the Devildom even have butterflies? You’ve never seen one before… it made you sad. It reminded you on that day where they passed and you hated how every time you saw a butterfly, it brought back that memory. Butterflies…. “Little Angels..” is what they used to call them although you found it hard to believe. 

“(Y/N)? Are you in there? I took your potions book by accident.” Satan. You wanted to tell him to just go away but you didn’t actually have a reason for him to leave. If you yelled at him to go away, he’d be worried and confused and maybe even slightly agitated, wondering what he had done. If you didn’t say anything, there’s a chance he’d open the door anyway just to leave the book in your room. There was no way out so you quickly wiped whatever is left of the tears and looked at yourself in the reflection of your phone, smiling softly before clearing your throat before calling out to him. “Yeah I’m here. Just place it on the dresser.” Maybe if you opened your phone and pretended to scroll through Devilgram, it wouldn’t be so bad… or so obvious. The door opened and Satan walked in, smiling softly at you as he held up the book, “My bad… I thought I took mine but when I checked my bag, I had two, so I figured this one is yours.” The smile you had put on while looking at yourself was still on and you nodded at him, “it happens… no big deal.” And you hoped that, with those words, he would leave again.

“What are you doing?” Of course not. As a matter of fact, he shut the door and walked into your room and your body screamed to just run. You can’t sit up now, can you? Your throat is suddenly feeling tight and you forced yourself to sit up, showing him your phone and how you were just scrolling through Devilgram. “Just…. A bit of social media.” “You sound sad.” Okay, way to go being blunt Satan. His statement caught you off guard and you kind of looked at him dumbfounded for a moment. Had he figured it out already? By just looking at you? That’s impossible, “what?” You laughed. It sounded hollow but you laughed, “don’t be ridiculous! I’m just… tired. RAD has been kicking my ass.” He looked at you like you were just…. Dumb. Like you took him for a fool. “Lies. I know a liar when I see one. What’s wrong?” 

Something about being caught just made you feel anxious. It made you stiffen and blink a few too many times and your lip is quivering again and your hand is shaking, you can feel it, and if you don’t pause and look away you’ll cry again and…. “Hey… what’s wrong?” The second time he asks, you actually cry. You can feel the tears roll down your cheeks and your vision is becoming blurry. Your hands move up to your face to hide as you sobbed, shaking your head and silently praying that he would just leave. Satan, however, didn’t. He was confused, for sure, and part of him was scared that he had indirectly done something to you that made you so emotional in his presence. “(Y/N)... talk to me…” He reached a hand out, carefully, to place on your back, rubbing over it. “I-I….” but you couldn’t even get a word out. His touch was strangely comforting and you quickly leaned into it, throwing yourself at him until your arms wrapped around his waist and his own were forced to wrap around yours too. 

“(Y/N)....” “I…. they’re dead… I’ll never see them again….. I still can’t believe it…” He’s confused on who you mean but right now it also feels like a sin to interrupt your talking so he stays silent, just rubbing over your back instead and pulling you closer against him. “They died… shortly before I came here… and… I didn’t…. I didn’t get to say goodbye, not really….” Your tears and hurt are silently breaking his heart and he wishes he could actually take it away from you; you don’t deserve this. “A-and… I hoped… the Devildom would… would take my mind off it…” you are sobbing harder now, moving your hands underneath his jacket and clinging to the back of his sweater, “b-but then I…. I saw that stupid butterfly….. And I couldn’t…” It’s all because of a stupid butterfly. You really did blame everything on it. 

Satan’s lips attached to your head gently while one of his arms moved up to push your head further into his chest, his fingers raking through your hair tenderly as he did so. “Sshh…” He won’t tell you it’s okay. He knows it’s not. He also knows better than to attempt and make it okay. There’s not much he can say or do here, but he will try anyway, because somewhere in his mind, he felt similar when Lucifer lost Lilith. “I won’t tell you it’ll be okay… although I hope for you it will be… but, a good book once said that butterflies are little helpers from G… the man upstairs,” Sorry (Y/N), he can’t bring himself to say that name, “and if you whisper a wish to it, it will go up to heaven and ask for it to come true.” Obviously he doesn’t believe that, but there is a sense of comfort coming from that saying, even for him.

You sniffled, trying to calm yourself enough to listen to him. It made sense. Somewhere in your mind, it made sense. You nodded, still crying but you wanted him to know that you were listening, “thank you…” but please don’t let go. You didn’t add the last part, but seeing as he didn’t let go, you take it as him understanding that you need a little more time. Satan was warm and oddly comforting, and you wanted to just be held by him for a little bit longer, to get lost in him a little bit more, 

Like a good book. 

[cimmunist]

I did Cimmerian, now it's time for Clef! Like before, the one on the left is my main interpretation and the one I use in mine and my friend's, @bluethepearldiver, AU Gods and Pawns. The one on the right is the @ask-dr-cimmerian version. I put a more detailed overview under the cut, feel free to skip the blog version if you don't want spoilers.

GaP/Main interpretation of Clef:

Species: Immortal human (in most of the versions of the AU)

Age: Unspecified, really fucking old

Gender/orientation: Doesn't use labels, but if I have to specify he's non-binary, on the acearo spectrum and mostly prefers men

Pronouns: Any, prefers he/they

Ethnicity/nationality: Middle eastern, comes from Eden

Job: Department Head of training and development, an O5 or field agent in some of the versions of the AU

Appearance: 5'7'' plus size man, though weight fluctuates during the story, as he forgets to eat during a lot of stress. Two eyes, right is green, left is blue and hazel. Has sharp teeth, covered in scars, the biggest one being the x shaped scar on his chest, later on, gets a snake-shaped scar carved into his right arm. Naturally black/dark brown hair that's greying, uses his reality-bending to make it blonde because he's too lazy to dye it. Always carries around a star-shaped pin.

Personality & health:

Outgoing, charming loudmouth

Lies quite a lot, likes to tell clearly exacerbated stories (people just got used to it)

Cheerful and easily excitable

A huge bastard, loves to tease his friends and coworkers

Not afraid to speak his mind when needed, can be quite abrasive

Avoids confrontation when it comes to personal matters

Doesn't get angry easily, but when he does he gets quiet and stern

Will never cry in public, usually just in private or in front of people he trusts

Struggles a lot with PTSD (which is a problem when you can literally bend reality around you) and later on depression

Relationships:

Love interests: Bright, Kondraki and Cimmerian

Exes: Lilly (abusive + a God, bad combination), Kushim (friend's oc)

Friends: Aaron/Administrator/O5-1A (work acquaintance), Joseph Tamlin (brief old friend), Etienne Baudelaire (old friend, friend's oc), Lilith (best friend), Sophia Light (close-ish work friend), Maveth (friend, oc), Dory (old friend, oc), Lucy (old friend), Raphael (old friend)

Family: Brother to Eve/O5-1B and Kineret (oc, deceased), brother-in-law to Adam, uncle to a bunch of kids including Abel/076 and Cain/073. Had a daughter, Rut, with Kushim and a daughter, Meri, with Lilly.

Trivia:

Mostly known for two things: his great distaste and disrespect to gods, and his talent to almost dying but somehow getting away still alive (lovingly called a cockroach by the grim reaper for it)

Has literally fought gods 3 different times and survived, this list keeps on growing, somebody stop this man

Favourite hobby is probably annoying the death itself

How his immortality works: after he dies his body heals and he comes back to life

Loosely followed the 4231 canon, with some big changes to fit his backstory

Deathly afraid of deep water and drowning (ironic for an immortal)

Literally considered a Saint in one of the religions? Absolutely despises that fact

Real name is Abishai, but doesn't mind going by Abby or any of his many, many nicknames

Actually physically fought Adam Bright before, wouldn't mind doing it again

Very close with his sister

His other sister, Kineret, died saving him. He has major survivor guilt over it.

Actually helped create the foundation, since his sister is the founder, but dipped almost immediately after and started working for the GOC

Rejoined many years later, in exchange for protecting Meri and letting him see her from time to time

Meri was born around the time ancient rome still existed and he was actually able to raise her, they're very close

Met Jack sometime in the 1920s-30s, he was Clef's first real friend in the Foundation

Actually the reason Kondraki got recruited

Contrary to popular belief, he can play on his ukulele very well and can write songs, he just chooses not to

Knows a lot of languages

Both a reality bender and a reality anchor, unable to be affected by other reality benders

Actually is a lot more powerful reality bender than he lets on

Got his X shaped scar on the chest from Lilly

Used to travel a lot and didn't liked to be tied to one spot

Blog version of Clef:

Species: Nephilim, half-human half-angel

Age: 98, looks ~40

Gender: Non-binary/genderqueer

Orientation: Oriented aroace/ ace demi-homoromantic

Pronouns: Any

Ethnicity/nationality: Mixed middle eastern, raised in Cornwall

Job: Liaison for the Ethics Committee

Appearance: 5'5'' plus-sized man. Has three eyes, one right green one, two left ones, one blue one hazel. Has sharp teeth, is covered in scars, the biggest one being an x shaped scar on his chest. Has burn scars on his feet. Has naturally black/dark brown hair, dyes it a lighter colour. He usually keeps his hair in a braid. Flowers grow out of his hair.

Personality & health:

The loud, annoying yet charming bastard of the ethics committee

Has generally a laid back, jokester personality

Very devoted to his family and friends

Not the type to get mad easily, when he does get angry he just gets quiet and stern

Never cries in public, just in private

Little bastard man, loves teasing his coworkers and husband

Struggles a lot with PTSD and paranoid delusions, but is slowly doing better

Relationships:

Love interests: Cimmerian, later on Bright and Iceberg

Ex: Lilly

Friends: Kondraki (old friend), Bright (old friend), Tiffany Okely (work friend)

Family: Bastard child of an angel, raised as an only child of a single mother. Had Epon with Lilly, later on, had an "accident" named Melody with his husband, adopted a step-parent role to Cimmerian's older daughters May and Eliza

Trivia:

Roughly follows the events of 4231

Raised Epon for the first few months to year's of their life before they were found to be anomalous and forcibly taken from him

Regularly checks up on his kid and leaves her small gifts

Semi-omniscient, ever since he was born he could just see and know things others couldn't. Perfectly aware of the fact Cimmerian is a demigod, even before their husband finds out himself. Uses his omniscience to check up on Epon and make sure they're okay.

Used to be very close with Bright before Cimmeriam swooped in and stole the man, slowly rebuilding that relationship

Cannot play the ukulele for the life of his and has no intentions of ever learning

Had a lot of bucket and cowboy hats but gave them all to Melody

Cimmerian made the mistake of allowing them to pick out Melody's clothes when they were little, now they have Clef's sense of style, oh no

Is afraid of water, shouting and slamming things is a major trigger of theirs, they also dislike deer and antlers for obvious reasons

Suffers from chronic scar pain in her legs

They have exactly 0 respect for any of the o5s

One of their hobbies is gardening

Pretty much majority of their scars were caused by Lilly

Alto Clef is their chosen name and god help you if you deadname them

Loves cats, they're her favourite animal

The platonic marriage with Cinmerian was their idea

Child of 001 /J

[huenjin]

dripping.

pairing — lee minho x reader | devil!au

word count — 2.6k words

rating — 18+

genre — smut, includes jealous sex, semi public sex (in a gallery), manhandling, spit play, sir kink, breast play, possession kink, fingering, orgasm denial, blow job, deep throating, degradation, humiliation, spanking, marking.

note — happy lino day! i speed wrote this to post something for his birthday so it's heavily unedited. this is filthy af and i might, just might, make a part two of this to delve more into it, haha, because lmao, i love this so much.

It's a big red stroke over the area that should have been for the eyes.

You drop the paint brush with the ends of the bristles still coated in deep red paint. The white plastic sheets underneath your easel prevents the white floors of the room in the back of the art gallery you own from being stained. You look up at the man before you, your friend of all these years, Bang Christopher Chan, shirtless in all his glory as he poses for you. His hands are shoved into the jeans of his pockets, built abs that are clenched and shine under the spotlight and his sharp side profile in your clear vision, all for you to paint down on a white canvas.

"It just needs to dry up now," you smile at Chan and look at him as you lean to the side of your chair, your fingers gripping on the circular edge to keep your balance. "You did well!"

Chan relaxes and walks a few steps to the side to grab his black shirt, only to pull it over his built physique. You take the smaller brush and dip it in the water in the can by your side, lightly brushing it over the toned abs in the picture to highlight it. The model walks towards you, moving behind you and bends forward. He observes the picture. His hot breath fans over your skin and you can feel the goosebumps rise. Chan speaks into your ear, "Damn! I look hot."

A soft laughter leaves your lips and you turn to look at him. Bang Chan is way too close to you, enough for you to see the golden specks in his eyes.

"It better do. Those are a lot of hours gone into you flexing and me painting."

Chan straightens his spine and takes a step back. You place the brush on the projection on the easel and stand up, removing the apron off of you and placing it on the chair.

"Why do you not sell your paintings yet, Y/N?" Chan asks as you walk with him to the door. You shift your dress fabric slightly, a small smile to yourself and you look at him. He continues, frowning, "I mean, you put your whole soul into it."

His face appears into your head. Chiselled jaws, sharp eyes that are able to radiate sheer softness in moments, veiny hands that cup your face while he kisses you like he is going to take possession of what he owns. You respond finally, "You say I put my soul in it and maybe that's why I can't sell it. Because it's not mine. I can't sell something that is not mine, can I?"

Chan looks at you like you are of one screw short. He laughs nervously and pulls the glass door. You take hold of the handle from him, holding the door out for him. His right arm snakes around your shoulders and hugs you, his warm cologne hitting your nose as you let him hold you, to bid him farewell.

"See you later, crocodile."

"You too, dork."

You stand by the door, watching Chan walk away till you cannot see him anymore. You fondly stare in the distance and pull the door backwards to close it.

"Who would have thought the devil's girl is here flirting and drawing naked men?"

You hear the very familiar voice, cold enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your head quickly turns, back hitting the glass door as you look at the devil himself, clothed in a black shirt — of course, the devil wears Prada. Lee Minho grazes his thumb over the edge of the painted canvas before taking it up. You walk towards him, folding your arms over each other.

"Keep it back, Minho," you frown. You look up at the brooding man hovering over your height. His eyes narrow down at your figure and then stare at the picture. He laughs darkly again, "How dare you flirt with another man when you know you are clearly mine?"

He throws the canvas down and you huff in disbelief. The devil can truly act like a child at times and you swear to both the heavens and hell, that you will never get used to it. You bend down to pick it up but Minho clicks his tongue, almost as if he is sending you a warning — a final one because you already ticked him off seemingly with Bang Chan's presence.

"I wasn't flirting with him," you look away and Minho takes a step towards you, his fingers holding your jaw and pulling your face to look at him. He lifts it up slightly, locking his gaze with yours.

"Were you not now, my darling?"

You remember the abdominal muscles of Chan's — sculpted and formed that you sigh, and his broad shoulders, wide and strong. Everything, however, changes when Minho's eyes darken and your mind is filled with lust. Minho's other arm snakes around your waist, pulling you closer into him. You are pressed against him and you gasp. A lustful expression makes its way to your face and your thoughts are clouded with Minho now. Everything Minho. His arms, his hands, his eyes, his plump lips that edge closer to you.

His thumb digs into your cheeks and the other four fingers grip your face as he opens your mouth with pressure, tongue jutting out slightly. Minho sniggers, "You might as well be begging to get fucked right now." Your eyes glisten, thighs and core clenching. Minho spits into your mouth and you swallow immediately. He laughs. "Ah, you slutty whore."

Your hand brushes against his growing bulge, up and down gently and you beg as he grips your face tightly, "Do me, please, sir." Minho's hand leaves your face. His nose brushes against the skin by your neck as he breathes hot air against it and you feel a pool of wetness gather on to the already damp fabric of your underwear.

"What thoughts do you have of me generally, angel?" He presses a chaste kiss against your jugular. "Were you hoping for something like this to happen tonight?" His head drops in between your breast, teeth clasping onto the thin fabric and pulling it down, exposing your supple breasts to the devil. He buries his face in between them, sucking in sharply. One of his arms pulls you in impossibly close to him whole the other sharply moves under your dress, teases the wetness of the fabric before rubbing his fingers against them. You gasp, inhaling air sharply.

"S-sir," you stutter. You know for a fact that you would have collapsed had it not been for Minho's grip around you. "I didn't—"

Minho's fingers pull the underwear strap away from your flesh, wrapping around them and in a minute, he pulls them down furiously. Strings of your wetness connect your dripping core and the underwear that is pulled down and Minho is laughing. Loudly.

"What lies! You are dripping, angel." Smirking, he raises an eyebrow at you and taunts, "See, I was correct."

He runs his index finger along your slit teasingly. You buckle under the sensation, gripping on the collars of his expensive black shirt, knees slightly buckling. Minho mumbles, "So wet and all for me. This is all mine," and he prods the index and the middle finger into your core, slightly circling the edge before entering completely – knuckles deep – without any warning and you gasp, scream leaving your lips with words calling for mercy from the devil himself.

Minho thrusts his fingers, in and out, as he sucks on your breasts. His tongue laps around your flesh, areolar and then the nipple. He sucks on it, the sound resonating loudly in the gallery and you worry if the security guard would come in to check.

"Minho—"

Thud. You jerk, spine straightening up and pain seeping through every end of your nerves as Minho's palm hits against your pussy. Your eyes water and you pull Minho closer, your head dropping onto his shoulder. His fingers come in a harsh contact with your core once again and you let out a choked sob.

"It's sir to you, slut. It is sir to dirty whores like you, flirting with men when you clearly know who you belong to. You belong to the devil, angel."

He slaps your pussy once again, your spine straightening up and your head thrown back and he orders, "Who do you belong to, angel?"

"The devil's," you cry, a sole tear falling down your eye, staining his shirt. "I belong to you, sir. I belong to you."

"Good girl," and his fingers enter you once again. You moan out his name. The intrusion is sudden and you are overwhelmed. You gasp, the air raspy against your throat before falling. Your hand clutches his shirt tightly, pulling it a bit and you hear the slight ripping sound.

He presses his thumb on your clit, tapping it slowly, simultaneously and you think you are going delusional. Your mind is empty and the devil is contaminating you, slowly like black ink in water, ripples that soon spread around, ruining everything.

"Sir, oh my fucking heavens."

He sucks on your breasts, tongue lapping against your erect nipple. He lets go only to hover a little above and suck purple hickies all over, telling you, "Fuck, you are insane. Insane for this." His teeth graze against your nipple and you shudder in his hold. His fingers, three in already at your sopping wetness, thrusting in at an impeccable pace. "Look at this sex. Wet and dripping. What a mess you are making and look at this filthy hole, sucking my fingers in and devouring them. You really are a slut."

You cry out at the feeling of being overwhelmingly full, your head falling down and your teeth biting into Minho's shoulder. Your walls are stretching out and you catch him mumbling, "So fucking tight and all for me. Look at this slut being a needy girl for me."

He curls them up into you and your back arches slightly at the tingles. You feel Minho slipping his fingers easily into you and the slick of your arousal dripping down your thighs, making a mess. He rubs your walls, his attention also on your enlarged button and your hips gyrate with him, thrusting and chasing after his fingers desperately. He finds your spot easily and pushes at it constantly. You feel the knot building up and you are moaning, voice barely leaving your lips.

The devil is evil and that is what Lee Minho is.

He removes his fingers the minute he realises you will snap any minute. The emptiness you feel breaks your heart and makes you weak. Your voice, croaky and husky, barely lets out, "Why?" Tears fall down your face at the orgasm denial and your knees fail to keep you up as they hit the ground. Minho lets you fall down on your knees, your vision now his huge bulge.

"Sluts don't get it easy. Ever."

Minho unbuckles his belt, unbuttons and unzips his pants, lowering the pants to his mid-thigh and he takes out his cock. His hot angry girth with heavily leaking precum is right in front of you. His fingers coated in your wetness enters his mouth and he wraps his tongue around it, loudly sucking. His eyes do not leave yours and you understand what he is asking you to do.

He expects the same. You open your mouth wide, tongue slightly stretched out like a girl thirsty and Minho shoves his cock into your mouth. You gag at the sudden entrance, arms lifting up automatically and hands wrapping around his length as you begin sucking on it.

Before you know it, his hand is flat against the back of your head, shoving your head forward. His big cock pushes past your buccal cavity, going deep down your throat and you gag against his length loudly. Minho moans before holding you there, your nose brushing his pubis and you are breathing through your nose, eyes watering.

There is nothing gentle in the devil's movements. He pulls himself back only to thrust his hip forward, cock going down your throat again. He abuses your mouth to his pleasure as he moves against you, procuring pleasure from you hollowing your mouth and your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, slightly wrapping around the length and teasing it now and then.

Your fingers try to move down without his notice. Your index finger finds your clit silently and you rub against it fast, trying to drive yourself to the orgasm you were just denied. With a blink of the eye, Minho pulls himself back, pushing you away from him and you whine. You are on your knees and you look up at Minho, arm stretching forward to grab his length, mumbling like a bitch in heat, "Want it, want it, want it."

He hums, gloating and pride washing his whole face, "What? You want more of it?" He slowly takes many steps backward before falling onto the stool before the easel. He spreads his legs, dick up and erect and he points at the ground before him. "Alright. Come here."

You are quickly on your four. Your right hand moves forward, followed by your right knee flat on the ground and then your left limbs. You crawl towards Minho, lips dark pink, swollen and open in desperation. You want to suck him off more, feel him down your throat, constriction your airways. You want to feel him so close. You want to taste him more.

You wrap your lips around his cock once you reach, pushing your hair away. Kissing the angry purplish red tip, you suck at the head. Minho throws his head back in ecstasy. You feel him twitching in your mouth, every single time you take him deep down your throat, gags hitting off the flesh and dying in your mouth. He pulls out barely before he is pushing back in, teeth gritted and eyes focused.

The sounds of your gagging bounces off the white walls of your bedroom, followed by the deep moans and sighs emitting out from Minho's lips as he fucks your mouth mercilessly. Each thrust of his hips causes the head of his cock to push past your airway, your throat constricting and eliciting a groan from him.

The flat of your hot tongue presses against his length. He finally lets you take control by a bare minimum. You lick his length, moving your head up and down as your wrists twist slightly, the right amount of pressure applied. Minho mumbles, "You finally decide to act like a good girl, didn't you, you slut? Did you think you might get rewarded then?" He holds a fist full of your hair and pulls you back to have you look him in the eye.

"You are mine," he emphasizes. His eyes darken and your heart beat races for the personification of evil. "Your soul, your body, your heart," he tightens his grip and your eyes widen, "They are all mine." He bends forward to kiss you, his tongue lapping against yours, taking in the salty taste of himself. He kisses you like he wants you to lose your sanity or bring him some.

And when he lets go, he holds his cock and he finds you salivating, eyes fixed on it, lips wide apart.

"Now, make the devil the happiest tonight."

[cloudninetonine]

Cogito, ergo sum

Chapter: 2

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x fem!reader

A/N: Hey guys! I want to apologise for the long wait between chpaters but seeing as I’m on my last year of college my school work is coming before everything else so it’s a little hard working between them! Don’t worry, I’m not dropping this series or anything just expect chapters to take a little long to be loaded and everything! Also, this chapter seems a little too far paced for me, so sorry about that as well!

Tags at the bottom once again!

I do not own Detroit become human this is merely fanficion

Warnings: Bad language, physical assault, threats (?), hints of abuse, (Name) being weird like always, also angry (Name), mentions of drugs, there’s a bit of slander against drug abusers that I do not condone!

Undercut babes!

It’s fascinating, it really is, the way her beautiful gaze follows you as you round her, studying her feverishly, your eyes wide and bright.

She’s...well, words cannot describe her. Her beauty lies beyond your imagination and you’re not quite equipped to say anything that her magnificent ears deserve to hear, your words are below her and she’s just-

Wow.

“Ms (Last), please-”

You raise your hand towards the younger engineer, silencing with a small utter of ‘hush’ and he’s shutting his mouth, falling back to the side of your desk with not much else to say.

The android you’ve been un-shamelessly ogling for the past 10 solid minutes is still very quiet, she’s just watching you in her manufactured attire, shy, nervous, scared- everything you really wish she wasn’t right now because there is no way you want her to see you as some sort of threat, far from it.

“Henry” Turning back towards the engineer, he stiffs up like a board, sweat forming on his brow “Why didn’t you dismantle her?”

It’s rude, it’s horrible to say and it sours your mouth when you form those words, but it’s an honest question, you want to know why someone would do this, keep her alive, see her for all her glory.

The public spoke strongly about their opinions of androids, like toys to be played with, slaves to be worked, not the thing you so desperately wanted people to see them as. The masterpieces that stood beyond human comprehension.

The android lets out a noise similar to a whimper as Henry stammers out.

“I-I couldn’t she- um- I-” Finally, he sighs with frustration, Henry makes eye contact with you “She said was scared and...I couldn’t”

You snap back to face her.

“Is that true?”

She hesitates, one second, two seconds, three seconds, four- it takes a whole 30 seconds before she’s finally responding. “Yes…”

Your chest bursts in excitement.

“You’re incredible” Henry deflates in relief, placing a hand against your desk while you grasp her cheeks, her warm grey eyes glancing between your two hands then meet your own stare, confused. “Amazing, beautiful, fantastic, so, so much more”

“...thank you”

You sniff, then you’re pulling away, trying to keep your tears abay. You really can’t believe that your work has gone so far, that new forms of sentient are evolving from a human’s hand, you’re so overjoyed by it all but you’re also kind of realising how weird you’re being.

“Sorry, I’m becoming the creepy stereotypical scientist, let me just-” Pulling off your lab coat, you throw it over her shoulders, pulling it tighter around her for her dainty hands to grasp and hold, a smile growing on her face in gratitude. You’re really still in awe of it all but send her a giddy smile back “Henry get Kamski I’m sure he’s gonna love this”

When the man disappears, closing the office door behind him, you guide her to a chair, kneeling before her kindly.

“Tell me” She waits patiently for you to continue “What’s your name?”

When she opens her mouth, you interrupt her, grasping her hands “No, not the name you were given, the name you have chosen. What is your name?”

You’re at the beginning of history right here, you can already see the books that are yet to be written, all starting at this very moment, with you and her. This android, this amazing, piece of living metal, is the start of something great and you can’t wait to be a part of it.

“My name is….”

-----------

“(Name), I’m sorry, but there isn’t really anything I can do”

Your hands come down on the desk, expression unbelieving.

“But he attacked Ortiz in self defence, it’s not fair for him to be shipped to Cyberlife! That hellhole already has enough test subjects with other deviants, why can’t he be let go!?” Pushing yourself back up, you drag your hands down your face in exasperation “He’s a victim! He was defending himself, why can’t we let him off with a lesser offence?”

Billie sighs, shutting the file softly. “Because in the eyes of the law, he’s not a victim. He’s property and there isn’t much we can do about that. Besides, because Ortiz is dead, his ownership basically goes back to Cyberlife, so they have the authority to take him back”

Billie’s right, you know that they’re right, but it’s just so frustrating, so vexing that this is the case. An android, in the eyes of society, is nothing more than their components, why should they be given the same privilege as those who eat, shit and breathe?

Billie may be a judge, but they didn’t make the law.

You remember years ago, when something like this would have been seen as detestable, that the masses would have stood up to fight this kind of horror, but for some reason, with age came stupidity and ignorance it seemed. What the fuck had happened to you all?

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again before huffing, taking the file from their desk and ripping your coat off the hanger.

“I’m sorry, (Name)!” Billie calls and you wave them off, shouting back a ‘Don’t worry about it’ then close their office.

The courthouse is only a few blocks away from the precinct, a good walk away, a good way to calm yourself down until you’re having to face the frustration that comes in with having to work in such a high strung place. It’s funny really, you used to say ACAB when you were younger, still believed it too, so it’s really a wonder as to why you joined, but then again sometimes to make change you have to become the very thing you hate-

“Detective (Last)-” 

You scream, almost dropping your files and jumping a meter within the air. Passerbys don’t even spare you a glance, a generation raised on the weirdest websites like Vine, Tiktok, Youtube and god forbid, Tumblr, have them desensitised to whatever shit people like to play at now-a-days.

“Oh my God, Inspector Gadget” A hand falls to your chest, checking your racing heartbeat “You can’t just sneak up on a bitch like that”

Connor, the big old puppy, tilts his head in mild confusion “But I called your name twice, detective”

Oh.

“What are you doing here, Connor?”

The android joins your side and you continue your way. “Lieutenant Anderson informed me that you were heading to the courthouse, so I decided to come and brief you about a new case”

A new case, of course a new case, deviancy keeps popping up all over the country rapidly but you can’t hold your surprise about the fact that it’s been a  few days and there’s already a new case.

“Deadass?”

Wait, you hadn’t mean to say that-

His eyes narrow “Deadass?”

A snort escapes you “Oh my God I can’t believe you just said that, it sounds so cursed coming from your mouth. I meant, seriously?”

You swear on your life, on everything that may be above and so much more, that the android lets out a laugh when he continues, explaining the details as you finally enter the office.

You realise, as he talks, you feel a whole lot lighter than you had earlier.

-----------

“This guy is as scummy as it gets” 

Unfortunately, you can’t help but agree. Todd Williams is about as charismatic as a dumpster fire, messy hair, messy face, stained clothing and the stench of alcohol clung when you finally met him, having to hold back a wince of disgust.

You don’t usually speak ill of others, but you know his type, from the way he carries himself to the way he speaks. You’ve had to face men like him before, his whole demeanor brings back bad memories and you’re so glad that you’re not the one having to get details from him, to have to speak to him.

One thing’s for sure though, you don’t blame whatever deviant decided to book it from him.

“Why doesn’t he just...get a refund from Cyberlife?” You take a sip of your milkshake, staring at Hank, Connor and Mr Williams who looked to be ending off their conversation. “They do that for deviants, don’t they?”

Yes, if you remember, the new flashy CEO of the hell corp spoke it for all to see, that deviance is guaranteed to offer you your cash back.

How inhumane it all sounded.

Gavin scoffs, drinking his coffee “You think a guy like that cares about refunds?”

No. You know why he’s doing it. It’s all about power for fuckers like that.

Mr Williams leaves, Hank is looking through his notes, Connor is heading your way, probably to refer all the information back to you and Gavin is taking in a breath to start his bullshit again, despite your civilness that you had been sharing.

Eh, peace was never an option-

“Your metal boyfriend is heading this way”

The noise you make isn’t human, it’s a mix of a wheeze and scream, like you’ve just choked on the air your breathing and in all honesty, you have, but you’re not letting that mother fucker get away with catching you off guard, especially when he starts laughing.

“Shut up, furry”

Your actually feel the air from his head snapping towards you. “I’m not a fucking furry, quit fucking saying it!”

You pat his shoulder “It’s alright, Reed, we all know you wrote yiff fiction in your spare time-”

You dodge his fist, running away from his red, angered face and petty insults, dragging Connor away from the break room to the side, all while laughing up a storm.

Having your attention on the android again brings back Gavin’s words, his tease of ‘boyfriend’ which makes your face heat up, in what? You’re not quite sure, but it’s enough to make Connor notice your oddity.

“What were you and Detective Reed-”

“Nothing” You cackle, patting down his shoulders to distract yourself “He’s just being an arsehole again, nothing to worry yourself over”

And worry himself he didn’t, because he couldn’t of course, android and all.

Connor was quick to fill you in, an AX400 by the name of Kara had stolen (the word kidnapped comes to mind but you know that the robot detective will just ‘correct’ you on your wording) another android, Mr William’s ‘daughter’, model YK500 named Alice after assaulting him the night before. Mr Williams had been knocked out after the ordeal, as to why it had taken him so long to report it. 

“Were there any signs of assault that you could see? Ones that could lead to a potential take down or unconsciousness?” Connor takes a moment before shaking his head “Yeah, I didn’t think so”

What a lying fuck.

“Let’s head to the briefing room”

Hank is there, as well as a whole group of other police officers, talking amongst themselves as you situate yourself behind the podium, screen remote in hand and smiling brightly. Your partners are at your side, Connor in his usual stoic stance while the old fart has his arms crossed, bored as always and you’re ready to debrief the many uniforms but they keep talking, even after you clear your throat.

You’re not one to get angry at being talked over, annoyed, yes, but anger leads you nowhere with a crowd, so instead, you use your most favourite tactic to date

“Pay attention to me or I am gonna start screaming people” You sing. Not a threat, but a promise. “And you all know I will screech like mother fucker”

The room is silent in the next second.

“Great! So-”

The door to the room bursts open.

“Fucking really-”

“Detective (Last)'' It's the front office assistant and by the looks of it, he is panicked, worried even, as he addresses you. You suddenly feel your stomach knot up  “I’m sorry, but there’s been an emergency with your relative Carl Manfred”

You swallow, hard. “What?”

The meeting ends right then and there.

-----------

Hank hurls to a stop right outside the entrance. You’re already halfway out of the car when he shuts off the vehicle, Connor is taking off his seatbelt and you’re already racing down the soaked concrete path to the front door, rain pelting down on you.

You barely feel it though.

You startle the receptionist when you slam your hands down, eyes wide in panic, breathing coming out in fast, short pants and just looking as though you faced the masses to make it to this spot, right in front of her.

“Carl Manfred, he was brought here about an hour ago is he-”

She interrupts “Are you family?”

“Yes, please, I-”

“In what relation do you have to the patient?”

Is she really fucking serious right now? You debated leaning over and strangling your answer out of her, letting her know what kind of fucking pain you could put her through in this very moment-

But the hand that is placed against your back keeps you still. It’s warm and comforting and keeps you from mauling the fucker right out of her chair, though it doesn’t calm your anxiety, no, but at least it’s there.

You turn to see Connor, who nods towards you politely.

Huh, what a twist of events.

Hank leans over from your other side, looking just as angry as you feel, though he keeps his voice civil when he speaks “Listen, her old man’s just had a heart attack, could you drop the formal shit so she can see him?”

Her voice is sharp, just like her stupid fucking face and she snaps back “I can’t let you in unless I know your relation, unless you’d like to be escorted out by security”

Damn, she’s playing with fire and you’re ready to throw oil all fucking over her.

“I don’t fucking think so-” Pulling out your badge, you slam it against the desk, with nothing short of a growl “Police. Now, tell me where my fucking dad is or you’ll regret the next words that come out of your mouth”

You never abuse your power as a cop, it’s inhumane and back in your younger days you sneered at the disgusting police who would use their authority for their own gain, so you hate to admit but the nervous look that crosses her face when she sees your badge and Hank’s when he pulls it out for extra effect scratches an itch you begged to be scratched.

“Floor 3, the front desk will inform you what room”

“Thanks” You spit, already rushing to the elevator, the other two following.

Connor is quiet, to your surprise. Honestly, you expected him to speak out about your behaviour, your attitude, your unprofessionalism, but he says nothing, just trails after the two of you in silence, obediently, just like he was made for. 

It’s comforting having him here, even if he’s just following orders.

The next receptionist is kinder than the last (she even scowls at the mention of her coworker) and points down the hallway, to where two officers stand with cups of coffee within their hands. They stiffen in surprise at your arrival, but you pay them no mind, pushing your way into the room where you finally pause, taking in the scene of your beloved father figure, laid still within the bed, pale, heart monitor beeping occasionally. 

The doctor by Carl’s side looks up at you. “I’m sorry, but who are you?”

Hank and Connor wait outside.

“(Name) (Last), Carl’s daughter and emergency contact” You explain, walking further into the room “Is he- Can I-”

“He’s fine” She explains with a comforting smile “And yes, you can come closer, though the medication has him knocked unconscious so he won’t be talking any time soon”

The relief almost has you collapsing, brings you back from the panic attack that threatens to kick your arse right in front of everyone and you finally breathe normally.

“Thank you, and you are?”

“Dr Collins” Collins offers her hand and you shake it weakly. “Your father is going to be okay, (Name), but he’s going to need a lot of rest. Cardiac arrest at this age can be fatal, so we were lucky that he lived so close”

You nod, tiredly slinking to Carl’s side to drop into the cushion chair, taking his hand in yours. Kissing it lovingly, you place it close to you in comfort, in reassurance.

‘He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s going to be okay-’

“What are you doing here?”

Your anger shoots right back up, as does you head when you turn to look at the doorway.

“Leo” The name is dragged out of your mouth, it’s spoken with a heavy coat of venom and dirt and for all the participants who are about to see this wild shit show, is a clear indication that you’re far from happy to see the man that stood there. “The fuck are you doing here?”

He scoffs “I’m family, what else am I here for?”

“Oh I don’t know,” You’re standing, stalking closer to him with a raged gleam in your eye “To mooch off him a little bit more?”

The tension can be cut with a knife, everyone can see it, feel it, even Connor, who looks ready to intervene at any given moment.

“No, detective” One of the officiers starts, cutting in in hopes to keep you both calm. “He was there when it all happened, he saw everything-”

“He was there?” No, her words only add fuel to the fire and you’re glaring at your brother once again “You were there? The fuck were you there for? You did this?”

“No!”

“Please calm down” Collins cuts in “I understand the anger but the other patients-”

You ignore her, glancing around the area when a thought struck you.

“Where’s Markus?”

Connor’s the first to respond, “Who’s Markus, detective (Last)?”

“Dad’s care bot” A pin drops, no one is speaking, the two cops are quiet, Leo is scowling, but he’s not looking at you and your anger is quickly making room to fear, cold and stabbing when you push again, harsher, angrier “Where the fuck is Markus?”

The second officer speaks this time, hat in his hands and you know what happens next is not going to be good.

“He was leaning over your father when we walked in detective, Mr Leo Manfred told us he attacked him” The man gulps, hesitating. He’s not nervous for what he’s done, no, he’s nervous about the dark look that seems to be slowly taking over your eyes, “I shot him”

A beat goes by. Then another, another, another, another, another-

“Why were you there in the first place?” It’s soft, curious, but the rage behind it is big, your need for an answer is keeping it back “What was the call for?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Answer the question, officer”

His partner offers up the answer “....A break in, ma’am”

There’s silence, then you nod in understanding.

No one is quick enough to stop you from shoving Leo into the wall, hands wrapped tightly around the lapels of his jacket and holding him up so you can scream at him properly, face feeling hot from anger, eyes wild from rage, practically feral. 

“You fucking did this! This is your fault, you good for nothing fuck!” You pull your hand back and punch him right in the face, he’s too in shock to react but everyone else is trying to pull you off “What?! Were you off your shit from snorting that fucking powder again, you damn druggie!? Huh!? HUH!? You high right now, too!?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, (Name), let go!” Hank yells but he’s fucking impressed by your resistance.

“He could have died because of you, you good for nothing cunt! Worthless piece of shit! Now, Markus is fucking dead because of you, the person who was actually fucking taking care of him! This is all your fault! He’s in that hospital bed, because of you! You! Did! This! All for those stupid drugs! You’re fucking pathetic!”

You’re finally tugged off by someone, their arms slipping under your own to stop you from going back at him again. The officers are acting as a wall between you and your brother, Dr Collin’s is checking his nose as blood drips down his face, Leo is still in shock and Hank is leaning over, hands propped onto his knees. That leaves...

“I’m sorry detective (Last), but I’m going to have to restrain you until you calm down”

You scream in frustration and try to fight against it, but damn, you have to admit in a moment of clarity, Connor is fucking strong.

“Lieutenant Anderson, if you could take her legs, we can escort her out of the building without much trouble” Hank huffs something under his breath probably a grunt of ‘fucking android’ but complies, glaring at you when he leans down.

“You kick me and I’ll kick your ass”

Your respect for him makes you comply, but the anger doesn’t stop you from cussing both him and the android out, naming every threat under the sun as they carry you out of the building, back to the car which you are shoved placed into.

“Let me out of this fucking car, Hank!” You bellow, glaring at the man with sharp eyes who stood outside the vehicle, leaning against it “I’ll break this fucking window, I swear to fucking God!”

“You can try, but we both know you won’t!”

Once again, you’re screaming, tugging frantically at the door’s handle that you know is locked, but are way too angered to care right now.

Connor sits by your side, a good distance away to not antagonise you, silent, waiting and watching as you slowly fall from angry to desperate, tears welling within your eyes and falling down your cheeks. It only takes a few more moments for you to stop altogether, your shoulders shaking as you sob, quietly but strong.

The android finally speaks “Detective (Last)-”

You’re on him in a moment, arms wrapped around his frame, face buried into his shoulder, wetting his suit jacket as you cry, shaking.

It’s a new one for Connor. An android built for detective work, to sniff out the bad deviants, to question suspects and actually built with a comforting feature for victims of crimes. But this is a first, a first he’s seen anyone to tears, more importantly, a first of seeing you so broken. Sure, he had seen you defeated those few days ago, but this is different, you’re not trying to hide conflicting feelings behind your bubbly smile and weird jokes, you’re just...crying. Nothing more, nothing less.

His arms are hovering at your sides, hesitant, unsure and it’s not until Hank gestures from outside the car to ‘fucking do something, you stupid machine’ that the protocol finally kicks in, his arms coming to wrap around you securely and comforting, reassuring you through your whimpers.

Connor is a robot, a machine that feels nothing.

But seeing you cry isn’t something he can just let happen.

Software instability.

-----------

Tags: @dillxpixkles @1950schick @pinkittwice @iris-suoh @loveflowsthroughme @thatlonelyalto @starcatcher-kay​ (ya’ll I’m half asleep if I forgot you in the taglist I am SORRY-)

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 24 - If You Want Me... 

Masterlist; Chapter 23

Summary: Tension reaches its boiling point when you overhear an unfortunate conversation. With unexpected allies, you attempt to break the impasse once and for all.

Warnings: ANGST (still but... well you’ll see ;)); at few points R! is being a little dramatic which can be triggering if you’ve been dealing with intrusive thoughts (nothing too bad though); swearing.

Author’s Notes: Finally! It’s been a wild ride... and god am I happy i’ve managed. This part took a lot of effort but I quite like what I came up with... even if sometimes it gets too angsty. Can’t wait for what’s coming next, however... :)))) Hope you enjoy and all feedback is always appreciated! <3 

The shooting range on the icebreaker was a strange place. It occupied a large proportion of the deck floor in the accommodation part of the ship, next to the turnstile and sparring grounds. With darkness swallowing every corner that was not lit up by the blinking fluorescents, it was a perfect place to hide. Soon it became your go-to solace when things got difficult, and the only other idea you could come up with involved going outside without the oxygen mask attached. You did not want to go that far. Yet. Target practice became your favourite occupation. It was simple and did not involve talking to people that could give you worrying looks or comment on the dark circles underneath your eyes. Sleep was no longer a thing, with you catching three-hour-long naps at best, in between never-ending worrying and staring at the ceiling, reminiscing the past. The constant headaches were something you soldiered through, accepting them as a part of reality. The worst part of that new life was the fact that you and Neil stopped talking to each other altogether. Not even empty pleasantries could get through the stone-cold awkwardness and tension capable of killing you before the heartache would. After a day of near-misses and horrifying mistakes that culminated with you accidentally spilling boiling water all over the sweater when Neil entered the galley, you both mastered the art of hiding. You only saw him once afterwards, sitting at the table in the corner of the canteen. That was almost two days ago, and you were thankful.

Once you went through the assigned daily rounds, you moved onto the task of cleaning the guns and rifles. Polishing the metal cases and arranging the bullets was as close to therapy as it could get. With the repetitive action occupying your brain, there was no time to get emotional over things you could not change. Only at the shooting range, you did not feel so utterly hopeless. So terribly unloved. A sudden noise by the airlock made you look up. Conveniently the air in the range was sealed so that you need not to worry about oxygen masks during the target practice. It also meant you got approximately five seconds warning to check the identity of the intruder. This time you were surprised.

“Hi, Y/N. Thought I’d find you here” TP’s dark gaze slid over you cautiously.

Taking off the mask, he joined you at the makeshift table, looking at the arsenal you have spread over the surface. You eyed him with curiosity. That was unexpected. So far, he has never interacted with you outside of the meetings. And every time he did, you could not stop thinking about how much he knew. Who did he see when he looked at you?

“Afternoon” shaking off the reverie, you offered him a tight smile, “Is it afternoon?” glancing at the watch, you grimaced, “Oh,”

The last time you checked, it was 3 pm. The blue numbers on your wrist were mercilessly ticking away. 8:30 pm. How the fuck. TP caught your silent crisis as he asked:

“How long have you been down here?” looking up, you encountered a glimmer of worry in his eyes.

Interesting.

“Umm, five hours?” it felt like the best estimate.

It was probably longer. But he need not know that.

“Jesus,” wincing, he directed his taxing gaze back onto you, “When was the last time you had food?” tone strictly business.

The truth was that you did not remember. With everything falling apart and losing meaning, food became an afterthought. Half the time you would realise you only had one meal around 1 am, forcing you to tiptoe to the kitchen and grab something from the cupboard. A hungry stomach was nothing compared to all the other issues. It could be ignored.

“Breakfast. I’m not hungry though,” brushing off the concern you chose defiance, “Is this an interrogation?” you arched one eyebrow and cocked the gun you have wiped clean.

TP snorted at your comedic timing.

“No, I come here in peace” he raised his hands in defeat and added, “To see if you’re… alright” the hesitation made you scoff.

“You know that I’m not. Because things are generally far from alright,” letting annoyance slip into the sentence, you let go of the tools and met his gaze with coldness.

The deepening frown was concerning. You were being unfair. After all, it was not him who has caused all this pain. Remorse nipped at your heart as you sighed heavily.

“Sorry, that was unnecessary,” he accepted your apologetic smile with a nod, giving the courage to continue, “And I’m also sorry that you all have to witness that mess in the meetings. I’d rather it stayed between him and me... but he seems to disagree” you shrugged.

Sometimes you did wonder why Neil seemed so intent on making your arguments a public spectacle. Whether that was a part of the intricate plan to make you look like an idiot or a result of his emotions boiling over. Not that it mattered. Everyone on the team knew what the deal was anyway. A poor, naïve you, desperately in love with someone who could not care less. Nothing out of the ordinary. Judging by TP’s passing frown, for him too the topic was rather uncomfortable. He took a long moment to respond, looking for answers in the rows of bullets you have arranged on the table.

“Not going to lie, it’s awkward, but at least I know what’s going on, and I can offer to listen” he met your gaze with newly found determination.

Okay… Confiding in TP was quite low on the list of things you expected to have the opportunity of doing. But then so was having to convince Neil not to get himself killed for the sake of the operation. Anything goes.

“Aren’t you taking a side?” that suspicious voice in your head was difficult to get rid of, “Agreeing with him that I’m stupid, emotional, and overall a burden?” you recited the memorized litany of epithets with a stone-cold expression.

The words have lost their meanings after you have put them apart in the quiet of your mind. Now they were just sounds, incapable of inflicting pain. It was the least that could be done.

“He went too far with that” TP winced, his eyes expressing traces of disapproval, “I might not know you well, but you’re none of these things,” a sympathetic smile softening the tone.

An open hand. An olive branch. Why not? Taking a deep breath, you got ready to open up before the most unexpecting of allies.

“In a way, he was right though…” you looked down, trying to find the needed strength, “I am stupid because I have allowed myself to care too much for him” there it is, “And now I’m paying for it” when you met his eyes again, you found nothing but thoughtfulness.

It was something you thought about often as well. The fact that Neil was right, you did care, and that it was perhaps the reason for your demise. But who could blame you for falling for the bastard looking like the devil? And equally charming too.

“Maybe it’s a little too forward, but-” TP’s tentative tone made you grin.

In moments like this, you acutely remembered that he was still a rookie. Not used to the half-truths and strange tenets you accepted as your credo. His innocence was adorable even.

“In this profession, a it’s sometimes nice to say the truth. Shoot away” you waved your hand dismissively, anticipating the question.

There is a first time for everything.

“Fair point” he mirrored your smile before asking, “Do you love him?”

Plain and simple. Ignoring the panic, you took a moment to ponder the answer. It was… obvious. You told Neil as much twice before, and no amount of pretending and lies could ever undo it. The words were his. Just as you were. Unfortunately.

“I’d want to say no, that I got over it, but… Yes, I do,” you offered the answer with a helpless frown, “Think any idiot can see it” noticing a hint of embarrassment briefly you patted TP’s shoulder, “No matter how much he hurts me, I always find myself wishing things could be… like they once were”

Whatever that meant. In truth, you wanted more. You wanted to wake up next to him every morning. You wanted affirmations of love every day as you tasted his coffee-stained lips. You wanted to lie in his embrace, feeling desired and loved. But most of all, you wanted to be able to lace up your fingers with his, following the instincts that became your second nature. To card your fingers through his silky golden strands and to give him everything he would desire. You wanted to be his. He was supposed to be yours. Or was the universe wrong?

Thoughts of that kind could be lethal. Shaking yourself awake, you met TP’s eyes. Apart from the lack of surprise at your admission, you noticed something strange. A passing realization. As though he has heard something similar before but was afraid to speak up. Once again, you found yourself wondering what Neil told him. What did he mean by ‘things you and I should explain to each other’? For a moment, you wanted to jump head in and ask. But what good would knowing the truth be when you could not act on it? As though aware of your increasing dilemma, the man spoke up again.

“I’m sorry for Oslo” your eyes widened at the reminder.

“Why?” blurting out the question, you eyed him cautiously.

The deepening discomfort radiating off him confirmed your assumptions. That was it. He knew what nearly happened that night. And he was flustered about his role in it. That was not the conversation you ever expected to have.

“I can’t help but think that maybe if I hadn’t… interrupted you, it would’ve-” he stumbled over the sentence somewhat endearingly.

Perhaps it was the lack of care that made you say the next words. Or maybe just the fact that nothing mattered anymore, and so who could judge you for the purest form of honesty.

“Doubt it,” interrupting him with a sour smile, you added, “Maybe it’s good you knocked then… Least he doesn’t have absolutely everything” noticing the alarm painted on TP’s face, you blushed.

Yep, too far. Still true, however.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t have to know that much” you brushed off the sudden awkwardness with a sincere apology.

“I can pretend I’ve never heard it” it was his turn to give a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

You could feel the strange companionship forming. Sure you did not mind. Relaxing back in the chair, you spoke up:

“Thanks,” as TP also visibly reclined, you brought up the thought that was not letting go of your mind, “I don’t know how much he has told you about… this,” gesturing vaguely, you bit your lip.

Somehow you knew that he would not betray Neil by sharing with you everything that has been said. But even crumbs would do…

“Quite a bit,” you watched him closely, intrigued by the hesitation, “Enough for me to know that you’re someone I can trust and that he had reasons to be acting that happy in Tallinn before the action” oh.

That painful pang in your heart was heart to ignore. You winced, feeling the steady gaze fixed on your face. The analysis was mutual. Neil, happy, back in Tallinn. Because of you. You have lost too much.

“What do you mean?” treading carefully, you asked the safest of questions.

A small smile on his face showed you just how obvious you were. Lovesick idiot.

“Hours he has spent texting someone, phone calls he would pick up instantly and then come back grinning like a madman” TP offered you examples with a glimmer in his eyes “It only clicked when we were inverting, and I asked him about you” the blush on your cheeks deepened under his taxing gaze “Suddenly all of that made sense if you were in Estonia with us” he shrugged, finishing the thought.

Oh my god. While you experienced it all firsthand during those chaotic yet hopeful days in the safehouse when everything seemed to have infinite potential, hearing about it from someone else’s perspective felt strange. Almost like a slap in the face. Because it only confirmed what you knew – he once loved you. Once.

“Well, it seems like he has changed his mind…” you muttered, feeling the resentment settle in.

You wondered whether one day it would stop hurting. If you could ever get over this and find someone else. That darkest part of your brain knew the answer well enough. Nothing could come close. And nothing ever would.

“Or he’s just an idiot” the cheeriness felt forced.

But judging by the way TP was staring at you, you could tell it was his attempt at dispersing the sudden melancholy. It was strange to see him worried about you of all people. Perhaps your shit attempts at diverting everyone’s attention from your declining mentality were failing. And that was a reason to be concerned.

“That too,” plastering on an unconvincing smile, you stifled a yawn.

That caught his attention.

“You should get some rest” upon further thought, he added, “And food,”

The intensity of his look was stifling. You hated being the centre of attention. Especially in moments like this when you felt vulnerable, an object of pity and unease. Stupid, weak, and useless. The sabotaging voice came out in full force, making you want nothing but to curl up in bed and disappear. Not yet, however.

“Yes, sir” you raised your hand in mock salute.

Your face fell when instead of a laugh, you got a frown in response. Oopsie.

“I’m serious” TP seemed to consider something quickly before placing his hand on your forearm, “I’m… I’ve been a little worried about you” he met your eyes with a clear purpose.

Shit. That is exactly what you wanted to avoid. Being seen as pathetic and a burden. Internally, you cursed yourself for not being strong enough. For letting anyone see the cracks. You would not let them see you shatter into pieces.

“I’m doing fine,” mustering the happiest of grins, you tried to mask the urgency.

Please buy the bullshit.

“Are you?” he didn’t. Before your brain could fully arrive at the panic station, his inquisitive expression softened. You held his gaze for a beat, hoping to convey everything. Hoping to convince him to let the conversation go. It worked for TP gave a final taxing look before backing off. You exhaled slowly, relaxing a little. Maybe the worst was over…

“Before we go… there’s one more thing I wanted to talk to you about…” TP changed the subject, looking down at the table “The lock. You want to go with him”

It was not exactly a question, yet you knew he expected an answer. That one you could easily give him. It was obvious, even if you have never said it out loud. Up till now.

“Yes... Maybe it is an impulsive and stupid thing to do, but I can’t let him do it alone. I can’t let him get killed” the word felt foreign in your mouth.

As though ‘Neil’ and ‘death’ were two irrelevant concepts that did not fit together even in theory. They could not. You would not allow it. And you were willing to accept the worst of risks to make sure it would not happen. Hell, you would even fight against fate and time to assure that.

“I’d rather avoid that too” TP’s quiet comment made you look up, “He deserves so much more than…” there was something startling in his gaze.

As though he has stopped himself before saying too much. Much more than what? And why was he looking at you like that? Like you were missing something tragic, and his heart was breaking for your loss. You felt like going insane. TP cleared his throat awkwardly, resuming the conversation, not at all fluently:

“I don’t buy the whole ‘what’s happened, happened’. What does that even mean?” the irritation shining through his strange tone was distracting.

“Don’t ask me,” you shrugged, “I like to think there’s a different solution to this. One that doesn’t involve Neil sacrificing himself. And I need to be there with him because if it comes to it… I’d take that bullet for him” you did not know where the honesty came from.

Or why you would admit something that fundamental to TP. His response was just as anticipated – a gasp and widened eyes. Nibbling on your lower lip, you broke the eye contact and chose to stare at the forgotten gun lying on the table. It was the truth, so why did admitting it feel so… radical?

“Are you sure?” when he found his voice again, it was hoarse.

“It’s that kind of love,” you replied, still unable to meet his gaze.

You never expected to reveal yourself like that to TP. Wheeler? Maybe. Even Kat seemed like a probable option, but not the boss himself. And especially not at this stage of his story. Yet he was there, willing to listen, and that was enough. You would deal with the consequences later, in your mind that would undoubtedly rebel against such a display of fragility.

“I don’t want it to sound patronizing… but you’re still young. There might be someone else for you along the line if Neil-” his voice broke through your reverie as you interrupted him with a start.

“I know” finally, you raised your head again, showing the sincerity of expression, “But something tells me it’s him or nothing. Call it fate or insanity” biting back a dry chuckle, you felt a single tear form in the corner of your eye.

That was something you have spent most of the time thinking about. At the start, you desperately wanted to believe that you would get over this. That it was just another disappointment, and like before, eventually you would forget about those blue eyes and maniacal grin. But your heart knew better, constantly reminding you that it was not that simple. That Neil was not someone you just forget. Because how could you?

“Reality?” TP’s eyes were filled with thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps,” you cracked a smile, feeling heaviness in your heart lift by an inch.

Always something. Another yawn ended the delicate moment seconds later, making you scowl in annoyance. What was the point of tiredness when you could not even rest properly? TP laughed at your pained expression and got up:

“Now, you into the kitchen. And try to get some sleep” he offered you a hand which you took and stood up.

“I’ll try” a lie, “Thank you… for checking in and listening” sheepishly, you tried to find any words of gratitude.

“I owed you that after those hours in Oslo, filled with plans, coffees, and awful songs you’d sing to entertain us” the knowing smirk suggested that he did remember what you hoped would be forever forgotten.

MTV in Norwegian. Your knackered brain deciding that singing along to ‘Like a Virgin’ and ABBA was what had to be done to make everyone smile. Mistakes have been made.

“Don’t remind me,” TP laughed as you smacked him on the shoulder.

*** You did not sleep after you bid goodbye to TP. That night too was spent tossing and turning in bed, thinking about how everything could have crumbled so quickly. It has only been weeks since Tallinn. In fact, looking from the linear point of view, it has not even happened yet. The normal you have been enjoying the confusion of those days before Oslo when everything was difficult yet hopeful. Too good to be true, at times. Well, now you knew that those moments never lasted too long.

The next morning you quickly grabbed breakfast and sneaked into the sparring area, hoping to catch a few minutes with the punching bag before the troops would take over space. However, that day it was not meant to be.

You heard the voices as soon as you opened the airlock and entered the large room. It was divided into a few sections, each devoted to a different training exercise. To your advantage, each was also separated with a thin plastic screen. Cautiously, you approached the nearest divider, trying to determine whether your mind was not playing any tricks. After one second, you knew. TP and Neil were having a rather heated conversation on the other side of the screen. A sparring ground was the place you least expected to encounter them. And yet… You wanted to turn away and leave before more damage could be done, but the moment you heard the boss’s voice, you froze on the spot:

“Why are you so hard on her?” TP’s question rung out clear in the highly domed room “The only crime she has committed was falling in love with you. I don’t think that’s worth all that pain you’re inflicting”

There was no doubt as to who he meant. Your heart sank. Oh my god. On one hand, it was encouraging to know someone was fighting for your side and pointing out the unnecessary torture Neil was so keen on. But the fact that they were discussing the nature of your feelings was terrifying. Listening on felt wrong, yet you could not move away.

“It would be better for her if she hadn’t” Neil’s cold tone made your blood turn to ice.

There was something frightening in how distant he sounded. As though he was nothing like the man you fell in love with, only a cold impostor that borrowed his face and voice. He was right.

“Why? You told me that you love-” TP’s voice rose, incredulity tinging every single word.

Neil told him his feelings. You expected that, and it still felt like a punch. You leaned on the wall for support.

“It doesn’t matter what I said” the biting edge to Neil’s voice was new, “Or how I feel. The sooner she gets over it, the better for all of us” he threw it without caution, as though he was done with your bullshit.

With the fact that you were stupid enough to love him. He did not want your love. Never did. The crushing weight on your chest would not give way.

“You’re cruel” TP was surprised, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

“That’s mercy” Neil was begging for the conversation to be over, “Cruelty would be letting her entertain the idea that we can...” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Christ. All those nights spent wishing for answers, and when they came you wanted to forget you ever heard it. It was foolish to believe anything could ever happen between you.

“But why? Neil, you are in love with her” TP raised his voice yet again, utterly done with whatever the blonde bastard was doing.

You could not care less. Nothing mattered anymore. But you did not expect the very next punch. Or the pain you would feel.

“I’m not” clear-cut rejection; nothing to interpret “I don’t love her. There’s no need to look at me like I’m a monster”

Enough. You heard enough. The pain was as bad as ever as you walked away. Your mind set on one simple thing - tea. Yes, that would solve it.

*** Going to the galley felt as though you were stuck within a dream you could not shake off. Half-aware of your surroundings, you nearly walked into Dominic, whose survival instincts kept him off your path. Muttering apologies, you undid the zip lock and sauntered into the kitchen without a care in the world. With a start, you noticed Kat sat at the table. She gave you a welcoming half-smile as she sipped the tea from the metal cup. Your autopilot stuttered, overwhelmed by the company. Blocking off any attempts at thinking, you followed the muscle memory. Setting the kettle on. Putting teabag into the mug. Earl Grey because it reminded you of those morning kisses in London. No. Wrong memory. You shook your head, waiting for the water to boil. The fridge was too loud, the buzz making thoughts appear. Sighing, you leaned on the counter. Your eyes were burning, the sensation increasing with every single blink. It was alright. So why did it feel like the world was ending?

The kettle switched off. Without sparing a single thought to the reality, you poured the water in, watching with fascination as the teabag floated up. Kat’s spoon let out a clink as she placed it on the edge of the plate. You jumped up, startled. That was enough to break through your carefully woven barrier. The thoughts came rushing in. Neil didn’t love you. Your chest tightened as the next breath came out strained. The air was gone. Your hands shook as you tried to take out the teabag. Fuck. Everything was over. A single gasp was all you could manage before you shattered. The tears fell down your cheeks in a steady stream, blurring everything with tragedy. Choked sobs shook your frame as you desperately tried to hold on. To sanity. To reality. Anything to make the pain go away. But it would not disappear, only getting stronger. As though through the glass, you could hear someone say your name. Voice tinted with worry and urgency. But you did not care. The sobs turned into a howl as you slid down to the floor. The sounds coming from your throat sounded foreign and harsh, tearing at your vocal cords mercilessly. Oh my god. That was the break you always feared. There was no end to tears falling down your cheeks onto the floor and beneath your shirt. Slowly breathing became almost impossible, forcing out those pathetic half sniffles that only made everything worse. You wanted to do something. Anything. To make it stop. To forget. To lose the ability to feel things. Your fingers clawed at nothingness, barely losing against the desire to make all that internal pain physical. By any means necessary. Because then at least you could blame it on something concrete. And not just heartbreak. A word you despised because it sounded weak. Stupid. Easily avoidable for everyone but not you. A lost cause. A failure.

“Hey…” warm fingers gently touched your shoulder.

You raised your head. The pounding headache and lack of oxygen, making everything seem twice as difficult. Kat’s blue eyes bore into yours with concern. You have made quite the show. Self-preservation told you to get up and leave, save yourself some shame. But you would not even know where to go. Or what to do. You did not trust yourself to make reasonable choices.

“Are you alright?” Kat’s voice brought you back to the present moment.

An anchor. Maybe this could work… She was still eyeing you closely, unsure about how to act but wanting to be helpful.

“Mmmm no,” you sent her a broken smile, grateful for the handkerchief she handed, “But it’s okay. Sorry about this. I didn’t mean to-” you gestured vaguely, knowing she would catch on.

Tears were still flowing steady, threatening with dehydration should this continue. But at least the wailing subsided to quiet sobs interrupting your sentence every few words.

“Don’t apologise, we all break sometimes,” Kat squeezed your shoulder, joining you on the floor, “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was tempting. Even if terrifying. But you felt like maybe she could be the listener you needed. Someone objective enough, without any ties to Neil or you. Someone safe to confide in that would keep your secrets in safekeeping. But…

“What if someone comes in?” grasping the most idiotic of excuses, you glanced at the airlock with apprehension.

You could just about imagine what would have happened should Neil walk in during your conversation. Your heart would not take it.

“We’ll just tell them to leave,” Kat’s cheeky tone made you turn to her, “I think they’re all a little afraid of me for some reason,” she added, with a small smirk.

She crossed her long legs and sat next to you with both your backs supported by the cupboard doors.

“As they should be,” you replied, feeling strangely at ease, considering everything.

That spark in her eyes was worth the stress over being too forward for someone you barely knew.

“So…” she nudged you with her shoulder as further encouragement.

There was no more escaping it. You took a deep breath, urging your heart to stay strong. Words started spilling out without sense or order.

“Is just... the world is potentially ending in a few days, and here I am crying over the fact that someone doesn’t love me” your throat contracted upon the word as though it was forbidden “I should’ve known better. He never could want someone like me because why would he” more tears as you realised the ultimate truth “I’m not extraordinary. It all feels so stupid, pathetic. But I can’t get over it because I still love him. And I don’t know how to stop” you finished the rant on a sob that forced you to cover your face with your hands.

There it was. Out in the open. You wondered how you could have ever been naïve enough to think your feelings could be reciprocated. For him, it was just a crush. Amplified by the troubles you had to face and the recent difficulties. Nothing more. You were conveniently there when he needed someone to lean on. But if it came to it, he would never choose you.

“It’s about Neil, isn’t it?” something in her voice made you meet her gaze.

You were that obvious, huh? A panicked thought convinced you that everyone on the bloody ship knew about your weakness for the blonde bastard. Yes, even that mess sergeant that always gave you a sorry smile when you approached the counter at mealtimes. Before you could spiral down another wretched rabbit hole, you asked the most innocent of questions:

“How do you know?”

There was no point in trying to convince Kat she got it wrong. She seemed to consider something for a moment before she looked at you with newly found resilience:

“Let me tell you a story,”

You quirked your eyebrow, confused and intrigued. Might as well… Nodding at her silent question, you rested your head against the cupboard. Dried tears tinged your chapped lips with salt.

“When we were in Oslo, staying in a hotel for two nights, TP went out, and Neil stayed with me” she set up the scene with a neutral tone, “We talked a lot about everything really. He asked me about Andrei...” you glanced at Kat, noticing a passing grimace, “Normally I would shut off, but there was that calm curiosity about him, and I didn’t mind saying too much” she admitted with a sheepish smile.

You knew the feeling well, always telling Neil too much because he was such an excellent listener. Confiding even the darkest of secrets and thoughts never felt like anything significant when he reacted with that same confidence and acceptance. That was one of the reasons why the fall was unavoidable.

“Neil has that sort of effect on people,” you returned her smile, shrugging slightly.

Kat patted your hand gently, noting the look on your face. The infatuation and yearning you could not get rid of whenever you did as much as spare a thought towards him.

“I can tell... the point is that he mentioned you, as well” your eyes widened as she paused, “His friend, as he referred to you but not without stumbling over the word a little” she grinned upon your struck expression, “He told me about your role in this. That you’re an asset, excellent sharpshooter, brave as hell and equally reckless at times” my god

You blushed, feeling Kat’s taxing gaze. Friend? Suppose that’s one way of introducing you to people. It was fascinating to know that even after the mess of Tallinn, Neil valued your contributions to the mission. That he would mention you to anyone. Favourably, at that.

“Sounds about right,” frowning, you pondered the implications of her words, “So you knew who I was that morning on the bridge?” the sudden realisation felt refreshing.

That explained her looks directed at you and Neil back then. The visible consternation about the matter of your relationship.

“Yes, it clicked pretty quickly” upon your perplexed gaze, she picked up the story, “I could tell that there was more underneath all the praise. There was that longing in his eyes and a spark that lit up only for you,” Kat added, smiling as you gasped, “I asked whether love was allowed in your line of business” there was boldness in her eyes that made your heart clench. Something important was coming, “He said yes, but it’s dangerous and best avoided. Only that’s not always possible. Sometimes it gets you, and before you realise you can’t breathe another word without missing that one essential person. Your heart doesn’t belong to you anymore, and nothing can be done” oh my god.

You stared at the floor as her words sunk in. It felt surreal, as though you have wandered into a dream. A good one. But dreams could only last so long… Shaking off the haze, you glanced at the woman sat next to you. She was observing you with an enigmatic smirk gracing her features.

“He said that?” your voice came out raspy.

Just a clarification. In case you have misunderstood. But Kat was not surprised.

“Yes,” she nodded, that same sympathetic expression on her face, “Considering what I’ve seen with you and him... there’s only one person he could’ve meant” your heart dropped, as though unused to the idea “I understood it that morning on the bridge when despite the awkwardness, he was willing to defy everyone else for your sake”

Your mind wandered back. Neil’s constant presence by your side, his hand touching the small of your back and then staying there for longer than necessary. His support and trust placed in your hands without hesitation. Right now, even something that insignificant felt unattainable. But it did happen. Could it be that he meant you? Unable to withstand the whirlwind of emotions, you stood up. Pacing in the tiny room, a protest came up, spilling out of your mouth:

“But I just heard him tell TP that he doesn’t love me” you swallowed hard as the reminder of the reality hit.

It was one thing to know it. Another to put it into words once again. You felt like screaming, demanding answers from the main culprit of this whole mess. But it was too dangerous. Another heartbreak could be lethal in its consequences.

“Sometimes we lie to ourselves to save the pain” the quiet certainty of Kat’s voice kept you grounded.

It felt risky to believe that he was pushing you away out of fear. But what if… No. You met her inquisitive gaze, hoping to convey the confusion and desperation. She must have understood for she added:

“He’s still coming to check up on me every evening, and the last two days he’s been a little… strange” the meaningful pause felt like bait.

One that you did not hesitate to take.

“How do you mean?” stopping mindless trotting, you sat down on the stool.

“Quiet, wistful, as though something was troubling him, threatening to spill out if he wasn’t too careful” a long taxing look; it sounded familiar, “Trust me, I don’t mean to give you false hope, I just thought you should know that before deciding on any further action” Kat got up and approached you.

Placing a hand on your shoulder, she squeezed it. You felt immensely grateful. Even if a little speechless… Because all of that was a lot to take in. You desperately needed a long afternoon spent in bed, staring at the ceiling and processing the eventful morning. Was it still morning?

“It means a lot, I’m not sure how I could repay you” finding the words again, you gave her a helpless smile.

“Just try to be happy. And don’t give up on things that seem too good to be true. Sometimes those are most worth keeping around” the depth of melancholy in her eyes was startling, “What will you do now?” the tentative tone assured you of the intent behind the question.

It was Kat’s way of saying: don’t do anything stupid. You could not promise that to anyone. The wounds were too fresh; emotions barely kept under control. Anything could happen. But you did not want to alarm her.

“I’m not sure. Think, probably” an unconvincing nonchalance had to do, as unprecedented honesty took voice “But I’m beginning to realise that if I won’t be able to… have him… I’ll just let him be. He deserves the best more than anybody else” you finished the thought and met her eyes.

A passing shock you found there was intriguing. As though your words reminded her of something, and she needed an additional moment to recover. God knows what sort of secrets everybody held on this god-forsaken ship… If the weight of the past and the unsaid could sink boats, it would have been long over. For everyone.

*** You thanked the gods (and Ives) for letting the topic of the lock wait out a little longer. Instead, the next morning’s meeting concerned the splinter unit, the who, and the how. As a result for once, no voice has been raised throughout the two hours spent on the bridge. Nothing much has been decided, but you did not mind. The burden of the last few days rested on your shoulders, preventing sleep or any form of relaxation. The word ‘tired’ did not even begin to describe it. But duties had to be put ahead of any personal issues and so you took part in the confab as usual. Seeing Neil after everything felt like a stab straight in the heart. His silence and the complete lack of acknowledgment of your existence were the added twist of the hilt.

The moment the meeting was over, you bolted out of the door in desperate need of fresh air. It was bound to rain later as the entire deck was covered in strange puddles that formed out of nothing. Perks of inversion and all that. Lost in thoughts concerning the locks, blonde bastards, and the torture of love as a concept and a feeling, you forgot about the golden rule of inverted rainfalls in the making – caution upon stepping on the wet surfaces. Turning around the corner, your foot slipped. Fuck. All you could do was flail your hands helplessly while praying that the fall will not be painful and that it will not detach the oxygen tank. Suffocation was not the death of your choice.

Suddenly the fall was interrupted with a strong grip on your waist. Hands pulling you upright, back to standing. The hold felt familiar. And forbidden. Turning to face the saviour, you were struck by the sight of the blue eyes that haunted your every waking hour. Every dream too. He was close, with hands wrapped around your waist securely. Somehow this felt worse than the fall. You half expected Neil to let go any second now, step away and yell at you for being clumsy. Or maybe just for existing. But he was still there. One of his hands slipped down onto your hip. Speechless, you kept on gazing into his eyes, trying to understand what was going on. All you could see was increasing the confusion. Desire. The boundless depths were drawing you in. Neil pulled you closer. Something in his face made you believe that if it was not for the oxygen masks, he would have kissed you. His gaze roamed across your features, intense, relentless, as though he could never have enough of you. It felt like being stripped bare, left exposed and vulnerable. Despite trying, you were unable to put up a guard, showing him all that he was not supposed to know instead. Everything you tried to hide and deny, bury deep inside so it could be forgotten. Well not anymore… Whatever Neil saw in your eyes woke him up. You noticed a passing frown, replaced with increasing shock. And then horror. What the hell. Before you could even process what happened, he let go and took a hasty step back. He looked sick, pale with fear and panic. Then, just as you tried to find any relevant words, Neil spoke:

“Be more careful next time,” cold and curt as though nothing happened.

He walked off briskly, disappearing into the darkness of the training grounds. What the fuck? A single drop flew up from the deck, splashing onto your chin. The rain has begun. You felt strange. Suddenly mourning the fact that you have been saved from suffocation. It would have been simpler. Less painful. Less terrifying.

*** No matter the hours passing by, or the thousands of different grounding techniques you have attempted, nothing was helping. Lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, you wanted a multitude of things. To get blackout drunk in the hope of forgetting this morning ever happened. (You checked the galley, utterly disappointed to have found nothing with the necessary voltage). You wanted to talk to someone, briefly considering visiting Kat further down the corridor. But that would have meant being even more vulnerable. And a burden. So nope. At one point, you once again considered marching outside without the mask, letting the inverted lung membranes and fucked up rain do the rest. But you did not want to end the life itself. That was not all that bad. You liked your job, the various people you have met along the way. It was only that the current predicament was… unbearable. There had to be a different option.

Then mindless pacing replaced the stillness of lying down. Window, door, and back again. To be repeated for at least an hour. Your thoughts swirling around everything that has been said. Everything that happened. Kat’s story. The look in Neil’s eyes. What if… what if? The unknowns kept multiplying in your head, driving you insane with the extent of what you did not understand. You always hated those moments of suspense. Unsure whether to give up, let go and try to move on, or to keep trying, hoping. Your heart could never process them well without breaking and shattering into millions of pieces. Fuck.

There was one way out of it. One that you tried to push to the back of your head for the few past hours because it was too terrifying. But you were slowly running out of alternatives. One look out of the window told you that you had spent at least six hours like this. It would not do. It was either him or nothing. But you could not survive the insufferable without knowing which one it was. Taking a deep breath, you stopped in the middle of the cabin. This is it. You knew what had to be done. You put on the sweater as though in a trance, making sure to repeat silly affirmations in the quiet of your mind. It had to be alright. If it wasn’t, there were always the seals left…

The walk down the short corridor felt like ascending the steps to the guillotine. Only whatever might happen could be worse than beheading. Your hand shook as you rapped on the door to Neil’s cabin. The sound felt like the worst mistake you ever made. It was too late to turn back. After a very long moment, you heard shuffling inside. When the door opened, you were shocked by a few observations all at once. Neil’s eyes were reddened, hair in absolute disarray. When he realised that you were the intruder, his hands automatically went to smooth the strands in some way. Making even more mess in the process. In any different situation, you would have found that endearing. But your heart was too heavy. You eyed him instantaneously, gaze slipping over the fitting black thermal shirt and the joggers with narrowed cuffs. Not helpful. As you glanced back at his face, you noticed the intensifying confusion. That was the chance to speak…

“Can I come in?” a tentative start to make him more likely to agree.

The shock in his blue eyes slowly changed into careful curiosity. Neil gave you a once-over before opening the door wider and stepping back.

“Of course. Friends are allowed to visit each other” a hint of impatience as though he already had enough.

But that was not the most infuriating bit…

“Friends?” you crossed the threshold and met his eyes with the face of stone, “Sure, that’s one way of looking at what we are” the lack of reaction was inspiring, “Or were” you took a look around his room.

Equally small cabin, littered with a few personal objects. His was phone abandoned on the bedside table, a change of clothes on the floor. A naïve idiot would have taken a moment to consider the fact that maybe he was not as well as you thought. But you were past that, desperate to get answers. A reaction. An end to this madness. With resolve ever-increasing, you sat down on the edge of Neil’s bed, ready for the battle ahead. Meeting his perplexed gaze, you let the penny drop:

“I wonder with how many friends have you been kissing on the bed for two hours” a flash of recognition and then a frown.

As expected. But it still hurt.

That moment from the afternoon before the morning plane to Tallinn was one you often replayed in those desperate hours when nothing seemed to help. You were lying in bed in your room back in London, enjoying each other’s company, exchanging kisses like compliments every few minutes. Sometimes Neil would let his hands become more daring in their caress, causing goosebumps all over your skin. Bringing out sighs and making your heart overflow with love and hope that you finally found what you have been looking for. You felt wanted. You talked a lot about the future, sharing different ridiculous plans for how it could play out. Neil promised to visit your prospective farm with the sheep and dogs. Back then, judging by the look in his eyes, you dared dream that perhaps he would want to be a part of those days still to come. Now, looking at the blonde man awkwardly perching on the chair in front of you, nothing made sense. He stayed for the night then, allowing you to hug him close until the morning. You woke up first, watching him for a few minutes. The steady rise and fall of his chest. Relaxed face with hair sticking up. Calm and content. The warmth spreading from your heart inspired you to press a kiss to his lips as a means of wake up. The sight of Neil sleepy-eyed, peering up at you with a fond smile gracing his features was worth much. Maybe even the current tortures…

Facing him now, you could see the frown deepen.

“Painful memory?” you countered, watching him closely for any hints.

A mask was put on well. But there were flashes of something there. A potential… A possibility of getting burned too.

“In a way,” Neil grimaced, avoiding your piercing gaze.

He was uncomfortable, mindlessly picking on the skin around his nails and tapping his foot. That was the signal to keep on pushing. Until he would be forced to be honest.

“That’s a shame. It’s one of my favourite ones” as he looked up, you offered a deadpan smile, “Just like Oslo,” a shrug complemented with a quick scan of his body, “Though I’m not sure about that… ending,” feigning thoughtfulness you ended the harsh scrutiny.

The point was to back him up against the wall without making him throw you out. That tiny voice at the back of your head told you that he would have done that already if you were not in any way important. That voice was too confident.

“What is your point?” Neil bit back, betraying the level of annoyance you have brought with the innocent reminder.

You knew there was no more skirting around the issue. Now or never.

“Why did you do that earlier? Why did you hold me like...” you trailed off, unable to put into words what it felt like.

Like what? Like a lover. Like someone you actually cared about and not just an irritation. Like someone you could want in your life. But you could never say that to him.

“I was being a gentleman” Neil glanced at you with painfully fake indifference, “Women tend to appreciate that,” a shrug that could not fool you.

Women. The spark of jealousy burned bright. Because what if you were just another distraction. Nothing special. But then the things he said to Kat suggested otherwise. You held onto that thought and squared your shoulders. The game was on.

“...Right,” a sceptical glance in his direction before you continued, “Was that look gentlemanly too? Because last time I checked, gentlemen didn’t tend to look at women as though they wanted to…” trailing off, you awaited the response.

That would mean he took the bait. And the case was not yet lost.

“What?” the lazy tone made you meet Neil’s gaze.

He looked… off. As though before you knocked, he was not exactly fine. It was that nervousness and unkempt appearance that betrayed him. On its own accord, your heart gave out a painful thump, anticipating the fact that Neil too might have been hurting. But why? Ignoring the distraction, you found the needed words and dropped them carelessly.

“Devour them” you held his gaze confidently.

The verb felt right. As though Neil was not trusting his instincts, he looked down, breaking the contact. Putting up further guards. Bingo. He scoffed, throwing in cruelty to the mix:

“And here I was thinking you’re over… this” a vague hand gesture to show what this meant.  

You. And him. That something that both was there and was not. Or rather, he wanted it to cease to exist. Only it was not that easy.

“I never said that” putting on the necessary emphasis, you kept on staring at him until he looked up.

Mouth open for another quip. That same steel-blue eyes and clenched jaw. Whatever you have been doing was working. Slowly aggravating him to the point of discomfort. You had to keep the upper hand. Neil seemed to consider something, restlessly fiddling with a pen he picked up from the bedside table. After a beat, he spoke up:

“Why are you here?” weariness in his eyes as he gave out a long exhale.

Easy question… right?

“Because I want answers” it could not be any simpler.

He flinched, letting you see the extent of panic hidden underneath the annoyance and casualness.

“What makes you think I’ve got them?” an arched eyebrow adding the mocking intonation.

The meter of space between you felt like an ocean. He was close enough for you to brush away the strand that has fallen into his eye if you only leaned in. And yet so far that you felt alone, alienated by the cold scrutiny. You had to keep going, tearing at the carefully build up armour hiding him away from you.

“Because you always have words. An abundance of them” you waited till he looked at you again before pressing on “Be it things you probably wish I have forgotten that you have once whispered between kisses” a pause, noticing the boundless unease in the blue eyes “Or all those lovely adjectives you have given me the last couple of days” using the moment of hesitation, you added, “But maybe you were right, and I am stupid, emotional-”

You could give him the whole litany. Your legacy. Exactly how much you were worth in Neil’s eyes. Unless it was a lie…? Before you could begin, Neil raised his hand, interrupting sharply:

“Okay, I get your point” no pride in that frown, almost as though he regretted it, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that” the apology took you by surprise.

As did the sudden change in his face. Neil held your gaze with unusual sheepishness. As if even the act of looking at you was dangerous. Tearing the skin from his lower lip, he was the epitome of insecurity. There was no time to falter.

“Everything?” you prodded, mindful of the poker face you had to maintain.

You could not lose him now. Neil hesitated for a short moment before responding:

“Yes,” another second of eye contact, and he got up, impatiently touching the doorknob “If this is all you wanted, then I’d rather be alone-”

No. You leaped up, reaching out before he could finish the sentence. As your hand landed on his forearm, his eyes snapped to you in shock. He was not expecting you to breach the touch barrier. But there was no other choice. With heart hammering in your chest, you felt your throat tighten. Please not now…

“No,” emotions exposed in the tiny voice crack, “Neil, I’m tired of this, of you not making any fucking sense and expecting me to accept it” pleading, you let your fingers wrap around his wrist.

That had to do. Judging by the terror in his eyes, it was already too much. You could feel your resolve waning. Terrified of the consequences if this backfired. Of what you would have to do if he rejected you once and for good. Of the pain you would have to face then. But you had to be brave. He swallowed hard. You wondered what caused the goosebumps on his skin.

“If this is about earlier, then you’re blowing it out of proportion. Be more reasonable” there was a raw edge to his voice that was new.

You were close now. Enough to force Neil to stare at the ground to avoid looking at you. You noticed those dark circles under his eyes. And the tension spilling out in waves. He was scared of you. And that was a horrifying discovery. Your eyes were burning as you begged your heart to hold on. You had to survive this.

“It’s not just that” betraying the nerves, you took a greedy inhale, “It’s what you told Kat in Oslo. It’s how you look at me” following potentially disastrous instincts, you tipped his chin to meet his eye, “It’s all those sudden switches when you seem so cold and calculating and yet so separated from the real you” running out of breath, you could only stare at Neil.

The widened eyes and parted lips told you exactly how shocked he was. You did feel bad for bringing Kat into it. The argument was too strong to let it go. And it worked if his silent panic was anything to go by. He was desperately searching for words, unable to tear his eyes away from yours as though what you said was a binding charm.

“Why do you think you know the real me?” finally, Neil settled upon the question.

One last attempt at making you forgo this madness. Only there was nothing convincing in his delivery. Eyes hazed, showing you fear and uncertainty. A blood droplet on the lower lip where he tore through the skin. Ignoring the most innate of desires to wipe it off, you cupped his cheek. Neil gasped, frozen in the spot. Could it be working? Sliding your hand down, you interlocked your fingers with his. Everything felt surreal. As if you were not a part of the scene. But you had to persist. To finish what you started.

“Because you once told me that you’ve never lied to me. That I’m very important. Your everything, even” your voice broke again on the last sentence as you tightened your hold over Neil’s hand, “And I understand that you could have changed your mind, but…” you hesitated, feeling him shudder.

Oh my god. Your heart broke for the umpteenth time as the fact dawned on you. Neil was shivering slightly as though he was cold. But there was no draft. Nothing to cause it apart from your presence, words, and the physical touch. A choked sob built up in your throat.

“…why are you trembling when all I’m doing is holding your hand? Am I that revolting?” the questions were interrupted by a sniff you could not hold back any longer; there was time for honesty, “The last few days have been awful, making me want to stupid things just to feel something different than heartbreak. I’m not saying that to get your pity, but if I got it all so wrong then tell me now. Because I’m not sure I can survive much longer like this” after finishing the speech, the tears trailed down your cheeks uninvited.

It was all there for him. Nothing to add. Your heart was beating fast, blood pounding in your ears. For a second, you felt suspended in time, unable to do anything but stare at Neil, who seemed utterly speechless. And then his face fell. Eyes fell shut as he let out a heart-shattering whimper. Tears started falling down his face as you tried to brush them away. You have not seen him that broken since the aftermath of TP’s death. He tugged his hand out of your hold to cover his face, turning away. Christ… The searing pain was back, this time making your heart bleed for Neil. You did not know what to do, powerless and paralyzed with a multitude of thoughts and feelings. After a minute which felt like an eternity, Neil faced you again with red-rimmed eyes and tragedy in his gaze. That was the needed wake-up. Stepping back into action, you placed your hand on his chest. Just over the beating heart. A gentle encouragement.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you that it’s over because I still…” the breathless words tinged with panic and struggle as he fought for every gust of air, “I can’t keep on…” another sob, shaking his whole body “You’re…” a sharp intake followed by instant defeat.

Immeasurable anguish in Neil’s eyes was another reason to find the strength you did not know you had. Maybe it was worth it.

“What? I’m here with you and willing to listen. To do anything but please just make me understand” holding back more tears, you made sure he saw the determination painted on your face.

Slowly you were coming to terms with the reality. You would do anything for him. Anything he asked.

“I don’t know how to…” Neil trailed off, looking for answers all over the floor and ceiling, “I’m tired of having to pretend when you’re all I…” a moment of hesitation as his eyes widened.

He did not intend to say that much. You’re all I… what? Before you could find ways of pressing on, he turned away again and sat down on the bed. A frown etched deep into his forehead. Eyebrows furrowed. Eyes glistening with unshed tears. This was bad. Awkwardly, you shifted from one foot to another. Words were escaping you both.

“Then don’t. I won’t bite” your useless quip was received with an ill-disguised dry chuckle, “Call it naïve, but I don’t think it’s anything we can’t fix if we…” shit.

You knew what was there on the tip of your tongue. It was too early. Fuck knows if he even… But he had to. There was no other force in the universe that could cause this much pain.

“If what?” Neil caught your mistake with strange emotion in his eyes.

As though he wanted you to spell it out. You could not give in. Some words had the potential to destroy, and it was too fragile. A freshly opened wound you still had to mend somehow.

“Don’t make me say it again” a whisper to make him understand your actions.

After a beat, Neil nodded. He seemed exhausted, slouching and staring at the floor unseeingly. That feeling of helplessness threatened to come back with force as you were running out of ideas to make it work. To get him back somehow. Then his voice broke the tense silence:

“Christ…” a long exhale before he looked at you again, “I don’t even know where to begin, but…” resignation passed through his face.

You felt a strange spark of hope flicker in the depths of your heart. It did not look like rejection. It did not look like anything you have ever experienced, and yet it made so much sense. Because after everything you have been through, there was no way this could be easy. Kindling that building fire, you cautiously took a step forward, maintaining the eye contact:

“Yes?” the most neutral of tones, holding the emotions at bay.

Everything not to scare him off. You made it so close. You could give up now. A hint of a sad smile upon Neil’s lips was encouraging…

“Come closer. I want to…” he reached out a hand you gladly took, letting him pull you nearer.

It did not matter what he wanted. Only that you could give it to him. Anything. Everything. Upon the sudden surge of courage, you covered the remaining inches of space and straddled his lap in one smooth movement. Another gasp as Neil glanced at you with obvious amazement. Then, as though he worried that even this was too much, he looked down at where his hands tentatively settled on your hips. This position was familiar. And yet, you felt different, unable to make sense of the myriad of emotions and thoughts occupying your mind. All that mattered was Neil. His hesitant but intimate hold. The hair falling into his eyes. Shallow breaths escaping through the parted lips.

“It’s alright, look at me,” gently you lifted his chin so that you could meet his gaze.

Blue eyes full of longing. For you. Exhaling sharply, you knew well enough what to do. You wound your hands around his waist, drawing him into a tight embrace. That too felt natural. After a second, Neil relaxed, melting into your hug as if that was exactly what was missing. At that moment, with head resting in the crook of his neck, at last feeling as though there was a point in all this, your eyes welled up. No matter the suffering, this had to be it. Your everything. Neil breathed you in, warm puffs of air causing shivers all over your body. There was no point in pretending.

“Please come back to me,” you whispered against his skin, letting tears trail onto his shirt.

Neil tightened his hold, hands roaming over your back, pulling you even closer. All it took was a kiss he pressed onto the exposed skin of your collarbone to make you tremble.

“I never left,” the hesitancy told you he did not believe it either.

“You did. But maybe… I’ll do anything to have you back” the urgency in your voice causing Neil to lean back.

He wiped the stray tears from your cheeks, taking an additional moment to caress your neck with tenderness. You could only lean into his touch, feeling as though whatever might happen has already been decided. There was no way you could let this go. Neil seemed to consider something quickly before he spoke:

“All those words… they fail me when I’m trying to explain what I was doing” his voice was raspy with the weight of emotions, “Or why. Because I’m scared of making it come true. It’s as if once I say it… it might…” he paused, searching for words in your eyes.

“Become real?” you offered, running your fingers through his unruly hair.

You were right. It was all an act. The elation was restrained by worry and love. It didn’t matter.

“Yeah…” Neil swallowed hard, “And then there’s all this mess in my head… The thoughts that just won’t shut up. I’m so fucking tired of… of-” the familiarity of his words causing another flash of pain within your heart “I can’t ask you to-” he cut himself off as though the idea was unspeakable.

You caught a sight of something darker within his gaze. They always said that actions speak louder than words…

“Neil, I said I’ll do anything. I mean it. What do you need?” you met his panicked eyes with resilience.

It took him a longer minute to stop staring at you. To wake up. And then, as simple as it can be:

“You. I need you,” touching his forehead to yours his breath ghosted your lips, “But after everything I did, I wouldn’t expect you to want me… like that” the depth of remorse was heart-breaking.

You already knew what the answer would be. Nothing else mattered. Regrets, worries, and fears had to be abandoned for the sake of this.

“The trouble with the heart is that it doesn’t care what you’ve done. Only that this is you,” smiling lightly, you cupped his cheek, “Just… kiss me. Like you mean it. Like you could love me. And then we’ll see if we can make it work,” unsure where the words came from, you faltered.

But before any vicious doubts could step in, Neil closed the gap. His lips slowly glided over yours, reminding you what it felt like. It did not take much persuading for you to open your mouth, deepening the kiss. It felt like coming home after a long time away. Like that first step over the threshold when one is unsure what they will find. Only to realise that everything is in the right place. That they should have never left. You tangled your fingers in his hair, bringing him even closer. He groaned upon the sensation, teeth grazing over your bottom lip. A sigh escaped your throat as Neil’s hands ventured underneath the sweater. For the first time in a while, everything made sense. You tugged at his shirt just for the sake of it as a means of showing him how wrong he was. You wanted him more than before if that was possible. The kiss consuming you both with its intensity and force. Your tongues participating in their dance, brushing against each other, increasing the intimacy of the moment. It finally felt right. Slow, unhurried, but desperate. Unforgettable.

You did not even know when it ended. One moment you were willing to give up breath if only to make it last longer. The next Neil had you pinned to the bed, breathless and shocked. When you met his gaze, the depth of expression told you what it meant. Finally.

[luvlorn]

reggie’s girl [reggie]

word count: 0.8k

pairing: reggie peters x fem!reader

warnings: n/a

a/n: i don't know what this is but i wrote an imagine based on it. 

find part 2 (imagine) here!

request: n/a, but inspired by this post by @bestdressedandstressed

-

all eyes fell on her when she walked down the school hallways, a striking contrast to the bland, lifeless colours painted around her. to put it simply, she was the it girl. the one everyone either wanted to be or wanted to call their own. she, however, was untouchable and everyone knew it. she was reggie’s girl.

popularity was never something important in y/n’s life. in fact, it wasn’t until he came into her life that she was even given a second glance. her priority lied solely in her studies, until one fateful night she ran into him quite literally and split her freshly brewed coffee all over his pristine white t-shirt. he wasn’t mad of course, in fact he insisted on buying her a new one. one thing led to another, and they were soon inseparable.

had she known the chaos his life would bring to her, she probably never would’ve let him buy her that coffee. the uptight, studious and overall shy girl she once was never would have imagined to fall in love with the high school dropout/bad boy musician. here they were however, a year later and she couldn’t imagine life without him.

reggie was the one who helped her break free of the chains of confinement she’d unknowingly trapped herself in. in an attempt to block out the world around her, she’d isolated herself to the point that she was missing out on all the fun aspects of high school and life in general. he helped her experience everything she’d missed out on, wanting nothing more than his girlfriend to be living her life to the fullest.

to say it was a shock when their relationship was publicized was an understatement. reggie, the upcoming bassist and a certified nerd? the gossip was seemingly never-ending.

“of all the girls reggie could’ve gone for, he’d chosen a loser like her?”

“she’s so weird, what does he see in her?”

‘must be a bet or something, reggie wouldn’t stoop that low.”

at first, the comments were rough on the both of them. reggie’s image, though not really important to him, was risked - and it was a dangerous move with the band’s recent success. y/n, on the other hand, was faced with much more personal attacks. the dirty looks she’d get as she passed, the whispers that became an eternal ring in her ears, and the many girls who reggie had winked at or passed a flirty compliment to in the past, pestering her about breaking up with him and “giving him back”. he hadn’t even remembered any of them - she checked.

it was always worth it though - because dealing with the backlash meant to be with the boy she loved. walking on the pier by his house, study dates where he’d play his guitar while she studied, random late night adventures, or even just listening to the band’s rehearsals. every minute spent with reggie made it okay. she’d endure an endless amount of rumours if it meant one more day with him.

eventually though, a few months into their relationship, people began to realize the two weren’t splitting anytime soon, and slowly things came to a calm. this time was a large growth period for y/n, who no longer shied away from social situations. parties, concerts - just a few of the things that became a regular for the couple. to her surprise, she loved the rush that came with it all.

it didn’t take too long for everyone to warm up to her after that. there were always the people that came up to her, in a feeble attempt to get close to her. she quickly became the most popular girl in school, the gossip now still on her, but in a much different light. she learned to deal with it, no longer being phased by it in the slightest. all that mattered to her was reggie.

he didn’t know how he got so lucky. she was always there for him; when his parents fought, or if his ego inflated from a particularly good run of a song. no matter how big, or how small. good or bad. she was there, and supported him wholeheartedly.

when it came to their shows, she was always there, front and center - his leather jacket securely over her shoulders as she sang along to their songs. the love and pride reggie felt in his chest seeing her there in his jacket was a feeling he couldn’t describe. he only wished his parents could experience the feelings he had with her.

he found someone that loved him for him, and didn’t get caught up in the madness that was his life. it hurt him that their relationship came with so much drama and backlash, but it never mattered to him because they never understood how he really felt. everything would always be okay, he had her and that’s all that ever mattered. she was his girl, for eternity.

[revolutionary-demosthenes]

4th of July: John Laurens and Slavery, and why we shouldn’t idolize him

I’ve written several drafts of posts trying to explain John Laurens’s complicated relationship with slavery and, in a broader sense, how the hypocrisy of freedom for our country--while denying the freedom of enslaved people--has led directly to the situation we find ourselves in now, in terms of race in America.

I’ve struggled with even going there, because I’m trying to focus on the present now, not the past. But I firmly believe that America can only fix its present once we’ve faced our past. And I want this information on my blog. John Laurens was not a perfect man, not even close. He was an abolitionist, yes. But how he came to these views is complicated and his personal conduct towards African-Americans is often troubling. Too often, in fact, the racist ideas of his era are visible in his writings.

There’s lots out there about not glorifying or idolizing historical figures, such as Thomas Jefferson, Washington, and other slave-owners.

This is becoming particularly clear today, with the truth of violent systemic racism in America finally becoming more fully recognized. When people watch videos of a black man begging for his life under the knee of a policeman, that brutality becomes undeniable.

But John Laurens is often exempt from this “historical disclaimer” of sorts. In the world of the Hamilton fandom and even more broadly in history, he becomes The Abolitionist, a White Savior figure who abhorred slavery and fought for racial justice, no exceptions, no fine print.

But there is a fine print for John Laurens. And it is a vital one to examine, because it shows us the importance of carrying our beliefs into our personal lives, not just our political ones.

First, let’s acknowledge the circumstances John was born into.

South Carolina, where he was born in 1754, was a southern colony, and as such relied mainly on agriculture in its economy. The rich plantation owners were the pinnacle of society. Washington’s family is an example of one such rich and powerful plantation owning family. The wealth and standing in society of these men led to positions in the government. And a man who illustrates this perfectly is none other than Henry Laurens.

Henry Laurens, John Laurens’s father, was, despite his pleading to the contrary, a significant slave owner and slave trader. Though in his private life he claimed to dislike slavery, he co-owned the largest slave-trading house in North America, Austin & Laurens. It doesn’t matter what he thought, or claimed to think. What matters is what he did.

Henry Laurens owned between close to three hundred slaves. His attitude toward the treatment of his own slaves was dehumanizing, self-righteous, and willfully ignorant. He chose to look upon himself as a “good” slave owner, rather than actually face the horrors he was perpetrating. He wrote in a letter that he’d rather treat his slaves “with Humanity” and make “less Rice” than “submit to the Charge of one who should make twice as much rice & exercise any degree of Cruelty towards those poor Creatures who look up to their Master as their Father, their Guardian, & Protector.” What Henry is trying to say here (to my reading) is that he’d rather his plantation produce less of a crop and not work his slaves too hard than treat his slaves cruelly to produce more profit.

Henry Laurens, in an attitude that is all too familiar today,  consistently chose to think of himself as an exception to the problem rather than as part of the problem. He was quick to talk up abolition and condemn cruel treatment of enslaved people. But when it came to his own slaves, he insisted that “my Servants are as happy as Slavery will admit of, none run away, the greatest punishment to a defaulter is to sell him.”

I don’t know how John’s mother, Eleanor Ball Laurens, viewed slavery, but she also came from a large slave-owning family. Even if she personally didn’t approve of the practice wholeheartedly, she benefitted directly from slavery and married someone in the slave trade.

So this is the life John Laurens was born into. A life of incredible privilege, sourced directly from the the slave trade and the labor of kidnapped and enslaved Africans. This is the first thing that needs acknowledging in terms of John’s relationship with slavery. He was able to accomplish much of what he did because of his social standing and wealth as the son of a very powerful South Carolinian, powerful mostly because of his standing in Southern society.

John was able to get his education in Europe because of slavery. He was able to use his father’s influence to become an aide-de-camp to George Washington. His social standing and quality of life all stood upon the backs of slaves.

Because of this background, John was exposed to the brutal truths of slavery since he could understand the world around him. Is this how he came into his abolitionist views? It absolutely could be. But it is more likely that John first became serious about abolition when he was taken to Europe for his education. He attended a school in Geneva, a cosmopolitan place that was very open to new ideas. Being an abolitionist was not considered as radical there as it was in the Southern Colonies, and there was more writing on the subject of abolition, including a poem by Thomas Day, an abolitionist patriot, whom John was friends with.

So John’s serious thoughts on abolition may have partly been a product of being away from a place where slavery seen as a part of life and being in a place which was more open to abolition. John may have thought slavery wrong for a long time, but lacked adequate support to be vocal about it.

Significantly though, John did not abandon his beliefs when he returned to America. He continued to be a vocal abolitionist, and unlike his father Henry, confronted actual slave owners and tried to convince them to free their slaves… including his boss, General George Washington.

He also converted Lafayette into an ardent abolitionist, and Lafayette, even after Laurens’s death, stuck to these beliefs. He later in life even bought a plantation and ran it with the labor of paid black people, to prove it could be done.

But once we get to the war, we must also talk about Shrewsberry.

John didn’t own slaves, technically. But his father dispatched two of his slaves to serve as John’s valets during the war, one of whom was named Shrewsberry. (Something to note: I am not sure if these slaves were paid or not. I would assume not, and I have yet to find a record of payment, if it did exist. But if anyone knows more about this, I would love to know the answer, as it’s an important question to think about.)

This alone would mar John’s “perfect abolitionist” image, but it gets more disturbing when you consider how John viewed and treated his valets. I should mention we don’t have a ton of evidence of their living conditions, but what we do have is distressing.

On to the primary evidence: if you read the correspondence between John and his father, a funny/not funny pattern is that John is always requesting clothes, fabric, hair powder, etc., from his father. He usually thanked his father for these items. But here is a quote from a letter John wrote to his father on December 15th, 1777: “Berry received a hunting shirt and a check shirt. If there be any difficulty in getting him winter clothes I believe he can do without.” So while John advocated for black Americans in his public life, his private conduct tells differently.

And this is further evidenced when, after Laurens’ death in 1782, Thadeus Kosciuszco wrote to Nathaniel Greene that John’s slaves (his father's technically, as explained above) were “nacked” and that they were in need of “shirts jackets Breeches.” (“nacked” meaning “naked.”)

While John Laurens was certainly more enlightened than the average man of his time on the subject of slavery, he still had trouble connecting his broader ideas of freedom and emancipation to his personal life. He also wrongly blamed Shrewsberry for the loss of a hat, writing to his father, “Shrewsberry says his hat was violently taken from him by some soldiers as he was carrying his horses to water. If James will be so good as to send him his old laced hat by the bearer I hope he will take better care of it.” The blame for this incident obviously lies upon the soldiers who stole Shrewsberry’s hat, but John acts like Shrewsberry was in the wrong, or somehow that having the hat “violently taken” indicated that Shrewsberry was not taking care of the hat. The automatic and unjust condemnation of Shrewsberry again speaks to how John did have the prejudices of his time period in his head, even as he fought against them in a broader sense.

Later in the war, John left Washington in favor of his home state, South Carolina. He wanted to raise a regiment of slaves to fight for the patriot cause, who would then be emancipated for their service. John had written his father about the idea earlier, saying,

“I would bring about a twofold good, first I would advance those who are unjustly deprived of the Rights of Mankind to a State which would be a proper Gradation between abject Slavery and perfect Liberty—and besides I would reinforce the Defenders of Liberty with a number of gallant Soldiers—Men who have the habit of Subordination almost indelibly impress’d on them, would have one very essential qualification of Soldiers—I am persuaded that if I could obtain authority for the purpose I would have a Corps of such men trained, uniformly clad, equip’d and ready in every respect to act at the opening of the next Campaign…”

Reading through this carefully, we can see some ideas expressed here that are important to note. Firstly, “proper Gradation between abject Slavery and perfect Liberty.” This means that though John did want to free the slaves, he did not think that black people should have the “perfect Liberty” that whites enjoyed. Additionally, when John writes, “Men who have the habit of Subordination indelibly impress’d on them” he is suggesting (to my reading) that because slaves were constantly treated as inferior, they would be good soldiers (I assume because soldiers have to obey their commanding officers.) Honestly, this reads to me like John wanting to take advantage of the cruelty slaves endured because “They’re used to it.”

Henry wrote back that what John was offering was hardly better than slavery, again assuming his attittude of “my slaves are happy.”

John wrote a long letter in return, explaining his reasoning and also basically being like, “dad please support me, dad, please.” But there are also some phrases here, in his letter defending his abolitionist views, that are revealing about the prejudices John harbored. 

He writes, “I confess, indeed, that the minds of this unhappy species must be debased by a servitude, from which they can hope for no relief but death, and that every motive to action but fear, must be nearly extinguished in them.”

Note John’s reference to slaves as a “species” rather than a race. (And, by the way, race is a social construct, not an actual biological thing.) The belief that blacks and whites were separate species was common at the time, and often used by slave traders to justify their actions. And this bit of writing shows that even if John didn’t really believe this wholeheartedly, he at least had the idea in his head. However, later in the letter John does use “race” so it’s a little unclear what he actually believed.

And we can see the belief that black people were not as intellectually capable as white people, owing to their enslavement.

Gregory Massey puts it this way: “Young Laurens reasoned that blacks were not innately inferior to whites; rather, their apparent mental deficiencies resulted from generations of enslavement.”

John goes on, “I have had the pleasure of conversing with you, sometimes, upon the means of restoring [the slaves] to their rights. When can it be better done, than when their enfranchisement may be made conducive to the public good, and be modified, as not to overpower their weak minds?”

What sticks out here is, of course, the assertion that the slaves had “weak minds.”

Essentially, John thought that once black people were allowed to live free, “rescued from a state of perpetual humiliation” as he put it in the same letter, their nature would change to more like whites. Black Patriots and Loyalists: Fighting for Emancipation in the War for Independence by Alan Gilbert states, 

“Nonetheless, John Laurens retained a slave-owner’s perspective about the psychology of blacks at the time. In a 1776 letter to his father, he ignored manifold black acts of resistance and their hunger to be free: ‘There may be some inconvenience and even Danger in advancing Men suddenly from a State of Slavery while possessed of the manners and Principals incident to such a State... too suddenly to the Rights of freedman. [T]he example of Rome suffering from Swarms of bad citizens who were freedmen is a warning to us to proceed with caution.’ [...] The son insisted, however, on the principal that slavery is simply wrong, the immoral shackling of another: ‘The necessity for it is an Argument of the complete Mischief occasioned by our continued Usurpation.’”

But the same book also says, “John Laurens was a practical abolitionist. Favored by nature and fortune, he chose no easy path. He could, for instance, have worked for Washington, recruited a company of white soldiers as his father urged, and still have advocated for the “public good.” Instead, he committed himself to the nobler course of fighting determinedly for abolition.”

However, “18th century abolitionist” usually did not mean someone who believed black and white people were equal and should have the same rights. It meant that you wanted to end slavery. The difference between these views often gets blurred for John Laurens. Saying that John Laurens was an abolitionist is accurate, but he probably did not believe that black and white people should have the exact same rights, at least not at first. That needs to be acknowledged. John was an abolitionist, but it is unclear how much equality he really wanted. 

Only paying attention to his anti-slavery professional life also leads to the idea that it is safe to idolize Laurens, rather than critically examine his complex views on race. The idea forms that he is the one white man from the 18th century we can be fully proud of. The one we can say is our beautiful cinnamon roll without having to confront his relationship with slavery. The fact that John Laurens wanted to help enslaved people gain their freedom doesn’t change the ways in which he benefited from white supremacy, nor how he treated his personal servants, nor the racist ideas he expressed in some of his writings.

This does not mean Laurens was evil, or that you can’t like and admire parts of him. By the standards of other revolutionary figures, like the aforementioned Jefferson and Washington (and Madison and Hamilton to an extent*) Laurens was remarkably enlightened. But also, that in itself is terrible. Like, the idea of a “good guy” from the 18th century is still one that believed that black people had “weak minds” owing to their enslavement. 

If we truly want to reckon with the racial sins of America, and how they originated, we need to see figures like Laurens for all they were. Not just the noble abolitionist, but also the inherently privileged white man whose righteous public crusade was enabled by the very system it sought to end, slavery. We also need to see him as the extremely wealthy young man who regarded the command of his servants as part of the natural order of his life.

I didn’t write this solely for history. John’s story is a reminder to all allies that actions based on our beliefs are important to make in our private lives, as well as public. Yes, it’s important to advocate for racial justice in our public and professional lives. But it’s also important to examine and be honest about our own forms of privilege and the ways in which we have internalized the racism of the world around us. All white people in America benefit from slavery and the systems it was built upon, even those whose forebears came to America long after slavery was abolished. I firmly believe that a step forward for racial justice in the US is simply to acknowledge privilege, because we cannot fix a broken system until we realize all the ways in which it is broken. 

[laurore-stormwitch]

Here is 2219 words of plotless angst and yearning and emotional pain because I’m freaking out over row coming out in eleven days and I’m terrified. I used the quote which came out the other day  “Sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.” Shoutout to the amazing @claudiarya and @not-just-human for the support.

for other people, for other lives - ao3

Sweet words and grand declarations were for other people, other lives.

Not for the one she was living now. Not for her, certainly. Those words were only meant to wither in her memories, now. This life had been a succession of wrong choices when it came to men she found herself to believe in. An absent and unaffectionate father, a manipulator and mass murderer. And now, of all the men she could let herself feel for, she chose the damn king of Ravka. Zoya did not regret believing in Nikolai, fighting for him, trusting him. He had never let her down. But caring like this for him? The epitome of bad choices. She felt the urge to rip her thrumming heart out of her chest. Her hands went to press on her temples: even the muffled sounds coming from the ballroom were unnerving her. The hope for fresh air drove her to the balcony, along with a pressing need for quiet and solitude. She was sick of everything that was going on; the party, the music, the false and hollow laughter of ambassadors and dignitaries throwing themselves at the king’s feet like their country was not on a brink of destruction. Nikolai’s charm sticking like sap on the people, a pretence of confidence and normality, with his hand on Ehri’s arm while his look stayed trained on Zoya’s sapphire eyes. It was all way too much to handle on a clear and sober mind. The voices increased as the door opened, to be swallowed again when she heard the lock. The steps that echoed on the marble floor could only be of one person who had enough of a suicidal strike to follow her when she had clearly wanted an escape.

“Get back inside, Nikolai.”

She exhaled without even bother to look back at him. Nikolai chuckled and came to stop at her side.

“You’re really attentive.”

“You’re really not subtle. I ought to teach you how to properly sneak up on people.”

He shrugged, letting her have the last line, and dangled a glass filled with a liquid the colour of amber. As close as they were standing now, their shoulders brushing, she could feel his scent meddled with a spiking note of alcohol. Nikolai was not one to indulge in drunkenness in such a delicate night, but it still had to appear like a party, and he clearly looked like someone who had needed a couple of drinks to survive the evening. She could not blame him, as a matter of fact. Still, his ruffled state only added to the treachery of being together like this. Last time they were alone, it did not exactly go down well, a moment that haunted her every waking hour since it happened.

“Weren’t you having fun inside?”

“Not particularly. It was tedious and sickening. “

“Why, my dear general, I even saw you dance with a handsome sergeant.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, scowling at him. He was grinning, but he had an edge to his voice only Zoya could sense. Do you really believe it means anything, she wanted to ask? It was true, the boy was handsome, and at any other moment she wouldn’t have thought twice on getting herself some hard-earned distraction. She had felt Nikolai’s eyes studying her the whole time, as the soldier’s hand slipped on her lower back and he spun her around. Zoya knew it was not about jealousy, or rather not the kind of possessive sentiment people would assume of. She knew because she felt it too with Ehri; what bothered her was not the affection they could share, but the way they could be together in public, how easy it was for them. The absence of barriers, propriety, and obstacles. Everything her and Nikolai could not afford to have, that simplicity. Everything he must have envied too about that common man holding Zoya’s waist.

“Genya asked me to pretend I don’t loath everything about this. But believe me, I do.”

It was as close to a reassurance she could manage to give him, without betraying herself too much. The king lifted the glass towards her in an offering gesture.

“I’m on duty.” The raven-haired general glared at his smug expression. “You know, trying to avoid people running a blade through your chest.”

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders, downing with little ceremony the content she had refused.

“I’m starting to think that being alive may be thoroughly over-rated.”

“What exactly is over-rated about a king’s existence?”

“It comes with heavy responsibilities and too many boring dinners.” His eyes looked like they were taking her vision in, intensely scanning her features. They lingered a moment too much on her lips, before darting back up to lock on her blue glowing irises.  “And it forces me to give up on a lot of things I’d like to be free to pursue.”

She shifted, uneasy, a shiver running through her spine. The wind rose slightly at her nervousness and tugged at the hem of her silk embroidered kefta, lifting it off the ground. Zoya smoothed it, grateful for the decision of keeping her uniform tonight. It made her feel a bit more like herself, a bit more in control. The frustration and anger building inside her put venom in her voice, though the exhaustion and defeat creeping through were clear enough to catch.

“What are you doing here? And cut to the chase, please.”

“I saw you leave. You looked – “ He stopped, exhaling a long breath. “Weary. Upset. I wanted to check on you.”

Without yielding away from her eyes, he took a tentative step toward her; the ghost of their almost kiss, or rather barely avoided disaster, flooded the back of her mind, along with the ushered and frantic words he had spoken to her. She clenched her jaw, tension running through her veins like a fire scorching a barren ground.

“We’re facing battle on countless fronts and still wasting time on worthless charades like this” She gestured to the closed doors and the lights beyond them, the whirl of dresses and laughter. “Of course I’m weary and upset.”

“Nothing else?” Was he really coming back to this? To being hopeful and stubborn?

“No, Nikolai. Doesn’t it seem enough to you? Besides that, I’m perfectly fine.” Clipped words and pretty lies. “I don’t need anyone to check on me.”

“What do you need, then?”

You. And it terrifies me in a way you cannot fathom. How quick was her mind to betray her. Take the dreadful truth and smash it into a proper deceit.

“I need a break, and to be left alone for some godforsaken time.”

He cocked his head to one side, considering her. One of his hand ran through his golden flocks, messing them up even more. Zoya had rarely seen him so deprived of his usual bright endeavour, so taken on by fatigue. He still managed to flash a smile in her direction, one that did not reach his eyes but died on the curve of his mouth.

“They were asking for you. They always are, the nobles, ambassadors, all of them. They want to gaze at the gorgeous squaller, the ruthless grisha who serves as the king’s right hand. They talk of you, and me, how the king has secured himself the most beautiful mistress in the palace.”

Nikolai was almost speaking to himself, his posture hardened, the despise he had for these people clear enough in his voice. Even though she couldn’t care less about the court’s hypocrisy and judgement and she had never asked Nikolai to defend her, he had always felt he needed to it somehow. Sarcasm tainted his speech, Zoya trying to assess where he was heading with this.

“They dare ask me sometime, even. How is it that I conquered you, assuming that I did, like you are some kind of prize to be taken. I told them you are nobody’s property. That you’re a general and they should hold you to that position without insulting you with their petty gossips.”

Her vindictive heart wanted to punish him for making her legs buckle with wanting, for making her heart race up in front of the rumbling rage he had for the people who did not respect her enough. He released his clenched posture, straightening. His eyes caught back their focus on her, turning soft and growing dark with desire.

“What I didn’t tell them tough, is that while it’s not true that I have you, you do hold the king’s heart in your dangerous hands.”

Zoya stilled. The hate she felt grew inside her like a tide. Hate for how much she wanted him, for how simple it was for him to speak these truths she was refusing to accept and ignore the grave reality they were living in. How natural and right it looked, coming from his mouth. How hard he kept making for her to drive the knife in him, again and again. Zoya used that familiar emotion to fuel her resolve.

“You shouldn’t talk like this. We can’t afford it.”

“What if I don’t care? What if I can’t keep on pretending anymore, if I can’t do this anymore?”

What if? What if, in another life, she would have been brave enough to tell him?

Stay. Stay with me.

Take the truth and twist it. Again.

“You should go.”

“Zoya -”

Pure anguish coursed in her at the sound of him pleading her name. Zoya felt like she was already mourning him; he was a couple of feet from her and still miles away, a distant memory blurring away with time. Nikolai turned silent and lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing the line of her jaw, floating against her neck, trailing her arm, and coming to rest on her wrist. He circled it with his fingers, tightening his grip.

Hold me. Again.

“Let me go.”

She hissed, a cold resolve in her voice. An order. He glanced at her under his lashes, pondering himself for a second, then left the hold on her wrist, his look unreadable under the night sky. Zoya turned away from him.

“I can’t do this anymore either, Your Highness.”

To her shame, her voice came out cracked with unshed tears. Would she be able to cry again, some day? She could not remember the last time she fought back the urge and her eyes just went dry. She could feel the prickle now, the pain, but the water stayed still in the endless well she dug inside herself. They were sparring, Nikolai trying to win this round and drag her to acceptance, Zoya holding her fortress. Zoya kept her eyes trained on the midnight sky beyond Os Alta, but she felt felt him move behind her, his body barely an inch from hers, his hand grazing the kefta over her hips. Nikolai leaned towards her, tilting his head and hovering with his lips near the shell of her ear. His breathing was ragged, warm against her neck, sending tremors in her body. She shut her eyes, thinking of how easy it would be to let her back rest on him, to turn and catch his mouth and tangle her fingers in his hair, to let herself be redeemed by his affection.

“Where does your heart lie, Zoya?”

It lies in the thought of your lips on mine. The wrenching need I despise of losing myself in your arms. The buried desire of a life where I could find comfort and peace, the need to give a voice to whatever this warmth and searing longing I have inside is. How your hand feels in mine, how your touch sets my skin on fire. The light in your eyes when the sun catches them, the endless nights spilling away like seconds when I’m with you.

The words came with the fury of a thunderstorm and drowned in her throat, scraping it.

You need someone different. You need someone loving, full of light like you are. He would only have found heartbreak and misery in her, a kind of affection too stiff and cutting on the edges for a soul as bright as his. Zoya pulled herself away from his hold and turned to face him, the closeness almost intolerable; Nikolai’s eyes were on her, bursting with the same yearning and despair she could feel in herself. It was gutting to see her feelings mirrored in someone else. She trailed at his side, breaking their connection; her hand brushed on his lightly as she got past him, the touch so soft and swift it could almost look unintentional to an innocent bystander.

“Some truths are better off unspoken, Nikolai.”

Zoya whispered under her breath, taking another step to get back inside. Sweet words and grand declarations were meant for other people, for other lives. Zoya was a soldier, and that was the choice she made every morning, day after day, until it would not be a choice anymore and the course of her life was set. She could not help the things she dreamed of, but not even the things she was made of; she was meant for waging wars and havoc, and she would rest in the secured loneliness and gilded cage she had built for herself.

[yeahimaloser]

Oh, To Be In Love 3

part 3

Hawks and you are the best of friends, but little do both of you know how in love you two really are.

Hi! I’m really sorry I haven’t posted as often, a lot has happened in my personal life.

But! I feel better so I made another chapter! 

Warnings: none

Word count: 1935

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hawks flew through the open air. The wind flowed through his feathers as he beat his wings in a fast and precise manner.

He looked down to see people looking up at him and pointing, no doubt in awe by the hero. He smiled to himself, and did a few mid-air tricks for the kids down below. Seeing their adorable smiles beaming up at him.

This was one of the many things that made him proud to be a hero, seeing the civilians look up to him. To let him inspire them to do better. To see the little kids look up at him in awe.

He looked down at his watch and his eyes widened, he was 5 minutes late. 

You had lechtered him before about this, and he didn’t want that to happen again. For one, he hated lectures. And two, he hated letting you down.

But then he heard a scream.

He wiped his head and scoffed, a convenience store was being robbed.

What kind of hero would he be if he didn’t stop to take care of a simple robbery?

He had to stop and take care of the robbery, but he sure as hell wasn’t happy about it 

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

Hawks stopped on the rooftop of the restaurant that you two always met at.

There were very few places that would be discreet about a hero and a friend meeting for lunch. If this was just a normal restaurant, the paparazzi would have been alerted right away.

But a few of his sidekicks told him about this place, where if you paid the right people the right amount, you could eat without fear of the media breathing down your neck.

He was a little tired, but overall, very excited to see you. 

he stopped to remind himself, he was just your friend. And he was totally fine with that.

He waved to one of the waitresses who recognized him, “The table nearest the window, that's where Y/N is.”

He smiled at her, “Thank you so much!”

He strode over to you, but paused for a moment when he saw you.

You were anxiously tapping your foot, looking out the window. The sun hitting your face made you look even more stunning than you already are. Your eyes shown in the light, you face practically basking in it. He hated how you made his heart feel, hated the way he wanted to just tell you how he truly felt. But he also couldn’t stay away from you, you were just that intoxicating.

He gulped down his feelings, and counted to make his way over to you. 

“Ok, ok, ok, I’m sorry for being late. But hero business ya know,” Hawks said, shrugging.

You gave him a smirk, “Yeah I figured. So I already ordered for the both of us.”

Hawks gave you a smile, “Dove, you are the best!”

Hawks sat down across from you, still smiling. 

As he did, the food came out, obviously you had ordered him the chicken.

“But seriously, I thought you were supposed to be the fastest hero. So why are you always late to these things?” You asked.

He shrugged, “I’m not always late. Your overexerting, and besides, being a hero comes first to the general public. Believe me, I always try to be on time, the universe just has other plans.”

You rolled your eyes at him.

“So anyways about the guy..” you said ominously.

He physically felt his heart sink into his stomach. But he refused to let his smile falter, even if he felt like curling up into a ball.

“Oh yeah! How did it go? What did he say?” He asked.

You just sighed, “Ugh, I told him I didn’t want to go out with him.”

That's when Hawkses smile fluttered from his expression. He genuinely wasn't expecting that, he was ready for you to tell him how happy you were. He was expecting you to forget about him and move on. He was expecting to lose one more thing he loved.

But here you were, telling him how you didn’t go out with the guy. Giving him a glimmer of hope.

“Why,” he didn’t mean to blurt it out, he was just so confused, “Sorry! I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but why? You have nothing to lose by getting into a relationship.”

You looked down at your water, swerling it with your straw, “Yeah, I know. But it's just,” you let out another sigh, “I don’t know, he just wasn't all that. He was mediocre at best. And I just didn’t want to settle, you know?”

As you looked back up at him, he felt his stomach flutter, “Yeah, I definitely agree. You could probably have anyone you want.”

You rolled your eyes, “yeah ok, what about you, your all the news outlets talk about. They say you're quite the playboy.”

Hawks wanted to wince, he hated those lies. He really didn’t go out on dates very often, he was just so busy and always in the public's eye. It was just always unfair because he really did want to find someone. But with his supposed reputation it just made it so much more difficult. Not to mention the fact that he was a busy hero.

But he supposed he wouldn’t have minded the rumors if you didn’t believe them. But in reality did it even matter? You and him could never happen, so why was he so upset?

But he just laughed it off, “Na, no ones catching my eye I guess! And besides, I’m not a playboy,”

“Ok,” you said, “but you could have anyone you want.”

Not really, I can’t have you.

“Hmm, maybe, but na. Too busy I guess,” he said.

“Mhmmmm, ok birdboy. Anyways, I don’t really know why I don’t wanna date anyone, i guess I’m just picky,” you laughed. “I mean, if he’s not as funny, cool, and kind as my best friend then why would I want to date him?” You went back to lazaly stirring your water with your straw, not looking at him.

Which he was very glad about, considering the fact that a light blush dusted his checks.

He really didn’t expect that. What did that mean? Were you just being nice? Or were your intentions deeper…

He tried to make himself less flustered, “Haha, what do you even mean? I’m always late to our hangouts, I cancel things all the time, and I always have new cuts and bruises that make you supper worried about me. If you want my opinion, you should try to find someone who’s not like me, birdy.”

You chuckled, “Yeah, your right. But still,” you looked back up at him, your eyes stunning in the sunlight, “your an amazing person, Hawks, so why would I want a person to date me if they're less than you? My goal is to find a person that's so much better than you, that you’ll end up being so jealous you hang out with me more.”

I’ll be jealous of anyone you date that's not me.

Hawks laughed, “Wow Y/N, you're so mean to me. And here I was thinking you thought I was so perfect. But what? You wanna make me jealous? That sounds a little much.”

You giggled, “Your so dumb. Maybe if I cancel plans to go on dates you would actually come on time.”

“Oh how you wound me!”

You really do.

In reality, if that did ever happen he would probably get jealous. But that's why he kept you at arm's length right? For that very situation?

“So really, no ones catching your eye? I mean, you're surrounded by models, beautiful heros, and just amazing people in general. And you're telling me you don’t like anyone?” you quirked an eyebrow at him.

He smiled and shook his head, “No, really I don’t wanna date anyone. I’m way too busy and plus, those models and beautiful people are so fake,” he looked down at his food, picking at it, “All they want is money, status and just tacky shit. If I want a relationship, I want it to be real. I want to love someone so much that I’ll do anything for them. I want a relationship where we cook meals together, I want a relationship where we just eat ice cream at night and watch dumb movies together. I just want something real I guess.”

He looked up at you, your expression was one of shook.

“Wow Hawks, I never thought of you as someone so romantic,” your hand crossed the table, you grabbed his hand. The warmth of it made him lean into his touch. “You deserve all that. You deserve a real, loving relationship,” you smiled at him, “Your gonna make someone so happy. I can’t wait to see who you decide is worthy of all your love. I can tell you're gonna choose someone that you deserve.”

He gave you a smile, “Thanks Dove, I appreciate it. And, I think so too.”

Good thing I already have.

You rolled your eyes, “Why do we like the bird nicknames so much? Most of the time they totally suck.”

Hawks fained offense, “I thought Dove was cute! And your the one who calls me ‘birdboy’ so don't act all innocent!”

You laughed, “Because your reactions are so cute!”

“My reactions? You're the one with the cute reactions!”

You two just kept laughing for a bit.

This was what he loved about you, you just made him happy. Even you just making fun of him made him happy. He just… just loved you. There was no way to get around it, all he wanted was to hear your laugh for ages.

But that's when his work phone went off.

As much as he loved being a hero, times like these made him hate it. 

He gave you an apologetic look, he really didn’t want to leave you. He wanted to stay and talk to you for hours if he could. He wanted to see your smile and hear your laugh.

“I’m really sorry Y/N, but if they're calling me on my lunch break it must be serious,” his tone was sincere and sad.

He stood up and you stood with him, “Please Hawks, don’t worry. You have an important job,” you walked closer to him. “Just.. Just promise me you’ll be safe?”

He smiled at you, “I promise you Chicky, and I promise I’ll kick some ass.”

You giggled.

And then you kissed his cheek.

If you could hear his heart you might have thought that he was practically having a heart attack. But could you blame him? Your soft, yet firm lips on his cheek just made him all mushy and soft on the inside. 

When you pulled away he almost wanted to say, ‘to hell with it,’ and just kiss your right there. To feel your touch again, to feel your lips against his. That’s all he wanted in the moment.

But he stoped himself.

He blushed pink, trying to hide it he rubbed his cheek, “Aww, giving me a good luck kiss? Thanks Dove, be careful yourself ok?”

You rolled your eyes, but your face seemed a little flushed as well, “yeah, yeah, just go birdboy.”

He chucked, moving to open up the window. Another reason he loved this restaurant was because they were fine with him leaving through the windows. 

But before he left, he turned to see you leaving. But you too turned around to look back at him.

He gave you a reasering smile, and whispered under his breath,

“See you, my dove.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s done!!!

I hope you guys liked it!

[loser-writings]

Kazuichi Souda Headcanons

{@sally-wonders​} (┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻ I JUST SAW THE DANGANRONPA STUFF AND I AM SCREAMING! dlsfhlfhksg I dont even know where to start, so, at first I was wondering if you have any headcanons for my man Kazuichi, I love him so much! I always wondered how he would be into an actually relationship, because the inflatuation he had with Sonia was a thing, but also serving to compensate in his low self steam, even if he was an ultimate, he also has the historic of abuse and bully by their piers and all  with the sharp teeth and pink hair to try and look cool and all that as well, also he would have to deal with all that happened in dispair island (what wouldnt i give to know how they dealt with that man :'3), especially acepting the fact that Sônia does not like him. Because of the whole dream girl with blonde hair and he kinda projects this idea of her instead of herself. Jqrjjgwrj sorry I babble a lot hehe

I hope you enjoy this long list of a variety of headcanons. These may not hit all of the points you were asking, but I hope this is satisfactory!

・・・・✪General Headcanons✪ ・・・・

Kazuichi is a very anxious person so he is constantly fiddling with something. Little electronics, his wrench or tools he has on hands, or his fingers. If he can’t mess with something, his anxiety goes through the roof.

He can read in English! He taught himself how to read English so he could read American comic books before they’re officially translated. He also can understand English since he watched so many English action movies. He can speak it, but it can be broken and his accent is very strong.

He can actually sew. Since he learned by watching his mom, he can fix and alter clothing. He can also sew and throw together blankets and stuffed animals. He actually owns a small sewing machine. It isn’t expensive or amazing by any means, but it can get the job done.

He spends a large chunk of his money on keeping up with his hair and keeping his contacts in check. His hair grows extremely fast so his roots show, and he has a horrible habit of sleeping in his contacts since he can’t stand his glasses. 

When you catch him off guard, he just lies about what he is doing. He doesn’t mean to, but it is just a natural reaction since his dad would get mad at him no matter what his answer was. Because of this, you have to give him a moment to calm down and go through the 3 different answers he has before he can actually say what’s going on. This also happens if he is on his computer or his phone. He naturally hides the screen, even if he is just looking at car parts or how to fix a certain thing.

He can be a bit perverted and oblivious to somebody's flaws if he finds himself becoming attracted to them. Despite this, he is honestly quite the sweetheart and would have a heart attack if somebody were to return his feelings. 

He has pretty bad trust issues and this can cause tension between him and others. This also causes him to believe things that aren’t always true based off of his distrust alone.

He doesn’t actually like his appearance, even after he changed it. He originally changed it to keep away bullies and get the attention of women, but when he looks in the mirror, he doesn’t exactly like it. He didn’t mind his black hair or his normal eye color, he just hated his glasses.

Will flinch if someone raises their hand at him because of his fathers past abuse. He can’t help but flinch, and this is horrible with men who are taller than him. Safe to say that Gundhams mannerisms and weird poses aren't appreciated.

・・・・✪Relationship Headcanons✪ ・・・・

As stated before if someone were to return his feelings, he would be so lost on what to do. He never had anybody treat him with much kindness and the fact that someone he admires likes him back is just mind boggling to him.

I headcanon him personally to be Bisexual. He may have a physical lea for women, but he does find himself genuinely attracted to men as well (@Hajime) I think the big thing that decides if he likes you or not is if he thinks he can trust you.

Due to the past abuse and issues regarding friends and classmates, he would need constant reassurance. He will have sudden doubts and will become extremely anxious at the idea of you leaving him for a variety of reasons. He will ask if you want him to change his appearance or something about his personality, and it never fails that he is shocked if you say you love how he is.

He can sometimes get lost in his childlike fantasies. He will change his personality at times and make himself believe things that aren’t true. The best thing to do when this happens is to just give him a quick kiss on the cheek and remind him that you are you, and not some fantasy. He will apologize and snap out of it (For the most part)

He isn’t the best at initiating things. He would do better with someone who is more willing to make the first move. Be the one to grab his hand to hold it, Open your arms so he can snuggle against your chest, Cup his cheeks to pull him into a sweet kiss, Open the door for him and press your hand against his lower back in public areas so he feels more calm. He really would appreciate it.

Some of his favorite dates are the ones that result in tons of affection. Building blanket forts before having an action movie marathon is his favorite thing. It always results in the two of you tangled impossibly close to each other. If he is the one being held, having you play with the messily chopped locks instantly has him weak. He will rest against your chest while watching the movies, looking up to steal kisses and nip at your exposed skin in an attempt to steal your attention away from the screen. If he is the one holding you, your hair will be played with and expect him to caress your body a lot. If he gets distracted from the movie, he will let his eyes and hands wonder. It’s not in a perverse way, but more curious. 

He actually studies how your body moves and how you feel. He is the kind of guy who is very interested in seeing how your “Parts” move and how things work. It’s not perverted (Usually) but instead it’s very sweet in an unusual way. He will find out unusual things he loves about you by watching how you move. Like how you stretch to reach things on a tall shelf, or how your body curls up into itself when your cold. Just how you move and your body language is something that always has Kazuichi staring. 

If he can’t be with you physically, expect many phone calls and video calls. He calls you every time he misses your voice or feels himself starting to get anxious. The most common phone calls become the ones that happen before bed. Kazuichi gets extremely anxious when he is alone or at his house with his dad. Because of this, it becomes a routine where he calls you before bed and falls asleep on the phone with you. If you love to sing, sing and play instruments on the phone to soothe him. If you like to read, read to him until you hear his soft snores on the other line. If you like to ramble, ramble to him as he hums along til he is asleep. 

Also don’t hang up. Seriously, he will hang up in the morning. If he has a nightmare, or something happens, he finds comfort knowing that you are right there when he needs you most. 

He doesn’t mind chasing after you, but please let him have something so he knows that all of the chasing is worth it. This is the man you go to if you want somebody to control. He just wants your love and attention, even if you are just using him. If he falls for you during the killing game, he won’t hesitate to kill for you.

・・・・✪NSFW Headcanons✪ ・・・・

Aged 18+ and Kink discussion below this post

Souda loves to leave hickeys and love bites. He thinks they’re so sexy and attractive, and will leave them all over you if you let him. He also ADORES having you mark all over him and will whine if you tease him by pulling away before a mark can be made. If you really want to make him feel loved, make heart shaped hickeys all over him. He will cry because he feels so loved.

He is a switch with a more submissive lean, but he does have his more dominant moments. If he is being submissive, expect him to whine and cry about things a lot. He can be a total brat, but its so worth it when you get to hear him moan and beg for more. He may not scream, but he is quite loud.. If he is being dominant, he growls and groans a lot. He doesn’t mean to, he just gets so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t even notice the noises he makes.

He has ended up with you in his lap in his car a few times. He just can’t help it. The most memorable time was at the drive in theater. You both were in the back and it just ended up with your hands being bound by a seat belt as he sat between your legs until he couldn’t handle waiting anymore. 

He CLEARLY is into body worship. He loves watching how you react as his hands sit and press themselves against your body. He will compliment absolutely everything about you, kissing your skin as much as possible, and let his hands and eyes do all of the work.

He is so into oral, both giving and receiving. He can sit between your legs pleasing you until you are shaking and can’t handle anymore. Just how you taste is so intoxicating with him, and he always is trying to get more. If you are sucking him off, he will pant and moan and whine the whole time. His hand is tangled in your hair or the sheets until he can’t take it any more and cums. If you swallow, he will be so turned on, but he also loves cumming on you

Kazuichi will hump and grind against anything. Your ass, your thighs, a pillow, clothing, the bed, anything. He has a high sex drive, so he has to take care of it often. Even when he is sleeping, he will grind against you if he is having a dirty dream. Hopefully you don’t mind, because he is actually quite embarrassed when this happens.

He has a fantasy of you waking him up with oral. He has quite a few dirty dreams, so the idea of you helping him out while he wakes up is a dream for him.

Praise kink. Seriously. Praise this man. He will CRY if you constantly praise him during sex. He was completely unaware of how much it would effect him during sex.

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Fault”

Hello, everyone! We’re not even bothering with an introduction today, let’s just get straight to the only thing that matters.

HERE HE IS, THE MVP OF THIS EPISODE, OF THE WHOLE VOLUME, THE SERIES, THE ONLY ONE I CARE ABOUT RIGHT NOW

I’m joking… but only a little. In all seriousness we will get to Ren, but you all want to hear a funny story first? I somehow got it into my head that there was no RWBY episode this week—the holiday and all—so I poured all my meta time and energy into a ridiculous Ironwood analysis as a placeholder, only to wake up this morning and find the strongest (and most complicated!) episode this year waiting for a recap. Like some sort of grimm nosing into my inbox. 

Okay, so it’s not a funny story, but if RT would just do a better job with their website my life would be a whole lot easier.

So here we are, taking a look at the episode “Fault.” Quick question, is every episode this volume going to have a one-word title? It’s not a criticism, I’ve got nothing against a punchy name, I’m just curious since RWBY has never done that before. If anything, they’ve gone more for symbolically significant phrases like “A Brawl in the Family,” “Players and Pieces,” and “The Lady in the Shoe.” I wonder what sparked the change.

Anyway, we open on Robyn laughing about some story she’s told, something about Joanna losing a fair fight for the first time, presumably to her. This is what we’ve learned about Robyn since this volume started: she refuses to acknowledge that she had a hand in Clover’s death; she was asked by Blake and Yang to keep the Amity secret but, according to May, couldn’t keep her mouth shut about it; and she tries to cheer Qrow up by bragging about her own skill.

Alrighty then.

Obviously, this little story fails to land. “Tough crowd tonight.” Robyn looks to Jacques as well as Qrow when she says this and since she clearly doesn’t care about cheering him up, she must want to get a rise out of him. Create something, as she says at the end of the scene, that’s exciting. Robyn just really loves to start fights. Against Ironwood, Clover, bickering matches with Jacques—stories told about winning them! If she’s not fighting someone she’s not interested.

Qrow does eventually give the smallest smile though and Robyn cheers. “Did I win?” They both quickly grow serious again though and Robyn says she’s “sorry for what happened. It wasn’t your fault.” Her apology would mean more if she was apologizing for her actions, not providing a generic ‘Sorry for your loss’ like she had no hand in this.

Qrow then insists it was his fault… but, of course, not for the reasons why he’s actually responsible (also, didn’t we do this two weeks ago?). For starters, Qrow blames his semblance for everything that went down, despite the fact that his semblance is not responsible for him breaking Clover’s aura, or Tyrian stabbing him. The most we’ve seen his semblance do is cause minor mischief, which in and of itself is absurd considering we’re meant to believe that it has kept him from his family most of his life, and informs choices like whether he’ll travel with the group in Volume 4. Still, it’s not unexpected that he would blame his semblance and think that having friends is a “childish dream”—depression is one hell of a liar—but rather, it’s frustrating that no one is helping Qrow see the truth of the situation, both the good and the bad. He certainly doesn’t need Robyn providing generic platitudes that absolve them both of their choices.

You know what the worst part is? The two kind, level-headed adults with enough distance to help Qrow acknowledge his mistakes while also correcting him about his misconceptions… are Ozpin and Clover. The former is still ignored by the cast, the latter barely got to be a character before he was killed.  

Qrow goes on to say that he “made a deal with the darkness and [Clover] paid the price.” I’m sorry, what does that mean?? Outside of referencing his team-up with Tyrian, that’s the most dramatic, nonsensical thing he could have said. Qrow doesn’t admit to the team-up though, rather he starts blaming Clover for his own death.

Precisely like a good chunk of the fandom has done 🙃

He says that Clover just “wouldn’t let up” (translation: he wouldn’t agree to let me go when I was under arrest) and that they could have “worked together against Tyrian if Clover had just—”

There’s a lot to cover this episode, so I’m not going to dive into another explanation of all the justified reasons why Clover didn’t trust Qrow in that moment and why Qrow was the one who “wouldn’t let up.” If you’re interested in that rundown, head here.

Side note: can RWBY please stop with the weird mouth closeups? I’m begging the animators. Especially when so much else in this episode is gorgeous.

Yes: 

No: 

Robyn’s response is to make it all about her. I say, as a hypocrite, because my instinctual response in comforting someone is to also bring up a way that I might, sort of, know what they’re going through. It’s something to work on and, as always, I’d be more receptive to Robyn’s attempts if she weren’t failing so spectacularly in every other aspect of her characterization. Case in point: she says that having a truth semblance tends to make people push her away, but we’ve never once seen that. We’re introduced to Robyn as she’s adored by Fiona. The people celebrate her. Yang and Blake trust her immediately, for no reason, and comment on how useful her semblance is—they’re not concerned with it. Ironwood likewise works with her and allows her to use her semblance on him in public, at least for a time. May spoke fondly of Robyn last episode. She just finished a story about Joanna… where is this pushing away you speak of, Robyn? I really wish RWBY would consider things ahead of time and actually show them to us, rather than just having characters announce that they’re (supposedly) there.

Nice symbolism though with Robyn touching the electric bars and pulling her hand back. You reach out, you get hurt, curl in on yourself, blah, blah, blah. Too bad it’s not a moment attached to an actual struggle of hers.

Qrow buys it though, saying he’s never thought about it that way before. 

You know, I get why a lot of people in the fandom hate Clover. I can’t even claim I’m much interested in him as an individual. I’m sick of straight, white, able-bodied men getting the spotlight, which is one of the things that drew me to RWBY in the first place… so theoretically Robyn should be the better choice for Qrow’s BFF, right? Especially in a world where FairGame only existed in RT’s social media queerbaiting. Give us the badass gender-bent Robin Hood instead of the boring military man!

On paper it sounds great… which is why it’s astounding that RT bungled that so badly.  

Qrow never finishes his thought about Clover because the Ace Ops come in to return Watts to his cell. Interesting. The writing has definitely made Ironwood stupid, but perhaps not as stupid as he could have been? If he got Watts to hack Penny (we don’t yet know what’s going on with her during all this) and then promptly shut him away again, that’s just about the best way you can follow up on your worst decision.

Harriet spots Clover’s pin and tells Qrow “You don’t get to keep that,” but then doesn’t take it from him. See, that right there is a better motivation for potentially opening the cell. Qrow says he didn’t kill Clover, Harriet shoots back that his blood was on Qrow’s blade (again, focusing on the wrong way that he’s guilty), Robyn challenges her to get the truth via her semblance… and Harriet considers it? Why? She’s not the one struggling with her loyalty here, that’s Marrow, yet he’s the one who has to pull Harriet back with “What are you doing?” when she looks at the keypad. Have Marrow almost be swayed by Robyn’s taunting, or have Harriet almost open the door because she’s furious and desperate to get Clover’s pin back. Either one of those would make more sense than this.

Also, no one checked Qrow during his arrest/before he was thrown into his cell?

Also, note that Marrow uses a nickname here—“Hare”—so I’m continually unpersuaded by the ‘They’re not friends’ claim. Yes, Harriet hits his shoulder on her way out… and Ren will later scream at Jaune about cheating. Harriet being in a bad mood because their leader was just murdered isn’t evidence that they’re not close, no more than Ren responding to Everything Traumatic Ever is evidence that he doesn’t care for his friends.

Also (x3), Robyn calls Harriet “mohawk”?? Can’t this woman come up with a single good insult?

As the Ace Ops leave Robyn lays back down on her bunk, exactly as she was before, and says, “Well, that was almost exciting.” Kind of like this scene! Luckily, the episode is about to get a whole lot better.

The music immediately picks up as we segue to Ren, Jaune, and Yang chasing after Oscar. On the whole I really enjoyed this scene, largely because it shows the group doing their best—in a way that feels persuasive. I’ll admit that others have a point about them just standing around while the Hound changes form—yet still failing because, you know, our villain is actually powerful! However, there are, as always, some nitpicks.

One of the first bits of dialogue we get is Ren noticing that the bikes can’t stand being in the cold for very long. It bugs me that bikes suffer more from the cold than the civilians do. To say nothing of the fact that it once again doesn’t amount to anything. Their bikes carry them through the whole battle and Jaune looses his because of a grimm. Then Yang manages to fix the totaled bike with a single part, despite the continued cold. Why bother introducing this as a problem when it’s meaningless each and every time?

The three do demonstrate some great teamwork though. When Yang yells that she wishes one of them could fly, Jaune uses his shield to launch Ren at the Hound… so that he can get dragged through the air, hitting rocks. This poor guy. I like that though because no, these teens shouldn’t be perfect, strategic masterminds and yes, they’re in the kind of situation where they just have to try something and see if it works. Jaune can’t think ahead to what Ren will do once he grabs the Hound, they just have to get him to that point and go from there. Which they do. Ren snags a boulder to slow them down further (that’s smart) and Yang goes higher to fire at the Hound’s face (don’t hit Oscar he doesn’t have aura!!). They’re at a crazy disadvantage here and still trying their best to get our boy back.

The overall tone is… fine? Again, love supportive Yang—that high five with Jaune was wholesome—but it continually feels weird to get that when Oscar is in the literal jaws of death here. On the whole though the scene keeps to the action and seriousness of the situation, which I appreciate. We’ll talk more about tone during the outpost scene.

It's looking like they might be making some sort of headway when the Hound lets out a roar that, as Yang puts it, calls for backup. 1. Yay giving this grimm even more power to mess with the cast, 2. Holy shit there are so many grimm around. See, scenes like this is why I’m side-eyeing the anti-army rhetoric in the show (a stance I’d otherwise agree with 100%). Because do you see how many there are? That’s not Salem’s army, that’s just the normal grimm hanging out around Atlas. The cast is screwed if anyone were to, say, order them to attack the kingdom…

Kudos to RT for bringing back the centipede grimm though. I honestly thought they’d just be a one-off action sequence in Volume 7.

While everything is falling apart Ren catches a glimpse of Oscar, complete with rosy cheeks to make him look super young, and the sight fills him with 

He starts climbing towards the Hound and we cut away. 

Meanwhile, Jaune’s bike is hit with some of the centinel’s acid (again, not the cold causing problems) and he takes a tumble, managing to keep his feet before Yang snags him. Moments like that really do show how far he’s come and I’m glad we got to see such a moment in an episode where his cheating was brought up. Jaune then uses his shield to fly over one of the dragon-y grim, but... wait. The shield is flexible?

Literally what is the point of that? As a shield, I mean (it clearly works fine as  a ramp). If you can just tip it over like that then so can the grimm or another fighter. Forget how tiny the shield is, all a monster would have to do is boop it and it would fall over. In fact, it probably should have with the grimm scratching at it before. Seems rather useless, unless you’ve got writers crafting convenient situations. Also, does Jaune have multiples of this thing? He picked it up before, but there’s no way he found that one again. Idk, I’m really not feeling this addition to Jaune’s arsenal. Better to give him a range option so he’s more versatile.

Still, they fly over the grimm and the two let out a sigh in synch. Whatever else we might have to say about this volume, RT is definitely giving us different interactions and team-ups. Well done there. Why, Jaune and Yang have managed to survive all that together!

Oh wait, never mind. They’ve gone off a cliff.

Honestly, I’m shocked they actually went over. I thought Yang would stop in time, or we’d have a classic moment of them tumbling off the bike and ending an inch from the edge, maybe going off slow with time for one to hang on. But nope, they plummet and it was done with such confidence by the camera that for a split second (the illogic of killing them both off aside) I thought that was it. They’re done for. Lucky for them, Ren catches them at the last second, managing to snag Jaune’s sword and them and immediately use his semblance so the grimm doesn’t eat them. That’s skill, baby!!

But you can see why he’s pissed, beyond just the fact that his semblance is holding this group together. It’s not Jaune and Yang’s fault that there was suddenly a cliff, but last we saw Ren he was heading towards Oscar. He had a plan. Granted, not one that was likely to lead anywhere given the Hound’s power (and the plot needing Oscar to reach Salem), but that’s not the point. He was pulling himself towards their kidnapped friend and then at the last second had to cut himself loose to save two others. This moment wasn’t anyone’s fault, but it would take someone with no emotions at all not to be frustrated by it. 

So we leave the trio literally hanging out and return to Ruby’s group who is threatening kids! 

Seriously though WTF, Weiss? Look, I haven’t always been kind to Whitley. In fact, I think there’s a Volume 7 recap where I really laid into him for his attitude and for supporting Jacques. But then—with the help of some friends and other anon perspectives—I thought about it for a hot second and considered how little power this child has. I was wrong to blame him for so much given the various circumstances here. It took, like… five minutes of thinking, and that’s for a fictional character, not a real life brother. Weiss clearly hasn’t given her brother five seconds of thought. He’s in the same abusive household that she was. He wasn’t blessed with combat abilities and a semblance to easily escape. He didn’t have Weiss there to guide him like Winter guided her. He had to watch BOTH his sisters abandon him to Jacques… so when exactly was he supposed to learn to be better? Why would he be inclined to? Weiss was an entitled racist when she got to school and needed new friends to show her a new path. She admitted as much last volume! Yet the fact that Whitley is completely alone in this house while their mom locks herself in her room to drink doesn’t register at all? This woman, an adult out to save the world as we’re frequently told, never once considered what it took to get her here and realize that Whitley has had none of the resources she did? 

I want to emphasize that Weiss threatens him with her weapon. It’s not just that she’s dismissive of him and his plight, she’s also happy to use violence if Whitley doesn’t do exactly as he’s told. Violence… against her brother… who is a child… without any training. Again: WTF, Weiss? You know how I was praising RWBY last episode for not having the group beat up the Atlas personnel? Yeah, we get this instead.

Then she tells him to go to his room??

Speculation is that Whitley is about 2-3 years younger than Weiss. Or, to put it another way, roughly the same age as Weiss’ leader, Ruby. She’ll follow Ruby unquestioningly into world-changing decisions, but sends her brother to his room like a toddler? Which is it, RWBY? Are 17 year-olds leaders you should listen to, or babies who must leave the room while the grownups talk? He certainly can’t be any younger than Oscar, so again, she’ll fight beside him, but treat Whitley like this? Whitley isn’t exactly going to offer help in a respectful, eager manner, but that “Fine. What do you expect me to do?” was incredibly open given his situation. He was willing to help and that was the perfect opportunity to have him, you know, do something. Something small and innocuous that wouldn’t threaten the team if he betrayed them, but kept him around so he could talk to someone. But nope. Weiss just sends him to his room after criticizing him for not understanding that they’re “busy trying to save Atlas.” Weiss, what does Whitley know about all that? He’s locked up in this manor after your father was arrested and the one news clip we’ve seen said that no one knows why Ironwood recalled his forces, or what’s up with those grimm overhead. She’s acting like he should have any idea what’s happening right now.

Also, all of this is coming on the heels of Willow begging Weiss not to forget her brother, so that’s just great. RWBY has the rest of their time in the manor to fix this, because if Weiss comes out of that scene having only been handed the means of arresting Jacques… that’s just bad all around.

Finally, should we talk about how strange this choice is? Last episode we saw the group flying away and I assumed it was them leaving Atlas to go back to Mantle. It certainly looked that way, but now they’ve decided to stay until Nora is awake. Why? Isn’t it more dangerous here? I mean, they didn’t know the staff was gone and there are still arrest warrants out. Was Weiss just going to threaten anyone who dared report her? Where are these shields Ironwood spoke of? Have they gotten through them somehow, or are they currently trapped in Atlas?

This is “Oscar is in the slums, leaves the slums, learns they’re going to the crater, but the slums are actually the crater, so we’re heading back now” all over again. 

The one good thing about this scene is that Blake and Ruby talk! …for about two seconds lol. Eh, better than nothing. Blake says that if Ruby is worried about Yang she could try calling her. Ruby has, and Yang isn’t picking up.

Does Ruby think she’s in danger or ignoring her? Unclear. We, however, know that Yang is now lost in the middle of nowhere with no reception and no transportation back to Mantle. The three of them start trudging towards an outpost Ren spotted, needing to find shelter “before this weather drops our aura levels completely.” So what about everyone without aura?? I wish that I could check off the bingo space again because this is ridiculous.

Ren, once again, isn’t in the mood to talk, but unlike Jaune, Yang can’t leave something alone. So she coaxes him to tell him what’s wrong and you know what? She does a real good job at first. She’s encouraging, but her voice is level and she doesn’t come across as accusing. Well done, Yang.

Things quickly fall apart though as Ren says EVERYTHING I’VE EVER WANTED TO SAY TO THIS GROUP. Holy shit, everyone, let’s count ‘em up:

Nothing is going smoothly so let’s stop pretending it’s all fine

Oscar has been horrifically kidnapped that’s #bad

This is not a normal part of being a huntsmen

We don’t know the first thing about being huntsmen!

Every time we’ve had to make real decisions we got them all wrong, yay us

We’re trapping a city here for Salem to destroy whenever she feels like it, yay us x2

Our leader is barely more than a kid and one of us cheated our way here

People are going to die because of us

“I’m just saying what nobody else wants to”

Yang’s response? Incredibly weak imo. Just as weak as the fandom’s has been since this conflict started in Volume 7. Her argument against letting Atlas go is that Salem won’t just let it fly away with her whale… but no one knows that. She’s certainly just letting it sit right now! Assuming that something won’t work because you expect the worst is not a compelling reason not to try.

Her argument against their ineptitude? They saved Haven, took down a leviathan, and got the lamp to Atlas. Let’s break that down a little more.

Did they fight well at Haven? Yes… overlooking that Weiss would have died if not for a timely semblance reveal. But the real point here is that they “saved” the school by getting the Relic. Problem is, they never won the relic, it was handed to them. Literally. They retrieved it not because they were capable of overpowering Salem’s forces and a Maiden, but because Raven decided she’d rather her daughter be a target than her. That doesn’t tell us anything about the group’s skill, only about Raven’s flaws.

They took down a leviathan… after drawing it to Argus in the first place. That’s kind of an important detail when Ren is trying to make the point that their decisions suck. Also, how did they take it down? Using Ruby’s silver eyes, which only worked because Jinn randomly decided to let her stop time. Oh, and also using the rest of Cordovin’s mech that they hadn’t yet destroyed. Again, nothing about that fight demonstrates their skill, only others’ abilities, resources, and the strange favoritism they benefit from.

Getting the lamp to Atlas. Well, you drove Ozpin away who was your ticket across the border. Then Maria told Ruby how to save you all from the Apathy (and Ruby herself was the only one able to resist long enough to demand you get the Relic back in the first place). You started that leviathan fight and ended it surrounded by Cordovin’s fleet. So how did you get to Atlas? Because she let you cross. How did you reach Ironwood? Because he dropped your arrest. Yang stopped Adam, yes, but that was its own, separate fight. Regarding the “getting to Atlas” point they botched that up completely. 

Basically, this resume of victories is unpersuasive, to say the least. Yang highlights the end goal rather than acknowledging Ren’s point: have we, as individuals, actually made things better lately?

They absolutely have not. 

Note how, in contrast, Ren includes himself in this criticism. He doesn’t just lay responsibility at Ruby and Jaune’s feet, he’s second on the list for being underprepared. For messing up. He’s just an “orphan from nowhere” and this tells us that, unlike Qrow, Ren is actually concerned with this problem and his own place in it. He’s not just blowing off steam and running from his responsibility. Rather, he’s making important points here yet, as he says, no one else wants to listen.

And that’s why the scene ultimately sucks. “But, Clyde! It’s a speech straight out of your metas!” Yes it was and it was beautiful to witness, but the problem is that Ren’s supposed to be wrong. Jaune glares at him before leaving. Yang clenches her fists and asks if he just wants to push everyone away. He’s left hanging his head. Then later they talk about how “broody” he is and provide advice about how to stop doing that. The takeaway here is not, ‘Holy shit, Ren is right and we should rethink our choices,’ but rather that Ren is wrong and needs to come over to their ‘correct’ perspective.

I love that this was laid out. I love that the group is actually fighting for once (way better than Ruby and Yang’s ‘fight’). I also love that we finally see what’s bothering Ren… but we all know this isn’t leading anywhere. The scene ends with Jaune dismissing everything by stating that if Ren doesn’t want to be a huntsmen, fine, but he has a job to do. Ren is supposed to feel guilty here for… telling the truth? Jaune is supposed to look like the hero for soldiering on with his responsibility while moody Ren drags behind. The scene is great, but the purpose of the scene sucks.

Actually, I’d like to talk about a portion of the outpost scene real quick. Skipping ahead, because we really see here how little RT believes the words that they’ve put in Ren’s mouth. Jaune admits that he’s right about cheating into Beacon… but nothing else. Indeed, that “mistake” is swept away because he’s earned his right to be here now. You shouldn’t care about that anymore! Ignoring the point Ren was making about how much they’re in over their heads. Yang apologizes to Jaune on Ren’s behalf, making it clear that she cares more about his potentially hurt feelings than any of the points Ren made. Remind you of anything? Like oh, say, that time Yang cared more about Jaune’s feelings than whether he’d hurt Oscar after slamming him against a wall? All of this despite the fact that Yang JUST accused Ruby of the horrible situation they’re in. Now Ren acknowledges that they’re in a horrible situation and Yang… doesn’t care?? Again, RT is good at giving us the pieces we want, the surface level stuff, but is rarely able to combine it into something fulfilling. If anyone actually takes Ren’s stance seriously, changing their ways rather than talking him out of it, I’ll be shocked.

Especially since the real nail in the coffin of this scene is Jaune telling him that “The more you hide from what you’re feeling, the more alone you’re going to feel.”

Jaune………..buddy……….pal…………were you asleep during that scene? Ren DID tell you what he was feeling. For the first time he did come clean about everything he was experiencing and you both rejected him for it! He’s not pulling away because he’s hiding from what he’s feeling, he’s pulling away because he did show it and both his friends reduced it to “pushing [them] away.” Which is it, Jaune? Should Ren be more open, or should he stop saying things you don’t want to hear? It’s a more complicated version of telling your parents about your interests, them mocking those interests, and then they’re surprised when you don’t share things with them again. I mean, the gall of Jaune to reject everything Ren said in the moment, ignore it after he’s calmed down, and then lecture him about being hiding his emotions.

Jaune and Yang (and the story) don’t want Ren to say what he really thinks, they want him to say what they think. Ren should speak up, but only if he’s going to agree with them.

So Ren sits out in the snow because potentially dying from cold is better than staying in a room with Yang and Jaune. I can’t really blame him lol.

One last thing about the fight scene. Remember how May was put in her place last episode for not using Penny’s name? Well, Yang doesn’t either. Granted, “the Maiden” isn’t as overtly insulting as “tin can” (or whatever it is May said), but it amounts to the same thing: both are replacing Penny’s individual identity with her status as a tool they can use. May sees Penny as the cool tech girl who can get them into the military base. Yang sees Penny as the cool magic girl who is the answer to all their ‘How do we win this?’ problems. Everyone is using Penny. Ruby to launch Amity, Ironwood to open the vault, but you know RWBY will never have a scene where Penny corrects Yang about her name and Ruby looks on, smug. Because the group can continually make the same mistakes as the adults/antagonists around them, but aren’t called out on it in the same way. Ren calls them out and he’s told he’s wrong. 

Anyway, the tl;dr of this scene is that Ren is the best. Too bad the story doesn’t realize that.

We then move to my poor Oscar who wakes up looking at his own feet, Ozpin’s voice is as reassuring as it can be under the circumstances. “Oscar? Don’t panic. We’re going to be okay.” I mentioned two weeks back that I hoped the show would explain why we didn’t see Ozpin try to take control during the Hound fight and we still don’t have an explanation, so that’s disappointing. This line is all we get from Ozpin because that’s the norm now. We moved from him being written out of the story entirely to having one or two lines an episode (excluding a speech meant more for the audience than the characters). So, improvement? But a lackluster one, I think. Especially given that he is the focal point of this entire situation with Salem. 

I’m avoiding the elephant in the room though. Oscar’s torture is horrifying. In the sense that it should be horrifying. Salem might still inexplicably not be attacking Atlas—and what she’s after at any given time might be getting more and more muddled—but she’s absolutely terrifying here, which is what we needed. The mix of assault with that nurturing tone is just skin crawling. “My long lost Ozma. Found at last” while she (I think?) shows images of their daughters. Honestly, I only heard that from friends, didn’t catch it myself, but then my eyes are shit to begin with. I couldn’t see a thing in this shadowed shot.

(It’s like watching Game of Thrones all over again.)

Oscar tries to pretend to be Ozpin and he does a damn good job with “I’m sorry the reunion isn’t living up to your expectations.” It’s not enough to fool Salem though. She says he’s “not him” yet and I’m again reminded that the show continually references this merge without showing us any change. They’re apparently closer to one person now, but they still speak as individuals. Oscar has Ozpin’s magic, but hasn’t used it, even when his life was on the line. The closest we get to evidence that the merge is underway is that Oscar attempts to lie about knowing Jinn’s name… but what the hell else is he supposed to do here? I suppose he could go the action hero route and shout that she’ll never get the answer out of him, but trying to lie is by far the safer option. That doesn’t tell us that he’s becoming like Ozpin, or even that they’re truly “like-minded souls” as Salem claims. It just tells us that Oscar has two braincells to rub together and can say a short sentence without totally giving himself away. Maybe the kid played a few rounds of Remnant’s Among Us.

This moment highlights another justification for Ozpin’s secrets though. He lives an existence where he is not in control of his own (“own”) body. At any point the host he’s with could falter, fail, turn on him, and in doing so give crucial, world ending information to the enemy. It’s already happened on a small scale, with Oscar successfully taking control, stealing the Jinn information, and giving it to the group. Now here he’s being tortured. How long can he last? Will Oscar give up Jinn’s name? If Ozpin didn’t have the location of the Relic locked up tight in his own consciousness, would that information be lost too? I’m not looking to blame Oscar for anything here—I don’t want to imply that this situation is karma for him taking Jinn’s name, or some such nonsense—I just want to acknowledge that this is the sort of stuff Ozpin has to worry about. If he shares these secrets then that’s more fallible people who are capable of giving that information to Salem. If he keeps them…well, he’s the only one who has to keep his mouth shut during a torture session. His host might want information about the Relics, there’s an argument to be made that they’re entitled to them, but if I were Ozpin I wouldn’t want to take that risk either. The question has essentially become, “Would I trust a 14 year old to keep quiet while tortured by a witch?” Maybe Oscar will! He’s enough of a BAMF to manage it… but that’s still not something I’d want to bet on. Better that Oscar simply doesn’t have that information to give Salem, period. 

So obviously this “working relationship” that Salem wants isn’t going well. When Oscar lies she jumps straight to torturing him.

This was legitimately hard to watch and I’m torn about that. On the one hand it’s what I wanted: a scary, powerful Salem who uses the tools at her disposal to get what she’s after. That’s great! Yet I’m still reminded of how far this show has gone to literally beat up the child of the group. Oscar is the one punched into a tree, attacked by a friend, shot by an ally, the star of the show’s most horrifying kidnapping, now the first to be outright tortured by Salem. I don’t really have a point here, I’m not looking to level any specific accusations at RT, I’m just commenting on the pattern and acknowledging that it makes me uncomfortable. There are parts of a story where you’re supposed to be uncomfortable—like the villain torturing a hero—and then there are parts where you’re uncomfortable because the writers seem overly focused on showing images of a specific kid suffering and that’s… weird.

I’m not sure what to make of that just yet. 

Anyway, Salem’s magic here is surprisingly pretty. Pretty and painful, but I expected more red and blacks, perhaps some spikey imagery, so the rainbow was an interesting surprise. Given the amount of pain Oscar is in, I suspect too much of that would kill him, so Salem calls in Hazel to continue the interrogation. The first few hits he deals are for Haven, the others for his sister.

See, this is why RWBY needs to actually embrace its “life isn’t a fairy tale” theme. You cannot show me child torture in one week and then move to Ruby “We’ll win because we’re the good guys ^_^” Rose the next. The whole reason why Ironwood (and Ren now) was right is because this is the shit reality they’re dealing with. You didn’t run when you had the chance and now Oscar (and Ozpin) is being tortured. You keep talking about saving Mantle, but the only reason why they’re not already dead is because the writing randomly turns the cold danger on and off. This mix of horrific, real world danger and unjustified confidence doesn’t work.

…also, I officially don’t want any redemption arc for Hazel. This guy is beating on a child because he’s convinced that he’s Ozpin, blaming Ozpin for his sister’s decision, all while forwarding a genocidal maniac’s plans. Hazel and his ridiculous shirts can just get on out of here, thanks.

Finally, I just want to say... this is the woman a lot of the fandom defended. This is the woman you wanted raising those girls and blamed Ozpin for trying to escape with them.

This is how Salem treats children.

Oh, and all of this is without his aura because it just broke. So Oscar is in serious, non-fantasy trouble here. 

Someone please rescue him soon 😭

We finish up with some frankly boring stuff with the rest of the villain cast. We learn that the Hound is an “experiment” and a new one given that Cinder has never seen it before. Salem’s dialogue is admittedly great—“Do you hear that, my pet? She thinks. She wants.”—but Cinder just rehashes everything we’ve heard from her before. She wants the Winter Maiden power. She has trouble remembering that she’s playing at Salem’s slave. She even rehashes the exact same line, “Without you, I am nothing.” Why are we wasting time on this when we had that tantalizing backstory before? 

Bleh. 

Salem tells her in no uncertain terms to stay put.

So Cinder immediately leaves LOL.

She just wants to “check on” Amity tower because she “knows those kids” in ways Salem doesn’t. I’m admittedly slightly confused as to how Cinder knows to go there? Did she believe Ironwood’s lie that it was finished even though it apparently IS finished now? Has she overheard something? I’m not sure. Frankly, keeping track of that stuff in RWBY is headache inducing, so let’s just roll with it.

Neo, the only one with a brain around here, makes it clear she thinks Cinder is an idiot for going. Emerald, always the Cinder fan, offers to go in her stead. She’s been working on her semblance, so I expect we’ll see something cool with that soon. They head off, apparently not worried about what Salem will do to them when they get back.

Which is when we move to the outpost for our final scene, most of which I’ve covered. I only have two more things I want to bring up here.

The first is the tone. As said earlier, the tone of the Hound chase wasn’t horrible, but I find myself disappointed in the overall attitude of Jaune and Yang. Yang is making jokes about how they can’t fly, high-fiving Jaune, and they’re both shrugging off Ren’s concerns. Jaune says he won’t be able to sleep due to worrying about Oscar, but neither of them act particularly worried. Which isn’t to say they need to be sobbing the whole time or whatever, just that Ren is the only one who feels real here. They may not agree with his stance about everything else, but they’ve all experienced the same event: watching a grimm that can morph, talk, and think horrifically kidnap a teammate. Shouldn’t there be more emotion attached to that? Things have gotten better with Oscar than they’ve been in the past, largely due to details like Nora’s hug at the beginning of the volume, but let’s be real, they’re still not perfect. Do we think Jaune and Yang would be this nonchalant if Ruby were kidnapped that way? Say all you want about Ruby being her sister, or others being teammates for longer, but the fact remains that Oscar has been taken to Salem herself and the only one reacting to that in any meaningful way is Ren. 

Who they say will “brood himself to death.” That right there. The one guy freaking out about your kidnapped friend should not be described as “brooding.”

All of which segues into my second point, namely that Yang doesn’t seem to care about Ruby anymore either! She asks Jaune, “Do you think she thinks less of me?” for not going to Amity and when Jaune reassures her that Ruby will always love her, Yang’s response is, “Yeah… Ruby.”

She was thinking about Blake.

The kicker? I thought she was talking about Ruby too. Because Ruby is her sister. Because she and Ruby had the fight (“fight”). Because Ruby was trying to call her to check in. Because Blake and Yang didn’t even acknowledge that they went on different missions here. I thought Blake was like Jaune, not really taking a side and just heading with Ruby because the team is splitting down the middle. Where did this worry come from?

And I want to praise RT here (I really do) because I can see the effort. I said Blake and Yang needed to spend time apart, they have. I said they needed to work through their co-dependent identities, now Blake is reminding Nora (and theoretically herself too) that someone you love is just a part of you. I said that the group couldn’t be a hive-mind, now there’s disagreement. I said the show needs to make Blake/Yang canon at some point and you can’t do that if they don’t talk about and to each other. So I fully admit that this is everything I asked for… so why does it feel so badly done? No matter how many boxes it checks off, it’s still a moment where we thought Yang was finally worrying about her sister again—like she used—and then it’s ‘Sike! It was really just about Blake! Again. Yang is worried about a problem that was never even introduced.’

I suppose that’s why it doesn’t work for me. Yang and Ruby had the falling out, but Yang and Blake, somehow, become the focus. Is it really so hard to write Yang as a sister and a potential love interest? Yang apparently can’t care for Ruby and Blake, Weiss can’t care for her team and her brother, Ruby can’t care for Mantle and Ironwood… it’s like each character gets one (1) thing to put their emotional energy towards at any given time and that’s it. That’s all they get.

On the flip side, this is why Ren feels like a person this episode. He cares about Mantle, and the future fight, and their past mistakes, and his place here, and the problems within the team, and Nora… He feels like a well-rounded person! vs. Yang and Jaune who don’t even consider his perspective, vs. Yang having a fight with her sister but only cares about Blake. They’re one-dimensional in comparison.

It is, as always, disappointing. 

As the group “broods” then the camera shows us a piece of the ice nearby, slowly cracking as Jaune says that “Things always seem to get worse before they get better.” Well, that’s unexpected. I didn’t think our opening would be literal. I’ve been worried about Atlas falling on everyone, not everyone falling… to whatever is underneath the kingdom as a whole. Is the kingdom falling apart? Or is something waking up and moving towards the surface? If RWBY can reproduce the characterization we got with the Hound, I wouldn’t be opposed to another leviathan grimm rising from the snowy deep to assist Salem…

Though how the fuck group will survive everything and that, who knows lol.

And that’s our episode! Issues aside—most of which have been ongoing issues. We knew they were there—I think this was our strongest episode so far this volume. Well done! There are still problems, no doubt, but at least I was only bored for a small portion of that 20 minutes. Let’s just keep heading in that direction.  

Exciting Saturday, huh?

Regarding bingo updates:

RWBY actually re-used a grimm I thought they’d abandoned, so well done there.

No civilians around for the giant grimm army to attack, so that was fine. Kind of strange though that they completely disappeared after the Hound left.

The timeline is starting to get wonky. For example, what kind of stakes am I supposed to expect when Cinder decides to head to Amity? Is it currently empty? Is Pietro there? Has Penny made it yet? I said weeks ago that RWBY would need to follow multiple groups to fill out fourteen episodes in just two days—and they’re definitely doing that—but that means we don’t have a clear sense of what events are happening simultaneously and what are meant to be linear.

No Winter or Ironwood this episode.

Watts is back with Jacques! Potential for team-up 2.0? That will admittedly be hard with Qrow and Robyn there, unless those two escape.

(Oh yeah, I thought Qrow and the others would be held in the military base and Ruby would find him during her heist… but she doesn’t even care that Qrow is in jail.)

Maria is still a ghost. If we hit the halfway mark with her not doing anything I’m calling the space.

I definitely wouldn’t call this cliffhanger needless. That’s actually a cool way to end things, even if Jaune’s line was pretty on the nose.

Neo may be getting closer to backstabbing Cinder if those expressions are anything to go by. 

Still waiting to see if Amity works.

And finally, drumroll please! …

“More obvious Blake/Yang implications without confirming a relationship.” Yup, I’m marking that this week. After Blake’s ‘just a part of you’ comment and now Yang only being worried about her reaction? Definitely calling it. If RWBY confirms a relationship this volume I’ll eat my words—and some celebratory cake — but until then salt prevails. Especially after the fiasco that was Supernatural.

Still no bingo. Ah well, maybe next week lol.

Until then! 💜

[Ko-fi]