#anyways the point of the demonstration was that he let me feel the strings

[ieropski]

.

[sunstone-smiles]

Measuring Mishap

(I’m sorry that the picture is so blurry-)

Author’s note: Another fic with Miguel after I said I would only make one? I couldn’t help myself. Can you blame me? Lol! I hope you enjoy!

Series: Across the Spider-Verse

Characters: Miguel O’Hara and Lyla

Word count: 2,242

Summary: Lyla is assisting Miguel by measuring him for a new spider suit, but a small mishap occurs in the process that leads the AI to instead discover a playful piece of information about him that can make him laugh.

—

It’s hard enough tearing Miguel away from his work, let alone asking the man to stand still. He always has to be active with something, whether it’s skimming through files, capturing anomalies, or making sure that everything in the Spider-Society is in working order, so taking a break is not one of his strong points.

Miguel huffs as he stands in his spider suit on a short, cylindrical platform, his arms crossed. Above him, two robotic limbs hang from a steel frame like the strings of a marionette. A yellow strip of measuring tape is held in the metal fingers of the robotic hands as the contraption measures Miguel from shoulder to shoulder.

Miguel taps his foot on the ground and exhales an impatient sigh. “Lyla, how much longer is this going to take?” he turns to the AI in question, who’s floating beside his head.

“Just a few more measurements and you’ll be good to go,” Lyla taps away on a digital screen in front of her. Matching her own hand movements in sync, a robotic hand taps at the air alongside her while Lyla makes her note. “What’s the rush anyway? You don’t have any meetings scheduled for later.”

“I just want to get back to business, that’s all.”

“Business?” Lyla hovers backwards, almost offended. “I’m measuring you for a new suit to enhance your abilities so you can catch anomalies with more ease,” she demonstrates by controlling the robotic limbs to take Miguel’s arm away from its crossed state, then measuring it from shoulder to wrist, “It doesn’t get more business-y than that.”

“You know what I mean, Lyla,” Miguel shakes his head. “Work, reports, surveillance, making sure the anomalies are properly contained—instead of standing still like this. That kind of business.”

Lyla pulls the measuring tape and the mechanical arms away to type another note. “Yeah, I get it. But doesn’t it feel nice to take a break every once and a while? It definitely gets you away from those screens you always slouch over.” She throws a teasing grin at him and tries to straighten out his back with the robotic hands, like she’s posing an action figure. “I mean, just look at what it’s doing to your posture!”

“My posture is fine,” Miguel grumbles. He shifts his shoulders. “I only feel like every single second that I’m away from my hands-on work, another multiverse is potentially being swallowed whole.”

“Ugg, you’re being dramatic again. And also mathematically incorrect. On average we have three anomalies each day, meaning that every twenty-eight thousand eight hundred seconds another multiverse is in danger, not every single second.” She smirks down at him, pleased with her correction.

Miguel rolls his eyes. “Can we just get back to the task at hand, please?” He starts to fidget in his spot, like stretching out his arms to keep himself occupied, yet he’s moving around too much for Lyla to continue measuring him. The AI temporarily hangs the strip of measuring tape on the metal frame above them.

“I’m just saying that you can benefit from loosening up for a bit,” Lyla’s ramblings begin to wander as she tries to position Miguel with the mechanical arms to stand still on the platform, but she’s not paying complete attention to where the robot hands are drifting, “You know, like taking a moment to de-stress. It wouldn’t hurt to try—”

Lyla is suddenly cut off by an uncharacteristic yelp emanating from Miguel. Miguel snatches the robotic wrists away from his sides and fires a glare at Lyla, “Watch where you’re putting these things!” 

Processing the aftermath of the yelp, the AI quickly deduces that while she wasn’t paying attention, she must have accidentally squeezed his sides. 

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” Lyla regains control of the robotic limbs. She properly guides them back towards his torso, but Miguel flinches away, as if on reflex. Lyla tilts her head in curiosity. She shrugs it off and maneuvers the arms close to his sides to hold him straight, but again, Miguel jumps away without her touching him, as if he was suddenly anxious of the mechanical hands.

She tries once more, but every time the robotic hands get close, he recoils and restarts her progress. Lyla narrows her eyes at him and pouts. “Miguel, hold still,” she tries to catch him without him flinching away, almost like corralling a startled horse into a stable. She attempts to grab at his arm, “I can’t get accurate measurements if you keep—”

“Hey!” Miguel tenses up with a squeak when she mistakenly pinches at his ribs. 

Lyla pulls the robot hands away, smiling with intrigue at the sound Miguel just made. “What was that?” she giggles.

Miguel tightens his arms closer to his chest, almost like he wanted to sink into himself. Miguel clears his throat. He adverts his eyes from Lyla's gaze. “It was—”

“Nothing?” she cuts him off with a sly smile, “I thought you would say that. Analyzing what just occurred now.”

“Lyla wait, don’t-

The pixels of Lyla’s heart-shaped glasses flash twice. “Analyzing complete. I detected a hint of laughter in your voice. And came to the conclusion that…” Lyla pauses as her data is pieced together. “No…” her mouth widens along with her eyes. “No way!”  her voice heightens with excitement. “You’re—!”

Miguel barks, “Don’t say it!”

“You’re ticklish!”

Miguel face palms with a growling sigh, flinching just hearing that word. “You said it…”

Lyla giggles excitedly, almost squealing like a fangirl. “How am I just learning about this now?! I need to know all the juicy details! Like, where are you the most ticklish?” She teasingly moves the robot arm with wiggling fingers towards his stomach. Miguel quickly grabs the wrist of the contraption before it can make contact.

“L-Lyla! This is not the time for these unnecessary activities!” he shoves the metal limb away from him.

“Nah, I think this is a perfect time! What you need is a good laugh!” She commands a robot limb to grab Miguel’s left wrist above his head, like she was innocently going to measure his arm for his new suit. “So, are you ticklish here?” Lyla quickly says and flutters her fingers to control the robot’s fingers to do the same into his underarm. Miguel sucks in a gasp and swiftly yanks his arm down, bringing it close to his body and clinging tightly to his own wrist.

“Hey!” Miguel snarls towards the AI, but Lyla had already zoomed behind him and switched to his other shoulder.

“Or here?” Lyla wiggles the chilled robotic fingers into the side of his neck. Miguel instantly scrunches up his shoulders and growls to hold back any further reaction to the tingly scratches. Trying to fight back, he attempts to nab the robot hand out of the air, but Lyla promptly dodges herself and the hands out of the way and behind him.

“Or how about here!” Lyla slips both robot hands into Miguel’s underarms from behind, striking like a snake. Miguel yelps and arches his back from the surprise, immediately clamping both of his arms to his sides and snarling to cover up any giggles that need to be stifled. 

“L-Lyla!” Miguel barely chokes back an audible giggle from slipping through while trying to squirm from her grasp. His mouth twitches on and off with a smile that shows off his fangs and his frame begins to lurch forward, like he wants to curl up into a ball, the longer he holds his laughter. 

“Come on!” Lyla exclaims from behind, “Stop hiding your laughter! Let me hear it!”

Miguel has to hold strong. Who knows what data-collecting Lyla can do with one of his giggly reactions if she gets her hands on it. She of course wouldn’t do anything that could hurt him, but the flustering earful of teases that he’ll hear afterwards is enough to keep himself from giving in to the easy route. Miguel faces this like a challenge.

He growls through his fangs like a big cat fending off a stronger force. “Absolutely n-not! Aye!” he squeaks when Lyla moves the mechanical hands down to both of his sides, clawing into the vulnerable area. Miguel throws his arms around himself in defense, his smile turning more wobbly by the second as he tries to hold back the giddy bouncing of giggles jumping on pogo sticks in his belly.

“Ah ha! Getting closer! I just have to get past your stubbornness!” Lyla smiles and moves one of the robot hands towards his ribs, teasingly scratching at a spot between the curved bones through the material of his suit. Miguel jolts and snickers start to spill out through hisses bypassing his fangs. He squeezes one arm to his side while the other tries to pry the robotic wrist away from wiggling into his ribs. She’s getting closer to breaking through the dam of his laughter and she knows it.

“Knock it ohohoff!” a giggle slips through Miguel’s defenses. He’s doomed. Lyla grins. Now is the moment she’s been waiting for.

Lyla’s glasses flash when she sees the opening she was planning in her sight. The other robotic hand by Miguel’s side whirs with Lyla’s control, then strikes directly at his tummy, swiping its clawed fingers back and forth like a sponge. “Gotcha now, Miguel!”

“GAH! Lylahahahaha!” Miguel finally bursts into robust laughter. He stumbles backwards, nearly falling, but Lyla places the palm of the second robot hand on the center of his back to stabilize him. However, although he’s still standing, his wriggling torso is caught in between the clawed hand vibrating at his tummy and the one stabilizing him. He throws his giggling head forward with a huge, fanged smile on his face, then grabs at the robotic wrist in an attempt to tug away the mischievous machine hand at his stomach. “Dahahamn it!” Miguel shouts through his laughter, knowing that Lyla has come out victorious. One of the strongest spider-men has been defeated by his own AI with a little bit of tickling.

“There’s that laugh I was looking for!” Lyla smiles along with Miguel. “Why did you have to go and hide it? Now I have to make up for all the laughter I missed!” Seeing another advantage to tease him, Lyla scoops up both of Miguel’s wrists in one robotic hand and pulls his arms out in front of him. 

“I’ll take those, thank you,” she beams above him. She then uses the unoccupied robotic hand to reach the ticklish places she tried before, now that the gates that were holding back his laughter have erupted.

Miguel squeals and jolts with laughter as the free mechanical hand scritches and scribbles at the rest of his torso. Lyla swiftly switches from spot to spot, like a scratch to his ribs, a squeeze to his sides, a scribble or two to his belly and underarms. She pokes around his whole torso, sending Miguel into a squirming, giggling frenzy. 

“Lylahahahaha!!! Quihihihit it!” Miguel attempts to tug back his arms as his joyful laughter fills the room. He releases a snort, then buries his face in his shoulder, trying to hold on to any dignity he has left. 

“No wonder you couldn’t hold still! You’re just that ticklish!” Lyla giggles at Miguel’s reaction. “Ironically though, I’m still able to get some measurements from you. Of where you’re the most ticklish, that is, which I determine to be your belly! Your laughter is zero point five decibels higher in that spot than the rest of your tickle spots! Watch!” Lyla then takes the opportunity to return to scribbling at his stomach, causing Miguel to squeak and increase the volume of his laughter, just as expected.

“LYLA!” Miguel calls out her name again in an attempt to scold her, even though his voice is currently laced with silly sounding laughter, “Thahahahat’s enohohohough!!!”

“Aww, so soon? But alright, I gotcha,” Lyla smiles and releases his wrists. Miguel instantly wraps his arms around himself, panting as he catches his breath from the tickle attack.

Lyla floats over to his shoulder. “See? Now wasn’t that fun?”

Miguel huffs out a growl. He glares at Lyla out of the corner of his eye. “That was NOT fun!”

“Say what you want Miguel,” Lyla shrugs with a lingering, all-knowing smile on her face, “but I can read that your body language is much more relaxed than it was before.”

Miguel opens his mouth to counter her, but he stops himself. He looks away from her with a defeated scowl. A small blush heats in his cheeks. He, unfortunately, can’t argue with her data about him feeling more relaxed.

Lyla hovers back to his other side to grab the measuring tape that she had previously hung on the contraption's metal frame. “Now, let’s get back to business. I still need to finish measuring you for real.”

Miguel flinches away from her, reflexively bringing his arms close to his body for split second defense. “There’s more?!” he frantically questions.

The AI chuckles at his flustered reaction. “Hehe, relax Miguel. I promise I won't tickle you on purpose,” she holds out a reassuring, open palm. “But you better hold still this time,” she ends her sentence with a lighthearted smirk. 

Needless to say, Miguel fully understands that he should listen to her advice, but at least the short break in the middle of their work wasn’t a total waste of time.

[pseudowho]

Hello once more, sorry for the inbox spam!!!

I wanted to give you an update on the 30 year old guy hitting on me (insane cause when he was my current age of 21, I was 12 years old, LIKE WHAAAT the heeeell). Context for memory: met him at an event I was volunteering at. He wasn’t in the volunteering event but stopped by to help, and stayed a while to chat. He got my social media and messaged me that evening. Very quickly off the bat he started flirting and taking EVERY chance he got to do so, ie when i said im more of a mountains than lakes person, he said, “it’s not gonna work then ;)” and a bunchhhh of other stuff i don’t remember. And when I told him that my “(possibly) my favorite person in the world is the only person I message consistently” he replied with, “Favorite? Damn, don’t know if I’ll get there, but I’ll try to be your second favorite.” And this was literally like a day into messaging. It was SO weird because I never thought somebody that much older would go for me AND he doesn’t even Know Me. (Even though two 33 year old men did try to pursue something with me when I was 19 years old). Like, 25 is the max age I’ll date being that I’m 21, and the brain stops developing at 25. I was strictly platonic and didn’t even flirt back/reply to those weird messages.

So the update: I think it was after your advice that I made it clear to him that I am 1. Not interested in a relationship with anyone, 2. I only feel safe around women because of past experiences with men. // So here’s where things get a bit stickier. He keeps saying that his number one value is empathy and that he learned he can trust his morals and values, and that he learned to not doubt himself. He keeps saying he wants to get close with me and see where “this connection goes” (in my head I’m thinking, what connection?). At this point, I told him my 3rd boundary: That I Am Not even Guaranteeing Friendship. I don’t trust guys, I have a very finicky social battery, and I told him that I have been left much more jaded than my naive, optimistic, overly caring 19 year old self after a string of incidents with straight guys that left me feeling confused and used (was used emotionally and also they wanted to use me physically, but I didn’t let the latter happen. These events are not even including the 33 year old guys incidents). So this 30 year old, I’ve been on and off messaging him to give him a CHANCE to be a FRIEND. Because he’s desperate and honestly I love making close friends IF they’re good people. But I noticed that whenever I mention (not trauma dump, mention), more sensitive things such as the consistent, TW, abuse and neglect I’ve faced for years, he goes radio silent for a day or few days. The only time he DOESN’T reply quickly is when it’s about sad stuff— the only other time I said anything sad was when I told him I was grieving my late kitten, and I Literally gave the gruesome, truly awful details of my 1 month old kitten passing due to leukemia (it was devastating. She was precious, amazing, resilient, kind, and wonderfully adaptive— ie her siblings would cry during socializing and she would WALK UP TO THEM AND LAY HER HEAD ON THEM. She would also go to Me instead of her Mama cat for food, as she was too weak to compete with her siblings (but she gave her BEST awesome efforts.) Despite her resilience and intelligence, she was too young and her immune system didn’t work. It’s devastating, and I’ve been processing it in healthy ways as months go on and on. She was wonderful, demonstrated kindness and she was a fighter, and she deserved a long life. Anyway, to this he responded with “😮” …LIKE. I WAS SO confused and a bit irritated at that reaction. He DID later say a few short words of sympathy but wtf was the “😮😮”…So a week or so later I thought about my lingering irritation, and now I’m MAD. He expects me to be empathetic towards him, and I am, but whenever I even BRIEFLY mention struggles beyond himself he won’t give it the proper care it deserves. Ie one time I mentioned women’s struggles with gross men and then I also talked a bit about men’s struggles being hard too, and he said, “I’m glad you acknowledge men’s struggles!” and it’s like yes I did but… the first and main point of this particular convo was women??? Are you so self absorbed and stuck in your head??? At least acknowledge women too? He preaches about empathy but doesn’t live up to it, or at the very least, doesn’t realize his own need to grow. So, I’m quite tired and irritated. All these guys have the same thing in common, and it’s that they see me as some sort of saint for them to be loved and validated by. They seek me to use me for their own benefit, but they do not CARE about ME, AND they think of themselves as top shit. I know they need love. I sympathize with them. Trust me. But they don’t see me for me, nor do they treat me well. I am no saint, though I want to be a good person, the best person I can be. They idealize me because I’m a friendly and curious and caring person, but they don’t treat me as a person.

I’m teetering on the edge of cutting him off. But I know he went through a breakup 2-3 months ago, and I personally believe he’s acting this desperately and strongly because he’s lonely. I sympathize with him and I wonder if I judge him too harshly… But the red flags are raised. A 30 year old going for a 21 year old??? Am I crazy to think that that’s weird as fuck?? I feel bad for him. I’m irritated. I’m tired and I need to put myself first, as I’ve already got a hard life to deal with before I can be stable and give more of me. At least, this is the thought process I currently have. Do you think so too? Did I miss anything or see something inaccurately— what do you think?

He’s the fourth guy who is significantly older than me (30+) to try and get in a relationship with me. It keeps happening. I don’t even go out much. I don’t even interact with guys much. It’s insane. Everytime I go out and interact with people and the world (like coworkers and meeting people when I volunteer), this happens. They all told me they love my care/empathy (which is, of course, a work in progress). I think my natural curiosity made them think i was interested in them, even though i never flirted with any of them or even thought about a romantic or sexual relationship with any of them!! I even told some of them from the start that I only like women!

Is this normal, do most guys do this?

Tough constructive criticism towards me always welcome.

And you don’t have to answer!! Ty for reading :)

- m <3

That's me, pushing you over the edge you were teetering on, r.e. your decision to cut him off.

There's nil else that needs to be said. You have suggested to him in many ways, without actually saying the words blatantly, that you are not interested. By continuing to pursue you despite your discomfort, going so far as to think this is a matter of simply convincing you, shows that he's not empathetic, and is in fact, absolutely in this for himself.

What women aged 30+ tend to find (anecdotally, on average, from discussions with my cohort) is that men who routinely target younger women for relationships/sex, do so for a number of reasons, none of them good, but some of them being: recognition of reduced confidence and therefore vulnerability in younger women, average lower standards of younger women due to life experience (not a crime at all!), and the mens' underdeveloped emotional maturity, and age fetishization.

It's all about Power.

"You're so mature for your age!" Yeah yeah-- 'for your age', but not for his age. Women his age are simply more likely to not tolerate his bullshit, and he's probably underdeveloped emotionally with bad habits that make him a bad partner.

If you're being routinely targeted by these men, which is, I must absolutely clarify, NOT YOUR FAULT, try to have a little self reflection; is there something about you aside from simply your age, that makes you seem more vulnerable to these men? Because your chances of ending up in a badly balanced age gap relationship are higher the more associated vulnerabilities you have.

My only criticism of you? Take this opportunity to strengthen your spine. Lash out hard, and if you are absolutely not interested in these men, make it brutally, savagely, immediately clear. Don't be wishy-washy. Give them absolutely zero soft answers because unfortunately with men like these, soft answers make them think they have a chance.

Stop being kind to people who try to manipulate you.

It's sad that being nasty is the only way, and they'll try to make you look like the bad guy ('oh I was just being friendly, you're safe around me'), but you're not, and you should give them the middle finger they deserve.

I guarantee that they will age but will continue to target women and girls your age. Our current 'daddy' and hyperfetishisation of age (especially for young women) culture, sadly, gives them support to do this.

That is, again, not your fault; doesn't it look so clear now that they don't have your best interest at heart?

While not all age gap relationships have a power imbalance, a great, great many do. Consistent targeting by fully adult men should be a massive red flag.

Again, in the job I'm in, I witness and examine a great great number of heterosexual relationships in intimate detail, and I assure you, big age gap relationships are amongst the most likely to leave the women (because it is almost invariably the woman being the younger one) on a significant back foot.

Brief reminder that women aged 30+ aren't 'jealous' that lots of men their age target barely adult women; we see them as the manipulators they are, and we want to protect you.

Love,

-- Haitch xxx

[wheretheharekissesthefox]

Why do you make me feel this way? - Chapter 3: Touch

All Karlach wished to do was to touch. She missed shaking hands, hugging, wrestling playfully, sex. All of it. She'd thought she'd never be able to touch another living being ever again – until she'd met Tav.

After hearing Karlach's story and taking her in, the human bard, who was surprisingly talented with a shortsword, was determined to find a way to repair the infernal engine that sat in the tiefling's chest. They met Dammon in the Druid Grove and his words gave Karlach hope. During their journey, Tav stubbornly searched for infernal iron which was needed to repair Karlach's mechanical heart. The latter couldn't believe it when Tav let out a triumphant shout and held up a piece of the rare metal that she'd found between rotten crates in an old smithy.

"I could kiss you right now if it wouldn't burn you to a crisp," Karlach cheered.

Tav laughed.

"I'll remind you of this promise later."

"It sounds more like a threat than a promise," Astarion teased with a toothy grin.

Dammon wasn't able to fix Karlach's heart, but he could stabilise it. The joy was dampened by the knowledge that Karlach wouldn't survive for long if she wouldn't return to Avernus. The tiefling didn’t want to think about that now though. She wanted to enjoy Dammon's gift as long as she could. Laughing, she hugged all her companions – no matter if they wanted to or not.

"What about that kiss you promised me?" Tav teased.

Grinning, Karlach wrapped her into another hug and left a wet kiss on Tav's cheek. The latter laughed delighted, and before Karlach knew what happened, Tav had wiggled around in the tiefling's arms and kissed her for real. Karlach sighed. It felt like a relief to feel someone else's touch after all these years of skin hunger. Tav kissed her breathless, then, she let go of the barbarian with a bright smile.

"Now go and find someone who's willing to share your bed tonight," the bard told her.

Karlach blinked.

"What about you, soldier?"

"I'm the musical accompaniment for your love-making."

Tav winked and strummed her lute as a demonstration.

"Hm, romantic," remarked Halsin.

Karlach was a bit disappointed that Tav didn't seem interested in her, but she honestly was down for anyone. She was rather desperate.

"Whoever wants a taste, can join me in my room," Karlach announced.

"Sadly, you're not my type," Astarion replied. "I prefer someone who's blood won't burn me when I taste it."

"I'm not into biting anyway," the barbarian countered.

"Interesting," the vampire spawn grinned.

"I have to decline as well, Milady. I'm not looking for a single night of passion but a romance," Wyll spoke.

"How will you know the difference?" Lae'zel asked him. "Every night of passion could become something more and vice versa."

"She has a point," nodded Shadowheart.

"Of course," Lae'zel said, visibly surprised about the cleric' nice remark. "You can spend a night of passion with me, tiefling, but don't expect romance or... 'love'. It's all about tasting each other's flesh without any strings attached. And I will take the lead. What's your answer?"

"Uhm." Karlach squirmed. "I'll think about it, but uhm..."

"Chk!" Lae'zel vented her displeasure and crossed her arms.

Thankfully, Shadowheart filled the awkward silence with her answer.

"Sorry, but I have other things on my mind."

"Even though you're pleasant company, Karlach, and the inevitable death looming over me is rather uhm 'stimulating' in more than one way, I have to decline your lovely offer," said Gale politely.

"You guys are lame," pouted Karlach. "Thankfully, there are many more people around us right now that might be willing to hop in the sac with a hot babe."

"Well, if you can't find any suitable mates, I volunteer. Call me if you need me," Halsin muttered, ever so helpful.

Karlach beamed at him and bowed with wide-spread arms.

"Thank you! At least someone in this group has good taste. See you later."

The tiefling marched away, looking for a willing bedpartner. She made her round across the Last Light Inn's area, but no one took her fancy. She didn't really remember how and why, but somehow she ended up back at the makeshift smithy. There, Dammon started a polite conversation with her and Karlach enjoyed his company. Apparently, curiosity got the better of him and the smith agreed to spend the night with her. Dammon was a gentle, generous lover, kissing Karlach all over and using his skilful hands to bring her pleasure. He also examined and played around with her body modifications, fascinated by the work and sympathetic regarding the pain she'd endured during the procedure. Karlach enjoyed his company, his touch, and got lost in his unusual, vibrantly blue eyes.

The next morning, the group moved onward. Even though Tav didn't seem interested in sex, she hugged Karlach whenever she could and smooched her cheeks. For the moment, it was enough. Karlach didn't want to seem greedy, but, she thought to herself, if she started to crave more, she could still ask Halsin for a night of passion. The druid seemed willing to provide and Karlach found him attractive enough to consider the possibility. Sex was better than nothing, but what Karlach truly wanted was love.

[devotioncrater]

hey op if i may give my two cents here? (i can also delete this)

dottie — to me, at least — is passive-aggressive and manipulative even before she brings henry into the conversation.

she says one thing yet means another ("i'd rather stay here, you know how i get" -> "i wish i had come to the game").

she disguises her concern for ted ("are you still having those episodes?") to get him to open up about therapy only so she can guilt trip him ("oh let me guess it's all my fault").

she throws passive-aggressive jabs at ted ("my own mother's day gift") that at first seem unintentional (her saying she originally wasn't going to visit ted) but upon later context were actually methodically planned out (giving ted cut-out articles of his "achievements" with his panic attacks up front and center)

she undermines ted's character to his friends and his team by purposefully telling humiliating, exaggerated stories or plain making shit up (such as bruce springsteen)

when ted tells her not to tell something to mae, she ignores his wishes and says it to mae anyway

dottie demonstrates a clear lack of respect for ted time and time again. even the way she drops in on him unexpected is a power move that puts him in a position where he feels boxed in.

it's also no accident that ted only gets his idea to say "thank you but fuck you" to her directly from his conversation with jamie about jamie's own abusive dad.

the whole "thank you but fuck you" conversation is a masterclass in deflection and manipulation on dottie's part.

ted, for the first time, confronts his mother and his mixed feelings about her. every one of his "thank you but fuck you" sentences were valid and came from a deeply hurt place. this was an adult ted standing up for a kid ted, asking his mom to take responsibility and accountability while also recognizing the positives. above all, he is asking for repair and connection here.

but dottie cannot give him what he needs. sure, she expresses that she wishes he hadn't carried that around for so long. it only serves to lull him into a false sense of security though, because the next thing she says is "i have something to say to you too. your son misses you."

to string ted along when he is emotionally vulnerable like that, only to ultimately deflect from any emotional connection on her end by using henry, is manipulative. she knows henry means the world to ted. she knows he has guilt over the way things are. she knows it hits right where ted hurts, because ted immediately crumbles. and dottie just stands there watching him breakdown, adding salt in the wound by asking "oh honey why?", but withholding comfort until the worst of it is over. she only hugs ted after ted self-soothes his crying, and not once does she offer support. not once does she say "you're doing your best." if anything, she brings ted down to her version of parenting ("most of the time you just tie.")

to add onto this, dottie also puts ted back into a Fixer role by lightly throwing the "fuck you" back in his face. instead of her apologizing in this conversation, now ted is the one saying sorry. what is he apologizing for? voicing his feelings? being messy about them?

there is no true repair, either, because she leaves without saying goodbye. she leaves a passive-aggressive note (was the "and just thank you" necessary?) with his favorite bread, but the gesture is shallow since it leaves ted alone.

if dottie really had henry and ted's best intentions in mind, she could have voiced her concerns at any other point in her visit. but she waited until ted was at a low vulnerable space to do so. almost like a punishment or a "gotcha!". so it's the context of "your son misses you" that makes it manipulative.

meanwhile rebecca has been established as someone who genuinely cares about ted. her context of offering henry and michelle a place in richmond comes from a concern for ted's wellbeing. she knows ted misses them, and she knows ted will miss his home in richmond, so this is her trying to Fix the situation for ted. it's also because she herself does not want ted to leave, a secondary intention steeped in respect and love.

rebecca doesn't wield henry like a knife or as a punishment like dottie did. instead, she tries to incorporate this very important part of ted's life into everything he's worked hard to build over the past 3 years. yes, she wants ted to stay, but at her core she just wants ted to be happy and to know that he is cared for.

and, to me, that is the difference between dottie and rebecca

Another risky post but I’ve gotta ask - why is Dottie Lasso terrible and passive-agressively manipulative for telling Ted his son misses him, but Rebecca isn’t for offering Ted more money explicitly to uproot both Henry and Michelle (neither of whom have been consulted or show any indication to move to the UK) from their lives?

Dottie clearly is a flawed mother, and I don’t actually think Rebecca is manipulative here, just fyi - although it felt like an incredibly touching misfire to me, and also very in character, God bless her. But I don’t fully see how the two women’s attempts to encourage Ted one way or the other are screamingly different from each other, other than one is aiming for an outcome the audience wants and the other not so much. (Other than it fits along the unfortunate theme in this fandom that any female character standing in the way of Tedbecca does not get particularly marvellous treatment.)

[strobinbaby]

JEALOUS

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: mature content ahead! [ oral, fem receiving; unprotected sex; breeding; kind of rough sex; bruising; ] minors dni!!

summary: she’s too jealous of him touching someone else, but he does it to exasperate her, until they let it all out fucking each other

word count: 2.8k

latest work

any feedback (comments, reblogs, anon asks) would be appreciated!

My converse shoes hit the ground as I walked into the house making my way to the kitchen to grab something to drink. Lights flickered the room and involuntary my gaze fell to the corner, instantly spotting him. Black shirt, black leather jacket and his favourite knee ripped jeans along with white shoes. He wasn’t alone. I also spotted a girl that he trapped against the wall, one of his arms braced next to her head, the other holding his drink as he smiled sweetly at her. Anger coiled through me, I needed to get some alcohol for boosting my confidence and pushing my jealousy down. The beer they poured was cheap and disgusting, but it wasn’t like I had any other choice. I shoved the first one down my throat, taking a refill and pouring the half of it into me.

He wanted to play, okay, I could give him the satisfaction.

Leaning against the wall beside the two of them, I watched as his knuckles brushed her cheek, his fingers played with a strand of her hair as the girl laughed airy, probably at the stupid joke he made. We weren’t official, just casual sex, no string attached, but let’s be honest this shit never works, someone catches feelings anyways. I didn’t fall for him badly, but god, watching him touching someone else exasperated me to the point I wanted to strangle him, or her.

I stared at them blatantly, sipping my drink, he must have felt it, because his head snapped to me, catching my gaze, holding it with his startled brown eyes, his mortified expression changed into alive, curious and sort of proud, a flicker of mischief played on his face, like he planned this to drive me fucking mad and it worked.

Drinking the last drops of beer, I crumpled the cup in my fist, demonstratively throwing it into the nearby trashcan, turning on my heels and walking into one of the bedrooms, hoping with everything it wasn’t occupied. The odds were in my favour. I heard footsteps approaching me through the thudded music. I knew he’d follow. My back was facing the door that squeaked and then shut closed, I heard the click of the lock, staring outside at the cars passing and drunk people from the party swaying and laughing. The room was dim, the light from the window and two bedside lamps highlighted our silhouettes.

“Cute girl,” I broke the silence, already feeling the air getting thicker and his presence making my body tingly with need to touch, kiss, anything. I hated the effect he had on me, it made me weak.

“Jealous, huh?” he shoed closer, I still remained in the same position, gathering all my courage to turn and face him. The second beer hit my senses and I felt the wave of bravery washing over me.

“I don’t get jealous, Eddie,” I looked over my shoulder, spotting him a few steps away. He looked more intimidating, standing this close, tall. His bandana hung from the pocket on his jeans and his ring coated fingers looked so attractive I thought of them doing things to me. Nasty fucking things.

“Is that so?”

I let out a breathy laugh, shortening the distance between us, making him step backwards until his spine collided with the wall, “Jealous over her?” I pressed my knee against his crotch, slowly rubbing it up and down, watching him struggle, gritting his jaws, “You could touch her all you want, but—“ my lips brushed his ear, my hand replaced my knee as I squeezed his clothed hardening cock in my palm, “We both know you cum that much harder when it’s me you fuck, me you touch,” my lips ghosted the side of his neck, it took him everything to prevent from making any noise, “Me you kiss. Isn’t that so?”

A low growl tumbled up his throat, but he didn’t push my hand away, he just watched me with half lidded eyes and parted lips, breathing quicker than usual.

Suddenly, his fingers grasped my chin, tipping my head up to look at him, his thumb caressed my lower lip, making me gasp. That’s how it worked, a tiny touch from him and my self-control incinerated.

“Hell yeah, I cum that much harder, looking at you—” his hand traveled to my throat, down to cup my breast, through the cotton fabric of my dress, eliciting another breathy sound from me, “Reacting to my every touch, desperate, needy and helpless for me.”

Fuck, I loved it when we stayed alone, just the two of us, he acted different, dominant, confident as fuck, saying things he’d never say around his friends. Not out loud anyways.

“If I slide my fingers into your panties, am I gonna find you wet, sweetheart?” Oh fuck you Eddie Munson.

He took the reins, bucking me against another wall, looming over me, with his palm pressing the concrete behind my head, like he did with the girl outside, except his bulky thigh was trapped between mine and his lips were so close I could taste him, so close his hot breaths burned the skin of my cheeks.

“You wish.”

“I don’t have to,” his huge palm ran up my hip, inching my dress upward until it was over my head and on the floor, his thumb found my clit and pressed, making me choke on air and shiver, “You’re dripping wet, aren’t you?” he pushed my panties to the side, caressing my slick folds, sliding one finger just an inch inside, covering himself in my wetness, “That’s what I thought.”

Abruptly, he stepped away, taking his hands off of me. He tossed his leather jacket on the chair, remaining in tight black t-shirt, that perfectly hugged his carved chest. I wanted to scratch it, mark him.

“Silent now?” his eyes skimmed the curves of my body, hungry and lustful, I noticed him licking his lower lip, “So fucking beautiful,” he mouthed more to himself than me. He came back close, bracing his arms on the wall, caging me, tilting his head to the side so he could have a better look of my face. He leaned forward, closing the gap between our bodies, his lips ghosted mine and the scent of his cologne hit my senses, making me dizzy, heat crept up my cheeks and the words froze on my tongue.

His large palms grabbed my ass and he dragged the last piece of my clothes down, lowering himself, kneeling in front of me. Fuck.

I felt the knot in my stomach tightening and tugging, sending hot flushes through my body, his eyes caught mine, with an innocent puppy look, but also a glimpse of mischief, they weren’t just brown anymore, they were molten with lust. Without a warning he latched his mouth to my cunt, lightly, so lightly, running the tip of his tongue up against my slit, spreading me open. I gasped, clutching his hair, biting my lip, trying my best not to give him the satisfaction of the pornographic sounds coming out of me. His heavy palms gripped the back of my thighs, pushing my legs further apart, while his tongue delved deeper as he flicked it and clicked it, licking me rough and fast.

“Damn you, Eddie,” I whined, tightening my hold on his curly locks, bringing his face closer to my body, “Oh, fuck—“ It felt good. He felt good. His lips wrapped around my clit as he sucked, slow and deliberate, stealing glances at my slumberous face. His tongue was spreading me apart, while his hands squeezed my hips, his fingertips dug too deep, too harsh, making it painful. I propped my leg on the chair that stood a few meters away, still wearing my shoes, that’s when I felt something thick filling me in. His fingers, two of them.

I couldn’t help it anymore, a moan tumbled up my throat, breaking out, echoing through the room. I was hoping music outside was loud enough to cover our mess. My breaths caught in my throat, my walls tightened on his fingers, “Eddie—“ I tugged on his roots, probably too hard, he growled, his voice reverberating through me, sending another wave of pleasure, I relished it.

He remained silent, keeping his mouth and fingers busy bringing me to my high, flicking his tongue faster, grasping my hip tighter.

“Eddie—“ I hated myself for how many times I’ve already moaned his name and for how many more I will, but he did fucking wonders, sending me to another dimension. I came, clamping a hand over my mouth muffling the screams caused by sensation of him fucking me as my pussy rippled around his fingers. When it all subsided I noticed him looking up at me, grinning.

“Wipe that nasty smirk off your face.”

“You should’ve seen yourself,” he pushed himself up to his feet, towering over me again. I fisted his shirt, suddenly feeling small, still sensitive from my orgasm.

“Shut up, will you?”

“Make me.” He smiled at me with a taunting expression, throwing me a challenge. His shirt went off and I took in the tattoo on his chest, licking my lips, staring a little too long. He didn’t stop me, when I seized his belt, unclasping it and tugging his pants down along with his plaid boxers. His cock, hard, jutted out to his stomach, deep red, pre cum oozing from his tip. I spat into the palm of my hand, rubbing it up and down his base, pressing his fat tip with my thumb, listening to his throaty growls. I stepped forward he backed away repeatedly, until his heels hit the bedside and he fell down the mattress. He kicked off his shoes along with his jeans, propping himself on his elbows watching me watching him. We made a mess in the room, clothes littered the floor, the room smelled like sex and perfume.

“You’re so hot when you’re jealous,” he mocked me, exasperating, but I was so turned on, I needed him.

“Whatever,” I bent down to unlace my black converse shoes, when his huge palm clamped my hand, stopping me.

“Don’t,” his touch landed on the back of my thighs, his lips faintly skimmed my stomach and my knees gave in, “I’m gonna fuck you like this,” his hair tickled my skin and I pawed for his shoulders to steady myself, “Come here.”

I straddled his lap, feeling his cock grazing my clit, slightly grinding on him, desperate for friction, my face millimetres away from his, “I’m here,” I whispered, grunting softly, clinging to his neck as I bucked my hips leisurely.

The air between us got too thick, his hot breaths burned my skin as we stared at each other, panting. His hold on my hips was firm, he let out a strangled groan, finally kissing me. He was slow, so torturously slow, but I loved it. The kiss was wet and deep, his tongue fought with mine and I dug my nails into his shoulders for not letting me take the reins. That earned me a chuckle from him and a slap on my ass.

My hand found his cock and I stroked him, lifting myself and sliding his tip against my cunt, lowering down, easing him inside me.

“Fuck,” he grunted, running his hands up and down the sides of my body, burying his face into the crook of my neck, peppering it with tiny kisses, “Now admit you were jealous,” he said, teasing my neck with kisses, giving his attention to every inch, helping me grind on him.

“I wasn’t,” I breathed out, closing my eyes at the pleasure he caused me.

“Liar,” he lowered his head, levelling my bare breasts, brushing his lips ever so slightly, causing me to grit my jaws and scratch his arms, “Getting all possessive over me, I’m flattered.”

“I don’t care,” I lied, ready to feel his mouth on my nipple. When I didn’t, my eyes flew open only to find him staring at me, the look on his face somewhat disappointed, “Eddie,” I touched his cheek, clean shaven, fuck, he closed his eyes leaning into my touch for a second, then he snapped out of it, his hands gripped my thighs, making me roll them over and over again, humping him, while his lips attacked my neck. I whined at the pain as he sucked my soft skin, nibbling the sensitive area. He marked me, leaving hickey after hickey on both sides of my neck, having a bruising grip on my hips. It was rough, just what I needed.

“Eddie, oh—“

My movements quickened as I bounced on him up and down, deliberately clenching around him, making him moan into my skin.

“I don’t want to fuck anyone, but you,” he rasped, capturing my lips, letting go, lowering himself on his back, placing a pillow underneath his head, his curls splashing around blue sheets as I rode his dick, planting my clammy palms on his stomach, feeling it tighten under my touch. I leaned into him, his hands rested on the small of my back, caressing. His gentle touch contrasting with the force of his mouth and his grip moments ago.

“Oh yeah?” my whisper lingered on his lips and his cock slipped out of me, making me feel empty and aching. A whimper escaped me, but he was quick to guide himself back inside me, bending his knees, thrusting his hips, deep and slow.

“Mhm,” he hummed, looking at my boobs that practically poked his face. His eyes bore into mine and a mischievous smirk crossed his face, he bucked his hips and latched his mouth to one of my boobs, palming the other, eliciting a loud moan from me.

He sucked hard, taking a mouthful, just as much as he could fit, pinching my other nipple between his fingers, while I ground my ass on him. He bruised my chest too. I was getting marked all the way from my throat to my cleavage. He sucked another, relieving it with a sloppy sound, leaving my nipples hard, wet and throbbing.

With a swift motion I was lowered on my back, my legs wrapped around his torso as he pushed back and forth, quickening the pace of his movements.

Huge palm weighed me down, pressing my stomach and a loud growl echoed through the room, when he saw his cock moving inside me.

He propped my legs over his shoulders, holding me by my waist, going all the way in and out, his balls slapping against my skin, my heels hitting his shoulder blades, making him hiss.

“Eddie,” I whispered, powerless and exhausted, feeling my walls tightening around him and the knot in my stomach slowly unraveling. He took two handfuls of my breasts, kneading my yielding flesh, his eyes holding mine, “You’re a goddess.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant it or it just slipped under the enticement of my body. We both were drunk on sex, tipsy from the drinks and too caught up in the sensations of having each other this close.

“Kiss me,” I whimpered, threading my hands through the dark hair of his, pulling him closer.

My right hand darted to my clit, rubbing little circles, making my pussy ripple around him as he tipped me over the edge with his fierce thrusts and his voracious mouth on mine.

I let out a scream, so loud, but he was quick to shut me up, swallowing it all, kissing and kissing me everywhere he could. My nails dug into his back, scratching a path down as he fucked me through my high, squeezing my boobs and biting the skin of my neck.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he grunted, his movements growing sloppier, he let go of me, his hand propped on the mattress to steady himself, the other darted to grab his cock.

“No,” I snatched his wrist, panting for air, “Don’t pull out.”

It was like something snapped in him and he started fucking me fast again, looking down at me, his lips parted. He stilled, twitching inside of me and I felt his warm cum spilling out, filling me in, “Oh, fuck, baby—“

Our breaths calmed down a bit, the euphoric feeling subsided and he finally slipped out, collapsing next to me. I eased my knees together, still sensitive, turning to my side to face him. He found a lock of my hair, coiling it around his finger watching me with a drowsy expression, “Come closer.”

I did. Shifting on the sheets, I closed the gap between us, trapping his thigh between mine, tracing the edges of the tattoo on his chest, the graze of my touch made him take a sharp inhale. I hid a smile.

His heavy arm was draped around my waist, pulling me completely into him, his lips touched my temple, my cheek, my chin, leaving gentle kisses and his low raspy voice lingered over my ear, “Maybe I should make you jealous on daily basis, huh?”

I slapped his shoulder playfully, holding back my laugh, “Bastard.”

[spencersawkward]

*house call // wes (Dollface)*

ssummary: when her pet cat gives her a scare, Reader decides to call the vet to make sure everything is going to be okay. 

pairing: Fem!Reader x Wes

word count: 5.4k

content warnings: discussion of cannabis/cannabis consumption, unprotected penetrative sex, use of nicknames (baby, sweetheart), SoftDom!Wes, breeding kink, creampie. 

request: can you do a wes smutty one shot if you’re down?! 

A/N: to be fair, i haven’t watched Dollface in a minute, but i’m obsessed with the domestic vibes that Matthew gives off when he plays Wes and i just thought it would be super cute. anyway, this was super fun also i wanna fuck Wes. ok enjoy!

masterlist

the absolute best part of your day is when the package arrives at your doorstep. you impulse-purchased it about two weeks ago while you were hanging out with one of your close friends, and you've been looking forward to trying it every day since. 

or, really, for your cat to try it. 

you've read reviews and been extremely diligent to make sure the stuff is completely safe, and everything you've seen or read was singing the praises of this cat weed (which isn't actually cannabis at all, but catnip made to look like it).

as you take the cardboard box to the kitchen table and pry open the top with the help of a Swiss army knife, you're grinning. Klimt comes scampering into the room to see what all the fuss is about, sitting at your feet with his tail curled around his legs. 

"no peeking." you scold him gently. your kitten, the friendliest little rescue tabby around, simply stares blankly back. when you remove the wrapping from the glass jar and stare at it up close, you're impressed by how realistic it looks. the label shows cat-friendly ingredients only, but you unscrew the top and get a whiff of catnip. 

Klimt begins to weave in between your legs, nudging them affectionately and beginning to purr. you giggle and bend down to give him a few pets. his nose twitches; he tries to sniff at the foreign object, but you put it back on the table. 

"don't be greedy, babe." you scratch between his pointed ears and he lets out a whiny meow. 

it's about his dinner time, and you were hoping to give him his treat tonight after he finishes his dry food. so you make yourself something simple with the leftovers in your fridge and do some more work on your laptop while you two eat together. 

you've had Klimt for a while, now. you call him a kitten even though he's a full-grown cat-- he's just as playful and enthusiastic as any newborn. his eyes are the color of meadow grass, and his nose is scattered with tiny freckles. it makes him look like he's just come from digging around the backyard, but it really just adds to his charm. 

not to mention his ceaselessly social tendencies: Klimt is always around when your friends come over, worming his way in between you or sitting on one of the free chair cushions to listen. you wonder if he knows what you're saying sometimes, because when you talk about the embarrassing things you've done that day or the failed interactions you've had, he always lifts his head to give you something of a judgmental stare. 

once you've settled down for the evening and turned on the TV, you decide that now is the time. Klimt is aimlessly poking at a few of his toys. he bats at a fake mouse between his paws.

"kitten," you click your tongue and get up to grab the jar. "are you ready to try this stuff?" 

as if he's going to answer. he hears your footsteps coming back his way and watches patiently. it's only when you pour out a little bit in front of him that he gets curious about the stuff. you admire his movements as he bends down and examines. 

although you keep an eye on him while watching your show, you don't notice much of a change in him. he starts to roll about on the floor, which is to be expected, but it's only when he starts to chase around his fake mouse that things get interesting. 

you laugh as Klimt goes nuts, jumping back and attacking the thing like he's ready to come in for the kill. it's really funny, but you're interrupted by your phone buzzing. you told your friend that you were doing this tonight. 

"hi!" you answer the FaceTime call right away. 

"how is he?" you can hear the smile in Andi's voice as you turn the camera. 

"he's loving it." 

"oh my god," she laughs. Klimt arches his back, leaping so highly in the air, you raise your eyebrows. "I wonder how long it'll last." she muses. 

"I'm guessing we'll get about an hour more of this before he passes out for the next two days." you joke. he gets strong bursts of energy usually, but they only last so long until he's curled up on the window sill or in your bed. 

Andi and you talk for a while as Klimt tires himself out and plays with all of his favorite toys. you dangle a string in front of him for a decent amount of time, too, just to make him get up on his hindquarters. he's a natural entertainer, a lithe little thing who lets out a few irritated meows to demonstrate his impertinence. 

after about forty-five minutes, however, you notice your cat's behavior change. he keeps raising his hackles and rolling about, and something about it makes you nervous. he doesn't usually act like this, not even when he plays with the other catnip toys he's accumulated. 

"what's wrong?" Andi notes your furrowed brow as you look past the camera of your phone and at your pet. 

"he's just acting really weird," you pat the couch cushion to call him over, but he doesn't even glance up. "I don't know why." 

"maybe it's the cat weed." she suggests. you purse your lips and try to think. 

"yeah, but nobody in the reviews ever mentioned anything like this."

"I'm sure he's fine, Y/N."  

"yeah, I know..." but you're worried. Klimt is your pal, your cuddle buddy. as he rubs his cheek against the wooden floor, you feel guilt pool in your stomach. if he's hurt because of some dumb online purchase, you're never going to forgive yourself. "I'm gonna call the vet just to be sure."  

"oh, okay," she sounds surprised, but doesn't try to stop you. "let me know what they say." 

"I will." you hang up the phone and stare at your companion for a few seconds. he leaps into the air and does a somersault before letting out some deeply disturbing whine that reminds you to call the vet. better safe than sorry.  

...

when the doorbell rings, you're practically twiddling your thumbs anxiously. Klimt hasn't settled at all, and you haven't even bothered to change out of your lounging ensemble. you're pretty sure you look a mess, but hopefully the person won't care too much. 

you don't know who to expect-- your usual vet is an older woman who is friends with your mom, but her receptionist said she was out tonight and would send over another vet to check it out. 

when you swing open the door, you immediately regret the decision to stay in sweatpants. 

"hi, I'm Wes." the guy gives you a friendly smile and holds up his bag. it's almost comically old-fashioned, something out of an old movie, and you half-expect him to be wearing a stethoscope around his neck. 

he's gorgeous, though. definitely a good amount older than you, tall with brown curls and stubble. his features stand out to you even under the porch light, and your mouth guppies idiotically. 

"hi," you manage. his eyes flicker to your hand, which is seemingly blocking him from coming inside the house, and you jolt back a little to let him in. you clear your throat. "sorry." 

as he steps inside and you close the door behind him, getting one tiny moment to yourself, your eyes widen. way to make yourself look like a bumbling fool. 

"I heard that there's a tabby who got into some catnip?" you catch him looking around the front of your house, eyes catching on the framed photos before finding yours again. you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks, but nod confidently.  

"yeah, Klimt. he should still be in the living room." 

"Klimt? like the artist?" he chuckles and follows you into the rest of the home. his voice has a nice timbre to it, something low and gentle that fits well with his occupation.  

"yeah, exactly." you turn to smile at him. 

you hear the cat before you see him. he's climbed to the top of his cat tree and leaps down onto the ground, paws hitting the surface in a way that can't have been comfortable. he chirps and looks up at Wes, whose lips are turned up with amusement.    

"are you the man of the hour?" he asks, approaching the cat. Klimt's pupils get enormous and he prepares to pounce on the newcomer. 

"careful--" you start to warn him, but the cat launches himself right into Wes' arms. the vet turns to you, holding him to his chest, and grins. warmth spreads over your skin with embarrassment. "sorry." 

"no need to apologize," he starts to pet Klimt, who is only slightly struggling to escape. he wants to go wild again, but Wes isn't going to let go. "they call me the Cat Wrangler at the office." 

"really?" you snort. he brings your pet over to the couch and sets him on the cushions, careful to keep him in place. 

"no way." he shoots you a dazzling smile. the joke makes you giggle, and you feel yourself become even more self-conscious about the outfit you're wearing. this is just your luck, having hot guys come over when you distinctly look your worst. 

Wes scratches between Klimt's ears and glances up at you again. "is there any reason in particular you're worried about the catnip?" 

"yeah, actually," you nod, brought back to reality. "I know it's supposed to make them more playful, but he's just been acting weird and I got worried that there was something in it that messed with his head." 

"can I see the container for it?" he asks. you go to grab the jar, only to remember that it proudly announces itself as cannabis for cats. profound embarrassment causes you to hesitate with the stuff in your hands. 

it's not like he's here for you to flirt with, but you're still thinking about how stupid and young you're going to look with this stuff in front of him, a hot older guy who seems to have his life under control. you peek at him once more from the kitchen, at the way he smiles and starts to talk softly to Klimt as if he were a peer. 

he's kinda crazy, and it makes you smile. 

"it's cat weed." you hand him the glass container, and Wes breaks into a grin as he looks at the front. 

"oh my gosh, I've heard about this!" his eyes move quickly over the label. you're in shock. 

"really?"

"yeah, it's hilarious. here, can you make sure our friend here doesn't move while I read the ingredients?" he gestures. the knot of anxiety within you loosens a bit. you nod obediently, going to scoop up your pet and sit him on your lap. he's still squirmy, but he doesn't look ready to attack either of you, thankfully. 

"hey, you." you greet your pal affectionately. his tail is wagging impatiently while Wes kneels on the ground beside the couch. there's a silver ring on his finger, but you notice with relief that it's not on his fourth one. 

when he sets the jar down on the coffee table with the kind of smile that hints at some secret amusement, you frown. "what?"

"nothing," he shakes his head. "Klimt is gonna be totally fine."

"are you sure?" you pet the feline's smooth coat. 

"definitely. you know how drugs affect people differently?" he asks. you want to say no, you don't know that because why would you, but then you remember that there is quite literally a glass-blown bowl sitting on your kitchen table. 

"sure." you reply honestly. 

"it's the same with cats: some just feel the effects a little more." he shrugs. you think this over for a second. 

"that makes sense." 

"yeah, I'd estimate about an hour more of this wildcat behavior before he takes a ten-hour nap." he cracks another joke and you find yourself totally charmed by him. something about the way he talks just makes your heart beat like crazy.  

"that's a relief." 

he chuckles and stands up, grabbing the bag (which he never even had to use) and starting to walk out of the living room. you can smell his delicious cologne as he moves past you.  

"sorry for making you come out here so late." you apologize from the couch. Wes turns to look at you with an easygoing expression. his free hand is tucked into his pocket.  

"no worries. you have a lovely home." he gestures to the kitchen, and then at the bowl sitting there in the open. you have to fight the smile on your face.  

"thanks." you're smirking. right before he's about to head back out, you ask a question that's been wriggling around in your mind since he arrived. "why no title?" 

"you mean, like, Doctor or something?" he stops in the threshold. one hand leans against it while he answers your question. you still can't get over how tall he is. 

"sure. I mean, you are a doctor, right?" it comes out more dubious than you intended, but he doesn't get offended, only smiles. 

"yes, I'm a doctor. I went to Davis." he points like the school is right outside your door. you nod.  

"cool." 

there's a silence where you just look at each other, and you forget that you look like you just rolled out of bed. he clears his throat. 

"to answer your question, I just go by Wes because you're not my patient-- Klimt is." he points to the kitten, who is now chasing his own tail like a dog. you snort at the sight. 

"how humble of you." 

"I know, right?" he's joking. you find yourself not wanting him to leave, even though you've really just met. he's so sweet and funny and handsome... your stomach is flipping over and over like a schoolgirl. 

and it's stupid that you can't think of one plausible reason for him to stay, but every step he takes shortens your time to think. so you just blurt, instead. 

"would you want a beer?" 

Wes pauses and looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. "a beer?" 

"yeah, I mean... you came all the way out here and I just feel bad for causing a fuss over nothing." you scramble slightly to justify your words. you don't ever drink beer-- do you even have any? god, this is embarrassing.  

the vet checks the watch on his wrist, then smiles at you with a halting kind of enjoyment, before nodding. "sure." 

"okay, great." you turn on your heel to hide the grin on your face. he follows you again to the kitchen area and leans against the counter while you open the fridge. the best form of flirting you can manage right now is bending over shamelessly and taking your time to poke around. 

thankfully, there are three cold bottles left towards the back. you take out two and use the tool in one of your drawers to pop the tops off. he watches patiently, takes a sip when you hand the drink to him. your eyes meet. 

"so, what prompted the cat weed purchase?" he starts the conversation effortlessly, and you try to keep your eyes from wandering over the shape of him. now that he's just standing in front of you, you're noticing the way his sweater sits against his frame, his long legs and the way his head rests on an elegantly-proportioned neck. 

"I just saw it and thought it would be fun." you shrug honestly. he smiles.  

"do you think you're gonna let him try it again another time?"  

"I don't know," you cross your arms over your chest. "I'm a little nervous, but he also was having a lot of fun until I made him sit still." 

"fair enough." you both turn your gazes to the cat. he's nudging a little toy ball with his nose and watching it roll across the floor. there are tiny bells inside that jingle. Wes turns back to you. "what do you do?"

"graphic designer." 

"an artist." he raises his brows, impressed. 

"not exactly saving animal lives, but I get by." you take another sip of your drink. 

"it's not like that, mostly." he rolls his eyes playfully. 

"then what's it like?"

"I just see and talk to people's pets all day. it's a pretty great job, even when it's not. you know?" he's optimistic about it. you're drawn to his positive energy, to the way he smiles when he speaks like he's preparing to deliver a witty joke. 

 you're hopelessly attracted to him, and the space between you is becoming unbearable. even though he's a guy you just met, you can feel in your gut that something about this is just right. you want his body against yours. 

 "you okay?" he breaks what you only now realize is a silence, and you blink to clear the dirty images from your mind. 

"yeah." only thinking about you fucking me against a countertop. it must be the fact that you haven't gotten laid in a while or something, because you usually aren't this attracted to people within the first hour. it takes longer for you to even want to kiss them.  

"what kind of stuff do you design?" he seems genuinely interested as he shifts and continues to nurse his drink.  

"I work for a tech startup downtown, so it's a lot of website work to make sure it's navigable and pretty." you try to sum up your duties, but it's hard when his hazel eyes are so intent. he listens to every word.  

"do you do personal work, too? like, just for you?" 

"actually, yeah!" this sparks your excitement. 

"can I see?" his smile widens. "only if you're comfortable, of course."  

"sure." you're beaming.  

he stays put as you start to go out of the kitchen, but then you smile. "you can come with." 

"oh." he sets his beer down on the counter and follows you, slightly surprised. but you don't care; you were nervous before, but he's stayed for this long. maybe he wants you, too. 

once you get to your bedroom, you're grateful that it's been freshly cleaned. there's even a bouquet from the flower's market sitting on your dresser, and you head over to the desk to sift through the drawers for what you want. 

"cool room." he compliments from the threshold. he's careful not to make you uncomfortable, but also can't resist the curiosity that draws his gaze from wall to wall. you find the stack of papers and smile. 

"thanks," you place the folder in his hands. "these are some printed versions of stuff I did last year." 

Wes immediately begins to flip through the art. him seeing your stuff makes you nervous, so you pretend to focus on straightening up the few items that sit on your desk. you wipe your fingertip over a nonexistent film of dust. 

"these are amazing," he says, holding a card stock copy in between his index and middle fingers. "holy shit."

"thank you." you're trying to keep from smiling too hard. you can tell that he's being genuine with his compliments, and it makes your heart swell. 

"definitely. are you showing anywhere?" 

"at an exhibit downtown a couple months back, but I've been so busy with work that personal stuff hasn't really been on the table, you know?"

he nods in understanding and continues to go through until the end. when he's finished, he looks up and sees you, his eyes concentrated. he doesn't speak at first, and an undercurrent ripples across the room. there are about three feet between you, and you have no excuse to lessen it. 

he licks his lips slowly. you purse yours, unsure of what to say. 

"I'm glad you called tonight." his voice is lower, slightly uncertain, like he's testing the boundaries. except you don't want boundaries right now. you want to go wild on him. 

"me, too." you reply. it's in your eyes, that begging for him to do what you're scared to initiate. 

your tongue is pressed to the back of your teeth in anticipation. and when he sets the art back on your desk and comes closer, you feel yourself give in. bubbles of excitement travel up your body as he grabs your face and bends down to kiss you. 

it's full, passionate, not the kind of kiss you give someone you've just met. laced with desire and longing, you respond immediately. hands immediately run to his forearms, over his shoulders as he imposes beautifully on your form. it's so hard, you lean back slightly. your torso presses against his until he pushes you against the wall. 

the slight gasp that escapes your lips causes him to smile, followed by your moan and clutching fingers. the material of his sweater, the taste of him mingled with that sophisticated, gentle smell of cologne that you want printed all over your skin. 

"come here." he murmurs against your mouth and reaches down to the back of your thigh so you can hook your leg around his waist. you whine at the easy access he has to grind against your core, both of you desperate. 

"Wes." you pant into his open mouth. he sucks on your bottom lip before finding your cheek and jaw. his fingertips tighten around your flesh. 

"this feel good, sweetheart?" he checks in. coincidentally, his jeans grind against your panties at exactly the right spot and your hips jump. you release a pleasured yelp. 

"mhmm." 

"sounds like it." he latches onto your throat with a possessive excitement. you can feel him sucking and biting at the skin until you're positive there'll be marks tomorrow. you hope there are; purpled evidence of his touch. he digs his nails into your thighs. "you like it when older men touch you, baby?" 

he blows over your tender throat before attacking it again. you sigh contentedly at the way he mingles sensations for your pleasure. "yes." 

he grunts and nips at your collarbone, sliding the strap of your top down your shoulder so that he can effortlessly flutter his lips over the skin. you grip at him and toss your head back against the wall. his weight on yours is divine. it makes you weak, but that doesn't matter. he's practically holding you up at this point. 

when his hand pushes under the hem of your shirt and dances over your stomach, you arch your back for more. he's gentle yet firm, pulling you close like he wants to breathe your oxygen. he's tracing over your ribcage, all the way up to the valley of your breasts, before cupping one and moaning into your shoulder. 

he kisses you again with an aching hunger that can't be satiated. your tongues meet and Wes finds your hardened nipples beneath the thin fabric of your bralette. you sigh while he starts to circle one with his thumb.  

"you're perfect." he breathes. 

you want to bask in this moment, to enjoy the shock across your skin when he reaches his hand back down between your bodies to dip below the waistband of your sweatpants, but you're just so greedy. he could make you cum over and over and it would never be enough. 

"what do you want me to do to you?" Wes is hovering over your lower stomach, dangerously close to where you need him most. he's teasing. the warmth of his skin drives you mad. his breath brushes over the shell of your ear. 

"fuck me." it's the only response you can fathom. every other instinct in your body flies out the window and is replaced by a craving to sink your proverbial (and literal) teeth into him.

but he loves it, apparently, because he pushes you back against the wall with a nearly bruising force. "I can do that." 

with those words, he quickly grabs your other leg and lifts you into his arms, bringing you to the bed and laying you delicately on the mattress while you giggle. you stare up at him with an almost daydreamy lust. his cheeks are flushed. 

you only get a second of that heavenly sight, though, before he dips down and pushes your shirt up to see your tits and kiss up the chasm between your ribs. his stubble tickles your skin, which causes you to smile. 

by the time he's pulled your sweatpants off and tossed them to the side, you're whining for him to strip down as well. 

"what is it, pretty girl?" he murmurs against your tummy. when you try to squeeze your thighs, he pushes them apart. 

"I wanna see you." your fingertips touch at his sweater. he chuckles and pulls the garment over his head. it messes up his perfect hair even more and you love it, tangling your fingers in it. he bites his lip. 

"do you want me to taste you first?" he keeps stroking the inside of your thighs and staring down at the skimpy lace that you're positive that you've already soaked. you're making him crazy with the way you roll your hips against air, against nothing, seeking any kind of stimulation. 

"I can't wait." you shake your head. as nice as it would be, you're going to implode if he doesn't fill you up soon. he drags his fingers down your clothed slit and groans when he feels just how ready you are for him. 

"let's take these off then, okay, sweetheart?" he hooks his fingers in the panties and waits for you to nod before tugging them down your legs. you whimper at the cool air that hits your core, soaked and needy. Wes stares at your body on display for him. 

as he gets back up from the floor to kiss you again, you both work to remove the rest of his clothes. his skin is perfect under your hands. his chest is warm, solid, and when he climbs on top of you, his arms rest on either side of your head.

one hand comes down to grab his own cock and stroke it a few times before lowering himself to rub it against your throbbing clit. you whimper at the pressure; he's mindless when he feels how easily you cover him in your essence. 

"so fucking wet..." he groans while rutting against you. 

"Wes, please--" your breath hitches. "put it in." 

"begging?" he teases your entrance with the head and smirks. "good girl." 

"mhmm." you're smiling, but your mouth drops open when he pushes himself inside. 

it's a heavy feeling, him filling you up. he's thick and the stretching of your walls makes him groan and rest his head on your shoulder. he kisses the skin there while diving deeper into your body. 

you're shaking slightly from the mixture of pain and pleasure, his size forcing your body to work quickly to accommodate. your eyes are squeezed shut, but you run your hands over his back and shoulders to stay grounded. it feels like a dream. 

he starts to pull out, coated in your wetness while you whimper below him, and he grabs your face with one hand in a dominant, soft gesture. "okay?"

"yeah." 

he pushes back in. the air in your lungs is practically gone at this point, he's so deep inside. your eyes roll back and push your hips up to take him at a new angle. Wes finds his pace easily, rocking into your body at a manageable pace to let you get used to the sensation. 

every time his hips roll down and he buries himself in you, he presses on your clit and sends a new shock through your body. he leans on his elbows to get closer and feel every undulation of your body. you love how his thrusts force your legs apart, how he moans your name and causes the headboard to repeatedly hit the wall while maintaining eye contact. hazel irises that rake over your features with lust. 

"you feel so good." he speeds up a little when he hits a certain spot. you can feel him deep and hard, causing a small bump to rise in your stomach with each stroke. his voice is husky and dark. like a man starved. 

"fuck..." you drag your nails down his back. he groans at the red marks that you will no doubt leave for him. 

"clingy thing, huh?" he sucks at your throat affectionately. "I come over for one thing and you can't help yourself." 

hearing Wes speak through his own panting is like listening to a secret, and you never want it to stop. he's reveling in the sordid crush of his own wants, and the way he shoves into you shows you that he has no intention of slowing down for a while. 

"I'm impatient." you smirk. he pulls away to admire your expression. 

"so am I." he kisses your lips and starts to pound into you. the juxtaposition of his tenderness and the sharp snap of his hips to yours fills you with butterflies. you love how much he wants to ruin you. 

"Wes-- oh my god!" you whimper. he grabs your hips and yanks them closer to him so he can go as deep as possible, so he can hit your cervix. 

"that's right, sweetheart," he pants. you can tell that he's starting to lose control. "say my name. I want everyone to know what a good little slut you are for me." 

the commanding tone makes your body shake. "I- I'm cumming, Wes, please--"

"please what, baby?" he taunts. his index finger is tracing over your jaw. 

you don't know what it is that you're wanting, except more. as your form shudders and tightens, walls fluttering around his cock, you lose the capacity to speak. you grind your hips against him and cry out pathetically while he pushes you back down and slams ruthlessly into your pussy. 

"cum inside-- please, I need it--" you writhe. he groans at the request. 

"fuck, yes..." he sheathes himself. "take it."

you gasp as he repeatedly hits your weakest point and spills hot ropes of his cum inside you, still thrusting in and out and whimpering into your shoulder at the clenching sensation you give his cock. it's warm, strangely delightful, nearly sending you into another orgasm sheerly from the sight. 

he mutters unintelligibly as he empties himself in your pussy, but you catch a growled "so needy," between deep moans. you're clinging to him like you'll never have it again. you might not. 

he slows down, giving shallower thrusts while riding out his high and shoving his cum deeper inside. it turns lazy and messy, both of you panting, before he finally pulls out and rolls over next to you. 

you press the back of your hand to your forehead. it's sweaty from all the work he just put you through, but you feel amazing at the same time. your eyes keep flickering from the ceiling above to his rising and falling chest beside you. his nose twitches; he turns his head to look at your face. 

although you expect him to say something, he doesn't. instead, you just stare at each other. the air conditioner rattles gently in the background. you're not sure how long this lasts, this soaking in, but he's the first to break it. 

"hey." 

you find the corners of your lips turning up. "hi." 

"do you mind if I go get something to clean you up?" he asks softly, his fingertips finding your forearm with ease and drifting over it.

"sure. bathroom is the first door on the left." 

he gets up and you watch him gather his clothes, eyes glued to his perfect form. you can't believe you just had sex with your veterinarian. you don't regret it at all. 

he wanders out of the room and your eyes follow, only to see Klimt sitting patiently by the door. 

"what are you doing, perv?" you tease as he comes over and leaps up onto the bed. his kitten paws pad over the blankets and settle into the crook of your arm. you smile to yourself, recalling how sweet the vet was with him. "hey, Wes?" you call out. 

"yeah?" he comes back into the room with a warm washcloth and a small smile on his face. 

"would you wanna get coffee or something sometime?" you bite your lip. maybe he doesn't want to go on a date, but it's worth a shot.

"sure." he breaks into a grin that makes you giddy. thank god, because you really were hoping to see him again. 

you can't wait.  

taglist (lmk about adding/removal or add yourself to the list here!): @jareids @reidsconverse @xoxomgg @may-b-a-u-shewritestoo @la-vie-en-amour1 @g0lden-cth @treat-winchesterswith-kindness @kisseslikecoffee @spenxerslut @slutforthegubes @spookydrreid @depressedgothgrl @flipper-kisses @multixfandomwriter​ @willowrose99​ @gingeraleluke​ @chasemoonlight​ @spencerreid9​ 

[thetravelingmaster]

Anonymity - Shield or Weapon?

The most common thing among us in this community is Anonymity. We all use it to some degree when indulging our Kinks. Our first and foremost reason to do it is, of course, to keep us safe as we explore this strange and for some, embarrassing kinky world of non conventional arousal. The internet is a heaven for everyone to learn and explore ANYTHING their hearts may find desirable.

Are identities aren't needed to indulge and discover new things about ourselves. You can call yourself Jack, Jill, Fran or Hornybabyslut. It doesn't matter. It helps create a sense of security that enables you to dive into what ever kink you feel you can't indulge in your every day life.

And even if you can indulge IRL and are fully accepted as the kinkster that you are, Anonymity affords you a a free shield for you to protect your wonderful life from the dark and ill intentioned predators constantly surfing the World Wide Web for prey.

Anonymity isn't bad at all. It's recommended.

Exploring and enjoying our different kinks can lead you to wonderful and emotional places. Places you may not go if you couldn't be someone else.

Anonymity is a perfect and accepted shield we all carry.

But it doesn't mean you can't be yourself. It doesn't mean you can't be honest and true with yourself and the people you engage with.

You can call yourself Gina64 and be a full on kinky bimbo slut that talks and acts so dumb and dirty that the people you engage with online think you are nothing more. If that is your way to explore and escape, there is nothing wrong with that. You can become anyone you wish once you fire up your phone or your computer.

That is the beauty of this wonderful and dark internet.

When all is said and done, Gina64 is just a persona you try on. She may or may not have the same beliefs as you promote in your every day life. That's perfectly fine.

Anonymity offers that possibility. That safety...

However...

Anonymity can also be a weapon.

That same safety can protect the bad people that are looking to take advantage of others.

Just like a sword, it can be used to defend and protect as well as divide and conquer. It all depends on who wields it and what they choose to do with the sword in their hands.

My point is very simple: Anonymity doesn't half to mean that you can be 100% yourself.

For the purpose of this post, I'm going to exclude the people that come here to become someone else. It can be a very therapeutic and I definitely not saying that being a completely different person online is wrong in anyway.

Well not in itself...

And that's what I mean. You can play at being fun and fluffy or dark and brooding, what ever fills your cup of tea. As long as you are being honest with yourself about why you are doing it.

The problem I have tonight as I write these lines is when the kink in question involves hypnosis. Not fun roleplaying, but REAL hypnosis and subsequent play.

You have to be very honest and open to engage in that sort of kink and Anonymity can offer you that safe space to indulge from.

BUT ANONYMITY DOESN'T MEAN YOU ARE BEING DISHONEST.

Being dishonest has nothing to do with anonymity and here is an example of what I mean. Say Our Gina64 is into hypnosis. Say she searches out potential erotic hypnotists online to explore and indulge that itch. She can call herself Gina64 and be a dude. It doesn't really matter as long as you are being honest and about the level of things you wish to reveal to the hypnotist.

If you are being honest with yourself and the person you are engaging with, no harm no foul.

But say that Gina64 doesn't want to reveal that he is in fact a guy. It could be fine if the hypnotist doesn't care. But what if the reason you are engaging in hypnosis is to experience erotic hypnosis? And that Gina64 leads the hypnotist on being saying again and again that they are a girl. For all of us, erotic hypnosis in our Kink community is arousing and erotic for both parties. So a hypnotist that decides to engage and offer erotic hypnosis to Gina64 while under the impression that he is a she when in fact they are a HE...

Well... That can create confusing and even dangerous things down the road. If the connection develops and more and more the hypnotist is made to believe in this falsehood, then it creates an invisible rift between them. A very dishonest rift...

A rift that can actually hurt... Especially if the hypnosis kink also includes flavours of Domination and submission. We all know and understand that D/s play can stir up incredibly powerful emotions. As the lies pile on to covert up more lies, the cycle becomes deeper and darker with every dishonest reply.

Until Gina64 finds himself in a position where the lies have boxed him in and he has to bail out instead of admitting to everything he led the hypnotist to believe and experience.

And I'm not even going to talk about people who create elaborate and complex fake personas to actively catfish people...

I'm not saying that all people who indulge in hypnokink and D/s play should always reveal everything about themselves, far from it.

What I'm saying is that you just have to be HONEST as to what type of person you are and what you want to experience. Our community can be very open minded. It's the very nature of our kink.

And anonymity provides the perfect way to be 100% true to yourself without fear or worries.

To properly demonstrate how one can be completely anonymous and still be incredibly honest, I'm going to talk about friend @qu1etsleep.

Theo is an incredible human being and hypnotist that is, like me, adamant about keeping his online life separate from his offline life. He doesn't shy away from telling anyone who contacts him that Theo isn't his real name and that there is no respectful way in hell that you'll ever get a glimpse or a clue as to who he really is.

His Anonymity is a shield meant to keep the lines clear between his hobby and his life. We all do that in some form or another.

I might not know Theo's true name and identity, but I do know that if I were to ever sit in a cafe somewhere and end up chatting with the man behind the blog, then those 2 persons would be identical.

I'd have the same exact conversations and learn about all the exact same opinions Theo and the man in front of me share.

Because even though his name has changed, he will still be the same person. he just changed out his name tag. Nothing else changed.

Theo is authentic with himself and with everyone that takes the time to talk with him. His Anonymity doesn't affect or change that at all. It just offers him the same safety we all crave.

This authenticity is what makes him, in my humble opinion, a terrific and accomplished 'amateur' hypnotist. Make no mistake, he is no rookie and he WILL drop you if the rapport is there. Authentic and Anonymous...

That is what this community needs above all else.

Some of you MIGHT just understand why I'm ranting about all this tonight, and you would be right. I've felt the sting of this double edged sword and it took others to help me see just how far down the fake rabbit hole I had been led into.

But now I'm out, dusting off the creepiness of the experience and moving on.

So by all means, soak yourselves in Anonymity until people in our kink community aren't even sure who you are...

But BE HONEST. And if you do, I think you'll find even more incredible people and exquisite experiences to be had. You'd be surprised how much someone can accept and understand.

As a point of fact, if the person you are trying to let into your mind isn't opened minded enough to accept your own authenticity, then perhaps you should seriously rethink the fact that you are giving them the keys to your mental palace.

There is no gain from being dishonest and stringing people along.

Unless that is the pleasure you are seeking here... If that is the case, then maybe you should start understanding that you are no better than a full blown predator.

And that is something our community needs the least of all.

We are all searching and indulging ourselves in our forbidden and delicious kinks, there is nothing wrong with that.

Enjoy your safe and secure anonymity, but do it responsibly and above all, do it while being honest with yourself and others.

[poquito-burrito]

6. Tower of Dawn

SPOILERS AHEAD

Rating : 2 ⭐

Okay idk where to start. I think this was the weakest book of the series. It wasn't abysmal, it was just too long, boring and with too many characters, and most of all, very, very poorly written. Let's go over these points shall we.

First of all, the length. Now listen I have nothing against long books, but my problem here is it was needlessly long. And now this is directly linked to the writing style which I'll go over later, but lemme demonstrate what I mean. This book is riddled with writing like this :

"He wanted to punch the wall. Hard. He looked at her and saw only sorrow.

And he didn't like to see sorrow on her face.

Ever."

(this isn't an excerpt I just made it up but I swear this is how she writes) THIS IS UNFORGIVABLE. STOP PUTTING HARD STOPS IN THE MIDDLE OF YOUR SENTENCES FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT, IT DOESN'T WORK AND IT'S CRINGE. STOP USING LINE BREAKS EVERY 2 SECONDS FOR DRAMATIC EFFECT, IT DOESN'T WORK, IT'S CRINGE, AND WE ALL KNOW YOU'RE TRYING TO MAKE YOUR BOOK LONGER. IT DOESN'T NEED TO BE LONG. STOP IT. JUST STOP.

Okay I'm done with this, it just had to come out of me, I was gonna explode. Do keep in mind I love Sjm, and her writing isn't always bad, but I find in most of her series, the more she writes, the less she puts effort into this sort of stuff.

Second, the characters. I salute Sjm's capability for storytelling and her ambition. It was also a risky decision to split the storylines and write a whole book with only 2 characters we already knew, and a whole new cast of characters. But I think she bit off more than she could chew because as a stand alone book, the characters that she introduced here are fine, but this storyline was bound to merge with the main one, and get this, ALL of her books are merging. Do you see the problem? Have you read Crescent City? We have at least 150+ characters here, it's impossible to write an ensemble with this many people. Anyway I'm segueing into something else, my point is, it was a real gamble keeping only Chaol and Nesryn and honestly I think she lost. I have always loved Chaol, but this book was boring. I will admit I was pleasantly surprised to see the romance didn't go as I had expected, we can always count on Sjm to spin the plot 180° and that was great. But the story of this damn book was going nowhere, I read 800+ pages of bad writing with 80% of it not being interesting or important to the story. Sure, it was exciting to read about Chaol's healing and romance, but the plot, the PLOT WHERE WAS IT?? It was sprinkled here and there nonsensically and the ending was so underwhelming. Clearly Sjm needed us to know that the healers are key players in the war and that Maeve is Valg. These are amazing revelations, but was it necessary to string us along this big a story while barely giving us any information and then dumping these big truths at the end? No. No it wasn't. And Nesryn omg it was so boring, I like her too, and to be honest I loved Sartaq, but you get my point I've babbled long enough about this, the story is okay but she chose to tell it in such a slow and long way that it felt empty and annoying to read. Oh and also it was bit too sappy for me, what with Chaol defeating his disability with the power of love. She could've used this as a metaphor which would've been beautiful and subtle, Chaol slowly healing the more he opened up, but she chose to spell it out for us, to directly make that link and say it instead of hinting at it. What was that rule again? Tell don't show, right. And also Chaol marrying Yrene by the end of the book and Sartaq saying he's loved Nesryn even before he met her. It was too cheesy for me and I hate to say it.

Lastly, her writing style. I've already touched on this but there is no substance whatsoever to her style. If she wants to make a scene impactful and make us truly connect with what a character is feeling, she'll just list stuff. Like wtf am I supposed to feel when I read "and in that moment, she felt life and joy and light and beauty and love and affection and-" SHUT UP OMG. Listing things is not writing.

Also the redondance of this woman's writing I'm going to actually split myself in two just thinking about it. Everytime there's something happening to a character, like for example I'm reading Kingdom of Ash now and Nesryn has evolved as a character and Chaol notices it, so everytime we get his pov and Nesryn speaks or something, there will be a mention of how changed a woman she is, how her posture is that of a new person, how her chin is unfaltering and she holds it high like the newer evolved version of herself she's become and ON AND ON AND ON I DONT NEED TO HEAR THIS EVERYTIME I SWEAR TO GOD

Okay so I didn't realize how angry I was at this book. I think some stuff was done right, I think the world-building was interesting, I think Chaol needed this sort of redemption arc and Nesryn needed to be more developed as a character, at least more than a love interest for Chaol and a soldier in Rifthold. But there are just too few pros and too many cons.

I've rambled long enough, see you in the next and last reblog abt throne of glass

Throne of Glass Reading Journey

1. Throne of Glass :

Rating : 2,5 ⭐

It was good, but not great. It was good tho, felt like Sjm was setting the scene for more to come which is cool, but also left the book with some hollow intrigues. Still, the Celeana-Chaol-Dorian dynamic was really cool, and overall the lore is super interesting.

2. Crown of Midnight :

Rating : 3.5 ⭐

Oh this one was better. Not gonna spoil it but the thing that happens in the middle of this book? Couldn't BELIEVE it was gonna happen right up until I read the sentence that confirmed it, absolutely shocked. And then I thought it couldn't get any more surprising and there was just turn after turn after turn of events and SO MUCH PAIN. The shift in the main character trio dynamic was bittersweet enough to have me crying at the end. It's the trope that gets to me the most, three characters that love each other yet have so many problems keeping stable relationships between themselves. It's outright painful to read, in the best way possible ofc. I just can't imagine what it's gonna be like from now on with such a rift between all of them, a spatial rift at that. Unfortunately I do know some things about the series so I feel like things aren't gonna recover between all of them. Straight up in physical pain. Can't wait to read the next one, will definitely be updating this post everytime I finish a book.

[datastate]

floormaster kai genuinely makes me uneasy. he would hate it. the contrast if sara is involved too... "as pawns, your fall is inevitable - at least die for a purpose, for the one you care for" vs. "they'll all die anyway, so use and discard the others if you may live" ... kai pushing those asunaro wishes to be cast out toward the sacrifice, where they may go out splendidly against all odds or at the least may ensure the cursed card doesn't fall upon one they love. sara pressing the inevitability as a way to rid the guilt, where if you aren't set in your own survival, you're as good as dead by comparison.

kai isn't as ruthless, he's mainly desensitized. he's entirety unmoved by macabre demonstrations at this point, however gruesome, but he's far more intrigued with just how far another will go for someone they love. what drives that care? what lingers in their mind that brings them to deny reality, and call or reach for the dead. when will it break? how did it fade? can it be resparked, through what was once treasured, memories, ais, dolls..? he's curious. he's jealous. he's desperate. it's unlike him, but how these emotions strain and rebuild is what he wishes to test, albeit a secretive priority compared to what asunaro demands of him. it's shameful to wish to fulfill the hopes of the participants at all, let alone yearn to connect with them himself despite the roles given to them. they're pathetic, and affectionate, and weak, and trusting in spite of it all. it's pitiful. he can't help but want to satiate it. even if it inevitably fractures the group more, they want it too. to feel close to another, even if it ends in heartbreak or indirect horrific acts. it's ludicrous. it's beneath him. still, he wonders why...

floormasters cannot directly kill participants, but kai may abuse this technicality to prove his point or to urge retaliation. he's not as openly provocative as sara or ranger would be, but he expects order and he looks down upon those who cannot strain their bodies and minds (especially if a child has grown attached to them; how can you not stand strong?) to the point he'll attempt to break them first, valuing those with more endurance as more interesting targets for this private study, because he wonders how one so strong can fall prey to something embedded in his mind as 'weakness'. he plays upon the trust they hold in each other (both in observation (objective value if they noticed the hints he placed) and in what little he had directly told) to have them string together the trial's rules as he stands by in silence, or they don't notice him observe at all. he puts their group's bonds to the test.

the trials evaluate trust, and he's waiting to see what they'll do with the opportunity he's presented. how strong these bonds are, and how they'll last. will they truly use this against asunaro? or will they be blinded by emotion and fight amongst each other? (he wants them to find a collective purpose, join hands and resist the cruel ones who toy with their lives). he doesn't know which to hope for. (he wants them to build their own hope, one they're willing to die for). he knows he shouldn't feel anything toward it at all. (kai wants to see asunaro fall, even if he dies bound to its name).

[greensaplinggrace]

What Is There To Celebrate About the Darkling? (Part 4)

1 2 3 4

He’s calculating but impulsive. Gentle yet firm. Stubborn and adaptive. Just a real mess of contradictions that makes him all the more interesting.

He loves nature. He loves the forest.

Fond of luxuries and nice things. After growing up as he did, I think he deserves them.

Very socially awkward. Introvert just trying his best. Anything that isn’t manipulation and therefore something he’s planned in his head is just a social train wreck waiting to happen.

The way he pushes up Alina’s sleeve when they first meet. This man had zero compunctions about acting completely unprofessionally in front of his soldiers and I think that’s very sexy of him.

He’s constantly tired and exasperated with the people around him.

The way he says “quiet” with the softest voice imaginable and a room full of laughter instantly goes silent.

He had no interest in Elizaveta even though she was utterly obsessed with him and I think that’s hilarious.

Elizaveta: I have a plan to resurrect the Darkling Everybody Else: Oh the Darkling is so evil for trying to come back! The Darkling, who just wants a nap and is sick of this mortal bullshit: Why am I even here? This is such a pain in the ass. I should have killed Elizaveta when I had the chance.

How he asks if Alina “will have” his name like a man proposing.

Has his bedroom attached to the war room.

Constantly checking up on Alina just to know how she’s doing. Never pushing her beyond her limits as she’s training.

Very creative with his shadows and the extent of their abilities. So many of the ways he uses his powers are genius.

His ending in RoW is a tragedy and an injustice. He deserves better.

This old man pouting at Alina in episode seven as he says “please, I just want to talk to you 🥺”

There is a black kefta made for Alina after like two days in the Little Palace. He really was already planning their entire immortal futures together as Mr. and Mrs. Starkov wasn’t he?

His bed is covered in maps and notes when he’s plotting how to find Alina. Also before that, the way he’s poring over the notes at his desk and giving orders is 👌🥵

Him acting like a real General at all is simply amazing.

The fact that he trusts Luda with his life. That they have a whole intimidation routine set up around him purposefully getting himself fatally injured knowing she’ll heal him.

He looks like a vampire in the show and a fae in the books.

His favorite ABBA song is probably “Lay All Your Love On Me.”

Looks composed but that’s only a façade. Is actually an unhinged feral terror of pain and misery.

That scene where he tells the king she will remain in the Little Palace to train undisturbed and he puts his foot down. ON THE RED CARPET. the king’s carpet. and uses a commanding voice that’s just on the edge of an order…I’m surprised he didn’t get flogged for that. IMO nothing conveys the fine line he walks with those in power while wielding his own like this scene. Literally he should just be celebrated for this alone.

“‘Why won’t you leave me alone?’ I whispered one night as he hovered behind me while I tried to work at my desk. Long minutes passed. I didn’t think he would answer. I even had time to hope he might have gone, until I felt his hand on my shoulder. “Then I’d be alone, too,” he said, and he stayed the whole night through, till the lamps burned down to nothing.

Trapped a bunch of Saints in the Shadow Fold like a true amoral disaster villain. What an icon.

His barely concealed amusement and half hidden smile when Alina comes to put his kefta on. The way he finds Alina utterly hilarious and tries so hard to act like he doesn’t.

That small amused smile when Alina jokes about finding Volcra hilarious. Please he’s so adorable 😭

“‘I know what you feel when you’re with the tracker,’ he said. ‘I doubt that’ He gave a dismissive wave.” - My Malarklina obsessed self, vibrating at the edge of my seat: but what does it mean?!?

Mal and the Darkling’s entire fight in the Fold: dumbass on dumbass violence.

The way he stands with his back turned to Alina when she enters his tent the first time they meet and then does the slowest Godfather turn in history. 1999/10 - points removed for a criminal lack of cat petting.

“I may lead the second army, but the king is still the king.” - the delivery of that line. the implications, the history behind it and also the foreshadowing for his plans.

That slow turn face reveal in episode one though. Like okay we get it you’re pretty alkjsdflkj

Confused Old Man Face™ whenever Mal or Alina do anything remotely defiant in his presence.

How he tells Alina to come closer and she only takes the tiniest step and he doesn’t even react.

His little head cock whenever someone says or does something that just doesn’t vibe with him.

Darklina tumblr has now convinced me that the Darkling is a cat in human form.

“You’re an amplifier,” she said. He glanced at where Sylvi was pouncing on another helpless tree, oblivious, and gave a single, frightened nod. How could he have been so stupid? He would have to tell his mother now, and she would insist that they leave right away. If word got out, they’d both be in danger. Amplifiers were rare, hard to find, harder to hunt. Their lives would be forfeit. Even if they got away, word would spread. He could already hear his mother’s voice: Foolish, careless, callous. If you don’t value your own life, show some concern for mine. Annika touched his sleeve. “It’s okay,” she said. “I won’t tell.” Panic crowded in. He shook his head. She slid her hand into his. It was hard not to pull away. He should. He was breaking his mother’s fundamental rule for keeping them both alive. Never let them touch you, she’d warned him. - 😥 I just want to give him a hug all the time.

His strangled shout when Mal tackles him off of the skiff.

His smile when he’s summoning the sun. The expression on his face when he does so. Like I know I’ve mentioned this before but damn. If you ever needed a reason to celebrate him, this would be it.

“Shame, I’ll have to give that speech again now.”

The way he flips Mal over his shoulder in the Fold after Mal attempts to strangle him.

His little lecture on the Small Science to Alina when they’re going to meet the King. Info dump.

“You make it sound so easy.” “A bird makes flight look easy. But it was born to do so.”

When Alina looks at him for guidance on whether or not to remove her veil and he gives her a small nod.

The handhold in the throne room after Alina’s demonstration is absolutely precious, but it’s in a room full of people he should be keeping up a façade for and it’s so unwarranted and yet he does it anyway, I’m-

The way he says “welcome home, Ms. Starkov,” in the most tender voice I’ve ever heard and then goes “ok that’s enough emotions for one day” and then just straight up leaves without even a goodbye.

He has his symbol?? Sewn into Alina’s kefta??? bRo???!?!

Disaster Simp never gets tired of introducing Alina to other people or talking about how she’s the best thing that ever walked this earth.

The Darkling lying: honestly

“I have devoted my life to undoing the great sin of my forebearer, but I am never seen as the solution. Only as a reminder of the problem.” Sasha you were literally the problem. What a manipulative little shit. We love to see it.

The way he closes his eyes and kisses the coin before he makes a wish at the wishing well.

“I think the Grand Palace is the ugliest building I’ve ever seen.” - I love him your honor.

This man has the most intense lines for Alina. Like straight up I would have booked it when he said “you and I are going to change the world”. But then the head grab?! “I’ve been waiting a long time for you.” He’s so intense like sir can you tone it down a bit please I am begging you.

“I shall be right by your side.” / “We can do anything. Together.” / “For us.” / “You cannot do this on your own. And neither can I” / “I want you to know my name. The name I was given, not the title I took for myself. Will you have it, Alina?” - WEDDING VOWS

That scene in the war room when Alina comes to find him and he instantly drops his guard and lowers his arms and welcomes her with a soft voice.

“Am I bothering you?” “Not at all.” - girl you could be stabbing him in the chest and you still wouldn’t be bothering him.

This whipped disaster sounds like the proudest man on the planet when he talks about how much more his enemies fear Alina over him.

His shadows react to his emotions.

“YoUr’E nOt IvAn.” asjlkdfjs god he’s so embarrassing.

Local Dark Lord Sasha offering Alina the throne after she literally tries to kill him.

He gets so jealous of Mal.

Has a great relationship with his soldiers and his men. His men trust him implicitly and believe him to be an amazing general.

When he turns around after Alina puts the kefta on him and looks flustered/has to take a breath because she’s a lot closer than he expected. The way he’s breathless and literally can’t string a sentence together because he’s so distracted by her closeness.

His jokes are absolutely terrible.

GF: *jokes about throwing herself down the stairs to get out of an event* Sasha “no thoughts head empty only Alina” Morozova: haha I’d just have my healers heal you right back up again.

How genuinely touched he is by Alina admitting to wanting to help Grisha and Ravkans.

That scene in Demon in the Woods when he notices the intricate details of the politics in the Grisha camp after one meeting with the Elders. He has the Ulle pegged almost instantly.

Born to be a leader. Born to take care of others. Born to protect. Even in Demon in the Woods he’s protecting people. Even in Demon in the Woods he’s leading them and caring for them.

The way he cups his hands around Alina’s face when they’re kissing.

This man gets so starstruck by Alina walking into the Fete that he doesn’t even excuse himself from the King’s side to go to her.

Long haired Aleksander rights!

Ok I know the wig was kind of ugly but he looks pretty with long hair and I think it would look very good on him naturally.

The way he slams his hands together in the Winter Fete scene and instantly turns the room pitch black.

Literally any times he summons shadows is a blessing and we should all celebrate him for it. They are so beautiful. On god if I ever saw his shadows in real life I would be awestruck.

He asks Mal if he’s okay when they first meet.

The pure, barely contained fury directed at the Conductor for daring to harm Alina and kidnap his Grisha.

He always has to make a grand entrance.

This man is like a bloodhound when it comes to Nina. He is very invested in finding her and I feel like that’s never really talked about.

“I know exactly how she felt. The King’s soldiers treated me the same way. Because they knew- they knew that I was more important than any of them.” - the way he says it, like it’s something he has to remind himself of in his head constantly. a justification for the way he’s been treated, the fear he evokes in others. a way to protect himself from the hurt of being ostracized and reviled. arrogance and conceit as a defense against emotional harm.

Also the way his face instantly changes after that, like he’s said too much. vulnerability. lowering his eyes. shifting his eyes. literally just everything about this scene makes me love him all the more.

Dark carriage rides up to the Crows’ hiding place. Grisha circle the area as Aleksander steps from the carriage slowly, dressed all in black, floofy cloak high on his shoulders. Villain Entrance™

Him slowly pulling a knife out of his chest like it shouldn’t have killed him is hot as fuck and also totally badass. Big dick energy.

“I’ve had enough of your lies.” “And what lies are those?” - Alina, pulling out a fifty mile long scroll of grievances: Well, for starters-

This man is literally just an Alina Starkov compliments machine.

He cares so much about the Grisha and their protection. He loves Ravka and his people so much.

He had an entire cult dedicated to him.

“They would approach him. They always did. But he felt more anxious than usual. He’d stopped trying to make friends in the places he and his mother visited—there was no point when they moved on so quickly. Now he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it.”

Save a Villain. Murder the King.

Openly admits to staging a coup like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He speaks so slowly. He moves so slowly. Everything he does has to have Purpose and Gravitas.

Theater Nerd™

He knew Nikolai for years and yet couldn’t recognize him as Sturmhond. We do stan an oblivious icon 💕

The Darkling after he gets his ass whooped in Siege and Storm: Mom can you please come pick me up? I’m scared!

He’s here to manipulate sun summoners and murder cities. And unfortunately he’s all out of sun summoners.

Would absolutely get drunk on real alcohol. This man thinks kvas is strong liquor.

Has his wrists exposed exactly one time in the most skin he’s shown all season and it’s when Alina visits him at night in the war room. WHORE!

Was too emotionally slutty and fell for Alina. RIP.

He’s passionate and cold and beautiful and hurt and twisted up in ways nobody could ever hope to understand and he’s stunning.

I would literally kill for this man 🖤✨

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-A New Home

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this is a repost considering it didn’t show up in any of the tags yesterday. have i mentioned how much i despise tumblr sometimes :) again, i want to give a special shoutout to @avengersbau for giving me a second set of eyes on this one.

word count: 2k

warnings: canon-typical violence and descriptions of injury.

The Purest Things Masterlist

gif is not mine! credit goes to @hqtchner

au! october 2007

Bookend: “It’s never too late to become who you want to be. I hope you live a life that you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

++++

"I am SSA Hotchner. Welcome to the team Agent Y/L/N," his voice reminds you of the transatlantic accents of Hollywood stars of old. The kind you used to hear in the old black and white movies you would watch as a child.

"It's an honor to be here sir," you stare directly into his brown, soulfully deep eyes.

"J.J., get us started, please," SSA Hotchner suggests.

Sitting down, you look to the screen that displays the frightful footage of bombs detonating in various locations.

"Yesterday, an 81-year-old woman was severely injured when a bomb exploded in the toilet of a women's restroom," J.J. informs.

"Interesting spot to hide a bomb," Agent Prentiss sneers.

Jennifer flips through the slides and shows another bombsight located in a subway station, "Last year a similar bomb that had been attached to a phone box detonated. No outstanding injuries were reported. However, the bombs' similar makeup alerted detectives to dig into other bombings throughout the years. They have positively identified attacks over the past twelve years as perpetrated by the same bomber."

Spencer adds, "His M.O. is similar to George Peter Metesky, better known as the Mad Bomber. He terrorized New York City over a period of 16 years. He planted bombs in theaters, subway stations, libraries, and offices. They were left in phone booths, storage lockers and restrooms."

"Do you think we are looking at a copycat?" Derek questions.

"If we are, we need to stop him soon," declared David.

"He's escalating-becoming bolder and more vicious," you say, scanning the report.

"Tell Boston we can be there by 9:30," Hotch notifies J.J...

++++

"It seems like he's a textbook paranoid schizophrenic. People suffering from this disorder may think that other people are regulating them or plotting against them. They tend to be reclusive, antisocial, and obsessed Hwith hatred for their presumed enemies," you twist a loose string from your shirt around your finger, unwind it, then repeat the process.

It's a nervous tick you developed over the years that has worn down numerous tops before achieving their intended lifespan. You glance at Agent Hotchner, seeking a sign of approval. His eyes meet yours, and he poignantly nods.

Did I say too much? No. Don’t overthink this. They can probably smell fear.

"In his letters left at the bombsights, he uses words like 'broad' and 'chick' to signify women," Dr. Reid chimes in.

"Do you think the unsub is motivated by hostility towards women? "

"It's possible," he continues, "These speech patterns age him significantly, however. Phrases such as these were mainly used in the 30's, 40's, and 50's."

Agent Hotchner begins to delegate tasks before the jet lands, "Morgan and Reid, I want you to head to the bombsights and see if you can't work out the motive. J.J. and Prentiss talk to the victim's families, determine our victimology. Y/L/N, Rossi, and I will head to the precinct and familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land and see if we can't formulate a geographical profile."

++++

At the precinct, you observe Agent Hotchner's ability to singlehandedly transition an entire police force's obligation to under his jurisdiction.

"Captain Moreno, this is SSA David Rossi and SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N," the Unit Chief introduces you.

The captain tilts his head at you, "Aren't you a little young to be in the FBI? How old are you anyway?"

You nail him with a you're-full-of-crap look. 

Everyone gets to be young once; your turn is over, old man.

Choosing to take the high road, you say, "I'd like to get my hands on the bombers handwritten notes. There has to be something in those letters that can give us a clue into the who, what, when, and where of this case."

Skeptical of your request, he narrows his eyes and looks to David and Agent Hotchner.

"You hear her," Dave exclaims, "Lead the way!"

Your enigmatic smirk no doubt gives away the great pleasure Dave's gibe brings you.

++++

"Agent Hotchner," you hand him your preliminary geographical profile. With his arms crossed, he intimidatingly peers into your research.

Don't burn a hole in my paperwork; I worked hard on that.

He is impressed by your work, taking in your comprehensive outline of proof that details the unsubs point of origin. For someone so young, your attention to detail puts even his most observant profilers to shame. "How did you come to this conclusion?"

"My family is from Chicago. When I was little, I used to read through my grandfather's old newspapers that he collected throughout the 1950's. On the jet, I knew some of the phrasings that Dr. Reid was using sounded familiar, so I cross-referenced it with some of the particular articles I remember from my childhood and found his wording to be exact iterations of the Chicago Crier."

Without taking his eyes off of the paperwork, he commends you, "Impressive use of your prior knowledge. Often, the information drilled into us through education is lackluster compared to that of real-world experience."

You turn to walk back to your makeshift desk when he calls out to you, "And Y/L/N, call me Hotch."

Your shoulders relax from the tension you hadn't even realized you'd been clinging onto, "Alright. Hotch."

++++

You immediately regretted your decision. In pursuit of the unsub, you had wandered off down an abandoned subway tunnel and cornered him.

"Harold Watts, FBI. Gently place the remote detonator on the ground," You shout. Grappling to keep your gun from slipping between your clammy palms, you grip the weapon tighter.

Ordinary people's first days of work are uneventful; they're given a series of mundane tasks at most. Me? Of course, my first day involves being secluded in a subway tunnel facing down a man decked from head to toe in explosives and wires.

"D-don't come any closer. I have my finger on the trigger! I'm not afraid to die, and I will not hesitate to take you up in flames with me," he stammers.

The stampede of footsteps, no doubt from your colleagues and half of the Boston police force, resonate through the echo chamber you're standing in. Watts spooks and loses his balance. You begin shouting for the people behind you to stand down.

"The tracks are live, one wrong step, and we all blow up. I repeat, stand down!"

Turning your attention back to Watts, you attempt to soothe his irrationality. You slowly return your gun to its holster, raising your hands up in surrender. Hotch yells something unintelligible from behind you, but your focus is on the unsub and trying to prevent any more casualties.

"Harold, let's just talk this through for a couple of minutes. My men behind me will leave us alone. It's you and me now. Before this, you never wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to be heard. All of your life you felt like you were forced into the shadows, and you began to fester there in your pain and rage."

He tenses up; you have his attention now.

"Those girls who teased you and ripped your masculinity from you needed to be taught a lesson. But you didn't just stop there; you decided to do all women a favor and demonstrate to them the kind of pain they could cause, hoping to prevent them from making the same mistakes. In fact, you helped me to see what I can do better. I never want to make someone feel the way you did."

"Y-you learned that...f-from me?" Harold quietly sobs.

You nod, "Yes! Yes, Harold. And you can still be heard, but not if you die today. I could be your greatest advocate. If we walk out of here right now, think of how famous you could be. Harold, you will never be stuck in the shadows again."

It is crucial to your survival and your teams that you are brave just long enough to analyze the situation and keep your self-control. Panic won't do anyone any good right now.

Your mouth dries as you await Harold's next move. Suddenly, he hunches over, extending the hand gripping the detonator. Pausing for a moment to be sure he isn't making any drastic moves, you promptly hurry to his side and gently pull it from his clutch.

As the police officers and your colleagues rush to your aid, Harold looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

"Make me famous," he murmurs with a grin that churns your stomach.

Hotch ushers you away from the unsub, backing you up against the wall of the tunnel, "You actively defied my orders."

Searching every inch of his face for an accurate reading of his emotions, you are unsure of how to respond.

"I'd like to think it won't happen again," his eyes studying you just as intently.

You swallow hard, aware of the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, "You have my word, Agent Hotchner."

"Good," he affirms, eventually freeing his hold on your arm.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief and relax your spinning head against the wall.

Opening your eyes, you observe your new team tieing up all loose ends. They're safe. You are safe. Despite this first day not being as mundane as others, you wouldn't have it any other way. This feeling is what you signed up for, and it's already fulfilling you in ways you couldn't fathom before stepping inside the BAU office this morning.

++++

Aboard the jet, you tuck your legs underneath you and open up a book to read.

A cup of steaming hot coffee appears on the table in front of you.

Hotch sits across from you with a similar cup and offers you a subtle smile, "Impressive work out there today. I'm sorry your first day of work couldn't be more eventful."

A joke? I didn't take him as the joking kind.

Rolling your eyes, you put on a disappointed tone, "God...if you guys drag your feet like this every day, I might have to consider a transfer."

In a more serious nature, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess. You were right, you know, no amount of studying or lectures can truly prepare you for what it's like when you're staring into the eyes of a killer. I've learned the negotiation techniques and memorized the textbook 'put the gun down' speech, but all of that flies out the window when you're in the moment."

"You will find that improvisation at times is the key to success in this job. Just know that this team is a family. You will never face this alone or be at a loss for anything. Your career is in its infancy, but I can tell you have a long and triumphant journey ahead of you. We will do whatever we can to ensure that you are at home here and can use this team as an opportunity to refine your abilities. All I ask in return is that you work with us, not against us. You have nothing to prove. They see your resourcefulness. So do I. You are one of us now."

Some gazes are the promise of protection; his is all that and more. The words "at home" resonate in your mind. You've spent your whole life searching for a home, and here it is, its doors being opened to you. After a lifetime of running from place to place, perhaps this is where you can finally settle down.

"Get some rest," Hotch whispers to you. And with that, you lean your head against the chilled window and shut your eyes.

++++

Tag List 🏷

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[hualianff]

Music AU

Modern AU with music professor XL whose students adore him and really look up to him. XL was a child prodigy specializing in piano and percussion. He retired at the height of his music career in his late twenties due to the toxic, stressful, and elitist environment of the classical music world. As someone who is nearing his forties, XL looks no older than twenty-five.

XL serves as a father figure and an inspiration for many of his students. He fills in for the choir and band director when needed; he accompanies performances with piano. Students and professors alike truly respect XL’s knowledge and skill, making him an easily recognizable and approachable person on campus. 

(There’s no shortage of people who have a crush on him.)

It’s the middle of the spring semester. One of XL’s assignments for his seniors in advanced performance class is to critique three well-known musicians’ performances over one week. Monday and Wednesday pass by with sweet revelations and teachable moments for his students, who watch their icons with immense fascination.

Come Friday, the final musician XL has his students critique is the famous violinist Hua Cheng’s most recent performance. The students are a bit hesitant because how can they critique one of the top musicians in the country? Hua Cheng’s tall stance and facial expressions are intimidating in themselves. It almost feels like a crime to insert their opinions on his performance and musicality. Yet, XL’s students enthusiastically rise to the occasion anyway. 

After the first watch-through, class discussion is no less fulfilling than the previous ones. Thanks to XL’s adamance in providing a safe and receptive Socratic space in his classroom, his students freely express their praise, observations, and assessment of the performance. 

At the end of the class, the students ask XL about his thoughts about the performance. They hold his opinion very highly because a) XL had been a professional for over a decade and b) they’ve had him as a wonderful professor for four years and trust his expertise. XL rewinds the fifteen-minute section of the performance, giving constructive analysis as the video plays. 

“His pizzicatos are quite impressive, aren’t they? Very clean and distinct,” he says at one point. The students voice their agreement. XL adds, “Well, his long fingers certainly must help.”

(Students: “Did he just-?” 👁👄👁)

“You can see he’s not breathing throughout alll of this until he releases the bow right here, which is very difficult. I personally wouldn’t do that but it works for him. Remember to breathe when you play!” XL says as the video comes to an end. 

“Professor, would you mind giving a demonstration on how you would perform this piece?” A student pipes up. XL raises an eyebrow at this. 

“Well…”

A series of other voices join in.

  “Please? Just the opening measures!”

“First page at least?”

“We really want to hear you play!”

XL checks his watch to see how they’re doing on time. They have at least five minutes before class ends. He sighs as he comes to a decision.

XL walks to his desk where a violin case rests underneath.

“Hmm, all right. Just know that music-”

“-is subjective. Everyone has their own interpretations of what looks or sounds best,“ his students recite dutifully.

“Enjoy the music-making process for what it is and what you make it,” XL finishes with a smile, his violin in hand. He quickly tunes the strings before racking his brain for the piece that Hua Cheng performed. XL stands in front of the class, bringing the violin body to rest under his chin. With a deep breath, XL prepares his fingers as he hovers his bow right above the strings.

XL counts the time signature off in his head before coming in on the downbeat. He lets his body move on its own and plays. The students watch and listen in awe. This was the musician who played solos in traveling orchestras at the age of nine, who composed their first concerto at sixteen (and continues to compose in “retirement”).

Unbeknownst to XL, while he was analyzing HC’s performance, a certain person snuck into his class, sitting next to a shocked senior and holding a finger to his lips.

When XL finds a good place to finish his little performance, ending on a strong, accented downbow, he exhales in satisfaction. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes–he never does–and the pure exhilaration flowing within his veins makes him feel positively buzzed. XL is not the most accomplished violinist by any means, but that doesn't mean he hasn’t put in his fair share of practice and effort over the years into his playing. 

A tall figure soundlessly walks to the front of the classroom, clapping along with the students as he stands next to XL. 

“Amazing job, as always, gege.”

XL jumps three meters in the air, nearly hitting him in the face with his bow.

“San Lang!?”

The applause suddenly stops as whispers are exchanged around the room.

“Isn’t that...Hua Cheng!? In our classroom!?”

“It is! Oh my god, he’s even taller in person-”

“Oh no, do you think he heard our critiques of his performance!?”

XL himself puts a hand on his racing heart, leftover from playing and from the shock of his husband’s spontaneous appearance. Talk about being married to the personification of the element of surprise.

“Careful, gege, you don’t want to drop your strad, do you? Those are pretty expensive. Plus, I heard that it was an anniversary gift,” HC says with a hint of smugness. XL puffs his cheeks in indignation.

“I didn’t even hear you come in!” XL exclaims, forgetting where he is for a second. “What are you doing here?”

“Here I thought gege would have been happy to see his San Lang,” HC bemoans. XL pouts his lips further. HC knows XL loves it when he visits him at work, but let’s not subject the students to their couples’ banter!

Before XL can respond, a melodic voice interrupts them.

“Hua-xiansheng, Professor Xie said your ring and pinky fingers were too tense!” Banyue hollers. XL gives her a reprimanding look though both of them know he’s not being serious. He goes to put his violin back in its case. 

“Seems accurate. Gege knows me so well,” HC says with a chuckle as he follows XL to the desk. He lowers his voice so only XL can hear what he says next. “Perhaps for the violin, yes. But you don’t say that when we’re in bed-”

XL pinches HC’s neck with a low hiss. “Not here.”

HC obediently shuts his mouth. XL turns back to his students with a nonchalant smile. He figures he must look an astonishing sight with their idol hugging him from behind. The ring on the necklace XL wears weighs heavily on his skin. He’ll probably have to do a small story time at the start of class next week. 

“Class dismissed!”

[fbfh]

light up the dark [VI] - leo x reader

genre: mid adventure domestic fluff overture, romance, smutty lemony bit towards the end

word count: 3k

pairing: Leo x gothy!child of eros!fem reader

requested: very much so, yes

warnings: magic manipulation powers, feelings are hard and weird and scary, some innuendos, the phrase hot gusher out of context, the word dirty talk, trying to "proposition [someone] in front of two for one cookie crisp", brief credit card theft, jason thinks ketchup is spicy and gets clowned on for it, one use of the word lube in reference to mechanical lubricant, shirtless leo remember that one piece of shirtless leo viria art?????? remember the caption?????, your facade is beginning to crack, deadpan joke about being dead in space, making out, whole lotta sexual tension, brief mention of a boner, teeny tiny bit of grinding, getting interrupted, c*lypso

summary: after an extensive shopping trip, you, Leo, and Jason settle into your airbnb and wait for the others to arrive. Jason takes a nap, and Leo helps you dye your hair. You return the favor by helping him make dinner which leads to two things; a well timed boner, and a poorly timed visitor.

listen to: power and control - marina, 100 bad days - ajr, all I ask - adele

a/n: let's play spot the zack and cody reference within the first paragraph

also surprise the series isn't dead!! a shock to all but mostly me!!

as with all smexy smutty nsfw content, all characters are aged up to 18+

Standing in front of a wall of hair dye taller than you are should have been exciting. It would have been, except for the fact that all the colors were various shades of honey mist auburn. You really don’t want to have to make a separate trip to a beauty store for hair dye. Your eyes land on a firetruck red box, and gratefully, you realize you won’t have to.

“Perfect,” you muse, throwing it into your cart, along with the other stuff on the list you’d divided between you. You grab a few other things from the beauty section while you’re there; some makeup, eyeliner, a glass nail file, and a tiny pair of oil slick cuticle scissors.

Nearby is a guy a little older than you in a varsity hoodie and sweatpants squinting at a two in one shampoo label.

Perfect, you think, beginning to approach. You work your magic - literally - and within a few minutes you have his credit card. It takes way less time than it used to. You also didn’t have to smile and flirt nearly as much as you used to. You’re relieved that you don’t have to fake enthusiasm around rich douchebags the way you used to, and a new inky drop of fear begins to stain the corners of your mind. You can’t even bear to admit it to yourself, but you’re kind of scared. Before you can begin to question if you know what love is and if you’re capable of experiencing it without the influence of your divine heritage, you shove it all away. Not the place, not the time. You speed up a little, passing an endcap of candy, and knock a box into your cart.

On the other side of the store, Jason checks off items from their half of the list as Leo tosses items in the cart, talking along the way. Of course, you came up in conversation rather quickly.

“She’s… a real piece of work.” Jason says, treading lightly.

“You said it, man,” Leo agrees, sliding a pack of coke onto the bottom of the cart. Jason thinks for a moment before continuing.

“She seems to,” he tries to figure out how to phrase their dynamic, “not hate you as much as everyone else.” Leo laughs at the accuracy of the statement. He can tell Jason has something else to say, so he’s quiet while putting paper plates and napkins into the cart.

“Hey, Leo?”

“Yeah?”

“Just… don’t let her hurt you, okay?”

He stops for a second. He’s so lucky to have a friend like Jason, one that will genuinely look out for him, but sometimes people caring for him still catches him off guard. Really off guard. With no idea how to begin to verbalize that complicated mess, he takes a split second to collect himself.

“Thanks, man.”

His smile is sincere.

Don’t let her hurt you. Can he just do that? Not let someone hurt him? Especially someone like you. He’s only had a few long term crushes before, all just out of reach and only getting further away. Only one had amounted to something - not that he could call what he had with Calypso ‘something’. She certainly wouldn’t. He looks around, trying to shake off the sting. He starts to get that unsettled, itchy feeling when he focuses on stuff like that for too long.

‘At least I got some good stories out of it,’ he thinks, messing with the back of his hair and fixing his hoodie strings.

“Here.”

He turns around, coming face to face with you, holding out a box very close to him.

“Hot gusher.” You say softly. What? His cheeks heat up, pulse speeding up suddenly. He glances at Jason, who’s at the other end of the aisle asking an employee something. Are you implying something? Are you trying to proposition him in front of two for one cookie crisp? He’s unable to look away from your gaze, intense and striking. You couldn’t possibly mean what he thinks you mean. Your fingers brush and he’s struggling to find an elegant way to say ‘hey, maybe the grocery store isn’t an ideal place for dirty talk’.

“W- uh, sorry, what?” he says, laughing in an equally hushed tone, needing to make sure you meant what he thought you did. You glance down, then back up.

“They’re spicy gushers. I thought you’d like them.” the feeling is gone in a split second, the same time it took to arrive, and is replaced with relief. He looks down at the box, realizing he’d taken it from you at some point. He laughs at the ridiculousness of his previous panic.

“Thanks,” he says, a reflective smile on his face.

You realize how comforted you are to see him smile, really smile, when you catch yourself having to keep a neutral face. One of the first times your resting bitch face has been intentional. Before you can say you’re welcome, Jason comes back over. You hand him the card.

“Pin number’s 0401.”

They both stare at you, skimming the label of a granola bar, completely unperturbed.

“How…”

“Credit card theft.”

The logical part of Leo’s brain starts to speak up, telling him to raise his guard, that his stomach should be twisting. If you can just take someone’s credit card without a hint of remorse, who knows what the hell kind of damage you could do to him if he got closer to you? And he really wants to get closer to you.

“Oh,” you pull a small pop top tube out of your cart and hand it to Leo, “this is for you too. You know, since you don’t like coffee,” you trail off as he reads the label. Caffeine and electrolyte drink tablets, red berry rampage flavor. He looks up at you, feeling warm and… something else, something ineffable, at the gesture.

You stare at each other, eyes locked, surprised at the strangely intimate feeling stirring in both of you.

“What are those?” Jason asks, snapping you out of whatever that was.

“Spicy gushers,” Leo says, smiling again, “I didn’t even know they made those.”

“Hot mango,” Jason reads from the side of the box, “that actually sounds pretty good.”

“No way dude, you can’t handle spicy food.” He starts to protest, and Leo continues, “You think ketchup is spicy!” He looks shocked.

“Okay, that was one time! It was a weird brand and there was way too much pepper in it!”

You bite back a giggle at their bickering, taking note of how much better Leo seems to be doing and finding surprising comfort in their banter.

It doesn’t take long to get to the airbnb and get set up. You all dump your bags in your rooms, bring in the groceries, and shove everything into the cabinets in a reasonably organized manner.

Jason heads upstairs to unpack and call Piper, announcing a few minutes later that they should be here in less than two hours.

“Perfect,” you pull out your hair dye from the last bag. It’s not exactly the manic panic wildfire red you’d initially wanted, but it’s definitely better than nothing. You stare at the box for a second, then up at Leo who’s trying to get one more bag of chips to fit in with the others.

“Hey,” you say, just loud enough to get his attention, “do you… can you get the back of my head?” He looks at you, questioning, and you hold up the box dye. He smiles, once again noting your softened edges around him.

“Yeah,” he agrees, and minutes later you’re in the bathroom, adorned in a big tee shirt covered in all your previous hair colors. He’s staring at your shirt, eyes dancing over the swirls and splatters of color. It reminds him of a painting he’d seen once, unable to remember the name.

You shake the bottle, skimming the instructions again, then start speaking to him, eyes still on the box.

“Take a section of hair, about this much,” you demonstrate, holding out a section of hair, “rub in the dye like this…”

You hand him the second bottle of red dye, and he starts on the back. His fingertips start separating out a section of your hair, and you still, a shiver running up your spine. He hesitates for a moment, then continues, and you hope he hadn’t noticed. His breath fans your ear, and you can feel the heat radiating off his chest. Your lungs are shallow suddenly, squeezed tight like a bouquet clutched in a shaking hand. You find it almost impossible to focus on dying the front half of your hair.

You don’t want it to stop, you realize. His fingertips dancing along your hair, the glimpses of his incredibly focused face in the bathroom mirror, the way he’ll gently turn your head to make sure he didn’t miss a spot.

“Shit,” he leans back, hunching forward. You look behind you, eyes landing immediately on the spot of red dye on his shirt.

“Shit,” you echo. He looks back at you, waiting to see how he’ll react.

“Oh, it’s all good - no worries. I already have a ton of motor oil and lube - lubricant… machine grade, petroleum based engine lubricant-” he laughs, “stains on this shirt anyway. Don’t sweat it.”

You almost laugh. A giggle bubbles up from your chest and stomach, but catches in your throat. Before it can come out, he slips off his dye stained gloves, and tugs off his dye stained shirt from the back. It seems to happen in slow motion. In a mere moment, your eyes engraving every detail, every line and curve and freckle to memory.

There’s really no delicate way to put it; he’s fucking jacked. Deceptively so. You’re frozen in place, cheeks flushed. You suddenly wonder what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms, held so close to him.

You snap yourself out of the thought, all of that occurring in just a few seconds. He leans past you, setting the dye stained shirt carefully on the counter, glancing at you intensely.

“Are you checking me out?”

You make yourself roll your eyes and turn away, replying, “I’m sure you’d love that.”

Angled away from him, you momentarily reprimand yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and mouthing oh my god. You turn back to him, not recalling the last time you had to deliberately keep up your aloof front around someone like this.

“So, are we finishing my hair or just gonna leave it like this?” you ask rhetorically, motioning to your half done hair.

He watches you do this, confirming his suspicion that you’re really not as cold as you let on. A smile blooms on his face, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as… cute as that.

“Yeah,” he replies, slipping his gloves back on. The things you do around him seem to mean more now. He notices the way your eyes flutter closed for a moment when he plays with your hair, working in the dye, or the way you still for a split second when he gets a little too close to the side of your face, checking that he didn’t miss a spot.

He doesn’t want this to end either. But eventually, your hair is fully saturated with dye, the timer on your phone counting down slowly. There’s still some dye left. He sits on the closed toilet.

“Your turn. Do me.”

“What?” you laugh.

“Yeah, a little streak - up here.” He leans forward, sectioning off a part of his hair.

“Seriously?” you ask.

“Yeah. Unless you don’t want to match…” he muses. Your eyes get this dreamy look for the briefest second, then you’re turning back to shake the bottle some more.

“I guess… I mean there’s too much dye to throw out, we might as well do something with it.”

It’s his turn, now, to feel the warmth from your body, your hands running through his hair. His eyes want to close, and bask in the feeling, but he refuses to miss out on the view of you so soft, so close to him. It doesn’t last nearly long enough for either of you, and much too soon you’re pulling away and throwing away the gloves and empty bottles.

By the time you finish cleaning up and throw out the garbage, it’s time to rinse your hair. Hanging your head over the tub, you let the water flow over your head until Leo tells you it’s running clear. He does the same, and you point out too late that he only had to rinse the dyed part, not his whole head.

You both laugh as you wrap a towel around your hair, teaching him how to do the same.

“Sweet, I’ve always wondered how to do the spa snail towel thing.”

“The spa snail towel thing?” You try in vain to fight another laugh.

“Yeah, you know… cause it looks like a snail, and they do it at spas…”

“Oh… my gods…” you laugh, exiting the bathroom and heading down the hall, “I”m going to get changed.” you call.

“Am I wrong?” he asks after you, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing. He heads to his room to do the same.

A few minutes later, you’re carefully pulling on your top, when he calls through your door.

“Hey, I’m gonna be in the kitchen, come down when you’re ready.”

“...Okay,” you agree.

You check your outfit in the mirror. You can still feel his fingers brushing your neck. Your head tilts at the memory. Snapshots of him pulling off his shirt in slow motion flash in your memory.

You realize how much of an affect the last hour has had on you. Your stomach drops.

You can’t possibly be falling in love. No way. Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

You’re not the falling in love type. At most, you’d hook up with someone a couple times on the rare occasion you thought they were hot, too.

Oh, you decide, that must be what’s happening. I just think he’s hot. I mean, duh. Of course he’s hot. Did you see him in there?

That’s all you have to do; hook up with him once, maybe twice, then you’ll get over it. It’ll make his ex jealous, and they’ll get back together. It will go just like it always has. Then you can move on to whatever the next crisis is.

You take a breath, resolving to follow the plan, exit your room. You throw yours and Leo’s old clothes and towels in the hamper, and head down stairs. He greets you, and pulls you into the kitchen.

“I have something to ask you.” Your brow furrows.

“...Okay.”

He takes your hand in his, the other behind his back.

“Will you…” he looks at you, gaze piercing, “...be my sous-chef.” he finishes, holding out an apron, matching his.

You study him, a hopeful, surprisingly confident look on his face. His hair is still damp. You’re sure yours is, too. You wait a beat, before replying slowly.

“Yes. But I’m not wearing that.”

“That’s fair,” he says, setting the apron on the counter, “I will have to dock your pay for being out of uniform, though.” You let out a puff of air from your nose, biting back a laugh. He pulls out a skillet, bowl, and oil, and begins preheating the pan. You watch him pull out more ingredients, and begin to set things up.

“Right now we’re waiting on that,” he says nodding at the stove. You nod, inspecting a bottle of seasoning he’d pulled out, and settle into a comfortable silence.

He thinks back to the last time you had time like this - playing twenty questions at your apartment. A pit forms in his stomach as he remembers the conversation veering to Calypso, as it always seemed to. He shoves it away. Not this time. He steadies his nerves. “So, you want to play twenty questions?”

You agree, coming closer to him.

“If you could go anywhere, where would you go?”

Your eyes flick over to the clock. You have a solid hour, hour and a half before the others are supposed to get here. You stare at him, brushing hair out of his face.

“I’d be dead in the endless void of deep space.”

He cracks a smile at how on brand that response was. Your fingertips trail down to his neck, rethen shoulder. The smile doesn’t leave his face, not completely. Your heart beats loudly in anticipation.

“My turn. Do you want to make out?”

His head snaps up, eyes locked with yours, trying to tell if you’re serious or if this is another example of your distinct sense of humor. But he can tell it’s not - there’s something a little too close to the surface in your eyes.

“Yeah. Yes, totally-”

You grab his collar, pulling him in for a kiss, and leaning back against the empty counter.

His lips are soft and warm, moving gracefully with yours. You barely register that the first kiss ends before you dive back in. You angle your head, deepening the kiss. He plants one hand on the counter, the other making its way to the small of your back. You flick your tongue past his lips, and his grip on your waist tightens. You clutch his collar tighter, other hand moving through his hair, still damp at the ends.

You can tell he’s enjoying what you do by the way his mouth quirks up ever so slightly at the corners, and by the way he starts to harden beneath you. You roll your hips into his, and he falters, sighing, breath fanning your lips. Not quite a moan, but you’re getting there.

The front door opens before you can.

Leo pulls away reluctantly, very reluctantly, and turns off the stove.

“That was fast,” he says, panting slightly and still very flushed. They’re not supposed to be here for a while, still.

A tall girl enters the kitchen, dark strawberry blonde hair pulled over her shoulder. She looks between you and Leo with a sour expression on her face.

“Calypso,” Leo says.

"...Hi."

[evanescentjasmine]

Ooo “Patho exes fic?”

Ah yes, another one I plotted out with my friend @rustchild. The basic premise of this is: while studying in the capital, Artemy had a brief but explosive affair with one celebrity thanatologist. They broke up when Artemy was slated to go to the front and Daniil told him he could pull some strings to keep him there at the capital, to which Artemy (young and idealistic) called him a coward and that was that.

Then, lo, Artemy walks into Stakh's flat and his ex is sitting smugly at a desk, saying Artemy owes him.

Mostly this is an excuse to add an extra layer of angst and awkwardness to their canon interactions if they're bitter exes, but it's also a fun exercise in seeing how people change when they're home, and seeing someone you once knew better than yourself (or thought you did) become a stranger.

I think Artemy wouldn't have been open with his heritage to Daniil at all, or to anyone in the capital frankly. And I think Daniil was probably treating Artemy a bit like a project, like a "oh you're so smart you just need a bit of polishing I can totally take you under my wing and do that," especially given his celebrity thanatologist nonsense. All of which come to a head in that first meeting at Stakh's, a clash of "I can't believe you didn't tell me about your background and the fact you're apparently a menkhu??" and "I can't believe you've been corresponding with my dad and want to pull this I know best bullshit again."

I don't know if it has a happy ending, because I love suffering. But I do have a bit of this written, which I'll tuck under a read more.

Daniil has thought a lot about how their first meeting since Artemy left would go.

In the early days, still smarting from their argument, Daniil had imagined Artemy appearing at the door of his home--or, if he’s feeling less generous, his Thanatica. Eyes big and bright and scared, maybe even glistening a little with held-back tears, Artemy would plead for Daniil’s help after all. He had come to his senses, he would say. He wasn’t made for war. Could Daniil please pull those strings for him, help him stay, help him hide.

And sometimes Daniil would be magnanimous, taking Artemy’s hands in his. He would coo yes, of course, right away, Artemy could stay with him until it was sorted and he would make sure Artemy’s studies weren’t interrupted, it would all be fine.

And sometimes Daniil would be petty and laugh and close the door in his absurdly handsome face. Ask, from behind the security of his work and his place, why Artemy would take the coward’s way like Daniil had, and didn’t Artemy have somewhere to report in?

When the days lengthen and Artemy does not appear to grovel for his help and it’s become increasingly likely the damned fool really did let himself get shipped off to war, Daniil had thought of Artemy being sent back. Found unfit for the job, perhaps. Incompetent. In his heart of hearts, he knows the army won’t spit out a surgeon once it has him, and anyway Artemy is more than competent, but Daniil has had enough experience with the bark of his father’s voice to drown out the logic. So yes, Artemy is sent back, disgraced, and his shame means that while he lingers the edges of every gathering, he cannot meet Daniil’s eyes when he does. And maybe Daniil will ignore him, or maybe invite him closer, or maybe invite him closer just to pointedly ignore him. In any case, Artemy will see what Daniil has used the time to accomplish, why he couldn’t possibly have wasted his time or even his life fighting pointless battles on the ground.

Later, when Artemy’s parting salvos have lost their sting and the weight of his disappointed frown isn’t quite as fresh in Daniil’s mind, his imaginings become less pointed. He imagines Artemy’s face in the crowd of his demonstrations, sat in the back as he used to be, equal parts skeptical and curious. He imagines Artemy at their old haunts, smoking just outside, waiting for him. He imagines Artemy swinging by Thanatica, exaggeratedly casual and very out of place.

In these imaginings, he is sometimes in uniform, the unlikely thought being he’s stationed nearby, but mostly it’s an excuse to consider Artemy in uniform. Most times without, because he’s on leave, because he’s been discharged, because Daniil doesn’t want to think on it too hard and that’s not what the imaginings are for.

What they are for is the quiet grudging apology he conjures in Artemy’s voice, still unwilling to admit Daniil was right and that Artemy should have taken the opportunity to remain, but also recognising that Daniil had only wanted what was best.

(Not recognising that he had cared, of course, such things aren’t worth considering.)

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Volume 8 “Ultimatum”

Welcome back, everyone! We had an unexpected break last week due to the horror going on in Texas. I'm glad we did. Not because of any salty "RWBY is bad right now yay free Saturday" feelings, but because keeping to a schedule for a fictional webseries should never take precedence over peoples' safety. I can't believe I need to type that sentence out, but it's true! Over the last seven days I've seen fans who are not merely disappointed by the mini hiatus (understandable) but outright hostile towards the crew because they... were ensuring everyone survived during an unprecedented emergency? Yeah. Given the highly critical nature of these recaps — including today's! — I want to be clear that my thoughts towards Rooster Teeth's creative choices are distinct from any thoughts about the crew itself, including the most basic forms of compassion like, “I sure hope everyone is okay over there.” In an age where it has become horrifically common to harass creators and even send them death threats over stories, it has likewise become necessary to remind people: Don't do that shit. Never do that shit. If I can teach anyone anything at all, let it be that!

Anyway, dark fandom reminders out of the way, let's dive straight into our delayed episode. It was certainly a doozy. Titled "Ultimatum," we open on a trigger warning for flashing lights. Good on Rooster Teeth for including that, though I do wonder if creators shouldn't be including time stamps as well? Or perhaps a note that you can find those time stamps in the credits, avoiding any (minor) spoilers for everyone else? I'm not photosensitive myself, so I certainly don't mean to speak for that group, but my first thought was, "So how would I watch this episode if I was? Hand on the pause button, hoping I stop fast enough as soon as the lights start?" Hard to do given the surprise nature of the scene. Really, my answer would be, "Wait for the fandom to post warnings of their own, likely including where it happens so I know when to skip" which is perhaps an indication that this information that should be included from the get-go.

But I am glad the warning exists, regardless. The episode itself begins with a shot of Ironwood looking down at the kingdom. He's used his windows as a vantage point since Volume 7, so that's nothing new, but something about this particular shot reminded me of Ozpin, looking down from his tower. I'm sure the response from many would be simply, "Ah yes, the two power hungry dictators watching over their victims," but I think there's a much more nuanced reading here about leaders being expected to fix the literally unfixable and what that responsibility does to an individual. Of course, it's a nuance that is absolutely obliterated by the episode’s end, but the implication existed for a hot second!

Two other soldiers are in the room with Ironwood, reporting that Cinder has helped Watts escape. They try to soften this with news that they still have Jacques in custody, but receive only a, "I don't give a damn about Jacques Schnee." Which, fair. He's pretty useless at this point. It's when Ironwood learns that both Qrow and Robin escaped too that he really gets mad, something his subordinates have been expecting given their scared expressions.

Now, I'm treading lightly here because I realize how this is going to sound given the end of our episode, but I still want to note that outside of that ending... this is a weird take? Just hear me out. Since Volume 7 the show has worked very hard to make Ironwood seem scary and unstable — bad setup for what we end with today — but the problem is that none of it works in context and it certainly doesn't work when compared to other characters' actions. They are literally in the midst of an unwinnable battle and thousands of his people are dying. If the audience wants a human being — who also just lost a limb and was betrayed by half his allies — o remain perfectly poised and polite during that, sorry, but that's not how human beings work. But even beyond this, what’s the message here? Ironwood raises his voice, so does Yang. Ironwood hits his desk, Qrow hits a child. If we're going to examine how Ironwood handles his stress and anger, he often handles it better than many of our heroes. Namely, by continually taking that anger out on inanimate objects. I kept waiting for him to attack his subordinates or attack Winter this episode, especially given where we end up, but it never came. Ironwood always has enough control to break the desk or punch the wall, not the person in front of him. Which, of course, would not be a good thing in the real world. I want to be clear given these sensitive subjects that if someone is breaking things in your presence that's a major problem to address. But this isn't the real world. This is a fantasy world in the middle of a war, populated by other characters who express their anger by punching people, slamming them into walls, or screaming at them until they run away. The story wants us to fear Ironwood long before he makes his objectively horrific choices and it tries to achieve that by showing us characters who are clearly terrified in his presence, by giving us a string of broken objects in his wake. But those details don't land well when we compare them to other instances of stress. In the same volume I have watched Ironwood take a deep breath to calm himself down when things have gone horribly wrong. I've also watched Weiss start a conversation by threatening her defenseless brother. So again, what’s the message here? It can’t be that acting violently towards someone = villainous behavior because, as established since Volume 6, that’s common for the heroes. Why are these subordinates terrified about Ironwood slamming his fist on a table, but Whitley has no problem hugging the woman who threatened him? Obviously there is a HUGE difference between our main group and Ironwood when it comes to other actions (cough-bomb threats-cough), but these day-to-day moments don't match up. The show wants to use violence as a way for us to easily identify the Bad Guy while ignoring all the times when our heroes do the same thing. 

All of which isn't meant to be a defense of Ironwood. As we'll see in a bit, there is no defense for what he's done. Rather, it's a way of acknowledging just how badly he's been written. Why does a man who consistently reins in his anger and takes it out on objects suddenly shoot a councilman for literally no reason? Why does a man defined by wanting to save as many people as he can suddenly threaten to bomb his city? Ironwood's characterization is all over the place, in the sense that they keep writing him as the morally gray, sometimes harsh, but ultimately compassionate man he started out as... up until they need a villain. Salem isn't here yet, so Ironwood can shoot Oscar. Salem isn't attacking yet, so Ironwood can shoot the councilman. Salem is currently reforming, so Ironwood can threaten YJR and Mantle. He's the B-plot villain whenever Salem is out of commission, which is a problem for both their characterizations. This filler doesn't make sense for Ironwood and it severely undermines the threat of Salem. You finally introduce the Magical Big Bad and our heroes are facing more of a threat from a guy with a broken army and three loyal allies left? Hmmm.

The tl;dr is that Ironwood's arc is a disaster and, frankly, it's gotten old reading simplified takes of, "It's just a realistic look at what white U.S. men will do in power sweetie :) " RWBY does not have the context capable of conveying that sort of critical take because our world is not besieged by literal monsters and an immortal witch, to say nothing of how real life good guys do not get deus ex machina canes that fix the problem instantaneously. Ironwood is not an example of anti-U.S. imperialism, he's an example of writers who don't know how to write.

Anyway, I'm getting severely off topic. Obviously Ironwood is a major part of this episode, but the problems demonstrated here are two years in the making. This is the culmination of things I've been discussing for months across hundreds of posts... so I should probably stop trying to summarize it all in a few paragraphs lol. Perhaps when RWBY is over — or Ironwood has died — I'll do a single meta on his character, try to pull everything into one, unified argument.

For now though, we have an episode to analyze.

While Ironwood is receiving this news we get flashbacks to Qrow and Robyn. Qrow attacks a soldier in his bird form, which is hilarious. Someone GIF that please. It does raise some interesting questions about this magic though: does Qrow retain his aura and strength in this form (something I thought given his choice to transform during the explosion), or was that soldier just so shocked at being attacked by a crow that he went down easy? We'll never know, because that would require establishing concrete rules for this world. The point is Qrow is going feral in his freedom, throwing punches left and right — did he kill that guard? — while Robyn watches it all from under a rock. They're apparently still somewhere in the facility since all the exits are guarded, but that's not the good thing Ironwood seems to think it is. After all, Qrow is out to murder him. He wants to be there.

We all see where this is going, right? The show is going to ignore Qrow's crazy belief that Ironwood got Clover killed in favor of a "Qrow saved Mantle by murdering Ironwood"/“Qrow got revenge for Mantle by murdering Ironwood” ending. Who cares why Qrow wanted to kill him in the first place now that Ironwood has his finger on the trigger? If RWBY is good at anything, it's writing moments that encourage you to ignore everything that came before it. We'll be seeing more of that in just a bit.

"Damn it!" Ironwood yells, because the show is leaning into its cursing. He orders that the subordinates not return until "you have Qrow Branwen in custody." Here we have another great example of the show conflating what the audience knows with what other characters know. See, we know Qrow has a vendetta against Ironwood. We know their relationship is the important one to the story and that Robyn is incidental. Ironwood doesn't know that. There's no reason for him, as a character, to specify that they only bring Qrow back, but it makes sense for the audience who has the whole, thematic picture. Our understanding of the situation is influencing Ironwood's dialogue, which is... not great.

This entire scene we've had creepy music to hammer home just how evil Ironwood is. Except, as said, he takes a breath to calm down and the music fades. Instead of flying into a rage, hurting someone, or doing anything the music suggests he might, Ironwood calmly calls in for an update — which is when the explosion hits.

It's MASSIVE, seeming to originate from a lightning strike, which is weird, since it's coming from inside the whale, but whatever. The animation is very dramatic and pretty, as we've come to expect of RWBY, but the actual plot is lackluster at best. It's funny though because I thought for a hot second, when Winter and the Ace Ops were caught in the blast, that RWBY had actually done something exciting. I mean, holy shit! There are the deaths we expect from a battle like this. My god, what is everyone going to do when they realize that Oscar's needless attack took out five characters, including Weiss' sister —

No wait, never mind. They're fine.

Let's talk about that "needless" descriptor for a moment though. Do you all remember, two weeks ago, when I went, "Hey, why isn't anyone telling Oscar that that Ace Ops are approaching with a bomb? They're on a time limit! If someone would just mention that Very Important Information then Oscar wouldn't keep standing around to fight Salem." See, at the time I was frustrated because of how the plot was needlessly allowing Oscar to put himself in danger (especially when the whole point of this mission was to rescue him). Now, I'm frustrated because that same plot needlessly wasted the most powerful weapon the group had. There was no reason for Oscar to use literal lifetimes worth of stored energy when the heroes already had a bomb to do the same job! What was the point of that? I guess he took out the other grimm too, but without the whale that still would have been a challenge with a finite end, one Ironwood's army and the remaining huntsmen should have been able to handle. It doesn't feel justified to have Oscar use a weapon kept on the bench for lifetimes when there was another option literally minutes away.

There's so much wrong with this I need another list. So:

Ozpin's cane supposedly stores kinetic energy, which may contradict what we've seen from it before. Regardless, we’ve never heard about this. The all powerful weapon comes out of nowhere

It also begs the question of why Ozpin wouldn't use that power at Beacon and why he wouldn't insist that they try to get their cane back while captured. You had an out this whole time! But we’re going to ignore that because Oscar is a little hesitant? 

Which makes YJR's presence even more useless than it originally was, which was already pretty useless. Oscar essentially rescued himself

This kinetic energy miraculously doesn't hurt any people or buildings, just grimm

So what is the point of Silver Eyes? That's been their MO since they were first introduced. Sure, Silver Eyes can be used far more often than Ozpin's cane, but it still feels like a let down to learn that the Big Secret behind this weapon is... the exact same thing Ruby has been doing for years

Like Ruby, Oscar likewise didn't need any practice or training. He just set off this massive attack perfectly and without issue

We have now eliminated the biggest threat to the cast instantaneously — the whale and the other grimm — with no effort from the rest of the heroes. Like the Hound, the stakes are obliterated with no satisfying work on the part of our protagonists 

Instead, as said, the actual plan already in place never happened. The bomb just... goes back. Kind of like how Cinder attacked and then just went back to Salem. Penny woke up and then just got knocked out again. We continue to go in circles 

This is because no one took two seconds to tell Oscar, "There's a bomb on the way"

Because this threat is gone the show needs a new one, hence Ironwood randomly threatening Mantle with said bomb

The one way we might have justified Oscar blowing up the whale instead of Winter is if he did it to save Hazel, but Hazel is implied to be dead

Maybe he's alive, but if he's not that happened off screen and we're not sure how. It couldn't have been because of the blast itself — everyone else is fine — so what, Salem somehow killed him before she was blasted to bits? While he was holding her? 

And there's no body?

Salem was torn apart multiple times during that fight and reformed instantaneously, yet now, conveniently, she's taking her time

None of the characters mention the issues above. None of them admit that there was no reason for Oscar to waste LIFETIMES worth of power when they already had a solution in the works. Fantastic

I need to take a moment to acknowledge that so far this recap feels... bad. Disjointed. Bit all over the place. Which makes a certain amount of sense because that's where my thoughts are at. There's so much going on in this episode — so much wrong with it — that I don't know how to boil it all down into a few, neat claims. This episode is a mess! We're barely a few minutes in and the combined issues of Ironwood's characterization and Oscar's choice have left me reeling. So if you're still reading this, bless your patience, I think we'll both need it for the rest of this journey.

Let's snag a neater plot-point to discuss. Amidst all the chaos Neo literally skips away with the Lamp, clearly thrilled at how her own life is going. Later in the episode she'll text Cinder with the obvious: Salem is going to be pretty pissed when she realizes this is gone. “If you want her name you know what you owe me." 

So wait... what is Neo leveraging here? Is she agreeing to give the Lamp back so Cinder doesn't get in trouble with Salem? Give Salem the password she's been looking for? Or give Cinder the password to use the Lamp for herself? What would Cinder even want the Lamp for when she's after the Maiden powers? I'm confused about what Cinder is being blackmailed with. Regardless, she needs the lamp for something and presumably what she "owes" Neo is Ruby. We get a cut to her just to hammer that home.

(Side note: both pictures of Neo are hilarious.) 

Before that though, back at the whale, everyone is taking stock of the situation when Marrow cries, "Hey, they were still in there!" I feel like this is another scene meant to make him look like the one good guy in the group — he cares about YJOR while the others can’t be bothered — but as always, that reading doesn't fit well with the situation as a whole. The others have barely had time to realize they're alive. I don't think it's a moral failing that they didn't instinctually worry about four betrayers, one of whom attacked them, while they're still checking that they have all their limbs intact. Besides, why does Marrow assume they're dead? The Ace Ops were caught in the blast as well, yet miraculously came out unharmed. They clearly didn't set their own bomb off, so it's logical to assume that YJOR did something themselves. It feels weird to have a "Marrow mourns them and Winter is the only other character who cares" moment when everyone is recovering from bomb shock and no one even knows if the others are dead. But, of course, the show is out to portray only two of these characters as good people, so ignore the logic and run with the emotion of the scene.

All of which is bolstered by Elm pulling away when Vine puts a hand on her shoulder. Why is she acting cold towards him now? Because they're not friends, remember?

While we get more ridiculous relationship dynamics, Ironwood calls in and congratulates them on the bomb working, but tells them to get back because they have another problem in the works. That would be Qrow and Robyn. Winter decides to tell him about the bomb in person.

We cut to Watts and Cinder watching the remnants of the blast from a rooftop. Cinder has tried calling, but no one answered. Unsurprising, given that Salem doesn't have any other allies left. Cinder says that the plan hasn't changed, she's still going to take the Winter Maiden's power for herself, and Watts can help her by bringing Penny here. He explains that he doesn't have full control over her. Rather, he implemented a virus that is setting her on a single path: open the vault, then self-destruct. Cinder, as one might expect, is furious.

She snags Watts by her grimm arm and threatens to toss him over the side of the building. Thus begins the best part of the episode, hands down. Despite the danger he's in, Watts throws common sense out the window in favor of dragging Cinder in the most satisfying manner possible. 

“You think you’re entitled to everything just because you suffered, but suffering isn’t enough. You can’t just be strong, you have to be smart. You can’t just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been is a bloody migraine!”

It's true! You know what else is true? This speech could apply to our heroes as well. Accusations of entitlement and reminders to be smart as opposed to just strong hit hard, considering those are the same flaws our protagonists are struggling with. The difference is that Cinder, miraculously, listens, pulling Watts back to safety and going to cry by herself. That moment is simultaneously more growth than Ruby has gotten and more sympathy than Ironwood has gotten. The woman who murdered Pyrrha is treated more kindly by the narrative than one of our initial heroes and our very first villain has taken more time to reconsider her choices than our title character. You know a show is falling apart when excellent choices are applied to the worst possible character.

So Cinder is crying while Watts looks guilty and we cut back to YJOR's group post-blast. Yang is finally able to answer a call from Blake who is obviously overjoyed to see her. Weiss gives them directions to the mansion and they ask what in the world they'll do with Emerald, currently on her knees, mourning Hazel.

Thus begins the third most frustrating part of this episode. See, on the way back the group continues the conversation about what to do with Emerald, with Yang and Jaune distrusting her vs. Ren and Oscar encouraging cooperation. I can't believe I'm saying this after's Ren's speech and Oscar's entire existence... but I'm team Jaune and Yang here. Look, what Oscar and Ren say — the literal words coming out of their mouth — is nonsense. Ren goes, “We can’t let all of our actions stem from fear," as if Yang and Jaune are being ridiculous for mistrusting Emerald, one of the established villains, after years worth of harm from her. It’s weird that Yang points to her arm as something Emerald is responsible for, rather than being framed or the deaths at Beacon, but the general sentiment of, “She’s done horrible things!” is true. Ren’s perspective is the same simplification that was applied to Ironwood last volume, wherein everyone acted as if he was crazy for fearing an attack on his kingdom... post an attack on another kingdom and pre an attack on his kingdom. Putting generic lines in Ren's mouth about not being afraid makes him sound willfully ignorant, as if choosing to believe that someone is good will magically make them so, to say nothing of thinking it will erase all the harm they've already done.

Oscar at least acknowledges the difficulty here, but then follows this up with, “You don’t have to forgive her… just give her a second chance."

Oscar, honey, that amounts to the same thing in this situation. Allowing Emerald a second chance means working with her, which means trust, which means emotionally reaching a point where these characters can put aside the harm she's done them in an effort to give her that chance in the first place. This actually ties into a post I saw last night, one I've come across before, that claims redemption arcs don't require any suffering on the part of the person who has done wrong. I agree in theory, that prolonged suffering doesn't help anyone, but the problem is that people tend to conflate suffering with consequences and someone who has done this level of harm should face consequences for their actions. The problem with redemption arcs is not that the bad people suffer too much —  emotionally and physically beating on them as a form of revenge  — but that the people they've harmed are put into situations like this one. If Yang and Jaune let Emerald go like she suggests, they are agreeing that she doesn't have to face any consequences for the damage she's done (which, keep in mind, involves multiple deaths, not including all the lost lives here in Atlas). If they agree to give her a second chance, they are forced to jump straight to some level of forgiveness. We might claim they don't have to forgive Emerald to work with her, but from a practical perspective how are they meant to function, especially during a warzone? Anything she provides them with — information, watching their back in a fight, undertaking missions, etc.  — requires trusting her enough to allow those things to happen: working with that info, letting her protect them, allowing her that responsibility. It's all about trust, trust she has yet to earn. In order for a redemption arc to be successful, the power has to be in the hands of the victims. They need to be able to see some justice for what was done to them, be offered some proof that the person in question has truly changed, and have the ability to walk away if they decide no, I don't forgive you, glad to hear you've improved, but please stay out of my life. Jaune and Yang have none of that. There are currently no systems in place for Emerald to face consequences for her choices, she has offered them no proof of her remorse or true motivations, and the other half of the group is pressuring them to give her that second chance without closure or reassurance. None of that makes for a good redemption arc and reducing that to, "So you want to see poor Emerald suffer, huh?" ignores the suffering she has already caused. The group are her victims and they are under no obligation to give her a second chance, particularly under these circumstances, which makes the story's choice to have Ren and Oscar act like Yang and Jaune are being stubborn or inconsiderate a problem. The conversation boils down to, "Give the woman you know to be a liar, manipulator, murder accomplice, and servant of our enemy a second chance based entirely on unfounded faith. If you don't you're letting yourself be ruled by fear."

RWBY's touchy-feely themes really don't sit well within its realistic, morally gray premise. We cannot continually have these characters go through hell one moment and then have others accuse them of being paranoid the next. The fact that all of this is wrapped up in the group trusting Robyn, Emerald, and Hazel over their established allies remains beyond frustrating.

Because yeah, you know how Oscar finishes his speech? “I’ve already gotten a lot of help today from someone I don’t exactly trust right now." Meaning Ozpin.

The story is trying to compare Emerald and Hazel to Ozpin.

"Oh hey, I kept a secret from you after lifetimes of watching that secret lead to betrayal and death. I keep apologizing for my mistakes while ignoring that I had no reason to trust a bunch of kids with such world-shattering information and also that you tore it from me in the most traumatic way possible."

"Oh hey, I willingly joined our world's version of the devil and helped her destroy your school, leading to numerous deaths including your friend and headmaster. It was his death that put Oscar in this position in the first place! I then continued to attack your group, leading to another near death of a friend, and a kidnapping, and the destruction of Amity, until I became scared enough to make a run for it."

Which one of these characters is granted an instant second chance? You'll never guess who!

And I do think the word "instant" is important here because just like Jaune and Yang have the right to have distance and justice from Emerald, they had that right with Ozpin too. The difference is they got it. They had the power in the situation, as evidenced by their use of the Lamp and physically attacking him. Ozpin heard what they needed from him — leave us alone — and did that without complaint. They were given months to come to terms with the secrets he kept. They were offered apologies and acts of service to demonstrate intent: saving them in the airship and continually saving Oscar. I don't believe Ozpin ever needed a redemption arc, but even if we think he did, he had it. After three volumes of material Oscar's perspective is still "I don't exactly trust [him] right now" but Hazel and Emerald have earned at least the same amount of trust in a matter of hours? They're really having my boy look at the guy who has tried desperately to do right by him despite unimaginable circumstances, and the guy who tortured him to get information for Salem, and went, "That first guy. He's the one we need to watch out for."

To make things even worse, Oscar tells the others that Ozpin took on all the torture so he wouldn't have to. So he did that and they still don't trust him? If you had told me back in Volume 6 that two years later the group would still be hostile towards Ozpin, while simultaneously urging one another to trust Emerald, I would have said you were lying. RWBY has its problems, but it's not that bad. Yet here we are. I suppose the one silver lining here is that Ren smiles when he realizes Ozpin is back? So at least one of them isn't prepared to draw their weapon at the mere mention of his name.

Both these moments raise more questions though. How in the world did Ozpin take on that torture when we clearly saw Oscar getting pummeled for a good portion of the kidnapping? Is that a weird merge thing the story hasn't bothered to explain? I wouldn't be surprised, considering Oscar said last episode he didn't want to use magic because it hastened the merge, he uses the biggest explosion of magic we've ever seen, and nothing has changed. Ozpin is still in the back of his head, thanking him for the tinniest shreds of decency they get. Ren, meanwhile, seems to be back to mindreading. How in the world does he know that Ozpin is back? I assume it has something to do with his semblance, but we don't know what. They could have shown us Oscar from Ren's perspective, perhaps with two distinct emotions swilling around to imply that he sees two different people now, not a useless shot of Emerald with purple flower petals, whatever purple means.

Oh, but no, we shouldn't have gotten either of these scenes. Remember that Ren's aura broke a very, very short time ago? Is it back already? Can he use this part of his semblance without it? Considering it was near impossible to see Ironwood's aura breaking in the Watts fight and we were then mistakenly told he used his semblance in the office, I'm going to go with, "The writers forgot."

Oscar explains that the cane had "lifetime after lifetime" of power in it and though there's still some left, "we have to be careful with how we use the rest." He says that Ozpin trusted his judgement and of course he did! Ozpin also didn’t know that there was a bomb on the way. Yet funnily enough, no one else mentions that, whoops, your choice made in ignorance was a waste and that's due entirely to us prioritizing hugs over basic mission information.

Also, all these explanations take place in front of Emerald. Half the group doesn't trust her, but they'll freely discuss their powers and limitations here. Remember how the group once wanted to talk about magical relics in front of the old lady they'd just met? Yeah, they've learned nothing.

Combine all this insanity with the fact that Ozpin's magic saved the day before Ironwood's bomb could do the same... while Ruby sat in a mansion drinking tea. Who's our hero again?

So things are a hot mess, to put it lightly. Their conversation finally ends when they hear voices and round the corner to find all the Atlas citizens huddled in the subway. For once the show actually writes them in a sympathetic manner, emphasizing how terrified and helpless they are. This image doesn't lead the group to any revelations though, certainly not anything that would tie back to Ren's earlier speech in the snow. No, once again the justified criticisms here are ignored as we hear that “However this fight ends, we could really use someone like you, [Emerald.]” That's it then. Discussion over. We knew as soon as it started that blindly trusting her was being presented as the "right" thing to do and now here we are, deciding that conclusively, despite Jaune and Yang's complaints. By the time the group reaches the mansion, Oscar is defending Emerald from Ruby. We're supposed to just accept that she's a part of the group now, only minimal pushback allowed.

Before that though we return to Ironwood getting news that their bomb never went off. He briefly wonders who else could have done that, but puts the currently unanswerable question aside for what he does know. They still have the bomb and it could be "useful." See, this moment — like shooting Oscar and the councilman — is when Ironwood just randomly goes off the deep end. One minute he's talking about what they've lost and cradling his new arm, 

the next he's saying that he should have tortured Qrow to get Penny to obey him! Which doesn't even make sense since I'm pretty sure Penny hasn't ever spoken to Qrow. She wouldn't want anyone to suffer, true, but it's not like Ironwood had a close friend like Ruby to use as leverage. Qrow is just Some Guy to her. Regardless, he thinks Yang, Jaune, and Ren are decent replacements, despite Penny also having no relationships with them. This is what happens when your characters only start breaking up their teams eight years into the story, the response to Ironwood wanting to torture Ren to hurt Penny is, “Does Penny know Ren exists?” But, you know, torture is torture, right? Maybe. Probably not. I mean, if they're going to turn Ironwood into a cartoon villain, they could at least keep him smart.

Because all of this is just the height of stupidity. Ironwood wants to torture people Penny barely knows to make her listen (so just grab some civilians? It would do the same job...). Ironwood wants to shoot down empty ships, even though no one, including us, knows where in the world those ships would have gone. Ironwood wants to destroy an entire city to try and save another city. He wants to use a bomb meant for a comparatively small whale and acts like that alone will take out the majority of a kingdom. None of it makes sense! And I know the easy comeback for that is, "Well yeah, Ironwood is crazy and evil" but he's not. I mean he is. Threatening torture and bombings is obviously evil, but he's never been insane, or stupid. As said before, his arc (or lack thereof) is an absolute disaster. The fandom assumes so many things about Ironwood given the opportunity — the whale is a suicide mission. He expects the Ace Ops to die on his order — and the writing hints at so many things that never happen — he's going to hurt his subordinates, attack Winter for disobeying him — and every time what we actually get is a far more compassionate, level-headed character... until he randomly does a 180 and goes, "Let's murder a whole city now!" I never wanted Ironwood to be the bad guy, but they could have at least given me a persuasive decent into this level of horror.

So... yeah. Ironwood has got to die by the end of the volume, yeah? Between Ruby warning the whole world about him and him going into full villain mode, there's no coming back from this.

Neo sends her text to Cinder and the group makes it back to the mansion. Remember Yang's criticisms of Ruby's leadership? The ones she conveniently forgot about when Ren started to agree with her? Yeah, those are entirely gone as the sisters hug it out and, presumably, forgive one another for... daring to admit that things are bad? Look, I'm not going to deny that Ironwood's scene with Winter was creepy as fuck, 

but I'm not of the opinion that the heroes are any better when it comes to the theme of obedience. They've attacked one another, screamed at one another, and any dissent from Ruby's leadership results in the questioner being left behind in the snow. We'll accept you again when you fall back in line. I used to adore the relationships in this show, but watching them now is just discomforting. The show might be 100% more obvious with Ironwood, using creepy music, a smile, and that hand on Winter's shoulder, but the concept of, "Sorry I dared to question you before! We won't ever do it again :)" isn't healthy either. The fact that the show keeps erasing theses problems with hugs — Weiss hugs Whitley now, Yang hugs Ruby, someone will probably hug Emerald soon — doesn't make the circumstances any less uncomfortable.

None of this even gets into the Blake and Yang hug. First of all, why is Blake acting like they had a fight and Yang might not want to see her? She's hiding inside rather than rushing to greet them, ears down in a devastated expression until Yang touches her. Combine this with Yang's "Do you think she's mad at me?" and it feels like the writers cut a fight in the final script and then didn't bother to remove the fallout from that. Seriously, where did any of this come from? You can't just have characters act like they've been fighting when they haven’t.

Also, can't forget this.

At this point there's nothing more I can say in regards to RWBY's almost-queer baiting. Is touching foreheads more intimate than the hugs Yang gave the others? Absolutely. Is that an appropriate stand-in for overt representation? Absolutely not. This would have been a perfect time for them to kiss. Take out Blake's nonsensical fear and replace it with them both reuniting after their first separation since Volume 5, working under the knowledge that either one could have been killed, finally admitting their feelings. Hell, they don't actually have to kiss. Not all girlfriends are interested in kissing! But they could use the terminology that makes things unequivocally canon.  Another forehead touch when we got that in Volume 6? It's not enough, especially not when our straight couples have all been allowed their rep.

Ren at least wants to know where Nora is. He's presumably told what happened off screen as Oscar tells Ruby that Emerald is their friend now.

Then an emergency call from May interrupts the reunion and the group learns that Ironwood is bombing the Schnee ships. “Those ships… they were going to save people” Weiss whispers. How? Tell me how they were going to save anyone. Where were you going to take these people where they would be safer than where they are now? RWBY continually asserts things without explaining them, meaning there is precisely zero emotional weight here. Again, Ironwood is far past the point of defense, but I'd be a whole lot more critical of this particular action if I had a better sense of why it's bad. He appears to be endangering the people given May's shout to run — falling debris? — but the further implication is that Ironwood has doomed the people of Mantle by denying them these ships. It's that part that makes no sense based on what we've been told.

Which finally comes to the ultimatum of our episode title: Penny opens the vault, or Ironwood bombs Mantle. Great! So glad this plan is wicked smart and works well for his characterization. It's definitely not a nonsensical, unfounded, overblown change that feels like it belongs in a child's cartoon, complete with dramatic spotlight. Nope. Excellent writing choices all around.

Our final line of the episode is, “I hope you live up to the title I gave you," referring to Penny's job as the Protector of Mantle, and you know what? That line could have been very cool if it was delivered by an Ironwood with a persuasive fall and a halfway decent plan in place. I love that we've twisted the concept of a protector and turned the title into a horrifying, rather than honorable responsibility... I just hate everything surrounding those details. 

So, usual RWBY fare.

(At least we get to see that Nora is awake!) 

Will things get better over the next four episodes? I doubt it. We're still expecting the rest of the Ace Ops + Winter to ditch Ironwood, someone getting the vault open, the fall of Atlas, now the potential destruction of Mantle, and none of that includes Salem who should reform at any moment. Frankly, I'm not looking forward to any of it. The final leg of a season should make its audience excited to see how everything turns out, not dreading it. I've heard from multiple people that this is the volume that finally got them to drop the show and honestly? I'm not surprised.

As a final (happier?) note: we've finally got a bingo! I completely forgot our board last time, which was a terrible oversight, but we can update it now.

Our army of grimm can't kill anyone now that it got KOed by Oscar (that is the third one hit defeat of a major enemy we've seen this volume. Yes, I'm including the Hound considering it was obviously on its last legs after Ruby's eyes.)

I'm likewise including "Ozpin apologizes for everything including his existence" because he's done nothing but apologize since he came back. The emotion is there even if the literal words are not. Oscar reminded everyone of how untrustworthy he is, but kept the group from jumping them again. And Ozpin thanked him for it.

Neo didn't literally backstab Cinder (shame), but the Relic still counts.

So a triple bingo! Is that how bingo works? Idk, I've never played. I feel like I should have thought up some sort of humorous prize, but sadly I've got nothing. If you think of anything, let me know lol

That’s all then, folks. Until next week! 💜