#i know how its like to be on constant low spoons

[n4rval]

Hey uhh. I just wanted to say thanks for always interacting with what I post, I'm really bad at replying to things so I never manage to but I just wanted to say that I appreciate it :'] you don't have to answer this ask ofc just thank you, that's all have a good day lol.

even if our freak doesnt match rn it is always fun seeing you! thank You for always having amazing taste and being awesome

[sturnioz]

Shy!Matt who is so desperate to have his dick inside of you. He wakes up in the middle of the night, reminiscing on thoughts of how deep he was inside of you just a couple hours ago. The sleepy haze helps him. Reaching over, he starts grabbing at your hips, cuddling closer, spooning you. His dick grinding against you isn’t even intentional. Pure instinct. The constant grinding leaves your mind lively, your sore pussy aching for more as you push yourself back onto him. 

Realizing your movements, he comes to a complete stop, his eyes shooting wide as he becomes so embarrassed. “I…—’m sorry, didn’t, um—didn’t mean—oh,” he seethes, his hand starting to bruise into your hip with a tight clasp as you roll your hips back. It’s irresistible. You can feel the warm, sticky precum leaking through his boxers and through your underwear. Matt’s so lost in the sensations, he whines loudly when they come to a halt, his hand urging your body to continue the patterned motions of you grinding onto his painfully hard dick. 

“Hold on.” you direct, quickly pulling away to grab his throbbing length, bringing it out of the top of his boxer waistband. He seethes at your grip. The strained moan that leaves his lips as you pull your panties to the side, pushing his tip against your warm pussy is embarrassingly loud. Matt grabs on harshly to your shoulder. His cheeks are flushed with arousal and a faint humiliation. A muffled groan vibrates from his lips as your sticky walls suck him in. 

“Ohmy—god,” he breathes, his chest heaving as you start to grind on him, your pussy sucking him in with a heavenly hold. “I—” Embarrassment from the predicament hits Matt, pounding his ears with a loud drum of his heartbeat. You feel him start to retract into his own mind, but you’re intent on keeping him right there with you…

Starting a slow pace, you smile at his low moans as his head sinks into the crook of your neck. Your arm tangles around, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer, speeding up the way you sink back and forth, clenching around his cock that seems to start meeting your movements. 

“I—baby, baby, baby, I—-” he chants. You’re quick to hush Matt, pulling him closer as you feel his teeth hesitantly graze over your shoulder. You know he’s close. But—you also know he’s holding back. The noises leaving his mouth are too much for him to be aware of, it’s making him pull back into his own head. “---’s okay, Matt. Just bite me, I got you, okay?” 

Hesitant, you feel him slowly let his teeth sink into your shoulder, barely grasping into your flesh while his cock stiffens deeper and deeper inside you, craving to be buried as far as he possibly can. “C’mon, you can—do it. Just—let it feel good, okay? Can you—god, do that Matt? For me?” 

Every inch of him is showered in bliss. His teeth sink in without any true realization as his high comes closer and closer to its peak. “I…can do, um—I can do that,” he whispers, shying into your shoulder more with sloppy kisses lacing over the mark of his teeth imprinted into your skin. 

He can’t hold himself back. His teeth ruthlessly bite into your skin with a desperate attempt to muffle the loud whimper as you continue fucking him, milking him dry. Warm and sticky, his dick twitches, his hips stuttering as he pulls you as close as possible, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “I…sorry, didn’t, um—didn’t mean to bite that hard, baby….” 

Humming in response, you curl your fingers through his hair. “--’s okay. I like it, Matt—love when you need me like this…” you sigh out. 

“I…” Matt’s words linger on his tongue. Your gaze shifting back sends him into panic, his hand slipping down to your folds. He lets out a relieved sigh as your head throws itself back. The moan leaving your lips makes him feel prideful as he starts toying with your clit. 

“Lemme do this too? I…please?” he begs, grinning as you nod aggressively, your eyes still squinted shut with utter bliss. 

He keeps doing just the right movements, making sure it feels so good that you can’t look at him. He’s too embarrassed for you to see him like this—obsessively staring at your face and your skin. Matt’s trying to pull his gaze off of you, terrified at the thought of your eyes peeping open to glance at him, but he can’t help but stare, wishing he could see every contort of your face all the time. 

If only he had the guts to look more often….

[ This is my formal apology. I also got memes if this does not suffice. ]

oh my fucking GOD ROSE ? WHAT THE FUCK

[awkward-walking-potato]

I’m obsessed with how you write for Logan, like it’s becoming an addiction at this point. Maybe after a hard week for reader and for Logan, they finally get some time together. So Logan puts on some slow music from the 40s/50s and pulls reader into the kitchen of the apartment to slow dance together. So they just hold each other, maybe discuss some things, or get kind of vulnerable with each other. And it’s just cute and sweet. And then from the living room Wade speaks up, breaking their perfect moment together because let’s be honest, it’s Wade. I love your writing sooooooo much. Thank you🤍

Dancing in the Kitchen

The apartment was quiet, a rarity these days. The week had been long—brutal even. Missions, confrontations, sleepless nights—both you and Logan had been worn thin by the constant demands of a world that never seemed to give either of you a break.

But tonight, the world was far away. The curtains were drawn, the lights dimmed low. The only sound was the steady hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath your feet. You leaned against the kitchen counter, letting out a deep breath. The weight of the past days still clung to you like a heavy coat, but at least here, in this small space with Logan, you felt some semblance of peace.

Logan appeared in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame, and you couldn’t help but smile. His usual scowl was softened, the lines of his face more relaxed than you’d seen in days. He held up an old vinyl record, its cover worn but still intact, and nodded toward the living room.

“Thought we could use a little music,” he said, his gruff voice tinged with a warmth that made your heart swell.

You nodded, watching as he moved to the old record player he’d insisted on keeping despite its age. The needle dropped, and soon the soft crackle of the record filled the air, followed by the smooth, crooning voice of a singer from long ago. The melody was slow, languid, like honey dripping from a spoon, sweet and comforting.

Logan turned back to you, holding out his hand. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s dance.”

You hesitated for only a moment before slipping your hand into his. His grip was firm, but gentle as he pulled you into the center of the kitchen. There wasn’t much room, but it didn’t matter. In fact, it felt more intimate this way, with the small space making you press closer to him.

Logan’s other hand settled on your waist, and you looped your arm around his neck, your fingers brushing against the short hairs at the nape. For a few seconds, neither of you moved, just swayed slightly to the rhythm of the music, finding a comfortable sync.

“I miss this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you began to move slowly, your bodies swaying in time with the music. There was something almost magical about it, the way the world seemed to fade away until it was just the two of you in this moment. The tension that had been coiled tight in your chest started to loosen, and you found yourself resting your head against Logan’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“You’ve been holdin’ up okay?” Logan asked, his voice rumbling through his chest and into your ear.

You sighed, a little shakier than you intended. “It’s been hard. I feel like I’m running on fumes.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer. “I know the feelin’. But you’re doin’ better than you think. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, finding them softer than usual. “You really think so?”

“Hell yeah,” he replied without hesitation. “You’ve been through worse, and you’ve come out on top every time. This week’s just another bump in the road.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the music or the closeness. Logan didn’t dole out compliments often, but when he did, you knew he meant every word. It was one of the things you loved most about him—his unwavering honesty.

“Thanks, Logan,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Anytime, darlin’.”

For a while, you both just danced, the music wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. You could feel Logan’s breath on your hair, his strong, calloused hand still holding yours firmly, like he was afraid to let go. And for the first time in days, you felt safe, like everything might just be okay.

But then, as if the universe couldn’t resist ruining the moment, you heard a loud, exaggerated sniffle from the living room.

“Oh my God, you guys are so cute, it’s making me nauseous!” Wade’s voice broke through the serene atmosphere, full of dramatic flair. “Seriously, I’m over here trying to watch a movie, and it’s like a Hallmark commercial in there!”

Logan stiffened, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was impossible to be mad at Wade when he was just being his usual self. You turned your head to see him sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his stomach, his mask pulled up just enough to reveal his mouth.

“Wade,” Logan growled, though there was more exasperation than anger in his tone.

“What? Don’t look at me like that, Wolvie! I’m just appreciating the domestic bliss you two have got going on here. It’s inspiring. I might even write a poem about it later. ‘Ode to the Mutants Who Dance in the Kitchen’—has a nice ring to it, don’t ya think?”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Wade, do you ever stop talking?”

“Not unless I’m unconscious, which, thanks to this wonderful healing factor of mine, is pretty rare,” Wade shot back, grinning cheekily.

Logan sighed, shaking his head, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible, Wilson.”

“And you love me for it,” Wade replied, throwing a popcorn kernel into the air and catching it in his mouth.

You turned back to Logan, the moment interrupted but not entirely lost. You gave him a small smile, your hand squeezing his gently. “We can always try again later.”

Logan nodded, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Damn right we will. And this time, I’m lockin’ the door.”

Wade’s voice piped up again from the living room. “Locking the door won’t keep me out, Honey Badger! I’m like Santa Claus, I’ll find a way in!”

You and Logan both laughed, the tension of the week finally melting away completely. Maybe the moment wasn’t perfect, but it was yours—and that made it better than anything else.

[hyunjins-dimples]

slow mornings

Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x gn reader

w/c: ~500 words

genre: romance, fluff

warnings: none

You can’t tell what it was that woke you up. Maybe it was your sleep schedule that’s been a little off lately. Maybe it was that the soft snoring next to you had stopped. It always woke you up when a constant noise that surrounded you while sleeping suddenly stopped. Without fail, you’d always wake up when someone turned off the movie you fell asleep to. Something about the low background noise being comforting. Maybe what woke you up today was the fact that your foot was absolutely freezing, you must’ve stuck it out from under the blanket in your sleep.

Not really surprising, sharing a blanket with your boyfriend meant sleeping next to a human furnace. Which was not without its perks. With a small noise of content, you tugged your foot under the blanket and shuffled a bit to turn around, facing Hyunjin. Every thought of sticking your cold foot to his warm leg left your mind when you were met with his sleepy face.

“Good morning, love,” he smiled at you.

You couldn’t hide a little smile as you chuckled “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I like your morning voice.” It was deeper than his normal voice, and a little rumbly. You could listen to him like this all day if it were up to you.

“Ah, is that it?” He snuggled up to you, pulling you closer by your waist and brought his lips closer to your ear. “You like it when my voice is deep like this?”

You leaned your head against his and hummed in agreement. That was all he needed to hear. He pressed a kiss to the side of your face and rolled back to his previous position. Not at all what you wanted. “Hey!” you protested.

Face half hidden by the pillow, Hyunjin gives you a sleepy look. “Not done cuddling yet?”

You shake your head. “I woke up with a cold foot and now my boyfriend is taking all his warmth away too, it’s not fair.” A small pout should make your statement extra convincing.

“Mhh, we can’t have that, of course.”

“Yes, and I think you could profit from cuddles too...”

The blanket rustled with his chuckle and he asked, “Okay okay, do you want to be the big spoon or the little spoon?”

“Little spoon please!”

“Got it.”

Again, he shuffled closer to you and snaked one of his arms under your waist, but this time he pulled you flush to his body and rearranged the blanket so it would cover both of you nicely. Getting cozy, you pulled your end of the blanket closer to your face, snuggling up to the soft fabric. With Hyunjin’s warmth covering your back, you began to relax again.

“This is nice.”

Instead of getting a reply, you could feel Hyunjin’s fingers slowly moving through your hair. Soft, slow motions that threatened to lull you back to sleep. Letting yourself enjoy the quiet moment between the two of you, you closed your eyes and focused on the feeling of his soft lips planting a kiss on your neck.

How could you ever want to leave your bed if it was this warm and cozy to just stay and cuddle?

author's note: idk what this is or if this even is anything. my writing's gotten really rusty but I just needed to get this out of my brain. maybe someone finds this and likes it, who knows.

[opalcicle]

If They Call Me a Slut, You Know it Might be Worth it for Once

Ch. 6 Morning Aftermath

Smut, Fluff, Angst, it has it all

When I start to wake I'm tangled in a blanket, limbs stretched out in different directions. I feel the sun beaming through the window before I open my eyes. It's a cozy weekday morning and I just had the deepest sleep I've had in ages. My body starts to stretch piece by piece, coming to slowly as I drift gently out of my dreams. There's a warmth where my leg lays over someone else's. I cuddle up to the the man beside me and feel him shift as well.

"Hey," I hear the voice- it's familiar, but I'm too sleepy to place it, my brain still running through the last remnants of a peaceful dream, "good morning,"

"Good morning," I yawn, pulling my body into his.

"How did you sleep," his voice gets closer as he places a kiss on my forehead.

"Sooo good," I tuck against his chest, he smells so familiar, sounds so familiar. My body starts to fill in the memories of last night. Taking a spanking, then in front of a mirror, pinned down, cumming and cumming and- Charlie. Oh my god its Charlie.

My eyes flitter open to look at my best friend, "How did you sleep?," I yawn again.

"Incredible," he says, kissing the top of my head.

His arms find their way through the sheets and around me. I feel a hand squeeze my ass cheek and breath out sharply. As he pulls me in closer his erection taps against my abdomen.

I groan out a grumpy reply as I feel wetness begin to pool between my legs. "I'm still waking up," I protest gently, but rub his chest and place a kiss on his sternum. Lazily trailing kisses over skin, I start to wake my body more. My legs are stiff, and I can tell I'm going to be sore. "Oh god, you might be right about needing to carry me,"

He hums a low, satisfied note and stretches out onto his back, a smirk in his voice, "I told you,"

I can't even muster the energy to banter with him. Instead of replying I scoot back up to him and trail my hand over his chest.

"Are you okay, though?" He questions, wrapping an arm around me.

"I am, I'm great," I close my eyes again and soak in the warmth of Charlie's body.

Without realizing it, I fall back into sleep, and wake up suddenly, like time has slipped. My new lover's voice sings along to music playing just outside the bedroom and I roll over to listen. A smile finds its way to the corners of my lips and I hear him singing from the playlist I shared with him months ago. A mix of horny and romantic pop music that isn't completely his taste, but is reliably on when I get into his car.

"I'd love if you knew you were in my mind.

Constant like cicadas in the summertime," he sings out the Chappel song, trying to get the notes right like he always does.

"Touch me baby, put your lips on mine.

Could go to hell, but we'll probably be fine!" I call out the next lyrics from the bedroom, interrupting him. Sliding out of the bed, I find the blue and black t-shirt he was wearing last night and pull it over my head.

"Good morning, sleepy," he says as I join him in the kitchen. He's standing in front of the counter, shirtless, stiring cream into a mug. When I wrap my arms around him from behind the spoon clunks and his hands hold mine.

"Good morning," I say, head leaned up against his back.

Charlie turns in my arms, "I have a coffee for you." His eyes find me in his shirt and linger.

I break the hold to retrieve the precious caffeine and lean against the counter while I sip. Charlie turns to his stovetop, where he's cooking French toast. My favorite breakfast. There are a lot of my favorite things in his place.

"Coffee, breakfast, my favorite songs, you're really trying to get me to stay, aren't you?" I tease.

"I uh, started making food- its- are you hungry?" He asks.

The awkward blush that I crave from him finds its way to his face and I have to make a decision to push for it or to let him be romantic. My mind is stalling out, trying to sort through potential responses. My heart beats hard in my chest and I shift my attention to how I'm feeling.

"Yeah, I could eat," was all I could say. My face starts to redden as well, realizing I'd been staring at him after a simple question.

He smiles and quickly turns back to the stove, flipping the pieces of bread in the frying pan.

He really likes me, I think to myself. Images of us in his car, Charlie stealing glances at me while we sing, play in my head. I parse through our years of interactions while watching him cook. All the times he let me have my way, all the teasing he endured, the way he promoted my work, every like on every Instagram post, every time he remembered what I liked. I blink, returning to the present. Do I feel the same? There was no question that this man turned me on. We spent so much time together, sent eachother stupid memes on the daily, and he's the one I call for absolutely anything. I flirt with him incessantly. Am I even capable of romance?

Closing my eyes and rubbing my temples, I make a decision. Charlie did so much for me, put up with so much from me, he deserves to have his efforts respected. I could let him treat me kindly, have a nice morning. Figuring out anything past that would have to come later.

Plates of French toast hit the table and we enjoy a domestic breakfast. Conversation is light. We talk about the work we have to do- emails to answer. I tell him about the editing plans for the photoshoot we'd done. Being at the river and beach felt like a week ago. Bizly coming over to my house felt like an ancient memory.

"I can take you home whenever you like," Charlie starts, and I see him blush again as he asks, "But I was thinking it's only fair if I help you feel a little better first, since I made you so sore,"

I raise an eyebrow at him, analysing his face. Why blush at this? He's been so smooth when trying to turn me on. Intrigued, I ask, "What do you have in mind?"

"A massage," he says from behind a sip of coffee.

Ah, the romance. The flirting. Is he nervous that I just want sex? I decide to tease out the answer, asking "Trying to get your hands back on me?"

He coughs while taking a drink, "No, I mean-"

That redness in his face get me going. I cut him off with a chuckle, "Yes, I'd like that,"

He looks sheepish. Like I caught his intentions perfectly. He wants me to stay, he's trying to pamper me, and he definately wants his hands on me again.

He stood, "Wait here," and slipped back into the bedroom.

I finished my coffee and checked my phone for the first time since yesterday. There were two messages from a number I didn't recognize.

Hey! Hope you don't mind I grabbed your number from a friend. It's Tina, from Schlatt's party.

Would you want to come out to a bar this weekend?

I close the message for now, and wait for Charlie to return.

He comes back in and takes my by the hand to the bedroom. "Where are you sore?"

"My legs and back," I reply, slipping his shirt off my body.

He responds instantly, grabbing my hips and planting a sloppy kiss on my mouth. The breathy words, "Fuck, you're gorgeous," leave his lips as he begrudgingly pulls away.

I position myself on my stomach, grabbing a pillow for my head and settling into the bed.

Charlie grabs an oil that he'd set out and let's it drip slowly onto my back. I shiver at the sensation.

The sound of the bottle being set down is followed by a pressure in the bed behind me, then he straddles my butt. I wonder if I'll feel his dick against me when he rubs me down but the thought is replaced by my own groan as he places hands on each shoulder.

"I'm going to hear you make those sexy sounds again, aren't I?" He says in a low voice as he rubs the massage oil into my skin. Now there's the confidence I saw last night.

His hands find knots in my back that I didn't know were there. I try my best not to whine into the pillow as he presses into my stiff muscles, but I fail. Charlie takes his time and I melt into the bed as he works his way to my hips and then my butt.

The sighs he lets out as he grabs and presses my ass tell me that he's enjoying this as much as I am. He spends more time than necessary before shifting his body and spreading my legs apart. Again, my mind wanders and I hope he's going to touch me, but he works his way down each thigh, releasing the tension in my muscles. Down my calves, to my feet, and then back up. His hands press up over my butt again and then he pulls away. Disappointment flutters in my chest.

"Turn over," he softly commands.

On my back, he straddles me again, and I see his cock at attention under his pajama pants. His hands find my shoulders again, then work down my arms. I haven't felt so relaxed in so long. Then he presses into my pecs, palms grazing my breasts, and excitement grows in my abdomen. I look up at him with lidded eyes, biting into my lip, and press my chest up towards him. He responds with a smirk and drags his hands a little lower with a painstakingly slow speed.

"Fuuck, Charlie," I call out softly.

"What is it?" he queries in a playful voice, the smirk on his face only growing. He knows exactly what I want.

"My tits, please?" I manage to ask.

He traces his fingertips around each nipple. This man really knows how to tease me. I hear my own voice groan out in desperation and Charlie responds by cupping my breasts in his hands, pressing and squeezing them, continuing the massage. I enjoy the feeling for a long time, desire building in me, my pussy aching and getting wetter each moment. After indulging my request, he drags his hand down as he backs himself up overtop of me, teasing over my hips and finding place on my thighs. He lifts one of my legs up over his shoulder, massaging it deeply, releasing each muscle. Working close to my core, he traces his finger along my slit, so gently and in rhythm that I'm unsure if it's purposeful. But he does in again, and then a third time, pulling my lips apart for a long moment.

I whine again, and my hips instinctively press forward to his touch.

He pulls his hand away and murmurs, "Patient, baby," before switching to the other leg.

This time, while he works on my calf again he pushes his body in close, and I gasp as I feel his erection on my leg.

"You were so tense, how are you feeling?" He asks as he rubs himself against my inner thigh.

"So good, that feels so good," I reply through a hazy desire.

"You like that?" Charlie demands the question, pressing harder against me.

"Yes," My breathing is growing heavier.

"Do you want more?" He asks and my mind reels.

"Yes!" The desperation is apparent in my voice.

Charlie pulls away for only a moment and returns his cock to my thigh, this time bare. I glance down to see he's pulled his pjs to his knees. He rubs against my skin slowly as his lifts my other leg, closing his erection between them. With both my legs straight up in the air I see the head of his cock pointed straight at me, peaking out between my soft thighs. He wraps his arms around my knees and leans forward, my legs now holding the weight of his body. He peaks around and adjusts himself so his cock rests right on my clit, then looks at me, eager.

"Fuck my thighs, Charlie?" I coo sweetly, doing my best impression of an innocent girl asking for something dirty.

"Oh fuck," he moans. His cock throbs and he thrusts forward, sliding against my pussy.

I squeeze my legs together as he uses them. Playing with my nipples, I watch his tip push though and then retreat. All the control he showed the night before gone. Like an animal he thrusts wildly, grunting and moaning.

Legs guy. I think to myself.

Charlie pauses before he can finish. Letting my legs down he roughly presses two fingers into my pussy, finding my g spot with ease. I yelp out and he glances up at me. His eyes gleam with a hunger that scares me, but the sudden feeling of his thumb finding my clit overwhelms me with pleasure.

"Oh fuck, Charlie!" I squirm as he presses hard on my clit.

The stimulation is almost too much to handle, but it doesn't last long as he releases his hands and grabs me by the hips, jerking me down the bed. He grabs his cock and places the head at the entrance, pushing all the way in.

We both yelled out in unison, and he leans his body over me, face in my chest. He humps me at a rapid pace, groaning into my body. With my arms around him, searching for something to grip, my nails dig into his back and he growls out, somehow fucking me even faster and harder.

I'm screaming, "Charlie! Charlie!"

As his body rams into me and he starts to shake, lifting himself to grab hard at my waist as he releases. I feel him filling me and his cock pulls back to slam in again. The noises I'm making sound like their straight from porn, a mix between a cry of pleasure and pain. Charlie collapses onto me, his cock slipping out. Panting and sweaty, he presses his face into my body.

"Holy fuck, Charlie," I murmur, running my hands through his hair.

"I love-" he breaths out the words, cutting himself off. "You're incredible,"

My thoughts all stop all once, my hands freezing in place. He loves me? I search desperately for something to say, something funny or sweet, but I can't speak. He loves me? He didn't mean to start saying it. He loves me? Oh lord, what am I doing here? With him, my best friend, my Charlie.

He pulls himself off of me, laying on his back. Thick, awkward silence hangs in the air. I don't dare look over. I don't move at all. My heart feels like it's being crushed.

I can't be what you need. I don't want to hurt you. I love- do I? Do I love him? I love you Charlie. I wrestle with the feeling, trying to parse out it's level of truth. I love you. I can't be yours. I love you. I'm not good for you. I love you, but I'm a slut, but my love is shallow. I love you, but I can't love you. I can't love you.

Neither of us makes a move for a very long time, and I'm lost in my head. Eventually he shifts over to face me, and I turn my head towards him. No words from either of us. I see the question on his face, the hurt and hope taking turns in his eyes. I want to comfort him, to reassure him. He just reaches out to touch my face. My eyes close and I lean into the touch.

"I don't know," the words leave my mouth slowly, quietly. I wonder if I said them at all.

"That's okay," he says, shifting himself closer to me, and pulling a blanket over the two of us.

I cuddle in, selfishly accepting his arms around me. His chin rests over my head and I bury myself into him, our sweaty skin creating hot friction between us.

"I'm sorry," his voice is quiet. "I know that you- I know you,"

He doesn't need to say it for me to hear what he means. Charlie was there for me when my ex-fiance broke it off. When I learned that my supposed best friend had been sleeping with her. When I quit my job and moved back here and had to start from scratch. He knew I didn't date. He knew I didn't fall for anyone anymore. He loves me anyways.

I pull back to look up at him. Concern is plastered over his face. I mentally strip myself away from the spiral I'd sunk into, and take deep breaths. I find his hand and squeeze it, bringing myself back to the moment we're in.

"I'm sorry too," I find the words as I go, "You are so important to me, and it's not fair to do this if you want more than what I can promise," I pause to think and chew on my lip before continuing, "How long-? When did you start to feel this way?"

"A while- I think it's been there for a long time. I'm drawn to you." He matches my pace, being careful with his words.

"What do you want?" I wince at my own question. I need to know, to let him down easy, to explain why I can't be anything.

He lets out a hmm, and leans his head back, like he's thinking. Waiting feels like torture. The space we are in is a strange limbo that makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

"I don't know what to ask for," he admits, meeting my gaze again, "I want to make you happy, make you feel good. I want some of your time. I want to kiss you again,"

The answer he gives frustrates me, and my eyebrows stiffen. "That's not all of it. You make breakfast and give me a massage- what, why!?"

"I like you," he answers quietly.

I sit up, trying not to yell as I reply sharply, "I'm a mess, and a slut, and I can't belong to you, I can't belong- I can't want- why would you like this?" I know I'm being harsh on both of us but I can't stop myself. Tears pool in my eyes and I get out of bed, looking for my clothes from the night before. I don't want to be here anymore, to be naked and crying infront of Charlie. Haphazardly, I clip my bra on and pull my shirt over my head, leaving the room to find my shorts in the kitchen.

Charlie sits on the edge of the bed, watching me with shock. He's uncertain of how to help me, if I even want him to. Pulling up his pjs, he stands to follow me, reaching a hand out before pulling it away.

Fully dressed, I turn to his door, realizing I've got my camera equipment here and I can't make a quick getaway. Tears start to fall as I stand frozen in his entryway, feeling trapped and scared.

"Charlie-" I turn to see him standing behind me, worry in his face.

The tears flow steadily and I poorly stifle a sob. Covering my eyes with my palms, I wobble, almost falling to the floor. But he catches me, arms around me, holding me tight.

"Shhh, shhh," he whispers out the shushes, rocking us gently back and fourth. "Everything's okay,"

I let myself cry in his arms. Vulnerable and shaking, I tuck my face against him.

"Everything's going to be okay," he whispers again.

[variablejabberwocky]

my brain is currently being haunted by the specter of fma cyberpunk fic

like...i haven't seen any? and thats kind of weirding me out. cause like *gestures at entirety of canon* its made for it!

its already floating in the realm of very niche steampunk with the automail and the trains and the whole very very late victorian/ edwardian period general vibes going on (is that what thats called? that like timeframe between the turn of the century and like 1920s?). its like... in between steampunk and whatever the fuck "punk" genre comes after it chronologically. dieselpunk? its got the cars bit!

and like, the whole "artificial bodies with conciousnesses tied to them" thing, and the "artificial limbs that can do things original organic ones can't" thing, and the "artificial people with powers/abilities beyond what ordinary people are capable of being used as supersoldiers" thing. ALL of that is just primed for a cyberpunk spin to it. you barely have to change anything.

HELL, even the alchemy and alchemist shit can be some kind of nanotech or something.

and yet, SOMEHOW, the closest i've seen to a cyberpunk au is a modern au that kept the automail and not the alchemy from canon. which pushed the available technology just a tiny bit into the future-fiction side

so like...where is it?

and yes i know the obvious thing is "be the change you want to see in the world" but like. i Do Not Have The Skill To Write This. or the energy. or the general high-spoons/low-forks combo to not be in pretty much constant low-grade brainfog this entire goddamn year (yall have no fucking clue how many letter transpositions i have had to correct lately, just on top of my default low-grade dyslexia shit). nor the confidence to post it even if i did ever write it.

but this isn't about a pity party or a sadsack parade! im just confused why this thing i thought was ubiquitous (of fucking course the word i hardly use in type is the one i spell CORRECTLY all on my own) to fandom spaces is missing this time

[psalacanthea]

Blog Nutritional Info

General Content Warning: 21+, marijuana, alcohol, sex (I never post sexually explicit writing without a cut to hide it), blood but not real gore, bones and monsters and bats. Spiders maybe rarely but my friend hates them so I avoid it. I'll talk about what I feel like, and post what I want to.

For Dragon Age Posting, see @thefailguard

Most of my writing is adult writing, for adults. Content warnings are provided in the fics. Don't feel obligated to stay following me just because you read, I post a lot of recipes and random-ass crap, and that's not for everyone.

Bluesky: psalacanthea

I do:

Have an open ask box policy. Its current state is:

every Sunday I do free three card spread tarot drawings through ask, public or private at our mutual discretion.

am currently accepting prompts or requests about OCs, but do not guarantee response

Allow DMs from people who I do not follow, as long as u aren't a dick.

I do not:

Write x Reader or in second person. Please do not send me those prompts, I understand that it's very popular but it's not for me.

Hesitate, bitch. You will be blocked immediately if you act like a fool. My spoons are too low for bs. Treat people in fandom with dignity and kindness, thx.

Currently Writing:

Baldur's Gate 3- Tav x Astarion, Dark Urge x Gortash (and Dark Urge x Abdirak)

Dragon Age- DA:A- Cousland Warden x Nathaniel Howe, Hawke x Varric

In-Progress Fics:

Dissonance and Debauchery: The Drama of an Ill-Fated Bard

Follows the plot of the game Baldur's Gate 3. Tav (Zynatheri Rivati) x Astarion. Zyn is a surface-raised genderfluid Drow bard who habitually hides her own identity with magic. Her past is just as murky as her face, and she clings to her lies with a desperate grip. Much like her friendships, her lovers are all in passing and without an ounce of sentiment. Surely a self-centered, amoral vampire is using her just as much as she's using him, which means Astarion is safe. Right?

Status: On Hiatus

Vampires, Romance, and Other Dead Things

Modern AU of Baldur's Gate 3, vaguely follows Astarion's personal quest. Tav (Zyn) x Astarion. Astarion ends up attacked in the alley outside of Zyn's apartment and she drunkenly rescues him, battered, bloody, and bitten. Neither of them realize that staying the night in her apartment means he's condemning himself to an unlife sleeping on her couch. Zyn isn't thrilled about that, and neither is the vampire that turned Astarion.

Cazador wants his spawn back.

Status: On Hiatus

Belladonna- The Dark Urge

A series of one-shots detailing the past and game story of my Dark Urge. An impulse-riddled, violent murderer hell-bent on appearing untouchable and calm, she dwells within silent halls and is served by a cult of voiceless, cannibalistic maidens tended like flowers in a garden. Belladonna fights the power of her Father not to rebel, but to be capable of fulfilling his Will. For being the flesh of Bhaal is not only a privilege, but a struggle, the constant urge to kill, rend, destroy, and breed nearly antithetical to any real progress.

Orin, her sister, seems not to understand the price, and gleefully indulges all her urges. Enver Gortash, her would-be partner in more than one sense, is no better with his constant tests and suggestions towards rebellion. And then there is the Elder Brain, who whispers in her ear that glory in the end may be hers, so that all the world may see her as a pure, inviolate goddess in her own right.

But she knows that in the end, all things must end in death. Orin, Enver, even the Elder Brain will all die. For she is the Flesh of Bhaal, and although she fights against her Father's gifts, in the end it is all for Him.

Then she gets amnesia. Oops.

Status: Updates Randomly when she forcibly takes over my brain. Chronological status not guaranteed. Next might be a 4 chapter fic. In progress.

Dragon Age

Reforged in Dragon's Fire

Follows the story line of Dragon Age Awakening. After the death of the Archdemon, Phoebe Cousland has been transmuted from the bright, brilliant girl that Nathaniel Howe remembers into something bitter, cold, and hard. Although she's saved his life and made him a Warden, she cannot seem to stop herself from trying to place the crimes of his family upon his shoulders.

Since a young age, everyone knew she was meant to marry Nathaniel's brother Thomas. But the betrayal of war showed his true face, and all of her rage, confusion, and anger has finally found a target in his brother. Nathaniel, for his part, struggles with the revelation of his father's deeds, and the lies his family made him complicit in.

The ghosts of the past must be laid to rest before there is any hope of a future.

Status: On Hiatus Until December. Thanks for your patience! <3

A Sky of Shattered Stars

After five years of running from demons, aided by spirits and rebel gods, Hawke is finally free of the Fade. She's home, back with Varric, but when you're too afraid to sleep and your body has forgotten what reality feels like, recovery is hard. While Hawke fights with her own body and her fear that she'll never truly recover, Varric is dealing with demons of his own.

His unresolved grief haunts them, trapping her in the empty halls of the Viscount's mansion.

But there's a conspiracy in the streets of Kirkwall, whispers of the Viscount's misdeeds. They say he lies, that he uses the dead Champion's name to cover his own grasping for power-- laughable, Hawke knows, but infuriating. How dare they use her to hurt Varric?

Status: Updating, finishing the space between Inquisition and Veilguard

[bittybug-sunflower-blog]

Chapter summary: Seneca’s dating history

Warning A: Mature themes and language, sex, drugs, abuse, blood, death, drinking, suicide attempt, gun and gang violence, and smoking

Word count: 7900

Rating 21+

Extra: alternate universe story

Chapter 23

At the precinct, it was alive with the usual bustle—officers moving in and out, the hum of phones ringing, and the murmur of conversations that blended into a low, constant drone.

Crosshair walked through the front doors, his presence drawing little attention. He was disguised as an officer, the standard-issue uniform fitting him like a second skin, his cap pulled low over his eyes. He moved with a purpose, slipping through the sea of blue with practiced ease until he reached the back offices where the more delicate operations were managed.

Seneca was in there, leaning over a cluttered desk as she sifted through a pile of files. Jazzori stood beside her going over the scattered paperwork. Their eyes flicked up as Crosshair entered, narrowing slightly in recognition.

"We're moving forward with the plan," Crosshair said quietly, his voice low enough that it wouldn't carry beyond the room.

Seneca straightened, her expression serious. "What's the plan?"

Crosshair's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Someone's going inside."

Seneca's gaze sharpened. "Inside? That's all you're giving me?"

"That's all you need to know, for now," Crosshair replied, his tone making it clear that there wouldn't be any more details forthcoming. He wasn't here to divulge the intricacies, just to set the wheels in motion.

"Get the legal side sorted," Seneca said, nodding toward Jazzori. "Witness protection, all the usual channels."

Jazzori nodded, she gathered some papers and walked out of the office in a quick haste. She was a picture of efficiency, her mind several steps ahead.

Crosshair watched her for a moment, then turned back to Seneca. "What's her story?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Seneca leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms as she considered how much to reveal. "Jazzori's a chairman's daughter. Her father was as corrupt as they come, but she distanced herself from that mess. Made a name for herself, graduated top of her class, and worked her way up to becoming the new DA. She's not one to be underestimated."

Crosshair raised an eyebrow, his gaze sliding back to Jazzori. "And can we trust her?"

Seneca didn't answer right away. Instead, she watched Jazzori as she meticulously worked on the paperwork, she watched her fingers moving swiftly over the forms as she began preparing the necessary documents. Finally, Seneca spoke, her voice measured. "I told her who she's going to be working with, and she didn't bat an eyelash."

Crosshair nodded slowly, considering Seneca's words. With that, Crosshair turned to leave. As he walked out of the precinct, the shadows of the night were waiting to swallow him up again. The plan was in motion, and now it was just a matter of time before things truly began.

Jazzori was absorbed in her work, the soft hum of her office's fluorescent lights a stark contrast to the tumult of her past. As she sifted through case files and legal briefs, her thoughts wandered back to the life that had shaped her into the woman she was today.

She remembered the silver spoon she was born, a life of privilege marred by the rot of corruption. Her father, Montych Dalear, was a figure of power and infamy, a man whose shadow loomed large over their opulent home. The mansion, with its crystal chandeliers and marble floors, was a façade hiding a darker reality. Behind closed doors, deals were made, and lives were destroyed, all in the name of politics, greed, and control.

"Please Mr. Dalear just a few more days. I can get money by tomorrow." Another one of his victims begged.

Jazzori would hear either grateful praise or desperate begs come from her father's study throughout her childhood. She had grown up amidst the opulence, expected to embrace a world she found repugnant. The extravagant parties, the endless parade of influential guests—everything about her life was a carefully crafted illusion. Yet, from a young age, Jazzori was acutely aware of the moral decay that pervaded her family's world. Her father's ruthless dealings and the pervasive corruption were a constant reminder of the hypocrisy she vowed to escape.

Amidst the chaos of her high school years, Jazzori faced a different kind of turmoil. Her life, already marred by her family's corruption, was further complicated by the relentless bullying she endured. Her peers were quick to taunt her with their harsh jabs.

"Well, if it isn't the chairman's daughter, here to make more bad dealings?" they would sneer, their voices dripping with disdain. The corruption surrounding her family was common knowledge, a dark cloud that seemed to follow her wherever she went.

The taunting was a constant backdrop to her days, an unrelenting reminder of the world she wished to escape. But one day, everything changed.  As Jazzori was cornered by a particularly aggressive group of bullies, she felt a surge of frustration. Her usual attempts to ignore them had failed, and she braced herself for yet another round of cruel remarks. But then, a loud voice cut through the noise.

"Hey, lay off!"

A rock sailed through the air, striking one of the bullies in the side of the head. The group turned in surprise, their hostility momentarily forgotten. There, standing with an air of defiance and confidence a young girl. She casually tossed another rock up and down, her stance radiating a bold spirit that caught everyone's attention.

"Who do you think you are?" one of the bullies demanded, glaring at the girl.

"My name is Seneca Mori," she replied with unwavering confidence. With a flick of her wrist, another rock flew through the air, hitting a second bully.

"Run!" One of the bullies ordered.

The bullies, now thoroughly intimidated, scattered like startled birds, leaving Jazzori and Seneca standing amidst the remnants of the confrontation. Seneca turned to Jazzori, her expression softening.

"You, okay?" Seneca asked, reaching out to help Jazzori to her feet.

"Yeah, thanks..." Jazzori replied, brushing herself off. "You knew?"

"Yes, ma'am," Seneca said with a grin.

Jazzori's eyes took in the young girl before her. Seneca's school uniform was neat, but there was something about her demeanor that spoke of a world different from the one Jazzori was not used to.

"You don't seem like the type to come to these types of schools," Jazzori said, trying to navigate the awkwardness of the moment.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Seneca asked, her tone defensive but curious.

"I just mean..." Jazzori faltered, searching for the right words.

"That I'm not rich," Seneca finished for her, her gaze steady.

"Yeah... and you're different..." Jazzori said, her voice trailing off.

"Different can be good," Seneca replied with a smirk, her eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and warmth.

In that instant, Jazzori saw something in Seneca that was both intriguing and comforting—a stark contrast to the world of wealth and corruption that had dominated her life. Their encounter marked the beginning of something more. The school year seems less harsh with Seneca by her side.

It was another late night in the school library, and Jazzori was buried in her textbooks, her mind struggling to focus on the assignments that seemed to consume every inch of her attention. The silence was interrupted by the sudden clanking of boots hitting the table, making her look up with a start.

"Seneca?" Jazzori asked, blinking in surprise.

"You done already?" Seneca's voice was light, almost teasing.

"No," Jazzori replied with a frown. "Shouldn't you be finishing up your own assignment?"

"Already done mine," Seneca said with a smirk. Jazzori sighed in frustration. "Come on, Dalear, you need a break."

"Maybe later, Seneca," Jazzori said, her eyes returning to her book. But the book was suddenly closed with a firm snap, and she looked up sharply at Seneca. "Seneca!"

"Shhh, come on," Seneca whispered, placing a finger over her lips and gesturing for Jazzori to follow her. They crept out of the now deserted school library and climbed several flights of stairs. They finally arrived at a large, heavy door. With a strong push, they entered the chilly night air.

Seneca rummaged in her bag and pulled out two glass bottles, handing one to Jazzori.

"Is this...?" Jazzori began, looking at the bottle with suspicion.

"Live a little, Dalear," Seneca urged, walking to the edge of a low stone wall and expertly knocking the cap off her own bottle.

"I don't drink beer," Jazzori said, a hint of irritation in her voice.

"Oh, sorry," Seneca teased. "I couldn't afford champagne."

"No!" Jazzori shook her head. "I don't drink at all."

"Like I said, live a little." Seneca's smirk widened.

Jazzori eyed the cold bottle warily but eventually mimicked Seneca, tapping the cap off against the ledge. She took a hesitant gulp and immediately grimaced.

"This is gross! Tastes like horse piss!" she exclaimed, scrunching her face in disgust.

Seneca burst into laughter, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Okay, I'll take it if you don't want it," she offered, reaching out for the bottle.

"No... I'll drink it," Jazzori sighed, resigned.

"Okay then." Seneca chuckled. The two of them sat on the ledge of the school's rooftop, their legs dangling as they gazed out over the city, illuminated by the vibrant neon lights.

"Been meaning to ask," Jazzori said after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence, "how did you even manage to get into this school?"

Seneca grinned mischievously. "I stole another girl's uniform and pretended to be her."

"You what?" Jazzori stared at her in disbelief.

"I'm kidding," Seneca said with a playful punch to Jazzori's arm. "I won a scholarship."

"Oh phew," Jazzori sighed in relief, her shoulders relaxing.

"You don't get out much, do you?" Seneca asked looking at her friend with concern.

"My father doesn't like me by myself. Only allowed at school or home alone. Anywhere else has to be with the bodyguards." Jazzori said looking at the bottle in her hand.

"Must be rough, under constant watch?" Seneca asked.

"Yeah, doesn't help your dad just sucks." Jazzori sighed bringing her knees to her chest and looking at the bright lights of the city.

"Well duh, all politics sucks." Seneca teased. Jazzori didn't respond. Seneca felt bad for her comment, she tried to change the subject, "You ever wanted to leave?" She asked.

"Leave?" Jazzori looked up.

"Yeah, leave Pantora, see what else is out there?" Seneca asked.

"Sometimes." Jazzori smiled.

At that moment, the two stared at into each other's eyes in silence. The city's hum and the distant flicker of lights add a sense of serenity to their shared space. Seneca's eyes softened as she looked at Jazzori, the soft glow of the city reflecting in her gaze.

Before Jazzori could say anything else, Seneca leaned in closer. There was a brief, charged silence between them. Jazzori's heart raced as their faces grew inches apart. Seneca's hand reached up to gently cup Jazzori's cheek. With a tender smile, she closed the gap and pressed her lips to Jazzori's. The kiss was soft at first, filled with the hesitant sweetness of youthful affection. When they finally pulled away, both were breathless, their eyes locked in a mixture of surprise and newfound understanding. Jazzori's cheeks flushed with a blend of embarrassment and exhilaration, while Seneca's expression was a mix of relief and satisfaction.

"Well," Seneca said softly, breaking the silence, "that's something we'll definitely remember."

Jazzori nodded, her heart fluttering with the warmth of the shared moment. "Yeah," she said quietly, "definitely something we'll remember."

As they continued to sit there, the city lights glittering around them, they both knew that their lives had been forever changed by this fleeting but intense connection. In that moment it felt like all the problems Jazzori had been consumed by were gone by just that kiss. For the rest of their school years, their romance was a burst of youthful exuberance, a passionate affair that felt like a beacon of hope in Jazzori's dark world.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. As their high school graduation approached, the paths of Jazzori and Seneca were set on diverging trajectories. Seneca had been accepted into the police academy in Kiros, an opportunity she had fought hard to secure, while Jazzori was preparing to start at a local university, her ambitions aimed at a future in law and justice. Despite their shared dreams and intense connection, the reality of their circumstances began to strain their relationship. One evening, as they sat in their favorite spot on the roof of their school, the weight of unspoken tensions seemed to hang in the air. Seneca stared out in the large city, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the edge of her jacket.

"Seneca, we need to talk," Jazzori began, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep her emotions in check.

Seneca's eyes were shadowed with frustration and weariness. "I know, Jazzori. I've been feeling it too."

"I don't understand," Jazzori said, her voice cracking. "We've been through so much together. Why do you just want to leave?"

"It's not that simple," Seneca shot back, her frustration palpable. "You're about to embark on a journey toward justice, and I'm about to dive into a world of corruption and danger. Our lives are going in different directions!"

"I thought we could make it work," Jazzori pleaded, tears welling up. "I thought we could find a way to bridge our worlds."

Seneca's eyes hardened. "You have your path, and I have mine. It's not fair to either of us to keep pretending otherwise."

"You don't get it!" Jazzori shouted, her voice rising. "I don't want to lose you. I want us to fight through this together!"

"Fight through what?" Seneca retorted, her own voice now a harsh edge. "You think I don't want to stay? I can't stay in Pandora with this constant pressure and your family's shadow hanging over us!"

Jazzori's face flushed with hurt. "So, you're just going to walk away? Leave me here, alone, to deal with all of this?"

Seneca's eyes were wet with tears. "I'm not walking away because I don't care. I'm walking away because I do. I want you to succeed, to be happy. Can't you be happy with my choices?"

Jazzori's heart felt like it was cracking under the weight of Seneca's words. "Honestly, it feels like a selfish decision."

Seneca's expression turned angry but softened, though her resolve remained firm. "We're just too different. Your future is in Pandora, fighting the battles you believe in. Mine is somewhere else, and it's not fair to any of us to try to make something work when we both know deep inside, we'll both be miserable trying."

"Is there someone else?" Jazzori asked her eyes blazing with anger.

"What?! No. You know there isn't anyone." Seneca frowned a bit offended.

"I just don't understand why we can't try." Jazzori sniffed.

"You do, you just don't want to understand." Seneca tried to take Jazzori's hand who quickly moved her hand away.

The argument reached its peak, leaving both of them emotionally drained. The finality of Seneca's words hung heavily in the air. They stood in silence for a moment, the reality of their impending separation settling over them like a shroud.

"Is this really how it ends?" Jazzori whispered, her voice trembling.

Seneca nodded, her tears mixing with her resolve. "I'm sorry, Jazzori. I love you. But it's what's best for both of us."

"So, you're just going to walk away?" Jazzori's heart shattered as she struggled to accept the finality.

Seneca didn't answer but walked to the door, she looked back one last time, her expression a mixture of sadness and determination. "Goodbye, Jazzori."

Jazzori stood by herself holding her sides as tears fell continuously down her cheek.

Years later, as Jazzori, who is now a top-notch lawyer, was deeply immersed in her work, a letter arrived that took her by surprise. The familiar handwriting was unmistakable. Seneca's name was scrawled across the envelope, even more surprisingly it came from Coruscant. With a mixture of anticipation and apprehension, Jazzori opened it and began to read.

Dear Jazzori,

I hope this letter finds you well. It's been a long time since we last spoke. I saw one of the cases you defended in the newspaper and thought I write you. Life has taken me on a journey I could never have anticipated. I am now a police officer. I've also found love again and am expecting my first son with my wonderful wife.

I wanted you to know that I'm happy and fulfilled in this new chapter of my life. I think of our time together fondly, and I hope you do too. I wanted you to hear this from me. I hope you are happy and able to create your own happiness.

I wish you all the best in your endeavors. You've always been incredibly strong and determined, and I have no doubt that you will continue to make a significant impact in the world.

Take care, Jazzori.

Sincerely,

Seneca Mori.

As Jazzori read the letter, tears streamed down her face. She wiped them away with a determined resolve, knowing that there was no time for dwelling on the past. She had cases to work on, battles to fight, and a future to build. The letter was a bittersweet reminder of what needed to be said. With a deep breath, Jazzori tossed the letter into her trashcan and refocused on her work.

The clock now struck a little past midnight by now, Jazzori pulled herself from her thoughts and looked at her desk. She gathered her things and began making her way to Seneca's office.

"I'm clocking out Seneca, I'll go over the documents in the morning with you and the others. Have them set a meeting somewhere." Jazzori said.

Seneca looked up from her files and nodded, "Alright, thanks Jazzori. Have a good night."

Jazzori nodded and headed out of the precinct.

Seneca sat at her cluttered desk in her dimly lit office, the steady hum of fluorescent lights overhead casting a sterile glow. Her eyes fell upon a small, framed photograph resting on the corner of her desk.

The picture of her wife and two young sons, their faces lit with radiant smiles. They were captured in a moment of pure joy. Her wife's arms were wrapped around their boys, her face glowing with happiness. Seneca's gaze lingered on the photograph, her heart aching with a mix of pride and longing. The image was a beacon of warmth and love, a stark contrast to the cold, harsh realities she faced daily as a police detective. It was a reminder of the life she had built away from the dangerous world she navigated. Her fingers traced the edge of the frame as if trying to reach through the glass and hold her family close.

She often looked at the phone on her desk, the thought about calling them to just hear their voices. But the temptation was always overshadowed by a lingering fear. The last thing she wanted was for her wife to worry about the risks she faced every day. Biala believed that Seneca was cheating, though unfounded, was a painful thought, but necessary. It's better than knowing the criminals she decided to work with to help stop bigger threats.

Seneca thought back to the day she first met Biala, a day that had changed the course of her life in ways she never could have anticipated. She was just a young rookie officer in the city of Kiros, Seneca had always prided herself on her ability to handle danger, to face down the worst of the world with unflinching resolve. But on that fateful day, everything changed in an instant.

A routine patrol had turned into a violent confrontation. Shots rang out, and before she knew it, a bullet had found its mark. Seneca crumpled to the ground, her vision blurring as pain radiated through her body.

The world around her began to fade—the shouts of people, the sound of feet pounding the pavement, and then, amidst the chaos, there was a scent, something sweet and earthy that filled her senses. She looked up, and for a brief second, she saw her—Biala—but only for an instant. As Seneca slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing she remembered was the faint memory of a warm hand pressing against her cheek and a voice, soft and urgent, speaking words she couldn't quite grasp.

"Hang on, you're going to be okay," the voice had whispered, but Seneca was already slipping away.

Days passed, and Seneca remained in a coma, her mind trapped in a deep, dreamless sleep. The hospital room was sterile and cold, the beeping of machines the only sign that life still clung to the injured officer.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Seneca stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, and with great effort, she opened her eyes. The world came into focus slowly, and she found herself in a stark, white room, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. The first thing she noticed was the silence, a heavy, oppressive quiet that filled the space. She tried to move, but her body protested with a sharp pain that made her wince.

"Where...?" Seneca managed to croak out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Officer Mori, you're awake," the doctor said, stepping closer with a relieved smile.

"What...?" Seneca tried to ask more, confusion clouding her thoughts. As she attempted to sit up, the doctor gently placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her back down.

"You were shot. You're in the hospital. Try to relax," the doctor said calmly, his voice soothing.

The door to her room creaked open, and a young woman stepped inside, carrying a bouquet of vibrant flowers, their colors a stark contrast to the sterile white of the hospital room. Seneca looked over, curiosity piqued. The woman smiled, her eyes warm and kind.

"Hello, Officer Mori," the young woman said softly, her voice like a balm to Seneca's tired soul.

Seneca's eyes widened in recognition. "You..."

"I'll let you rest," the doctor interjected, sensing the moment. He excused himself quietly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind him.

The young woman watched him leave, then turned back to Seneca, her gaze warm and steady.

"Who...?" Seneca asked, her voice still weak.

"I'm Biala Quif. My father owns a shop near where you were hurt. I... I was there when it happened," Biala explained, her tone gentle, as if she were speaking to a fragile thing.

Seneca's heart skipped a beat as a flicker of recognition passed through her. She remembered that voice, the one she'd heard just before everything went black. "You... you helped me?"

Biala nodded, setting the flowers down on the bedside table. "I did what I could until the medics arrived. I couldn't just leave you there."

A wave of gratitude washed over Seneca, and she managed a small smile. "Thank you. I don't know what to say."

Biala shrugged, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Anyone would have done the same. I'm just glad you're okay."

As the days turned into weeks, Biala continued to visit Seneca, always bringing flowers or a small gift to brighten her room. Their conversations started off awkward, each of them unsure of what to say, but soon, they grew comfortable, sharing stories and laughing over small things. Biala's presence became something Seneca looked forward to, a light in the long, tedious hours of recovery.

"You know," Seneca said one day, glancing over at Biala as she arranged yet another bouquet in the vase by her bed. "I've been thinking... once I'm out of here, maybe I can take you somewhere. You know as a thank you for saving me. If you're interested, I mean."

Biala looked up, a smile tugging at her lips. "I'd like that, Seneca. I'd like that a lot."

The day Seneca was discharged from the hospital, Biala was there, helping her get settled back into her life, offering assistance in any way she could. What began as a friendship quickly deepened into something more. They spent more time together, going out for coffee, taking walks in the park, and enjoying each other's company.

One evening, as they stood on the balcony of Seneca's apartment, looking out over the city, Seneca turned to Biala, her heart pounding in her chest. "Biala, I... I've never been good at this sort of thing, but I want you to know that I care about you. A lot."

Biala smiled, her eyes shining with affection. "I care about you too, Seneca. More than you know."

The distance between them closed, and in the soft light of the setting sun, their lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was a kiss filled with promise, a beginning of something neither of them had expected but both had hoped for.

Their relationship blossomed like a garden in spring, each moment spent together deepening the roots of their love. Seneca found in Biala a love that was unlike anything she had ever known, something she didn't feel when she was with Jazzori. Every smile, every shared glance, every whispered word brought them closer, weaving their lives together in a way that felt natural, inevitable.

One evening, as they sat on the balcony of Seneca's apartment, the city lights twinkling below like stars fallen to earth, Seneca turned to Biala, her heart pounding in her chest. "Biala," she began, her voice soft but steady, "I've never been good at this sort of thing, but I want you to know how much you mean to me. I... I can't imagine my life without you. I have something I want to ask."

Biala looked at her, her eyes shining with affection and something deeper—something that made Seneca's breath catch in her throat. "Go on," Biala replied, reaching out to take her hand.

"I like for us to be more for you to be my girlfriend." Seneca's nerves made it sound more like telling than asking.

"No," Biala responded simply. Seneca's eyes widen her heart about to sink, "I'm messing with you, of course, I love to be your girlfriend."

Seneca laughed with Biala joining in. The distance between them seemed to vanish, and in the soft glow of the city lights, their lips met in a gentle, tentative kiss.

A few years have passed by now, one evening, under the soft glow of the city lights, Seneca and Biala sat on the balcony of their apartment, enjoying a quiet moment together. Seneca's heart raced with anticipation, but she knew it was time. She had thought about this moment endlessly, and now, she wanted nothing more than to make it a reality.

"Biala," Seneca began, her voice slightly trembling, "there's something I've been wanting to say... something I've been thinking about for a while now."

Biala turned to her, curiosity and warmth in her eyes. "What is it, Seneca?"

Seneca took a deep breath, her hands gently clasping Biala's. "You know how much you mean to me, right? How every day with you has been better than the last? I never imagined I could be this happy, or that I could find someone who completes me the way you do."

Biala's expression softened, her smile growing as she listened to Seneca's heartfelt words. "Yes?" She raised an eyebrow waiting to see what she'll say next.

Seneca's heart swelled with emotion, she tried to push down her nervousness. "I've thought a lot about our future—about the life we've started building together. And I know, with all my heart, that I want to spend the rest of my life with you." Biala's breath caught in her throat as she realized where this was going, her eyes widening with surprise and anticipation. Seneca gently got on one knee, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small, velvet box. She opened it to reveal a simple, elegant ring that shimmered in the dim light. "Biala Quif," Seneca said, her voice full of love and determination, "will you marry me? Will you be my partner, my wife?"

Biala's eyes filled with tears as she looked at the ring, then back at Seneca. Her smile was radiant, her voice shaking with emotion as she whispered, "Yes."

Seneca let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, a wide grin spreading across her face. She slipped the ring onto Biala's finger, stood up, and kissed the woman who was a light in the dark world she fought. They embraced, holding each other tightly, the world around them fading into the background.

Not long after, their wedding day arrived, sealing their love with vows of forever. The ceremony was small and intimate, attended only by their closest friends and family. Seneca stood at the end of the altar, dressed in a tailored suit, her heart swelling with anticipation. As she gazed ahead, her eyes were fixed on Biala, who was making her way down the aisle. Biala wore a gown fit for a princess, her arm linked with her father's as they walked together toward the altar. The sight of Biala, radiant and poised, took Seneca's breath away, marking the beginning of their lifelong journey together.

The officiant's voice rang out, clear and resonant in the intimate setting. "Do you, Seneca Mori, take Biala Quif as your lawfully wedded wife?"

With a look of pure adoration, Seneca responded, her voice filled with heartfelt emotion. "Hell yeah." Her words were met with a ripple of laughter and fond chuckles from the audience, and Biala's eyes sparkled with joy as she let out a soft, delighted giggle.

The officiant then turned to Biala, asking gently, "And do you, Biala Quif, take Seneca Mori as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do," Biala replied, her smile radiant and full of love as she gazed deeply into Seneca's eyes.

The officiant smiled warmly and continued, "If there are no objections, you may now exchange the rings." As they exchanged rings, their hands trembled slightly with the weight of their emotions. The simple act of sliding the rings onto each other's fingers felt monumental—a promise of forever. Seneca's heart swelled with the certainty that this was the beginning of something profoundly beautiful. She looked at Biala, feeling as though she was standing at the threshold of a new life, one shared with the person who completed her in every way. The officiant's voice broke the tender moment, full of joy and finality. "I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may now kiss!"

Seneca took Biala into her arms and dipped her gently, sealing their vows with a passionate kiss. It was a kiss that seemed to set off a cascade of fireworks in their hearts, bursting with joy and love. The room erupted into applause, cheers, and whistles, each sounds a testament to the celebration of their union.

As they pulled away, their faces flushed with happiness, they shared a moment of unspoken understanding, knowing that this was just the beginning of a lifetime together.

A year after their wedding, Seneca and Biala made the decision to start a family. When Seneca found out she was pregnant through a sperm donor, the joy they shared was indescribable. The months passed in a whirlwind of preparations, each moment filled with excitement as they imagined the little life that was soon to join them.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, Seneca gently placed Biala's hand on her growing belly. "Feel that?" she asked, her voice tinged with awe. "He's moving."

Biala's eyes widened with wonder, her hand pressing slightly as she felt the flutter of tiny kicks beneath her palm. "He's really in there," Biala whispered, her voice filled with amazement. "Our little Isaac."

"He's going to be perfect," Seneca said softly, her eyes shining with love. "Just like his mom."

Biala looked at Seneca, her heart swelling with emotion. "And just like you. Strong and brave."

The night Isaac was born, their world shifted in the most beautiful way. As Seneca held her son for the first time. His cries pierced the night, but Seneca and Biala didn't care. "Hello Isaac," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Biala leaned in, wrapping her arms around both of them, tears of joy streaming down her face. "He's perfect, Seneca."

"I love you," Seneca whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "And I love him more than I ever thought possible."

"I love you both." Biala smiled hugging her wife and gently stroked their son's cheek.

"Welcome to the world Isaac," Seneca whispered, her happy tears falling down her cheeks as she kissed his little forehead.

Their little family continued to grow, and just a year later, Biala decided to become pregnant with their second child. The news was met with the same joy and excitement, though this time, they were joined by a curious and excited Isaac, who loved to rest his head on Biala's belly and talk to his soon-to-be sibling.

"You feel that, Isaac?" Biala asked as Isaac rested his head on his mother's stomach.

Isaac was only one, but he smiled as he felt the small kicks. Biala smiled warmly.

One evening, as they sat on their bed, Isaac nestled between them, and Seneca placed a gentle hand on Biala's stomach. "What do you think, Isaac? Are you ready to be a big brother?" she asked with a smile.

Isaac looked eagerly, his eyes wide with excitement.

Biala laughed softly, placing a kiss on Isaac's forehead. "And I know you'll be the best big brother ever," she said, her voice filled with warmth. She then turned to Seneca, her eyes filled with love.

The months passed, and their love only deepened as they prepared to welcome their second child. When Lon was finally born, their hearts swelled with even more love. As Seneca cradled their newest son, she looked over at Biala, who was holding Isaac in her arms.

"Hello Lon," Seneca whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She turned and placed Lon in Biala's arms. Isaac stared curiously at the young baby.

Biala chuckled, her eyes glistening with tears. "Say hello to Lon, Isaac."

Isaac just rested his small head on his mother's arm as stared with content. Seneca stared at all three, this was all she ever wanted in her life. Their days were filled with the joyful chaos of parenthood, the laughter of their two sons, and the unbreakable bond that had grown between them.

A few years had passed since their wedding, and Seneca returned home after a long, grueling day dealing with crooks. She hung her coat and hat on the rack by the door, her usual fatigue melting away as she heard the familiar, joyful sound of her two boys racing toward her.

"Mom!" Isaac and Lon yelled in unison.

Seneca dropped to one knee, her arms wide open to embrace them. "Hey, you two," she greeted, her voice brimming with happiness as she squeezed them tightly.

"How was work?" Lon asked, peering up at her with eager eyes.

"Did you beat up some bad guys?" Isaac inquired, bouncing on his heels.

Before Seneca could answer, Biala appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen, a warm smile on her face. "Let mom breathe first," she laughed, shaking her head affectionately.

"You two, go wash up for dinner," Seneca instructed, her eyes crinkling in a smile as she stood up.

"Okay, mom!" the boys chorused, rushing off to the bathroom.

Seneca walked over to Biala and pulled her into a passionate kiss. The moment was tender, their connection evident in every touch and glance. As they pulled away, Biala looked up at her with curiosity.

"So, how was work?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with concern.

Seneca sighed deeply, the weight of the day still lingering. "Same as always, rough. But there's some big news—I've been made detective," she said casually, trying to mask her own apprehension.

Biala's eyes widened with happiness. "Really?" she asked, her voice filled with pride and excitement.

"Yeah, but there's more," Seneca continued, her expression becoming serious. "I've also been offered a position in Coruscant."

"Coruscant?" Biala echoed, her eyebrows knitting together. "That's another state away."

"I know," Seneca said, her voice heavy with the weight of the decision. "It's a big move."

Biala's eyes met Seneca's with understanding. "I know that look," she said softly, a hint of concern in her voice. "You're thinking of taking it."

"And I know you don't want to leave Kiros," Seneca replied, reaching out to gently touch Biala's arm. "Your family is here, your life is here."

Biala looked away for a moment, deep in thought. "It's not just about leaving Kiros," she finally said, turning back to face Seneca. "It's about the impact it will have on us—on the boys, on everything we've built here."

Seneca nodded, her eyes full of empathy. "I understand. It's a huge decision, and it's going to change everything."

Biala took a deep breath, her resolve firming. "But if this is something you want, something that could be important for your career and us, I will support you wherever we go."

Seneca's heart swelled with gratitude, she kissed Biala warmly. "Thank you for being so understanding. I want us to make this decision together. If we decide to go, we'll do it as a family."

Biala smiled, her eyes meeting Seneca's with unwavering support. "I'm in this with you."

The discussion that followed was thorough and heartfelt, filled with both excitement and trepidation. They weighed the pros and cons, considered their future, and ultimately decided to accept the offer. They knew it would be a challenging transition, but their commitment to each other and their family made the decision clear.

Sometime later, Seneca stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her tie with meticulous care. The sun was just beginning to rise over Coruscant, casting a warm glow across the skyline. Today was her first day as a detective in the Coruscant Police Department, a role she had worked tirelessly to achieve. But as much as she had dreamed of this moment, it was bittersweet.

In the reflection, she saw Biala standing in the doorway, her arms crossed, a small, anxious smile playing on her lips. "You look sharp," Biala said, trying to sound upbeat, but Seneca could hear the worry in her voice.

"Thanks," Seneca replied, turning to face her. She walked over and took Biala's hands in her own, squeezing them gently. "I know this move wasn't easy for any of us."

Biala sighed, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "It's just...Coruscant is so different from Kiros. The boys are still getting used to the new school, and I'm still trying to figure out where everything is. But I know this is a big opportunity for you, and I'm proud of you, Seneca. I really am."

"I couldn't have done any of this without you," Seneca said softly, her thumb brushing over Biala's wedding ring. "We're in this together."

Biala smiled, her eyes softening as she leaned in to kiss Seneca gently. "Always."

Just then, the sound of little feet pattering down the hallway interrupted the moment. Isaac and Lon burst into the room, both still in their pajamas.

"Mommy!" Isaac exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration.

"Are you gonna catch the bad guys today?" Lon asked, his voice full of excitement.

Seneca crouched down to their level, ruffling Isaac's hair and smiling at Lon. "That's the plan, kiddo. But remember, it's not just about catching bad guys. It's about helping people, too."

"We know," Isaac said seriously, nodding his head, "Always help those in need."

Seneca's heart swelled with love for her family. "And that's why I do this. For you guys."

Biala knelt beside them, wrapping an arm around both boys. "We're going to be just fine here, right? We've got each other, and that's what matters."

"Right!" the boys chorused, their spirits lifted by their mother's confidence.

Seneca kissed each of her sons on the forehead and stood, pulling Biala into a tight embrace. "I'll be home for dinner," she promised. With one last look at her family, Seneca headed out the door.

The Coruscant Police Department was a sprawling complex, bustling with activity as officers and detectives went about their duties. Seneca took a deep breath as she entered the building, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement.

"Detective Mori?" A voice called out, pulling her attention to a tall man with a distinctive appearance. He was bald with a lined face that spoke of years of experience, and his presence commanded respect. "I'm Sergeant Ki-Adi Mundi. Welcome to Coruscant."

"Thank you, Sergeant," Seneca replied, shaking his hand firmly.

"I've heard good things about you," Mundi said, leading her down a corridor. "Your record is impressive. But Coruscant is a different beast. You'll find that things work a bit differently here."

"I'm ready for the challenge," Seneca assured him, her voice steady.

"Good to hear," Mundi said with a nod. "You'll be partnered with Detective Rebekath Hardt. She's one of our best—sharp, experienced, and she knows this city inside out."

They stopped outside an office, and Mundi gestured for Seneca to enter. Inside, a woman was leaning over a desk, examining a case file with intense focus. She had short, dark hair and an air of confidence that was immediately apparent.

"Hardt," Mundi called out, and the woman looked up, a warm smile breaking across her face as she stood to greet them.

"You must be Seneca," Beka said, extending her hand. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."

"Likewise," Seneca replied, shaking her hand. "I've heard a lot about you."

"All good things, I hope," Beka quipped, her smile turning into a grin. "Come on, I'll show you around, and get you settled in."

As they walked through the precinct, Beka filled Seneca in on the current cases and the ins and outs of the department. It didn't take long for the two women to find common ground. By the end of the day, they had already established a camaraderie.

One evening, Seneca invited Beka over for dinner. It was a chance for their families to meet and for Seneca to show Beka a bit more of her life outside the precinct.

Biala greeted Beka with a warm smile when she arrived, welcoming her into their home. The boys were thrilled to meet someone new, especially someone who worked with their mom.

"So, you're the one keeping their mommy safe, huh?" Isaac asked, his tone serious, though his eyes were full of curiosity.

"Something like that," Beka replied with a laugh, ruffling his hair. "But your mom can handle herself pretty well, too."

The evening was filled with laughter and stories, the easy rapport between Seneca and Beka evident as they shared tales from their past. Biala quickly took to Beka, appreciating her straightforward nature and the obvious care she had for Seneca.

As the night wound down, and Beka prepared to leave, Seneca walked her to the door. "Thanks for coming over. I think the boys have already decided you're their new favorite person."

"They're great kids," Beka said, smiling. "You've got a beautiful family, Mori. I look forward to many more cases together."

"Me too," Seneca replied, feeling a sense of peace she hadn't expected. "See you tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," Beka confirmed with a nod before heading out.

As Seneca closed the door, she turned back to her family, who were still lingering in the living room. Biala met her gaze, her eyes soft with understanding.

"Looks like you've got a good partner," Biala said quietly, moving to stand beside her.

"Yeah," Seneca agreed, wrapping an arm around her wife's shoulders. "I think we're going to be just fine here."

Seneca remembered the night Biala, and the boys left. The tension in the house was palpable as Biala and Seneca stood in their cluttered living room, their voices raised in a heated argument. The normally warm atmosphere of their home felt colder than ever.

"Seneca, this isn't just about the late nights," Biala snapped, her eyes flashing with frustration. "It's about you constantly being away, and now I've seen you with her—Jazzori! At the police station! What's going on?"

Seneca's face turned pale. "Jazzori? Biala, I swear, there's nothing between us, she's the new DA. I was just working on the case. Beka's case got complicated, and I had to deal with it."

"Complicated?" Biala's voice was filled with disbelief. "How many late nights do you need to 'work on cases' before it's clear you're not coming home for us? And now, you're ex is back, make it make sense!"

"I'm telling you it's not what you think!" Seneca tried to explain, her voice strained. "Jazzori's just a part of the investigation. There's no cheating involved. You have to believe me."

Biala's eyes filled with hurt and anger. "Believe you? After all these late nights and excuses? I can't just ignore what I've seen." She turned abruptly, her voice rising. "Isaac! Lon! Pack your things. We're going back to Kiros."

Seneca's heart sank as she watched Biala's face, the lines of anger and pain etched deeply. "Biala, please, don't do this. Let me explain. Finding Beka is important, and I'm not cheating on you. I'm just—"

"I know she's your former partner, but I'm your wife! No," Biala cut her off sharply, her tone final. "I've had enough. We're leaving."

With that, Biala grabbed the boys, who looked up at Seneca with confused, sad eyes. They quickly packed their belongings, the sound of their small feet and hurried movement echoing through the house. The boys looked between their two moms before rushing to the car. Biala grabbed a bag that looked like it had been packed for a while.

Seneca didn't even have time to ask about it. Biala got in the car slamming the door and wiping tears from her eyes. As Biala and the boys drove away, Seneca stood alone in the doorway, feeling the weight of their departure crush her. Once they were gone, she punched the door, she trudged back inside, slamming the door behind her, her mind a whirlwind of emotions.

[gatheringkeepsakes]

I think a lot of this is just a result of media illiteracy these days. People want things spoon fed to them. I can't count the number of times I've seen people compare this show against something like My Hero Academia which reintroduces it's titular characters and their abilities to the audience every few episodes.

Viewers these days don't like subtext. They want to be told exactly what's going to happen and when something defies expectations without loud enough warnings, they get upset. RWBY does set up for its tone shifts regularly, it's just subtle in its approach that those victim to the "sometimes the curtains are just blue" mentality refuse to pick up on. Or just don't know how to.

From the start, we are given ample hooks into something more going on. Silver eyes, Ozpin as the man behind the curtain with many secrets, Cinder being a bigger bad we're waiting to reappear for the entire volume, it being pretty clear she's not the head of this plan either once she does get reintroduced, etc.

RWBY has a structure that it's followed consistently since the start. Each arc is three volumes; the first two establish the main setting and conflict for that specific region, and the third flips the story on its head.

Beacon starts with the introduction to Vale, the world, our heroes, and their daily lives. Then the tone shifts in V3 with many mysteries being uncovered and the big bad being revealed. But there are still mysteries to be uncovered. Like what Salem's motive is, how she knows Ozpin, and why she's talking to him as if he didn't just die under a scorched pile of rubble.

Mistral arc is the aftermath of tragedy, the travelling to and saving of Haven, and the reintroduction of Oz through Oscar. We get vague reasons for how Oz reincarnates, and even when he tells his story to RNJR, there are constant reminders from characters like Yang implying he's not giving the whole truth. That the audience shouldn't completely trust him. Then in v6, we get that tone shift from The Lost Fable.

Atlas is the same. Two volumes to try and save the kingdom, a third where we find out even more lore about the story - the world, the gods, AND our first concrete look into the mystery of Summer Rose's disappearance.

I agree that the marketing for this show has not been good and is still pretty awful if we're being honest. It doesn't help that Certain Videos on YouTube have literal millions of views talking about how awful the show is despite rarely knowing what they're actually talking about, it keeps a lot of people away just by word of mouth. Rooster Teeth as a company does not foster the best tone for its fanbase in general either, but I'm not going to get too deep into that.

The issue despite these things is that people engage with RWBY as if it's some big corporate IP when it's essentially an indie webcomic that just managed to get animated. I'd also argue that while the original descriptions for RWBY being an attempt at trying to make their own shounen, that is more of a demographic target than one specific genre. I've seen folks compare this show to long running fantasy novels from the 80s where they often start with low stakes school settings, then through trials, tragedies, and escalation, end up raising the stakes to fighting gods and then some. I'd also argue it follows a lot more of the subverted magical girl tropes as a subgenre than anything. Madoka Magica is a great example, same with things like Revolutionary Girl Utena.

As for not doing a good enough job to show it's a subversion... 6 out of the 8 main characters being girls in a "shounen" demographic series, is in and of itself our first clue towards this. Of the 2-3 male characters within the main eight, all three of them (Jaune, Ren, and eventually Oscar) have allusions to genderbends of female characters.

And on the topic of gender, there is absolutely an edge of misogyny to a lot of the unjust criticisms this show does get. Many of the people that focus so hard on criticizing team RWBY's actions are those obsessed with characters like Jaune, Adam, or Ironwood. But it's not just the more RWDE sides of the fandom that are victim to this. In retaliation to that subgroup of the fandom, many fans over-obsess on the female characters, often denying any viability to the male characters we do have. For example, the sheer amount of discourse towards Jaune getting any screen time in V9 as if he also has not been part of the cast since episode 1 & 2. Or those that infantize Oscar, treat him like nothing but an Ozpin meatsuit (which has been debunked in show MULTIPLE TIMES) or spend hours of their time arguing that that he could never have so much as a friendship with a character like Ruby, let alone something more (once again despite clear tropey and textual evidence to the contrary).

RWBY suffers from the same thing Steven Universe did. Another magical girl-esque show from 2013 that challenged the status quo of the expected genre, and as a result became a breeding ground for the most unnecessary - and in my opinion - unwarranted discourse imaginable. People, no matter what side of the fandom they're on, want this show to be something it isn't and refuse to meet the text where it is because they don't know how to. Or because they simply don't want to. And to view it as anything other than the reality they've convinced themselves it is makes them feel incredibly unsafe.

And as someone that's been watching since the first trailer aired, it genuinely breaks my heart. I do largely blame this fandoms inability to be normal towards fiction as one of the reasons it is struggling to get greenlit nowadays. Why would anyone who hasn't watched the show already in the 10 years they've had the chance to, be convinced to hop on now when this is the environment its fandom fosters.

I've had this thought swirling in the back of my head for a while, but it's finally congealed enough that I think I can make a coherent pitch, which is: I think RWBY's problems with the more vitriolic part of its fanbase partially stems from the fact that RWBY is a deconstruction that doesn't advertise it's a deconstruction.

RWBY's status as a deconstruction is pretty textbook. It takes apart standard fantasy, shounen, and anime tropes in order to analyze them and their deeper meaning and then reassembles them in new and interesting ways for the plot/characters/series. Thing is, it never says that outright in promotional material, which can lead to later outrage in fans.

See, unless their way of discovering new shows is to close their eyes and stab their finger at random, most people tend to choose series to watch/read based on expectations. Maybe a friend said they'll like it because it has [insert thing], maybe they read the summary and were intrigued, maybe they thought the poster/cover art was cool, whatever. These small pieces of information are generally enough for people to make a snap-judgment of the style and genre of the series, which they can then gauge against their personal tastes and decide whether or not they want to try.

Most of the time, this works just fine. Well-written deconstructions also generally give the viewers some warning/buildup before they take a hard swerve. See Madoka Magica: the magical girl paradigm is shaded by the possibility of death as soon as we're introduced to it, then there's an onscreen death with blood, and then a few episodes later we eventually realize the Faustian bargain of it all. Even innocent viewers who stumbled into watching it, unaware of the show's reputation, would go "Oh, wait, this is not going in the direction magical girl shows usually go" by a third of the way through.

The thing is, with RWBY, this does not happen unless you're paying a lot of attention and/or looking for it. And neither the cover art nor the summary nor, I believe, the fanbase gives a lot of warning about the swerves ahead.

In fact, RWBY initially bills itself as a pretty standard shounen anime. The main protagonist is hinted to have Special Powers and gets into the Magic Monster-Hunting School in the first episode, and the first two-and-a-half seasons are taken up by her and her friends' superhero-esque slice-of-life shenanigans as they thwart robberies and terrorist attacks and gear up for a tournament arc against the looming background of a larger conspiracy.

Then in the last half of the third season the villains' entire Rube Goldberg machine of a scheme snaps into completion and the plot twists so hard the entire genre takes a hard right. If you're used to character analysis and common anime tropes, this is not completely a surprise -up until this point, RWBY's character arcs and plot have been subtly traveling in non-traditional directions that hint of greater flexibility in genre treatment ahead- but if you're not... well.

Thing is, people watching RWBY up until this point have signed up for pretty standard shounen and they've been getting it, but the third season's ending smashes that all to bits. From then on out in RWBY, it's like they ordered fries and suddenly got a hamburger. It might be delicious; but it's not what they asked for, what they wanted, or what they paid for, and they are, justifiably, displeased.

So when the reasonable people either adjusted their expectations or sighed, shook their heads, and clicked back out (perhaps with a grumble and a scowl), the unreasonable people dug their heels in and began insisting that everybody was Getting The Show/Character Wrong and that CRWBY is ruining it, because the fact that RWBY's method of deconstruction is to put standard tropes in a blender and then arrange what's left in deceptive patterns means that said unreasonable viewers can scan the bare surface and argue that all the stereotypical stuff is clearly still under there, somewhere.

So they're continually trying to drag RWBY back to the tracks of a typical shounen anime series (it's closest relative), which creates a dissonance between the show they're watching and the show they think they're watching. They're trying to turn the hamburger back into fries, basically, except that doesn't work and just frustrates everyone involved, because you're trying to make RWBY into something that it's not. Hence, this attitude probably starting/fueling some of the more contentious statements in the fandom, i.e.:

"Ironwood was right the whole time" (in most action movies and shounen anime, allied military leaders are trustworthy beyond reproach)

"Adam's character was wasted" (we all know how much shounen loves their powerful warrior antiheroes)

"Ruby and the others are in the wrong about [insert thing]/or for doing [insert thing], and this is bad writing!" (shounen protagonists don't usually make more than One Very Big Mistake over the course of their entire careers, which is usually fixed/overcome/redeemed via an appropriately rigorous training arc)

And to be clear, there's nothing wrong with shounen tropes or shounen anime. They're wonderful storytelling devices in their own way and their own time: but if you want standard by-the-book shounen without any new and interesting concoctions, then RWBY is definitely not the show for you. And most people don't find that out until it's too late.

[archived-kin]

late with lucifer

note from kin: i just realised that the title sounds like a talk show ffs

anyway get ready to get SAPPY (and also get ready for a low-key out of character lucifer)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn! reader, lucifer, satan, beelzebub, belphie

pairing(s): lucifer/reader

warning(s): brief existential dread right at the end but i think it’s relatively light

genre: fluff all the way (with maybe a teensy bit of angst???? i accidentally got kinda deep towards the end)

Deciding to commit yourself to a bona fide workaholic music nerd who would sooner chop his own hand off than skip a single working day for potentially the rest of eternity has been... a choice and a half, to say the least. Yes, he’s a sweetheart most of the time, and you love him more than possibly any being in the known universe (though jury’s still out on cats and the dragon you met a couple of months ago who brings you giant mouthfuls of leaves every weekend), but you’d be lying if he didn’t have qualities that make you want to drop kick some sense into him sometimes. And one of those qualities happens to be his absolute refusal to just take a damn break.

“Just one more hour,” He keeps telling you whenever you ask him if he’s finally finished with his mountain load of paperwork. “One more hour, and then we can spend some time together.”

It has been five hours since Lucifer went to his study to ‘get a bit of work done’. Five hours of attempting to finish the mountain of books Satan has recommended you in the corner of the library, probably irritating the poor guy to no end with your constant restless shifting. You're surprised that he hasn’t up and left to go read in his room in peace - then again, it’d be hypocritical of him to tell you off for moving about. You’d think a bookworm like him would be so absorbed by his beloved books that he wouldn’t be able to move at all, but he fidgets about so much when he’s reading that you’re surprised he hasn’t somehow worn a hole through his favourite armchair yet. At any rate, you’re pretty sure you can see him getting ready to flip himself upside down for the seventh time this evening in the corner of your eye.

You try once again to focus on the lucrative business deal happening in Chapter 52 for the fourth time in the last ten minutes, but your brain just doesn’t seem to be listening to you right now; no matter how hard you try to register what’s going on, the words just don’t want to be processed. Finally, checking the clock on the wall for what feels like the hundredth time this evening, you decide that you might as well go bother your busy bee upstairs. It’s been at least a fortnight since you’ve been able to spend a full evening or night with him, and, if you’re honest, it’s beginning to get a little on your nerves.

Satan barely looks up from his book as you hop to your feet and begin making your way out, though he does lift a hand to wave a brief goodbye. Contrary to your prediction, he has not flipped himself upside down, but is now sitting the wrong way around on his armchair instead, facing the seat’s back, with his book carefully balanced on its head. Unconventional, but you’ll give him credit for the creativity.

The House of Lamentation is oddly quiet for a Friday night, but you’d guess that’s because Asmo and Mammon, the two loudest members of the house, have taken it upon themselves to celebrate the arrival of the weekend by going out for the night and probably blowing their savings in the process. Well, Asmo will be blowing his savings - Mammon will most likely find a way to put his spendings on one of his other brother’s tabs, or worse, yours. Then again, you don’t buy things often, so you suppose you can spare a bit of cash. (Knowing Mammon, though, he’ll probably buy enough to put you in debt for the rest of your life.)

On your way through the corridor, you’re struck by a sudden idea. Lucifer’s been shut in his study ever since he got home from the R.A.D., which means he most likely won't have eaten anything. At any rate, you know for a fact he wasn’t there for dinner with everyone else, which means you now have a much better excuse for going to see him other than just wanting to. Lucifer may be a stubborn demon, but he's never been able to resist a mug of tea and some biscuits on long nights when it's you offering them.

Beel is rustling about in the snack cupboard when you slip into the kitchen - no surprises there, but it is a little odd that he’s going for the lighter foods rather than something more filling. You'd comment on why he's down here so late into the night - he should really be in bed - but then again, it's Beel. He'd listen to his stomach over his brain any day of the week.

“Oh, hey,” He greets as he retreats from the cupboard with an armful of what look like several cookie boxes stacked on top of each other. “Did you get hungry as well?”

You shake your head and pull two mugs out of the crockery cabinet. “Nope. Just thought I’d bring Lucifer some tea and biscuits, you know?”

“He’s been in his office for ages,” Beel agrees with an earnest nod. He glances down at the heap of cookies in his arms, then pauses. “Ah… here.”

You look up as you fill the kettle with water to see him holding one of the boxes in his arms out to you.  “...what’s this for?”

“There aren’t any biscuits left in the cupboard,” He says by way of explanation, shaking the box he’s offering to indicate that you should take it. “So you can have these.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that, Beel!” You gently push the box back towards him and give his arm a fond pat. “I’ll just bring him something else. Go ahead and eat the cookies, okay?”

On any other occasion, Beel would most likely have accepted your offer without hesitation (the day that Beel rejects food will probably never come, but you have a sneaking suspicion that a black hole would rip this reality apart if it does), but it must have been a really good day for him in terms of being fed, because he actually continues to try to give you the box. You’re tempted to coo at the big softie’s uncharacteristic generosity, but you’re not particularly sure how that would go over with him. If being in a relationship with Mr Pridey McPrideface upstairs has taught you anything, it’s that you can never take a reaction for granted.

“No, you have it,” Beel insists, shifting so that he doesn’t drop the rest of his biscuits and stubbornly attempting to shove the box into your hands. “I’ve got plenty right here.”

Your surprise must show on your face, because a moment later he smiles a little sheepishly and adds, “I promise I’m not sick or anything. I’ve still got lots right here. One box won’t make that much of a difference.”

You think it over for a moment as the kettle begins to bubble aggressively behind you. You’re a staunch believer in the fact that one should never deprive Beel of his food, partially because he’s an absolute sweetheart who deserves the food he eats, and partially because something bad could and probably would happen if said food is taken from him. Then again, you’re not taking the food from him, strictly speaking - he’s the one offering it to you. That exempts you, right? At the very least, you have a counter-argument if Belphie tries to persecute you for taking his beloved twin brother’s biscuits. (He probably wouldn’t - the kid adores you - but it’s good to be prepared for possible trials.)

“Ah, fine...” You eventually relent and allow Beel to press the box into your hands. Your compliance is well worth it - the beam on his face and the little pat he gives the box in your hands in satisfaction could probably cure multiple strains of cancer. “You’re the sweetest, you know that?”

He flushes slightly. “I-it’s not that big of a deal…”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” You tell him firmly over your shoulder, beginning to busy yourself with the teabags and sugar as the kettle hisses to a halt. “Personally, I think I’m going to remember it for the rest of my life.”

You smile to yourself as Beel laughs a little bashfully behind you. “Thanks…”

“No problem, bub,” You reply, pausing in your work to turn around and shoot him a wink. “Hey, chuck me a spoon, would you?”

He nods and does just that - literally. He throws the spoon across the kitchen with such precision that it lands perfectly in your outstretched hand.

You thank him and begin to pour the hot water into Lucifer’s mug. He says that he likes his tea as is, without any bells or whistles or fancy additions, but you’ve been doing this thing for long enough that you know that he actually prefers his tea with a teaspoon of honey and just a splash of lemon. He just refuses to actually say it out loud.

(To be honest, you’re not sure why he does that - does he think tea with honey and lemon is a wimpy drink or something just because you told him it’s often drunk as a remedy for a sore throat in the human world? Knowing the way his mind works, it’s probably something along those lines, but still, it’s a weird conclusion to make.)

You finish preparing Lucifer’s tea quickly - you’ve done this so many times that the movements have become second nature to you at this point - and start making your own. The drinks are finished a minute or so later, and with that you begin setting up your little snack tray.

After a moment’s debate, you decide that today is worth going the extra mile, and start to carefully arrange the biscuits on a pretty plate.  It’s a bit of a hassle to get them into the right formation, but it’ll be well worth it once you get them to their intended receiver - Lucifer always gets the fondest little smile on his face when you bring him his biscuits in patterns, and that man doesn’t smile nearly enough for your taste. Personally, you’d quite like it if he smiled like that all the time, but then again, their rarity is what makes them so precious to you.

Ah - you’re starting to get sappy again. That’s a surefire sign that you haven’t spent enough time with your beloved demon lately. Well, it’s a good thing you’re going to see him now, isn’t it?

The door to Lucifer’s study is still as tightly shut as it was five hours ago when you approach it, but you doubt he’s actually locked it. He’s stopped doing that ever since your visits while he works became a regular thing - he hasn’t said it out loud yet, but you know that it’s his way of showing you that you’re always welcome to come in.

Unlocked as it is, though, you can’t exactly turn the doorknob to let yourself in. You’re a human of many talents, but being able to balance a heavy tray in one hand is not one of them. Lucifer’s tea wouldn’t make into his study - it’d just end up all over the floor.

“Lucifer!” You call softly through the door, mindful that he might be having another one of his work-induced headaches, “I’ve brought you some tea! Open up!”

For a while, the only reply is silence. You know there shouldn’t be any reason for him to be, but you can’t help but worry briefly if Lucifer’s somehow angry at you. Then again, Lucifer’s always liked to play the fashionably late card against you - whether to tease you or to disguise something, you’ll never know.

It turns out that your little worry was unfounded - a few moments later, the door swings open to reveal your favourite demon in all his exhausted-looking glory. Lucifer, who looks like the physical manifestation of work burnout, offers you a tired smile, and stands back to let you enter.

(Here’s a little secret - Lucifer would never tell you this, but he’d perked up like a kid when candy is offered the moment he heard your voice. Still, gotta put up the cool front, right? Even if that means waiting restlessly right next to the door for a minute so that you don’t think he’s over-eager…)

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you bring the tray over to his desk and set it down on one of the few patches of wood that aren’t covered by papers.

You dramatically pretend to swipe sweat from your forehead as if you’ve just finished a ten-mile run and shoot a smile up at him. “All in a day’s work, love.”

He smiles softly and leans in to gently press a kiss to the crown of your head. His pale cheeks have darkened slightly - Lucifer’s always been a softie when it comes to the host of sappy nicknames you’ve given him. One gentle ‘sweetheart’ and he’s melting like an ice cube on a hot day. It’s the sort of thing that people like Mammon and Levi would probably call gross or something, but you honestly couldn’t really care less about that. It’s not harming anyone else and it makes both of you happy, so why shouldn’t you give your lover as many endearing pet names as you can come up with?

“What even is all this?” You ask, peering at the papers scattered across the desk as Lucifer moves over to have a look at the plate of biscuits. You look up just in time to spot the way his eyes light up slightly when he sees the flower you've arranged them into.

“This and that,” He replies vaguely, hovering a single gloved hand uncertainly over the plate, as if trying to decide which biscuit he can take without spoiling the pattern.

“That’s hardly an answer at all,” You complain, plucking three broken quills from among the documents and waving them at him. “Why do you keep using these? A pen would be way more efficient.”

“Official documents should be written in the traditional way,” Lucifer tells you. He takes his time chewing the biscuit he’s finally chosen before continuing. “And Diavolo prefers quill and ink calligraphy to look at.”

“Honestly…” You round the edge of the desk and reach up to brush some powdered sugar from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t have to do absolutely everything according to him.”

Lucifer blinks down at you, lips parting slightly in half awe and half surprise as you smile at him. “Ah…”

His smile widens slightly, and he gazes at you with so much fondness in his eyes that you almost feel a little weak at the knees at the very sight. Lucifer really is a dangerous demon - in more ways than one.

“Well, c-come on, then,” You prompt him abruptly, not wanting him to realise how much his gaze has affected you, because you just know it’s going to give him an ego boost. He pauses in surprise as you start tugging him over to the big armchair beside the fire - the one that the both of you can fit snugly into together. “Let’s have a drink together.”

“I still have papers to fill out—” He attempts to say, but cuts himself off as you shake your head and stubbornly attempt to push him down into the seat. It doesn’t work - Lucifer’s much stronger than you, after all - but he does at least seem to appreciate the effort.

“You’re taking a break whether you like it or not,” You insist, starting to smack lightly at his arms in an bid to get him to listen to you. “Papers can wait. I’m more important.”

That does get a little chuckle out of him, and he finally relents, sitting down with a subtle sigh. “That goes without saying.”

You laugh, suddenly a little more hot around the collar than you’d have liked. “You said it!”

Pausing to retrieve the tray with the tea and biscuits and set it on the table beside the armchair, you quickly join Lucifer in front of the fire, snuggling in at his side and letting out a blissful sigh as you feel him start to draw circles on your arm with his fingers. It’s a sort of habit that he’s developed over the last few months - you’re not sure if he even realises that he’s doing it.

The two of you stay like that in comfortable silence for several minutes. Lucifer’s tense shoulders relax more and more with each passing moment, and soon enough, he’s sprawled out against you, pressing his cheek lovingly into the crown of your head. 

It’s only at moments like this that you get to see this softer version of him, so you always cherish it when it happens. Lucifer may be a slightly passive-aggressive panther who could kill most beings with a swipe of his hand if he sees fit, but, every now and then, he’s a sleepy panther who’ll roll over and let you scratch behind his ears.

Conversation is usually sparse at times like this - the two of you are content enough in each other’s presence that you don’t really need to make small talk. Today, however, Lucifer seems to have something he wants to vent about.

“Belphie has been missing a lot of his homework again lately,” He murmurs. You make a noise of affirmation to indicate that you’re listening, staring at the mugs of tea sitting on the table and pondering whether the two of you will actually manage to part for long enough to drink them.

“Is it anything important?” You ask after a moment, playing absent-mindedly with his left hand. He doesn’t make any move to stop you as you mess about with his slender fingers, so you assume that he doesn’t mind.

“Mostly essays,” He replies, shifting slightly and letting out a quiet sigh. “He’s never liked writing them, but he hasn’t had so many missing before.”

You make a thoughtful sound. Now that you think about it, wasn’t Belphie confiding in you about this the other day?

“It’s just hard to sit down and concentrate sometimes, especially when I’m always so tired,” You remember him saying resignedly over hot chocolate and marshmallows. “It’s not like I don’t want to turn all my homework in on time. Sometimes I just can’t.”

“Well, you shouldn’t force yourself to do them, either,” You’d replied, giving his shoulders a sympathetic pat. “Needs over school of course. If you need to sleep more, then sleep more - if you feel like you can’t write the essay, then don’t write the essay. I’ll talk to Lucifer if he gets mad at you.”

He’d given you a grateful smile then, and turned back to his hot chocolate with a marginally brighter look on his face.

“Belphie’s been having a lot of nightmares lately, so he isn’t getting as much sleep,” You say slowly. “I told him to go ahead and take as many naps as he has to. His needs are more important than schoolwork, after all.”

Lucifer takes a long while to answer, but you don’t mind. It’s only fairly recently that he’s really come to terms with the idea that he doesn’t need to be so hard on his brothers - that it’s okay to put their comfort before whatever image of respectability he’s trying to keep up for Diavolo. The change has been somewhat jarring, according to Satan, but it’s not an unwelcome one, and you’ll gladly take responsibility for it with your constant reminders and careful explanations that Lucifer’s younger brothers have their own problems that he needs to give more leeway for.

“...did he come to talk to you about this?” He asks finally.

“Yeah.” You can’t see his face, but you can practically hear the frown beginning to pinch at his brows. “I know it might not seem like it sometimes, but he does want to make you proud. He’s never wanted to disappoint you.”

He takes a deep breath and releases it with a low hum. “...Belphie has never disappointed me.”

“Seems that he doesn’t realise that sometimes, though,” You sigh, tracing the seams of his glove with your index finger. “He’s a good kid, really.”

Lucifer doesn’t give a verbal reply, but he does hum again. You shift slightly and turn to look up at him; he looks back at you with sleepy, half-lidded crimson eyes. “Take it easy on him, okay?”

He gazes at you in contemplative silence for a long while, blinking slowly like an affectionate cat. Finally, he nods, and you beam proudly, dipping your head to rest on his chest, carefully positioning yourself so that his buttons don’t dig into your cheek.

“I’ll speak to his teachers,” He says quietly. “We should be able to arrange something.”

You smile against the fabric of his waistcoat, taking his hand in yours and giving it a squeeze. “That’s progress. I’m proud of you.”

He doesn’t respond, but you know full well that he loves it when you say that to him. He didn’t in the early days of your relationship, mostly because he’d thought you were patronising him, but now that the two of you are so much more familiar with each other, he’s learnt to recognise that you don’t mince words; you say what you mean, and you mean what you say. Which is exactly why, as the Avatar of Pride, he absolutely loves it when you tell him that you’re proud of him.

Lucifer himself is deep in thought. Struck by a sudden warmth spreading through him, quite independent of the crackling fire before him, he wraps his arms around you, resting his cheek against your head. It’s at moments like these, when you’re so close to him, that he realises just how fragile humans like you are.

It terrifies him sometimes, knowing that the unforgiving march of time means that you cannot be with him forever. One day you will leave, and you will grow old and fade away without him, because, no matter how much he wishes otherwise, you belong to a different realm. You are not a demon, and he is not a human; your worlds can collide briefly, for a single, beautiful moment, but then they will continue to move in their own orbit - and perhaps they will never meet again.

Some would say that, for this reason, he never should have fallen in love in the first place. Relationships like yours have always had a sort of taboo, even in the Devildom, because all beings are not created equal; humans have such short, meaningless lifespans compared to demons and angels, such little power, always depending on leaders and faith in a deity that they cannot prove the existence of. That is what demons tend to think of humanity, and until he’d met you, Lucifer had felt similarly.

But your life has been anything but meaningless, and the power you hold over him and his brothers is far stronger than any amount of potent magic that any being holds. The seven lords of the Devildom would lay waste to all three realms should anything happen to you. 

Lucifer had never thought that he had the ability to love so deeply and so purely, but then again, he’d also never thought that a human like you could exist. It seems that he’s been wrong about a lot of things, and he can only pray that he will be wrong in his prediction of how this will end.

But you’re with him now, curled up against him with a content smile on your face. For now, you’re here, and while you are, Lucifer doesn’t want to waste time on worries.

Your story is yet to reach its ending, and if Lucifer knows anything, it’s that he will stay by your side until then. As long as your worlds are still connected, he will continue to love you, and he will love you long after your worlds separate again.

He’s sure of it.

[bokettochild]

We need more Time and Wild bonding

For you, Anon! And also for @1142 who requested the same thing!

Summary: Time sees his family, friends and other loved ones in his boys, but Wild especially is reminding him of himself this morning, and he wants to offer some encouragement to the poor kid.

It's quiet to read alone, listen to this!

Epona’s song drifted through the cool morning air.

The sound brought a smile to Time’s lips as he snuggled closer to the warmth pressed beside him, breathing in the clean morning air and tugging the blanket up higher on his shoulder.

He really didn’t want to wake up.

Although, he didn’t remember opening the bedroom window last-

Wait. They weren’t on the farm! They’d gone to sleep in the forest last night! There was no window to leave open, and no Malon singing or lying beside him. He shoots awake, pulling himself up with the intent of looking around camp, only to have something pull him back down towards the ground.

Looking down, he feels his scarred heart melt. Twilight twitches in his sleep, arms locking around his shoulders, sleepily groans sounding as the lad hangs off him, cold nose pressed to his neck. Tiny, whuffling snores sound from his pup as the younger man nuzzles closer, and he can only chuckle softly and rub his protégé's back lightly as he settled back down to let Twilight sleep.

He is curious who had been singing though.

A single blue eye takes in the camp as he props himself up slightly on his bedroll, careful not to disturb Twilight as he takes in where each of his boys lay.

Legend and Hyrule lay curled into each other, Legend clinging to his protégé while Hyrule’s hands lay buried in his mentor’s silky hair, a smile on the face of the younger and drool on the face of the elder*. Warriors lies close by, sprawled across his bedroll and snoring fit to wake the dead, utterly content and comfortable in the safety of his brothers and proving it with his noise. Opposite the three, Wind and Sky curl close, Sky’s sailcloth and their blankets thrown over the two leaving only Four’s left foot visible from between them.

His pup curls close to his side, one leg thrown over his waist and arms locked tight around his shoulders, holding him in place and preventing him from rising, but the bedroll on his left...

Epona’s song continues to dance through the camp, and Time’s single eye finally falls on Wild, the cook busily scrubbing out his favorite cooking pot on the very edge of camp, the familiar tune dancing off of the young one’s lips, suds rising halfway up his arms and hair thrown back in a messy bun that reminds Time strongly of Lullaby’s own hair when the woman loses patience with it. Decorum be shot, the queen will throw her own hair back with a simple hair tie in front of the whole court, ignoring how it makes her appear and continuing her duties without hair hanging in her face and her neck free from the oppressing heat of its constant curtain.

If ever he doubted that Lullaby and Shiek were the same person, each time he sees his princess behave in such a way, he’s reminded that, different time lines or no, there is still the same fiery spirit and passion for change in his friend that there had always been, and it is something he is happy to see reflected in some of his boys, along with Malon’s stubborn personality and incredible strength and kindness.

Maybe he is looking for the traits of those dearest to his heart in the boys that had pushed their way in. Be it by force or by accident as the hero might be, but it brings him no small joy to see Lullaby in Legend’s sharp glares or in Warriors’ brisk manner when planning. In Hyrule’s swift fingers or Wild’s sharp and calculating eyes. To see her in Four’s dark eyes, always thoughtful, always knowing, or in Sky’s burning passion.

It’s a wonder to see Malon in Wind’s boisterous cheer, and in Twilight’s rolling laughter. To see his wife’s mischief reflected in Wild’s luminescent gaze or her love of life in the way Legend cares for his orchard and animal friends. And the glimpse of unbelievable strength in Four’s easy lifting of weapons as big as himself, or the echo of her in the firm set of Warriors’ shoulders always makes him smile to himself.

There are others at times. Saria in Hyrule’s smile. Kafai in Wild’s laugh. Romani in Wind’s eccentric ideas, Nabooru in Legend’s firm stance and heavily lidded gaze, Navi in Sky’s light scolding and Tatl in Four’s acerbic wit. Glimpses of home and family echo around him, pulling close what reflected it and making them home and safety themselves. And over it all he can hear the winding of tunes that both tore apart and hold together the memories of his youth.

And now, one such tune, one especially close to his heart, one meant only for the Lon family and their famous steeds, dances over the edges of the camp and past the ears of the sleeping heroes as Wild lifts his cooking pot and carries it over to the fire, singing softly with faint and muddled words, many of them wrong, mumbled or tripped over, but sung all the same as food winks into being from the champion’s slate.

“-ne-ver far from home. Epona, Epona, can you hear hmm hmm, singing from in my heart, hmm-hmm-hmm.” Mumbled hums break the words as the champion works over the fire, measuring and stirring. “Something if you’re wandering far away hmm-hmm, listen for this melody calling you! Re-mem-ber that you have something-or-other to complete! I trust hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hm!”

The muddled version of the song makes him chuckle softly, startling the younger hero into spinning around, the spoon that Sky carved him brandished like a weapon as the champion prepares to defend himself against whatever he thinks may have startled him. Face beet red and growing redder.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

Wild looks instants away from combusting on the spot. “hOW- How long were you awake?”  Gone are the stumbling yet melodious trills of the cook’s voice, instead replaced with a panicked squeak only made worse by his age.

It was like the first time he’d successfully startled Shiek, both of them both still so young that their voices broke under pressure, and the thought makes him smile as he meets the startled child’s gaze.

“Long enough.”

Wild’s ears droop, quivering with shame and embarrassment as the kid’s shoulders hunch up to brush against them, eyes darting down and refusing to meet Time’s as boot scuffs the dirt softly. “I thought you guys- that is- I thought it was-” Cornflower blue glances up, meeting his own for only a second before darting away again. “I thought it was safe.”

Safe? What does the cub- Understanding dawns and he finds himself chuckling low and soft. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“It’s not that.” The champion whispers. “I just- I don’t like people...hearing.”

Oh.

Also familiar, also so very familiar. Only this time he doesn’t see his wife or sisters and brothers, or mother or friends in the flushed face of the hero before him.

A squeaky voiced young hero, who’d pulled his cap over his face more times than anyone would guess when looking at his scarred face now, had time and again been encouraged by a darting blue fairy.

“You’ve got a lovely voice Link. No shame, come on!”

Of course, fairies always like hero their Chosen sing, but Time himself had, admittedly, stumbled over notes and keys nearly as badly as his pup still does, but he’d lacked any of Twilight’s playful self-confidence to be able to own up to the harsh squeaks and shrieking chirps that erupted out of him whenever someone else tried to get him to sing, or caught him singing.

He was fine, when Navi was fast asleep or the Kolkiri were half a forest away, or when it had just been himself and Epona, trailing through the dark woods in search of a light he’d have given anything to hear encouraging him to keep trying to raise his voice. It’d been the first time he’d really tried to Sing for his fairy, but it hadn’t done anything but tempt over two fairies who already had their own Chosen, a skullkid who’d pulled him along into a world where his voice had hidden with his face behind mask after mask.

It took Malon catching him singing while at work in the barn before he’d been able to et the guts up to actually try for her, but it’d been worth it when he hadn’t had to fumble with fancy words to ask her to marry him, not when there was a song and a dance just for that that he’d learned for Kafai while in Termina. Malon made his heart sing, but she also made him sing, and while her voice far outdid his own, it always made him happy to hear the two ringing together.

He’d once hoped, once he found out, that he’d one day hear Twilight’s voice rise up with theirs on some starlit evening, but after hearing his pup sing...

He loves Twilight like a son, but heaven forbid he ever force his wife to listen to that tone deaf mess!

Wild though, oh, Malon would love to tempt Wild into singing and guide him along until his voice could ring with hers. The child had the voice of a fairy, ethereal and inhuman, but in a way that made him feel light and airy and almost like he could fly.

“Well...” He wants very much to stand and walk over to Wild, but he was still trapped and Twilight was both a brick and incredibly strong, leaving him trapped until his pup is good and ready to wake up, something he fully believed Wild would prefer to prevent happening for the time being. “I can’t not hear it, Wild.”

“Try?” The kid pleads, eyes wide and face nearly purple from embarrassment.

“It’d be an insult to whoever created the voice to do so!” The words spilled out before he could stop them. He was supposed to reassure the kid, not make him panic more by pressuring him! “That is- Wild, you have the voice of an... I suppose Legend would say “an angel” whatever those really are. To be frank, I wouldn’t choose to forget it if I could.”

“I’m not a good singer.”

“Bullshit.”

The newest hero’s gaze shoots up to meet his own, shock written across scarred features at hearing him swear. “You-”

“Don’t tell Warriors.” He whispers with a wink- blink- whatever, it was meant as a wink, and hopefully Wild would read it as one.

“You swore.” Wild breathes

“And you lied.” He returns. “You’re a good singer. Confident, maybe not, but I thought I heard Maon when I first woke up, and unless you want to tell me that my wife has a poor singing voise-”

“No! Of course not!”

“Settled then.” He smiled. “You’re a good singer.”

The champion stares at him, ears twitching slowly and eyes blinking as he processes the words, before a light scowl pulls at the kid’s scars as he crosses his arms. “It- no!” At the grin he shoots at the kid, Wild whines softly. “Dad!”

Both freeze at that. Or rather, Time blinks repeatedly, shocked, and Wild’s hands fly up to his mouth, eyes wide and horrified.

“I’m sorry!” Wild blurts out, still hiding behind his hands. “I slipped I-”

Laughter, deep and rumbling enough that Twilight is happy grumbling against him in response, sounds through the camp as Time throws his head back. He can’t stop it, but he will embrace it. This is the best morning he’s had in ages and Hylia have him if he doesn’t take a moment to enjoy it! “You’re fine, Cub. I’ve been called much worse than that more than once. Unless of course,” He grins at the young hero, brows pulling down in a mock stare, even if he can’t hold his smile back to be convincing. “You think I’d be a bad one?”

“No! You’re an awesome- You’re going to be-” Wild is somehow redder than he was before and he stomps his foot almost petulantly as he catches on to the laughter that still rumbles in Time’s chest. “Time!”

“I don’t mind.” He rumbles out, and more than anything he wants to walk over and ruffle the kids hair, or wrap him in a hug, but he’s trapped by Twilight, and instead can only lift his free arm in an offer that Wild hesitates to take. He’s almost considering lowering his arm and rescinding his invitation when the champion barrels into his side, face buried in his shoulder as Golden hair fills his vision.

“I hate you.”

“Such disrespect to your father.” Time scolds playfully, gently pinching Wild’s ear and making the champion giggle at the touch. “What will your Mamalon say?”

“Ma-” Wild sits up again, staring down at him in confusion. “Mamalon?”

His lips pull into a smile again, something he’s done more this morning than he has nearly all week. “Something Legend calls her, which I’m stealing because she and I both like it.”

The champion’s eyes trail down to where scarred fingers still tangle into his tunic. “Can I call her that too?”

“Well,” He chuckles. “If I’m your Father Time, I think it’s only fair she’s you Mamalon.” At Wild’s smile he smirks. “Ad she’ll be delighted to learn you already know the family song, if only in part. Her mother wrote that for her you know, and I’m sure she’d love to teach you the rest of it. She taught it to me after all, and I used to sing as poorly as Twilight!”

Wild’s mouth opens and closes a few times as a light blush colors the kid’s cheeks before he shyly nods. “I’d- I think I’d like that.”

“Good.” And breakfast or no, Time thinks the others can wait for a half of a minute to eat after waking up, because if Twilight’s going to pin him down than he’s going to return the favor with his other son.

[coldshrugs]

dating savage

pairing: teddy/toasty word count: 770

Teddy’s getting used to the in-between. The constant texting, late night calls, weekends running through airports and living out of a suitcase. She plans her life by two time zones. It’s difficult to know where home is when everywhere feels like a liminal space. In two months (two short, amazing, exhausting months), the boundaries between Here and There have shifted, blurred.

Here means the center of an unmade king-sized bed in a Sunnyvale loft, tucked against Toasty’s side, sharing a bowl of ice cream. Orange sherbet sunset melting through the wooden blinds, while Aggretsuko plays on a wall mounted TV. He’s still barely unpacked, but the boxes are stacked neatly now–an improvement from her first visit. He kisses her forehead, cold fingers reaching for the spoon when it’s his turn for a bite.

And There, well… That means work she doesn’t care about doing, unrealized potential, and a sleep-deprived fog that never seems to lift. A half finished manuscript she’s too nervous to share, too busy to finish. Her family, a handful of weekend friends. Warm in its own way, if stifling, just like the Georgia sun.

She’s got one more day Here, though, and they’ve already started the ritual.

The rest of the evening will be spent like this–closer, even–and tomorrow they’ll wake up just early enough to catch the last minute brunch rush at the place he likes with the crunchy waffles. A lazy walk through town, hand in hand, until her eyes light up about a book or a scarf or some trinket he can whisk over to a cash register before she can argue about it. Then it’s back to his place for her luggage before calling to check out of the hotel she’s not even staying in.

Just like the thought of leaving him (a thought she plans to soothe with another scoop of cookies and cream), Teddy’s sigh is heavy. It doesn’t go ignored.

“You okay?” He asks over the TV.

“Mhm.” She swallows. “Just gonna miss this, until next time.”

“Yeah,” he exhales. “Next time.”

Toasty, pointedly, doesn’t look at her. His whole face is a violent shade of red, even in the low light. Something’s about to happen.

“You should stay.” It’s almost too quiet to hear. But very certain.

“Stay? What do you–”

“With me. Here. Like… move in.”

Here. In California. In a bed that could be theirs instead of just his. In a place they share. In a life she can admit to dreaming about it, if it's with him.

Toasty’s face is tight with worry when he finally meets her eyes. He isn’t ready for a response yet, so he continues before she can answer.

“It doesn’t have to be like, now. Maybe we can just start making the plans, y’know? And you could work on your book, no pressure. There’s space to make an office for you downstairs, and since I’ve barely finished moving into this place, we could figure out the rest together? I just… I know I want you around." A quick pause. "All the time.”

The explanation trickles out of him; like so many of his confessions, it’s the manifestation of things he’s held back from saying until he’s considered them front to back. So sure of what he wants, but a little nervous it might not be reciprocated.

Teddy’s grin grows under the spoon still sitting on her bottom lip. “Yeah. Let’s do it, let’s live together.”

“Wait, really?” He moves their snack to the nightstand and pulls her into his lap. “If you’re fucking with me-”

She cuts him off with a kiss, leans into him until he’s smiling against her lips and a goofy laugh bubbles up between them. “I’m serious! I wanna be here all the time too. With you.”

She presses her forehead against his, fingers skimming through his hair, and nods. He nods in answer, he believes her.

“God, I fucking love you.”

She turns back to the TV, getting comfy between his legs. He shudders at the skim of her fingertips over his forearms, wrapped snugly around her. The episode is ending, but they settle in for another.

“I love you too.”

Teddy hoards a secret little smile, trying not to laugh at how they can’t seem to help themselves. She’s never moved this fast before, but it’s so easy with him; they just fit. So she can forgive herself for the speedrun.

Dating Savage, as Toaster says.

Tomorrow is probably the last time she’ll have to leave. When she returns, it’ll be for good. This place is almost home for her, and the person twined around her feels like home already.

[mooshys]

the silver lining of bad first dates

summary: a date gone wrong. a walk in the rain. a simple conversation in a ramen shop. mundane slice of life and mutual pining with kuroo.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note and warnings: curse words galore. set in time-skip. pure word vomit. kuroo’s one of those characters that I’m so scared to even consider writing for because I feel as though I’ll never truly be able to “get” his character. whatever though, I tried.

This date fucking sucked.

Point-blank. No sugarcoating because the dude sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table was more interested in the JASDAQ than your name. Seriously, he couldn’t even be bothered to listen to you talk about your alma mater before he swooped in and started blanketing his insecurities with his recent Bitcoin investment. 

Talk about lame.

Wine and hors d’oeuvres be damned, you were making an escape before he started mansplaining the economy. Even wagyu couldn’t save this candlelit disaster.

Making no attempt to be discreet, you whipped your phone out of your bag and typed up a quick text:

Mind picking me up? Shitty date.

Ping! 

Seriously? Again? What’d this guy do this time?

Ping!

Send the address

Ping!

I swear, this is the last time I’m picking you up

You smiled at the screen, thumbs moving fast.

That’s what you said last week

A bubble with three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared.

Ping!

Five minutes.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Like every cliché bad first date, the weather made sure to mimic the mood. The rainfall was nothing less than dreadful, a downpour that left the streets empty as most people kept indoors to avoid getting soaked.

“You’re so lucky that I didn’t have to work overtime tonight,” Kuroo began, standing close to you in an attempt to shield you both from the shower with his janky umbrella. “Otherwise, you’d be walking in the rain or sitting there having your dinner ruined from hearing that guy talk about his gains in the market.”

You laughed at the truth of his words. There really was no one else who knew you like Kuroo. 

“And you know I would’ve walked in the rain out of the two options. I can’t believe someone so dick-ish exists that I’d bail out on a free meal,” you said, raising your voice over the heavy pelting.

Without any warning, a trio of college kids rushed past you two, not paying attention to the other pedestrians walking the sidewalks as their only priority in mind was making it back home before catching a cold. They had their backpacks held up to cover their heads, but it wasn’t much help as their clothes were completely soaked.

“See that?” Kuroo jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You would’ve been running like those kids all the way back to your apartment if I didn’t show up.”

You lightly elbowed him and rolled your eyes. Rain fell on your shoulder from the sudden movement, but Kuroo repositioned the umbrella to prevent you from getting wet. “As if,” you murmured, hugging your body in an attempt to keep warm. “Thanks for picking me up. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re oh so welcome,” he waved off your words and then cackled when you narrowed your eyes at him. Sometimes he really knew how to push your buttons. “Anyway, are you trying to date a bunch of crappy guys on purpose? Because I feel like that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“It’s not like I ask to go through a bunch of crappy first dates!” you said, letting out a huff of hot air. The past month had been riddled with unsuccessful first dates. Statistically speaking, you were an outlier; the average person probably went through a handful of bad first dates in a single year: you went through that number in a mere month. Multiple standard deviations past, you were way out of the norm. “Maybe I’m just a magnet for awful guys who only have a thing for themselves.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Or maybe you just like to make my life a little bit harder.”

You smiled at his words.

“Maybe.”

Besides the realization that you were like a honeytrap to flies when it came to bad first dates, another constant came from the start of it all: Kuroo. You weren’t expecting much from the first SOS call; really, just someone to walk you back home when it was late and the taxi fares were jacked up. But you would never forget the first time he waited for you outside that overhyped bar with a bag of take-out, his tie loosened and hair messy because he had just left the office and rushed to the nearest place that sold yakisoba for a decent price.

Maybe you did make his life a little bit harder. It was selfish, but whenever you had a bad date, you actually started to anticipate your escape because that meant Kuroo would be there for you.

He was your silver lining for the past month.

Red brick walls came into view once you two rounded the corner into a more secluded alley, revealing a familiar site that made you hungry. A neon sign which turned brighter due to the haze of the rain drew you in like a moth to a flame. It flickered, but still kept its light. Another constant.

Underneath the awning of the restaurant, Kuroo retracted his umbrella and shook the excess water off of it. He shoved it in the small bin filled with umbrellas belonging to the other patrons and dragged the soles of his shoes on the mat before pulling the door open. 

“Let’s just get some ramen,” he said, ushering you inside. You took the first steps and situated yourself at a lone table. He followed and a waitress quickly took your orders, soon rushing back to the kitchen to help with the line of tickets pinned to the wall. 

“Ramen on a rainy day,” you said, giving a low whistle. “You know your stuff.”

“Duh, ramen tastes best when you’re freezing,” he replied, pulling on his necktie to loosen it. He grabbed two pairs of chopsticks along with a pair of spoons, placing a set in front of you. “And it tastes pretty good after bad dates too.”

“You’re talking to the queen of bad first dates.”

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share too, Your Highness.”

As if on cue, two bowls of ramen were brought over from the kitchen along with an extra soft boiled egg as soon as he finished his sentence. The soup had small ringlets floating at the top from the fat of the broth along with bright green scallions acting as a garnish to offer a vibrant and appetizing color. Wasting no time, you both gave thanks and started to dig in.

“You know,” he started, breaking his chopsticks apart and dipping them into the broth. He pulled up a nice amount of noodles, the steam rising up higher than before. “I really think you should quit dating guys who suck.”

Following Kuroo, you did the same and blew at your noodles. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“It is. It’s so easy.” He ate a mouthful and swallowed before speaking again. “You have your top tier guys, your average guys, and then your totally shitty guys. I mean absolute trash—these are the guys you’re dating. Avoid them and all your problems will be solved.”

“Ugh, I feel like we go through this conversation after every single mishap of a date.”

Translation: Kuroo, you sound like my nagging mother.

“Because you never learn.”

Translation: I will nag at you all I want.

You sighed. “Love’s a lot more complicated than you make it.”

“Whatever. Just find a guy who isn’t an asswipe, and then we can talk.”

As you two continued to eat, the kitchen staff remained lively. The sounds of ceramic bowls clattering together along with the static hum of an old radio buzzing some city pop tune your mom would have listened to in her youth acted as background noise while chatting. 

“So... what kind of guy do you think you are?” you asked, curious to hear his answer. Kuroo was in the middle of slurping his noodles and held a hand up to signal you to give him a second.

“Me?” He pointed at himself and you nodded. Who else would you be asking? “I’m your average guy.”

You frowned. “No way.”

“What, you think I’m an absolute trash kind of guy? Harsh.”

“No, I think you’re definitely top tier. Average guys don’t go out of their way to do stuff like this.”

Kuroo raised a brow at you and set his chopsticks down. His bowl was half finished, but he was more interested in what you had to say. “Stuff like what?”

“You know,” you motioned the space between you two, “doing this awful-first-date-rescue-at-the-drop-of-a-hat kind of stuff. No questions asked. Average guys don’t do that. Average guys just pay for your meal and maybe give you their jacket when it’s kind of cold. And sometimes they call you some gross pet name like...” You shivered at the thought. “Kitten or something.”

He looked slightly taken aback. “You don’t like being called kitten?”

“No, something about it sounds gross.”

“That’s just because you haven’t found the right guy to say it to you when—“

Not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say, you quickly crumpled up a napkin into a ball and tossed it at him. He threw his head back, putting on an act as if you actually did any damage to him.

“Stop. Please. Enough. Don’t even finish what you’re going to say.” You went back to devouring your bowl, the noodles more soft than before. Still tasted great as you shoveled in mouthfuls. “I don’t wanf tew heur et!”

Sporting a disgusted look, Kuroo grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser and slid them to your side of the table. “Jeez, you eat like that whenever you’re on a date? Maybe I saved that guy from you.”

“Well, you’re the one stuck with all of this now,” you motioned a hand to your entirety and wiggled an eyebrow. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He held his chin in the palm of his hand and stared at you from across the table, eyes still holding a glint of amusement under the low lighting of the restaurant. His bowl was nearly finished, yet he focused his attention on you, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he pondered your words.

You eyed him, his gaze feeling a bit different from before. “What are you doing?”

“Considering,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“...It shouldn’t take you that long to,” you mumbled and ate another mouthful of noodles. He kept at it and soon started to crack up. When you narrowed your eyes at him, he shook his head and pushed another pile of napkins your way. 

“There’s a scallion at the corner of your lips,” he tapped a hand on his bottom lip and cackled when you rushed to grab a napkin and wipe it away. Heat rose to your face and you sucked on your teeth.

“You know what? Forget about me calling you a top tier guy. It never happened.”

He placed a hand over his heart, wounded by your words. “It was kitten, wasn’t it?”

Unable to contain yourself, you laughed into your hand, shoulders shaking. You had to set your chopsticks down as you fanned your face, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. “If I ever heard that from another guy, I would walk out. The second the word came out of his mouth, I would pack up my things, leave, and never look back.”

“But you’re not right now.”

“I’m not.”

“Because I’m a top tier guy. Admit it.”

Because it’s you.

You shook your head and waved the white flag. “Right, that’s exactly it.”

Kuroo crossed his arms in front of his chest, satisfied with your answer. Like he won something from this conversation. He liked the way your lips tugged into a smile, not too tight, but enough to showcase the apples of your cheeks; he liked these nights when he could unwind after a long day of work and laugh about stupid pet names; he loved how easy it all was. 

Consideration done and over with, he went back to finish his bowl, the steam from the broth no longer visible to the naked eye.

“Eat up or it’ll get cold,” he said and sipped on the broth. It was still warm, much to his surprise. “I’ll walk you back home when we’re done.”

You took small bites, prolonging the meal in any way possible: listening to him talk about his lazy cubicle partner, ordering another side of gyoza, folding a napkin to tell him his fortune through grade school methods. Both your bowls were empty, pushed to the side with a sliver of broth left as the focus was neither the food nor the JASDAQ jerk from hours before, but rather mundane conversation that went in circles until the shop emptied out.

A hundred dates could go wrong only for Kuroo to show up and make things right.

Maybe it was time for him to become more than a silver lining.

[ayyyez]

can i request hcs of the bois kakashi, neji and itachi w a s/o who has a very high sex drive??? Thank u queenie

a/n: yeah sure thing, I also added Madara for myself haha warnings: sexual content below the cut 

Neji Hyuga

So. Overwhelmed. Like. Dead.

He struggles to keep up at first. It’s not that he doesn’t have stamina its just intimacy is so overwhelming to him and sex was never really a think before you and suddenly you want it a lot. His heart is constantly racing. 

That being said, the fact that you are so interested in him? BIGGEST TURN ON! Will honestly let you have your way with him most of the time but HAS to pay you back sometimes. 

Easiest way to get him going for another round is a blowjob. He loses his mind when it comes to blowjobs and he is just so sensitive. A blushing mess but he craves more. Also wants to return the favour. 

Neji really likes making out and grinding together (bit of the old dry humping). Could honestly cum from this. If you are very into teasing your partner its an excellent way to rile him up. 

Never understands when you get horny in the kitchen. He won’t say no to taking you on the counter (or vice versa) but only if there is no food around. 

Will only satisfy your needs at home. He knows that look on your face. That “I need you right now” face. He blushes when he sees it and usually asks if you want to go home. He power walks there lol with your wrist in his hand, pulling you along.

He is mortified you turned him on like this in public (all from a look) and now he needs it too. He needs a lot of loving sex though it can’t be too much wild or just quickies. He needs the intimacy of it or he will get anxious. 

Grinding your arse against him when he is spooning you in bed. If he’s tired but still wants it he will just wrap his arms tightly around you while you reach behind, pull his pants down and wiggle down onto his erection. Just thrusting drawn out and slow. Each taking your time until you both cum. He just buries his face against your neck/hair and enjoys the ride.

If it’s reverse and you enter him then just spoon him from behind and grind against his backside. He will whine and let out soft gasps every now and again. To really edge him start rubbing his clothed erection through his pants. 

Neji can deal with s/o with a really high sex drive as long as its loving sex and done in the comfort of your home. He will say you’re insatiable but just insist it’s because he is irresistible and he will melt. 

Itachi Uchiha

I can see him having a pretty medium sex drive. Its not super high but its not super low either so he can deal itachi can deal with a s/o with a high sex drive. 

He will have this smirk on his face when you get needy and touchy. Will know exactly what you want but will make you work for it a little bit. At first though he is a little surprise how much you want him? 

After the first time you had sex he thought wow, amazing and was coming down from his high but oh you want to go again? Won’t say no to that. And then again in the morning? And again when he came home? Can’t say no to that!

Then he realises you want it a lot. So he teases you a little bit just to get you both a little worked up. But it doesn’t last long because now he is hungry for you. He wants to touch you and he is lost in the mood. 

Climbing into his lap while he is reading is a big constant in your daily life. You’ll end up having sex wherever he was sitting, the book discarded beside him. He loves when you are on top like this, doing this for him. 

Likes kneeling on the end of the bed and eating you out/sucking you off when you are particularly needy. He is very much about your pleasure and doesn’t need you to reciprocate but melts when you do. 

Enjoys shower sex in the morning. Just the water running down your bodies while his body is pressed against yours. These sessions usually are filled with slow and intentional strokes, his hands exploring your skin.

Sleepy handjobs before going to sleep. Theres something about watching itachi look at you with half lidded eyes, his mouth open slightly, panting. He always cums hardest when you focus just on him. It riles him up to do you though. 

Itachi can never just take he must give, every time. 

Leaving hickeys just above his hipbones before giving him a blowjob. Kissing his neck while he squeezes your arse. Pulling his hair to pull his neck back and nipping at it. Him chuckling after you do. Just being in love and having sex a lot is fine by Itachi. 

Kakashi Hatake

It honestly depends. Like anbu Kakashi doesn’t always have time lmao you might have to deal with him being away a lot - even with jonin kakashi. But in saying that because he isn’t around you a lot, the time he is with you is more special so intimate times is a big yes!

That you have a high sex drive and want him so much? it reassures him big time that you are there and with him. He gets a bit concerned considering his trauma and dark past that one day you will leave too. He gets a bit needy and vulnerable during sex so it helps if you cater for that.

Just having sex against the front door (closed and inside) as soon as he gets home. What could he do? You greeted and practically mounted him lol. If you can’t do the door then. definitely on the floor in front of the door.

Lots of sex where you barely remove clothes. he is a busy man with places to be after all. Also likes sex from behind, him behind you with his arms around you and whispering in your ear. Sometimes he is still a bit funny with showing his face when he is intimate so this makes him feel secure. 

Then there are those wild days where you basically fuck against every surface in the house. The two of you only stopped too hydrate and eat and pass out in bed together, limbs entangled. Best sleep he has had in a long time. 

There are times though he is too tired or just cannot do the full sex so he is find with just getting you off or using each others hands. Likes a bit of pillow talk in between sex too. 

Can go for some rough needy sex but he also needs some loving sex too. Likes long drawn out sessions where the two of you just pour your feelings into each other. The orgasms always extra hard when this happens. 

Madara Uchiha

This gremlin omg. He gets so needy for sex and love so he will absolutely adore you for having a high sex drive. Just the idea of you wanting him as much as he wants you is the biggest hell yeah!

He just always needs to be touching you (in private) and just wants to run his hands over you all the time. Likes resting his head on your shoulder or against your face when cuddling you from behind. Just grind back a little and its enough to get him going. 

Will literally have sex anywhere in the house. Wants to mark his territory lmao. Oh you going to sit in that seat? The two of you have fucked there. Gives him pleasure to know this. 

He craves touch and intimacy which is why he is also needy for sex. Very grabby and always has to be pressed against you. Also likes looking in your eyes most of the time because its all about the feelings. 

Using the Sharingan a lot to imprint you on his memory. Likes having sex in the bath while you two wash each other. Just permanently inside you tbh, he lives inside you. 

If you dominate him constantly when you get in the mood too, he will love that. He just needs someone to take control of his mess lol. Also just riding him nice and hard. What a sight. Has a firm grip on your hips the whole time. 

Loooooots of pillow talk between sessions. Sometimes he is such a sap and just loves you so much - these moments he tells you. Other times you two just talk about mindless things. Then oop another session begins slowly and then you two are having sex again. 

This man needs to have a house away from neighbours in an isolated part of the village. But honestly he just loves you so much that he always wants you. 

[whiitemateria]

Not sure how this works, but here goes.

❛ i just thought you’d like some company. ❜  and ❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜ Aerith to Vincent. :)

— ( for the damaged; starters )

Oftentimes when they set camp for the evening, Vincent would disappear.

It wasn't that he was actually disappearing, but rather, he would find the nearest shady place to settle up and keep watch for the evening. Usually, it was a tree with a branch wide enough to carry his burden, though it was a tossup as to whether or not he actually weighed much at all. Aerith for one was convinced he didn't eat enough, that even if immortal, he took care of himself as if he were in a constant state of decline; she wondered if he was testing the limits of this eternity he was bound to.

These thoughts that occupy her are what have her seek him out some nights, carrying a bowl of whatever soup or sandwich they'd managed to cobble together for a night spent beneath the stars and a blanket, because sure, his cape was sort of like a blanket, but it wasn't really one, and she'd sit with him for a time to make sure he ate.

They didn't even have to talk, though she always tried.

Tonight is no different, with him perched up in the tree, though it had been low enough of a branch that she could simply pass off tonight's bowl of food with ease, even for a girl her height, and she had sat herself down at the base of it.

"I just thought you'd like some company," she says, like she always does, "You look so lonely out here, all the time. You could come sit around the fire with us."

Vincent had been drawing circles in his meal with his spoon, not quite looking at the girl, but not ignoring her either.

"I could. But I find it a better use of my time to watch for enemies."

This was to be expected, she thinks.

"Do you mind if I watch with you?" Aerith asks then, tilting her head back enough to watch the way he looks down at her - there's a sort of amusement hidden in his eyes, and she can't quite tell what expression he's wearing, but she gets the feeling that he doesn't think she'll see a single thing with those too-human eyes of hers.

And maybe she wouldn't, but the point wasn't to find someone to fight, it was to make sure he wasn't so alone all the time.

"If it'd please you." He says, with that deep voice of his that was just light enough to imply he actually didn't mind; he had such an emotionless affect, but he knew how to adjust it when he needed to.

"Yeah! It would. We can ... fight bad guys off together, so everyone can get sleep."

There's silence, and then, a low chuckle; when Aerith looks up, Vincent has tipped his face beneath the cover of his cloak and she can tell he's hiding the expression he wears beneath it.

A smile, maybe?

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you smile."

She's not looking at him when he looks at her, one red eye looking out of its corner at a girl who's nonchalantly staring at her bowl of food a bit too hard, like she'd been hoping somehow she'd catch a glimpse of the elusive emotion on the gunner's face.

"Maybe that's because I don't." He wagers, schooling his voice easily into that monotone.

"We'll see about that!"

... She spends the rest of the evening telling bad jokes until she falls asleep, using the very blanket she'd brought to give to him as cover.

He'd insisted she used it, and it made her just a mite too comfy - it always did.

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

hey so i'm hoping to get some writing advice about creative burnout? like i seem to write in fits and spurts. some months i can churn out a oneshot or chapter everyday and some months i can do one (1) creative thing only. so i'm wondering how to prevent creative burnout and how to just create more smoothly <3 thank you!

Creative Burnout & How To Ward Against It

First, I’d like to preface this all by saying you’re definitely not alone. You probably already know this, but sometimes it’s nice to be reminded.

I know from personal experience that creative burnout can leave you feeling hopeless, detached from yourself—the kind of identity crisis no one needs in 2020. 

So buckle in, folks. It’s a dosy.

I. The Symptoms

Not to be the local WebMD page here, but signs of burnout can include:

Procrastination (more than usual)

Dreading writing and feeling stuck or overly perfectionistic when you try

Physical tiredness and/or irritability

Feeling like everything is monotonous

It’s more than just writer’s block. It’s a physical and emotional exhaustion response to something that goes deeper than a simple lack of inspiration. In my experience, and from a bit of research, I’ve found that what your brain is really looking for is dopamine.

Dopamine is essentially your brain’s chemical reward system for doing something interesting or exciting to you. As someone who is diagnosed with ADHD, I have chronically low levels of dopamine, so this is a constant struggle for me—but it is absolutely made worse by creative burnout.

II. The Problem

Studies have shown that the more we do A Thing the less that thing will give us dopamine (unless a component of the activity changes regularly). This is because eventually our brains desensitise to the stimuli provided by the activity, and subsequently, we become disengaged.

But it’s not necessarily The Thing (i.e. writing) that becomes boring. Actually, more than a few factors could be at play here, and the first step to finding a solution is to identify the problem.

1. ENVIRONMENT LACKS EXCITEMENT/CHANGE—

Sometimes, the monotony of everyday life can feed creative burnout. This becomes especially applicable in quarantine when you’re not leaving your house.

What we don’t realise is that even something as small as the variables of driving to and from work, or interacting with passing coworkers, gives us dopamine. So if you have the same routine every day that does not involve any added variables, your brain will begin staunching that dopamine supply.

2. EITHER TOO EASY OR TOO CHALLENGING—

In 1975, Hungarian-American psychologist, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, coined the term “flow”, which refers to a heightened state of creativity and concentration on an activity. Csikszentmihalyi posited that if your skill level is equal to the level of challenge in any given activity, you will experience this state of flow.

The chart below is taken from Csikszentmihalyi’s own study on the subject of flow and motivation. It examines “your skill level” on the x axis in relation to the “challenge level” on the y axis.

Essentially:

Too much challenge + not enough skill = anxiety, worry (which might lead to procrastination and perfectionism)

Too much skill + not enough challenge = boredom, apathy (which might lead to monotony, irritability, and other depression-like symptoms)

Skill level = Challenge level = Flow

3. NOT ENOUGH “ACTIVE” STIMULATION—

When it comes to dopamine seeking, there is a distinct difference between active and passive stimulation in the brain.

Active stimulation is any form of activity that you have to actively engage in. For instance; exercising, doing a crossword puzzle, or reading a book. These kinds of activities not only give you dopamine, they also facilitate critical thinking and problem solving thought processes, which act as catalysts for creativity.

Passive stimulation, on the other hand, comes in the form of television, social media, and YouTube. It’s anything you can consume without having to actively engage. Passive stimulation will indeed give your brain dopamine, however, it won’t activate your creativity.

The problem also lies in the speed at which you receive the dopamine from passive activities. Passive stimulation is so easy to access that the more you consume, the harder it becomes to pick up active stimulation. Your brain expects a hit of dopamine just by picking up a phone or turning on the TV—it becomes addicted to the quick fix of a Netflix binge.

III. The Solutions

Based on the problems mentioned above, I am going to list a few solutions. Keeping in mind that not every solution will work for everyone, these can act as both preventative measures and remedies for someone who is currently burned out.

1. CHANGE UP YOUR ENVIRONMENT/ROUTINE—

Aim to do at least one thing per day that will add “variables” to the monotony. This can be as simple as going on a long walk, dressing up in that bold outfit you always wanted to wear to the office but never did, or sitting at a different workspace in your home.

Anything you can do that’s simple, but might provide an extra variable to your day to spice things up. Note: this shouldn’t be the same thing every day.

2. CHALLENGE YOURSELF MORE—

If you find yourself bored by your work, try challenging yourself more. This could mean setting goals for yourself that go a bit beyond what you’ve been doing. 

For example, if you’ve been writing 500 words per day, see if you can beat your own word count every day for the next week. If you’ve been writing mainly fluff pieces, switch it up and do an angst piece. See if you can write a book in a month, or start a blog where you don’t write fiction at all!

Anything you can do to add a little kick to your workload. Note: Beware of challenging yourself too much! This can lead straight back into burnout.

3. CHALLENGE YOURSELF LESS—

If you’re on the flip side of that coin, and find that you are anxious, procrastinating, and perfectionistic when it comes to writing, fret not. Just because you’re experiencing any of these things, doesn’t mean you’re incapable of doing the job with your skillset.

It just means your perception of the job needs to be shifted.

Procrastination, at its heart, is a fear of failure, which results in actively avoiding the negative emotions associated with the task that causes this fear. Perfectionism is a type of procrastination that is a combination of a fear of failure and a fear of success (or, more accurately, other’s critiques of your success) all at once.

Neither have anything to do with your actual skillset, but they have everything to do with your perception of your skillset. Obviously, this is a harder thing to fix, as it has to do with deeply ingrained levels of self-esteem.

What I can offer you is a tactic to trick your mind into thinking you’re capable.

If you have a task, big or small, and you are feeling overwhelmed by it (like you might go curl up in bed and scroll Tumblr), immediately break that task up into smaller tasks. Keep breaking up the smaller tasks until you have the smallest possible part of the bigger task without doing nothing.

Then do that smallest possible thing.

If your goal is to write a 2000 word one shot, a small part of that task is writing half of it. An even smaller part of that task is breaking the one shot up into “scenes” and writing one scene. For instance:

Jude wakes up to a sore throat, a runny nose, and a fever.

She tries to go to work, but Cardan, being the mother hen that he is, threatens to never make her another grilled cheese sandwich (her favourite food) ever again if she doesn’t stay home.

Jude agrees begrudgingly, and Cardan sits her down in front of the TV with a bottle of Gatorade. He leaves to go get medicine from the store.

When Cardan comes back, Jude is worse than before. He makes her soup and saltine crackers and spoon feeds her.

She complains the whole time and, in her feverish state, threatens to never buy him another bottle of wine (his favourite food) ever again if he doesn’t let her feed herself.

Each bullet point represents one “scene” of about 200-400 words each. Obviously, there will be more details that you work out as you write. But with these five smaller scenes, your goal is no longer writing the 2000 word one shot. Your goal is writing the first of the five scenes.

If you complete the smallest possible task, you can stop, and you’ll still feel like you’ve accomplished something because you can cross off that task from your list. But chances are, by the time you cross off one task, you may have inspiration enough to keep going.

4. ENGAGE IN ACTIVE STIMULATION—

Since active stimulation has been proven to turn on the creative “tap”, try incorporating more of these activities into your daily routine:

Exercise: As the resident couch potato, I hate to say that exercising is good for creativity, but it is. Even if it’s just going on a short walk, so long as you’re moving.

Reading: Sometimes you have plenty of ideas, but no words to fit those ideas. Fill your well of words by carving out an hour or two each day for reading a good book.

The Creative Process: In the writing world, the creative process is a process of about 20-30 minutes that the writer partakes in every day before they start writing. This process should be creative, but also have nothing to do with writing. You can try colouring in a colouring book, painting, organising a page in your bullet journal. Anything that is creative but does not make you think about everything you have to do that day. Think of it as creative meditation.

Listen to music: Having APD, I personally can’t listen to music while I write. However, studies have shown that if you listen to at least ten songs per day, it will significantly benefit your dopamine levels and overall mood. If you’re like me and prefer to work in silence, maybe stick on a couple songs during your creative process. If you can manage music and writing together, get out those headphones!

5. KEEP A REGULAR SCHEDULE—

I know this is the most cliche point in the book, but it’s valid. This doesn’t mean do the same thing at the same time every day over and over, because ultimately we’re looking to avoid monotony. 

But having pillars of structure to bolster the excitement can definitely work to keep you from slipping into burnout. Going to sleep, waking up, and having your meals at relatively the same time every day are good examples of this. 

Feel free to change up the things you do between breakfast and lunch, but make sure you have those pillars of consistency so your brain knows that a break is on the horizon and doesn’t get tired.

6. PACE YOURSELF—

This is particularly difficult for those of us who are coming out of a creative burnout, but I urge you to pay special attention to this one. If we are suddenly hit by inspiration and the writing is flowing and flowing and flowing, eventually we will hit the point of highest dopamine capacity for writing.

Not putting a check on the flood of inspiration coming out of a creative burnout, I’d argue, is actually a guarantee that many of us will experience burnout all over again. It becomes this vicious cycle in which we are trapped.

While it feels great to write non-stop and receive immediate validation for that work, try to limit yourself to how much you’re writing and how immediately you post your writing (if you plan on posting it).

Whenever I finish a one shot or a chapter of something, I like to allow at least one day for editing before I post. This timeframe is important, because it acts as a buffer of rest between writing marathons. 

You can take however long you need for the editing process, but definitely make sure you have a set amount of time in place. Otherwise, your brain might not have enough time to come down from what is essentially a writing high, and you will always need to reach greater heights in order to achieve that same level of dopamine.

~~~~

Overall, the most important things to take away from all of this are: 

Change up your environment

Keep your brain actively stimulated 

Have pillars of structure between which you can run about chaotically to your heart’s content

PACE YOURSELF!

Hope this helped. Happy writing!

-Em 🖤🗡

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