#tumblr ate my post like three times

[crehador]

deeply unserious and real of hpdr to be like so in this scene we need to reveal all 18 ghosts for the first time. one (jakurai) will be showcased alone so we can't run the usual 3x6 configuration. let's roll with 3x5, 2, and 1 instead

and then they

PUT SAMAICHI TOGETHER??? THEY ALONE HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF A DUO DEBUT?????? was this. was this game literally made for me

[saum0-0]

me? using a silly meme post to figure out my spine design? more likely than you'd think!

If you’re looking for drawing ideas, try drawing The Spine as literally any one of these

[byexbyez]

love me more | leon kennedy x f!reader

pairing: re4r!leon kennedy x f!reader

summary:

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

word count: 19k

warnings: 18+ towards the end, angst, yearning, marriage of convenience but there isn't a tangible convenience, strangers to spouses dynamic, grief/mourning, depictions of depression and low self-esteem, also trauma and anxiety, family issues, kinda touch-starved leon if you squint, domestic fluff if you try hard enough, non-linear and vague timeline, mentions of canon typical violence, alcohol and cigarette consumption, p in v smut, brief alternation of POVs, ada wong mention, suicidal thoughts, minor original character, minor character death, spoilers to the hunchback of notre dame, no use of y/n

notes: meant to post this on tumblr after i was done with it but that never happened so here, have it. took me 16 months to post it here lmao. english is not my first language. you have been warned. also beware of a whole lot of mitski and hozier references. enjoy!

➵ read on ao3.

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

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And I am the idiot with the painted face In the corner, taking up space But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved

Me and my husband We're doing better

—Me and My Husband, Mitski

It’s quiet. It has always been that way from the start. Your husband is late, which is not unusual. You sit in the somber light coming from your living room TV. You don’t like the overhead lights, which explains the abundance of lamps around the living room and bedroom in your home. Your husband found it strange that you never turned on the actual lights but it didn’t take him long to realize that you were right. Any kind of overhead light was annoying to him now. He blamed you for his headaches at work.

No matter how many times you told him that he could turn on the overhead lights he insisted that he did not like them anymore. “I like it like this,” he had said. “You’re right, it’s cozier this way.” His head was on your knee, his eyes were closed. He looked so peaceful. You wanted to brush his hair away from his face and maybe scratch a bit as if he was a cat. But you didn’t, you had no idea what he would react like to such an intimate gesture. You turned your gaze away from his peaceful sleeping face to the TV you had been watching on low volume before he stepped through your home’s front door.

It was a fucking joke, really. Thinking twice, three times about touching the man that you call your husband.

You hear his keys jumble from the door. He didn’t tell you what time he would be home, so you didn’t prepare anything for dinner. It’s late anyways. You consider closing your eyes and resting your head on the back of the couch but it hasn’t been long since he told you he could tell when you were not sleeping. You thought about the number of times you pretended and he could tell. Embarrassing. Now that your secret was out, you had to greet him awkwardly.

He calls your name. “Are you asleep?” His voice very faint.

“No,” you answer while untucking your legs from under your butt. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He places the keys on the keyholder. “No lights?”

You reach to your side and turn on one lamp. “I didn’t realize the sun had set.”

“It’s past eleven.” Now that the lamp was on you could see his worried eyes. His five o’clock shadow prominent. “Did you eat anything?” he asks. You can’t tell if he hopes you did or not.

The moment you see the plastic bag in his hand, you shake your head no. Honestly, you were hungry because it had been hours since you ate a bowl of cereal as dinner.

He steps over your legs instead of pushing the coffee table away to make room for himself and plops next to you on the couch. “Brought Chinese,” he says and places the food bag on your lap instead of the coffee table. “You like their fried dumplings.”

You aren’t surprised that he remembers it. He was nice like that, maybe he thinks this is the least he can do. Soon after the wedding, he realized you did not enjoy cooking. It has never been a problem, he knew his way around the kitchen and knew of really good takeout places.  

“Thank you,” you say softly while leaning on the table to place the noodles and the dumplings. “Leon, did you drink?” you ask when you catch a whiff of him.

“Yeah, I’m a little tipsy.”

That explains his lax attitude. He has his arm around you across the back of the couch, he’s sitting close to you. It’s because he wants to eat, you say to yourself. And he’s a little tipsy.

“Did you have fun?” you ask when you separate your chopsticks.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” he says, watching you separate his chopsticks for him. “I had a drink by myself.”

“Only one?” you chuckle.

“One or two,” He cocks his head to your direction and grabs the chopsticks from your fingers. His fingertips are warm.

Unlike you, his body always runs hot. You remember the comment he made when he held your hand and cupped one cheek, kissing you after you two had said “I do”. His breath was hot on the lower part of your face. You somehow felt him everywhere and nowhere at once. “It’s really hot, why are your hands cold?” he had whispered. It was unusually hot on the day you eloped. Leon had to dab his sweat away so often.

“I’m just nervous,” you had whispered back. The hand that he was not holding was trembling, surely, he could tell.

“No need to be.” That was what he said right before your first kiss. It was more of a short peck because he was a gentleman who didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

It was easier for him to say, he didn’t have anything to be nervous about. He looked really beautiful that day and it didn’t help your nerves one bit. You felt like you were committing a crime while signing your documents that sealed the fact that you were now married to Leon Kennedy. You wonder if he felt the same, knowing this marriage was not a real one.

You didn’t lie to anyone really, so why did it feel like you did? You never told anyone you were in love. You never told anyone this was legit. You just told your sister you were married and that Leon was a good man. She had shrieked over the phone, demanded that you quit joking. The moment she was convinced that you were not, she expected pictures of him. The only picture you had of him was from the day you eloped. He had taken your cold hand and placed it on his arm. His other hand on his stomach so he didn’t look awkward. You had raised your small bouquet of baby’s breath to your torso as well. You did not look as nervous as you thought when the photo came in the mail but Leon looked more handsome than you remembered. You emailed it to your sister.

It didn’t take long for her to respond. How the hell did you bag that man??? Do you have blackmail material against him?

We met at work, you replied shortly.

I thought you worked with dudes that are old as fuck.

We don’t work together. Met through a coworker.

Maybe I should change careers. I mean how hard can it be to train as a government agent???

You looked at the multiple question marks she sent after that. I’m telling your husband.

I showed him the picture and he agrees that he’s hot lol. He also would like to have you guys over.

So you both can ask him what he sees in me?

Hey, I’m only joking. We would really like you guys to come over. I want to meet my brother-in-law.

I’ll tell him but he’s very busy.

Sooo what does he do?

Like I said, he’s an agent. Mostly confidential work.

So you can’t tell me?

I really can’t.

You know what? It’s annoying that you can’t tell me what he does but I can understand. What I can’t understand is you getting married. Out of the blue. Without telling me.

That email left a bitter taste in your mouth. She could tell that it was not real. She knew that you were not easy to love. She knew it was impossible for you to get married. That’s why you stalled her invitation for nearly two years. You hadn’t even asked Leon because you did not know how he would react. He knew you had a sister across the country and that she was older than you but never asked about her for a while. You weren’t offended at his uninterest in your life. He didn’t have any reason to be interested in you.

He did say he was an orphan, that one time.

It all made sense after that, he didn’t like to talk about families. Maybe because he wasn’t used to belong. To belong to a family. Belong to someone. Think about them because he belongs to them and they belong to him.

All things considered, you thought Leon turned out more than okay. Closed off but very kind, gentle, understanding.

He leans forward and helps you split one dumpling into two with his chopsticks. His shoulder bumps yours and stays there because he refuses to let go of the back of the couch behind you. When you pull your sleeve over your fingers, he quickly eats one whole dumpling, leaving you with the smaller one that he helped you split and covers your hand with his.

“You cold?” He looks silly when he stuffs his face full of food.

“No.”

“Your hands are cold.” He doesn’t’ say like always but it’s there in his voice.

He doesn’t mind touching you when he’s in a good mood, mostly when he’s a little intoxicated like this. Usually, he’s not a touchy person. You’re glad he’s not, it reminds you that you definitely like him more than he likes you. He needs the little nudge of alcohol to let go of his inhibitions. He didn’t touch you until you gave him the green light on your birthday. He didn’t know what to get you as a gift so he got you yellow roses and the blandest birthday card known to man.

Happy Birthday, from Leon.

“It isn’t anything special, I know.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m not good at this stuff.”

But it was special, it was from him; with his emotionally constipated, probably unintended curt message. You knew deep down he had a big heart. He cared enough to stop on his way to get you these. You didn’t think much, because there were times when you didn’t need to think about this, you just reached and hugged him around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. “They smell really nice. We need to get a vase for them.”

He finally put his arms around you and you felt the stiffness of his shoulders on top of yours. It was six months into your married life.

Yellow roses. He saw you as a friend. You were okay with it, as long as it meant he was not pushing you away. You were not terrible by any means. Boring and awkward, definitely. But you made it clear to him that he could talk to you about what he wanted when he wanted. He was adamant that it went both ways. However, you genuinely don’t think anything going in your life is worth talking about. Hence, he’s the one who ends up talking most of the time.

He rubs your fingers to bring them warmth. The air of the living room feels awfully similar to that one time he surprised you and laid his head on your lap. That one time you wanted to play with his hair but didn’t. It was just like this. Quiet despite the TV’s low volume, comfortable as the light coming from the lamps was soft on the eyes, smelling of alcohol as he was a little drunk. Unsure as your hands were cold and was this what being friends meant?

Sometimes he craved the quiet. He worked and worked and worked. Voices everywhere. Danger constant. His only quiet was home, you suppose.

“Why didn’t you eat?”

“I ate cereal,” you answer him.

“Has no nutritional value whatsoever,” he mutters.

“Yeah, it’s just me being lazy.”

“I don’t think we have anything in the fridge, I don’t blame you.”

You both finish your food in silence, you pretend to watch the screen in front of you the whole time. You hug your knees to your chest when you’re done and he looks like he can fall asleep any minute.

“How was your day?” you ask to keep him awake. You don’t want him to sleep here and have his back and neck all sore tomorrow.

He rests his chin on his shoulder and gives you a funny look through his long lashes. “Same as always.”

You admit to yourself that you love him like this. He seems free, happy even.

You decide to be bold and tap your shoulder for him to lay his head on.  

He doesn’t seem to be thinking twice as he takes your offer and nuzzles his head on your shoulder. He’s taller and bigger than you, you suppose the position he’s in right now is not comfortable for him. He reaches back around the couch and the other hand crosses his abdomen, gripping your ankle that he is closest to. His thumb draws circles there and your brain short circuits. “How was yours?”

“My day? Nothing exciting. All paperwork.”

He hums as he squeezes your ankle, his hair tickling your nose and lips.

“You really need a shower, Leon.” You make up the courage to smooth down his blonde hair that is sticking up in every direction.

He hums again. “Are you telling me I stink?”

“Yes, mister.”

“I’m tired,” he groans but doesn’t seem tired enough as he pushes his head and messes up your balance on the couch. You have to hold on to the arm rest as he keeps nudging you with his head.

“You’ll feel gross in the morning if you don’t have a shower.”

“You have a point,” he says but does nothing to get up. Maybe it was a bad idea to offer him your shoulder and unknowingly, your ankle. He’s never acted like a kid like this before.

You get up and turn off the TV before you offer him both of your hands. “You’re not tipsy, you’re drunk. Now get up and wash yourself please.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are. You headbutted me.”

He takes your hands and finally gets up. “I think I ran out of shampoo.”

“You can use mine. Brush your teeth while I go get it.” You pat his back.

There’s two bedrooms in the house, one is for guests but you’ve never had guests over since you’ve both moved into this apartment. Leon uses the “guest” room downstairs. He insisted that you take the bigger room. He’s more like a roommate than a spouse.

He’s shirtless in front of the sink, brushing his teeth like you told him to when you knock on his bathroom door and hand him your shampoo. He reads the fragrance and opens its cap to smell it.

“Well, you smell nice so I can’t complain,” he says, toothbrush still in his mouth, dribbling toothpaste everywhere.

You love him in moments like these. This is the moment the wife reaches and kisses the husband. Well, maybe after he’s done dribbling everywhere but you know how this moment should go about. He won’t be like this in the morning. You know very well that he is going to be sober and back to normal Leon. He won’t say anything about his drunk self because he knows you won’t as well.

“Don’t fall in the shower!” you shout as you go upstairs to your room.

“I’m not that drunk!”

The next morning, he sees you making coffee in the kitchen. It hasn’t been long since your schedule got aligned with his. He wonders how the hell you managed to adjust your sleeping hours to the point now you could wake up before him. He used to wake up before you because you often had late shifts.

“Morning,” he says as he smells the delicious coffee that you’re pouring into two mugs. He yawns, scratching an itch on his arm. He did not use to have a coffee machine back when he was living alone. You had brought it with you to this house and saved him from Starbucks’ morning rush hour.

You slide one of the mugs in front of him and give him a warm smile. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”

He blows on the coffee before he takes a sip. “Much better now.” He clears his throat, his morning voice gruff. “I was thinking… We should commute together.”

“To work?” Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Where else?” he snorts. “What’s surprising? Why pay more for gas when we start work at the same time?”

“Wouldn’t that be…”

“It wouldn’t interfere with anything if you think about it. It’s stupid to take both cars to the same place.”

“I might work overtime,” you say and hug yourself.

He nods into his mug and seems like he wants to say more. “Then you can take your car. You’ve just started normal hours. Why are you eager to tire yourself out so quickly?”

So that we don’t have to be awkward around each other.

“C’mon, it’ll be convenient.”

You hate that word. You hate that word with your whole being. Back then, it meant something entirely different when he said it. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient. Convenient is why you married him. Convenient is why you are here now.

It is what you repeat to yourself over and over again. It was convenient to have slept with him. It didn’t have to be a big deal. You were lonely. You reckon he had to be, too. Because why else would he want to have sex with you? He did not love you or anything. You could only think of one thing when his face was buried in your neck. You still had his yellow roses. You had preserved them between your book pages.

As he was panting above you, hands grasping your hips with vigor, your thighs caging him in and burning, you felt like a rose stuck between thousands of words never read aloud. Yellow all over, sticking out like a sore thumb between words printed in the smallest font size possible, suffocating. Once belonged with other flowers but now settled down in a place where people thought you’d look pretty.

You hate the color yellow as much as you hate the word convenient. If not, more.

He sees you wince. He cannot guess the reason behind it is his choice of words. “What do you say?”

He is offering, you think. He still likes you enough to ask.

“Okay.”

“Good, we need to get groceries on the way back.”   

People don’t whisper much now that it’s been nearly two years since you two announced to your close work circle that you were married. There were a lot of surprised faces at first, thinking maybe Leon was joking or something. People didn’t know you very well. You were only close with Cathy.

“Perhaps we should wear rings,” said Leon once over dinner. “People don’t believe we’re married.”

“Is that a problem? What others think, I mean?”

He stared at your face while chewing, you couldn’t make out what he was thinking thanks to the dim light emanating from one of the lamps. “They think it’s a joke. Is it so bad that I want to be taken seriously for once? You wanted a wedding dress, I want a ring.”

“When do you want to get them?”

That led to you choosing matching rings with Leon. Simple gold bands. You make sure to wear them to work every day because if you don’t, you worry people will start to whisper again.

First it was, Leon’s not the type to get married, he’s taking the piss out of us, is it April fools today?

Then it turned into: Oh God, he’s serious, he says he got married last weekend.

Eloped? To whom?

He said her name but I don’t remember it, said she’s in archives now.

He’s married to an archivist? How on earth did they meet?

Probably in Donovan’s funeral, saw Hunnigan introducing them.

That wasn’t long ago!

I know, right?

You know some of them thought you had a one-night stand and got pregnant from him. The rumors subsided when that didn’t turn out to be true.

However, people were curious about why Ingrid Hunnigan would introduce an archivist to an agent. It didn’t take long for your name to become known because you had recently switched departments. You had been a systems analyst like Hunnigan, working with late Cathy Donovan. You’d switched to archives after her funeral.

People greeted you when they saw you. Leon’s wife, right?

Yes, but not really.

The first time Leon ever saw you was during agent Donovan’s funeral. He’d gotten back from Spain just a week ago. He did not know agent Donovan well but her name echoed in every corner. She was good at her job. Most of the time, nobody had an idea what she was up to.

“Leon, I want you to meet Cathy’s partner,” said Hunnigan, holding the shoulder of the woman standing next to her.

You stuck your hand out for him to shake and told him your name. It sounded disconsolate coming from your mouth, your own name. Your eyes were dazed, you kept your mouth in a thin line. You didn’t even look at him properly as if this was the hundredth occurrence today, Hunnigan introducing you to someone.

“I’ve heard a lot of great things about agent Donovan.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“Right, she was great,” you said, your eyes straying elsewhere. It looked like Hunnigan’s hand on your shoulder was the only thing keeping you from crumbling down. You looked so small with your shoulders hunched forward. He cringed when he saw you rip out the flesh of the side of your thumb.

Hunnigan went on about Cathy Donovan’s accomplishments to him. You continued to pick at your thumb, him watching your side profile as you kept averting your gaze from people around you. You seemed to be dissociating hard.

“These two were inseparable. I tried asking Cathy to work with me on a small mission once and she praised her so much in turn, I had to suck it up and meet this woman myself as soon as possible,” said Hunnigan heatedly. “I’m such a big fan of Cathy’s, you see, I couldn’t be upset. I love seeing her work with the best.”

“Thanks, that means a lot coming from you,” you managed to say, a beat too late. “I need to use the restroom, be right back.”

Leon knew too well that losing someone was difficult, yet he couldn’t imagine what you were going through. He furrowed his brows the moment his hand made contact with your upper arm. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that, he didn’t want to seem like he took pity on you.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

You made the effort to look him in the eye when it was obvious as day that you were having a hard time keeping your head up.

Your voice barely came out, “Thank you.”

Of course, you did not recognize him the second time he saw you. It was his late celebratory dinner for his mission in Spain. His coworkers had planned a small one, saying he deserved it. Once he was done with his food, he excused himself saying he wanted to get fresh air.

Not too far from the restaurant, you were sitting on a bench alone.

“Those things will kill you, y’know,” he said, eyes pointing to the cigarette you were smoking.

His unexpected voice caused you to jump in your seat. You quickly put the cigarette out by stomping it with your shoe. “I don’t usually… smoke.”

He dragged his feet while walking to sit down on the opposite end of the bench. “You didn’t have to put it out.” Though he thought you were very considerate by doing so.

“Congratulations, for the mission.”

“Thank you— name’s Leon, by the way.”

You stuck your chin out to the direction of the restaurant, “Or so I heard in there.”

“We actually met before. At the funeral.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t remember half the people I met there.”  

“No need to be sorry. You seemed out of it.”

“Yeah, we worked together for a long time, Cathy and I.”

“Look, I know it’s hard and anything I say probably won’t make any difference—”

“You don’t need to—” Your voice quite literally got stuck on your throat, you composed yourself by bringing the side of your fist to your mouth and coughed into it. “I’m trying to get better. I’m here today, which is a miracle in of itself. I know people think it’s probably good to talk about her but I’m just not in the mood, okay? Thank you for your understanding but I don’t need to be reminded, it happened not so long ago.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, I know you mean well.” You started to sway your feet on the gravel. It was completely understandable for you to lash out but you seemed uneasy as soon as it was out of you. “Sorry, this is your happy day. I shouldn’t—”

“You realize how many times we said sorry to each other in this past minute?” he laughed. “Also, I lost a partner in Spain. I’m not that happy today.”

Your voice turning faint, seemingly regretting your flash of anger a moment ago, “You probably feel like you shouldn’t be happy.”

He nodded. “He helped me a lot but didn’t make it.” He saw your mouth open and stopped you there. “Don’t say you’re sorry. It loses its meaning when you say it too much.”

“Even if I mean it with my whole heart every time?”

“That means you’re sorry for a lot of things. It’s not healthy to carry that much weight on your shoulders.”

“Right, I’ll be like Quasimodo.” You hunched your shoulders even more forward. “Like the hunchback.”

“From the Disney movie?”

You giggled at his childishness. “Yeah, I heard there’s also a book about it.”

He looked at your squinted eyes and thought you deserved to be happy more.

As you two carried on your now meaningless conversation, he did not know that you were certain on resigning from your job and never turning back to it. You’d started to work on the archives that week, partly because your boss had foreseen you contemplating quitting all together and did not want to lose a highly valuable member such as yourself and partly because you had requested it.

At that point, you were absolutely aware of the fact that they feared you’d never turn back to your former position. And because Cathy didn’t have any plans of ever becoming alive, you also didn’t have any plans on returning. But you knew the reason behind them doing anything you asked was them giving you time to grieve. After that, the pressure would build even more and hopefully make you take your old place.

“It was Hunnigan’s idea,” you said to Leon after he asked you very kindly why you were here tonight. “Basically dragged me here. She thinks I should be around people more.”

“She’s right. I’m glad you came.”

Leon was cute, alright. That didn’t do him justice, actually. It was evident under the street light where the bench was that he worked out regularly. Biceps giving a hard time to his sleeves every time he moved, veins protruding on his forearms, his thighs looking like they’d help him carry ten people on his large back. And oh, his broader-than-the-horizon shoulders. An absolute unit of a man with cheekbones and jawline honed like a Greek statue. With his dark blonde hair falling on his face in that charming way and his oh so kind blue eyes, you knew he was out of your league.

His gentle aura making him seem like a Prince Charming or a white knight or whatever the fuck those Disney movies had.

You planned on never seeing anyone from work again, you had nothing to lose. And Cathy so would say to shoot your shot.

“I’m thinkin’ of getting a few drinks in me, want to tag along?”

“What do you have in mind?” He seemed interested, a good sign.

“You got any suggestions? And don’t say beer because I plan on getting wasted beyond recognition in like an hour.”

“Yeah, be careful. And don’t drink and drive.” The way he took a U-turn on his interest irritated you. You really thought he wouldn’t say no, you were getting along well, flirting even. “Did you come here with your car?”

“Yeah.” You tried to not sound upset. “I’m not a teenager. I’ll take a cab. Drinks will be on me.”

“Ah, thanks but I’ll have to refuse. They’ll probably wonder where I went. It’s my dinner, after all.” The polite smile he gave you was so infuriating.

You got up from the bench. He had the audacity to look you up and down after that. “Then please tell Hunnigan I’m sorry I left early, will you?”

“I will.” He fidgeted and crossed his arms. Oh God, you’d made him uncomfortable. It was just minutes ago he was sort of flirting with you. “Don’t drink too much.”

God, why did he have to be so annoying?

The next time you two met was at the closest pharmacist to work, few weeks after his dinner and your failed attempt to get him in your bed.  

“One box of aspirin, please.” Your head snapped up at that voice. Unmistakably, Leon. With his broad back facing you, he hadn’t seen you yet.

“What can I get you, miss?”

Leon stepped over to the side when they called to you, still not looking at you.

“Eyedrops, please.”

“Miss, are you alright?”

To that, he did a double-take. You’d looked disheveled to the point of worry. Eyes and nose a few shades redder than the rest of your face, eyebags puffy and makeup smudged. With your now extremely frizzy baby hairs doing anything but their job of framing your face, it was apparent that you’d been crying.

“Yes, it’s just an allergy.”

“Can I get you anything for that?”

“No, thank you. I already have meds for it.”

Leon thanked when they gave him his aspirin and turned to you. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere.” He quickly left the pharmacist.

Surprisingly, you did wait for him outside. Why? You had no idea. Frankly, you were hoping to cry more in your car.

Approximately five minutes later, he came to you jogging lightly. He thrusted a water bottle in your hand. “Where’s your medication?”

“What?”

“For your allergy?”

“Oh, um—” You couldn’t find a lie fast enough, usually you were not bad at lying but the way he appeared to be worrying about your well-being was baffling to say the least. “I don’t have it, I mean—” You pressed the water bottle to your stomach and held on to it for comfort. “I don’t have an allergy.”

It was his turn to be baffled. “Are you alright?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“You don’t look like it.” He looked at you and around you as though checking to see any injury. “You should drink up.” He motioned to the bottle and watched you take a gulp.

“Thank you. Oh, you should, too,” You tried to give him the rest of the water while his stare questioned you. “For your aspirin.”

“I already took it. I’m supposed to take it with water?”

“Yes, Leon. Have you been taking them without water this whole time? Then why did you bring me water?”

“I didn’t know that! You looked dehydrated.”

“That’s not good for you. Now I’m worried about your stomach.”

His blue eyes shined like he came to a revelation. “That’s why my stomach burns when I take them?”

How are you this stupid, you suppressed saying, if you had known him well enough at that time, you definitely would. You forgot for a second that you were annoyed at him for rejecting you few weeks ago and find yourself flabbergasted at thinking that he is endearing, in a way.

You made small talk with him about his lunch break and he insisted on walking you to your car.

“Can I help you with anything?” he said sympathetically once you stood in front of your open car door. “You still look…”

Like a truck hit me, you wanted to complete his sentence.

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. It just happens time to time.” You tried to make yourself presentable by adjusting your blouse and hair.

“It?”

“Sometimes I cry for no reason. It happens randomly, too, I don’t know when and where I’ll be crying most of the time. Like, I’ll be reading something, it doesn’t have to be sad, I mean— I was reading reports before I came here. Sometimes it gets too much, like now.”

“Will you be okay driving?”

“Yeah! Talking with you definitely helped.” His apprehensive gaze pierced through you. You actually felt like crying again, your chest feeling tight, eyes burning. You stood upright with the support of your car door. “I’ll be fine, Leon.”

“I’m choosing to believe you. Drive safe.” He shifted his weight on one of his legs and seemed ready to take off.

“Thank you. See you around?”

“You probably won’t for a while,” he said to the ground, soothing the itch on his calf with his other leg’s shin. He looked up and squinted his eyes against the sun. “I got assigned a mission. I don’t know for how long.”

“Oh, I’ll be at your celebratory dinner then, if I get an invitation.”

“Well, I don’t know how it will go. I’ll only invite you if you won’t talk for the whole dinner but flirt with me outside again.”

“You didn’t need to embarrass me like that,” you chuckled nervously. “I wouldn’t say I’m a push and pull kind of woman.”

“You can show me what kind of woman you are when I get back?”

“Very smooth, Leon.”

He seemed taken aback. “I’ll see you then.” Suddenly, he was distant again. This time you didn’t know what made him uneasy.

“Yeah… Be safe on your mission.”

He just nodded. You got in your car and gripped the steering wheel tightly until the sight of his leather jacket clad back disappeared. You hunched forward, shoved your forehead to the wheel and tried to take a deep breath. The crying spell didn’t go away as the tears burst down first and then the sobs jerked your entire body.

I will not ask you where you came from I will not ask you, neither should you

Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips We should just kiss like real people do

—Like Real People Do, Hozier

The inside of Leon’s car smells nice, he takes good care of it.

“I’m going to see my sister this weekend,” you say, averting your gaze from the way he steers the wheel with one hand. His other hand is on his knee, tapping away. The effect his toned arms have on you is humiliating.

“I think I can make it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t have anything that day. I can go with you. It’s your mother’s death anniversary, right? I think it’s time I pay my respects.”

It’s these things he says that leave you puzzled. He’s incredibly thoughtful, no matter who he’s talking to. He very well could have his day off-work for himself, but he asks anyway.

“Do you actually want to meet my sister?”

“I do. I hope to make a good first impression.”

You think about it for a second and end up telling him. “I sent a picture of you to her back when we got married.”

“How’d you get a picture of me?” he asks, appalled. The only picture he has of himself besides the wedding one is on his badge.

“Our wedding picture, dummy. We have one, remember?”

“Oh, right, I forgot.” You can’t complain because you keep it in a dresser drawer in the envelope it came in. He was on duty again when it came and you’d showed it to him once he was home. The left corner of his lips had curled up and for a second, you thought you saw affection in his eyes. “It came out okay? I was sweating buckets, but you—" he’d said and pointed a finger to your face in the photo. “Your hands were ice cold, I nearly asked you to paste your hands to my forehead just so I could cool down.”

“We still have the picture, right?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s in my room. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“Yeah, they sent two. Can I ask what you’re going to do with it?”

“Give it to the mafia or hire a hitman to go after you, what else?” He lets out a hollow laugh. You want to record the sound and have it forever play in your ears. “I want to frame it and put it on my desk. People usually have pictures of their spouses and children or even their dogs on their desks, no?”

Yes, you know. You have pictures with your best friend and sister on your own desk at work.

It’s his way of saying you mean something to him.

You call your sister’s name as soon as you see it. “Why do you have this picture here?”

She’s carrying the empty plates to the sink as you hold on to her fridge’s door handle.

She looks up to see you pointing at your wedding picture. It’s on her fridge. You don’t even display it in your own house.

“You printed it?”

“I did,” she says. “It’s a good picture.” Her house is littered with pictures of her and her husband on different vacations, of you and your mother and her together in some.

“You just met Leon today.”

“And I think he’s great. You’re happy with him. That’s all I could ask for.”

You were happy since he was in a good mood the entire ride coming here. It was long but you two had a smooth ride and he amused you with his corny jokes and stories. You tore small pieces of bagel and fed him when he said he was getting hungry. He was tired from driving the whole time, but of course he didn’t have it any other way and jestingly banned you from getting behind the wheel. He did make a good first impression like he promised, although he kept bobbing his cramped leg. He’s now in the backyard with your brother-in-law, chatting about football, probably.

Your sister gets your attention by giving you a side hug and rubbing your back. “You’re my only sister, of course I’m going to have a picture of your happiest day.”

You hug her back around her waist. She even had photos of your birth in the living room. Your mom in a hospital bed, one day-old baby you cradled in her arms, your father hugging your mother and looking down at you with adoration in his eyes. Did he know then, that he would never be there for you to look at you like that again?

“You remember dad, right?” you ask quietly. She was older and was able to tell stories about him to you. “How was he like? Before he left, I mean.”

“Like I told you, he loved us so much. I don’t know if it was the same case for my mom. She later told me she saw it coming, that he likely had another woman.”

“How did mom know?”

Your sister sighs and rest her head on top of yours. “She said she could just feel it. Said he felt distant. He used to come home late leading up to it, sometimes drunk. One day I woke up and he wasn’t home. Didn’t say anything, just abandoned us like that.”

There’s that sadness again, creeping up to your chest and placing a big rock there. You feel like you’re being crushed by it. Your mom had always been ambitious, had dreams for herself and her family, deserved so much more than what she got.

Leon’s laughing loudly in the backyard, your head whips to see the sight.

“Come on, go mingle with your husband. I got it from here,” says your sister and starts to place the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I’ll go get us some beer,” says your brother-in-law and gets up from his chair. The weather is amazing today, your sister had set up a nice meal outside. Leon was getting along with them well. What more could you ask for?

You find yourself alone with Leon when your brother-in-law goes inside the house. You sit next to him and he promptly puts his arm on the back of your chair.

“How’s your leg?” you ask him.

“My thighs are sore,” he groans. “Good thing we’re not driving back tonight.”

“Well, I wouldn’t let you anyways.” You put a hand on his knee and start to massage, hoping it will help his aching legs. You’re even bolder than a few days ago. He doesn’t seem to mind it.

“It hurts here,” he says and grabs your hand, placing it higher on his thigh. “You can put more pressure, I can hardly feel it.” His thigh is firm and thank God, your hands manage to stay stable. You ball your hands into fists and start to punch lightly where he wants. The meat of his thighs doesn’t even jiggle, reminding you that he’s mostly made of muscle.

You focus up on his knees. “I’ll drive us to the cemetery tomorrow.”

“I can—”

“No. You’re tired, Leon. I want to drive, don’t make me upset.”  

“Would you actually be upset if I—”

“Yes, very.” You pinch his thigh and that makes him press his lips together.

“They’re really nice, you know,” he means your sister and her husband. “I feel like an ass for not meeting them sooner.”

“You like them?” You raise an eyebrow.  

“I do.”

“So, any propositions?”

“Huh?”

“Got asked for a threesome yet?” you smirk.

“I’m sorry?” He’s horrified and you find it funny.

“After I sent the wedding picture to them, they both said you were hot. I just remembered it.”

“I’d rather not know that!”

“Relax, Kennedy. I’m just joking. They’re not gonna ask you that.”

He visibly relaxes and puts you in a headlock in a play-fight manner with the arm that was behind you. His nose and mouth pressed up against your hair, he says, “I’ll just tell them I’m a one-lady type of man if they ever do.” You consider biting his arm.

“Can the lovebirds look up here for a second?” chirps your sister. She has come with her camera outside. “It’s the golden hour.”

Leon adjusts his head to look towards the camera and relaxes his hold on you, arm dangling from your shoulder, other hand engulfs yours on his knee, rings clashing.  

“Aww,” your sister coos as she takes the photo. “I’ll send this to you.”

She doesn’t suspect a thing, probably because you’re not pretending anymore.

You splash your face with cold water after you’re done brushing your teeth in your sister’s guest room bathroom. Leon’s inside the room, splayed out on the bed, exhausted after today. It won’t be awkward, you say to yourself, hope to God your hands don’t start to tremble from anxiety.

Leon has taken off his t-shirt, bent one of his knees and put his hands behind his head. Not helping your case by looking irresistible. Even the tufts of hair under his arms are endearing to you.

“How are you holding up?” he asks once you sit on the bed next to him, back facing him. He knows you will visit Cathy too when you get back.

“I’m good, Leon.” You take off your ring and place it next to his on the bedside drawer. “Never been better, actually. I missed them.” You twist your upper body to face him. “Here,” you say as you place your newly washed cold damp hands on both sides of his face in attempts to cool him down.

He shivers, his shoulders going up slightly for a quick second. “That’s nice,” he murmurs, closing his eyes. You’re silent, in part because you’re speechless before his beauty, but you also would like to try to give him a little piece of serenity he needs.

“This used to be my mom’s room when she was living here.”

He hums softly and opens his eyes, his hands coming up to hold on to your bare arms, the skin between his eyebrows pinched.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, hands finding place on his broad shoulders.

He starts to rub your arms up and down, his hands stopping after a while to trace a strap of your tank top with his fingers. All of your worries about intimate gestures going out the window the moment you let his hands wander.

This is the tender domesticity that you’ve been longing for so badly, you want to thank him.

He scrunches his nose. “I wanted to kiss you, now I think it’ll be inappropriate.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your grip on his shoulders is now stronger, begging not to tremble. He feels lonely, he shouldn’t have come here. You have to swallow hard. “It won’t.”

His hand goes up to cup the back of your neck, he’s staring at your lips like he doesn’t wish for anything else. “C’mere.” He tugs at your hip to get the lower half of your body up on the bed. He drapes you halfway on his torso.

Once you’re situated to his liking and casting a shadow on his face, he brings you down ever so gently to his mouth, massaging your nape. He’s hot all over, his mouth, his breath on your face, his chest, the hand that’s splaying his fingers on the small of your back. With his soft lips moving lazily against yours, you’re quite literally bursting at the seams. The muffled sigh he drags across your mouth tempts you to press your entire body to his harder and sling your leg across his hips.

His kisses turn into open-mouthed ones and he tastes like minty toothpaste and sunlight on golden hour.

A small noise comes out of your throat, hands straying down to his bare chest and he has to cradle your face to stop. “We should sleep.” His Adam’s apple bobs enticingly. “I seriously don’t want to disrespect your mother’s ghost.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he hugs your head and buries it to his chest, his chin resting on top. “You’ll apologize to her tomorrow.”

It’s okay, you think when you feel the low timbre of his chuckle on his chest. We’re okay. We’re doing better.

There's no plan, there's no race to be run The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun There's no plan, there's no kingdom to come I'll be your man if you got love to get done Sit in and watch the sunlight fade Honey, enjoy, it's gettin' late There's no plan, there's no hand on the rein

—No Plan, Hozier

The fourth time you saw Leon Kennedy was at a bar. You thought his coworkers were going to be there to see him after his mission but it was just you two.

He had emailed you a day before, saying he asked for your email address from Hunnigan, inviting you for drinks the next day and apologizing for letting you know this late.

“Where’s everyone? Am I early?” you asked, despite noticing the table he was sitting at was for two people.

He looked up and you were taken aback by the sight of him. He looked tired. He had a bit of a stubble and his hair was tousled. “No, you’re right on time,” he said, getting up to pull your chair for you. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise,” you said, ridding yourself from your jacket. You actually put in the effort to look good that day. A nice outfit, a little bit more makeup, hair done.

As you sat down in front of him, a corner of his lips went up, “You look good.”

“The last time we spoke wasn’t my best moment.”

“How have you been?”

You placed your hands on the table and started to play with your fingers, anxious. “Since then? Better, I suppose. How about you? Your mission went well?”

“Depends on how you define well.”

“You’re still in one piece.”

“If only that was enough.” You didn’t get to see his disappointed expression for long when a server came up to your table and Leon quickly ordered a drink, asked what you wanted and waited with his hands together on the table.

Once the server was away, you slightly leaned towards him. “They should be grateful that they got their best agent back alright.” Although you couldn’t ask him any details about his mission, you knew he was a special agent that was good at this job.

“Hunnigan told me you’re in the archives.”

“Yeah, that happened months ago, before your dinner.”

“Why the change of heart?”

“I—uh…” Your throat felt dry under his piercing stare. “I wasn’t needed there anymore. So I transferred.”

“Really? I heard it’s quite the opposite.”

“Oh, they’re talking about me?”

“Yes, seems like they really want you to work with agents again.”

“I know that,” you said and dug your fingernails to the corner of the table, his eyes following the motion.

“What do you mean?” he said, scratching his jaw. “You said you weren’t needed.”

“I felt like I wasn’t being useful. I tried to quit. They tried really hard to keep me there. Now, they’re constantly asking me to come back after everything.”

“They do know how to squeeze the last bit out of everyone,” he nodded. “Are you happy with where you are right now?”

“As in life?” You rolled your eyes thinking about it. “What does it look like?”

“I was worried the last time I saw you.” He sounded sincere.

“I know, I looked miserable.” Probably looked like the physical embodiment of a cry for help, too. “Can we not dwell on it, please? I’m better now. But now you—” You reach and tap on the middle of the table. “You look like you need to sleep for days.”

“That would be great,” he sighed.

You kept looking at the door but no one from work was coming in. “Why is no one coming, Leon?”

“They won’t, to be honest with you. I only invited you.”

Your back was then one with the chair. “Oh.”

“I should’ve let you know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind the quiet,” you smiled. And then you realized, he was doing the same thing you were doing, pushing anyone and anything away.

Him reaching out to you, this was his cry for help. Why you specifically, you didn’t know.

“You told me you lost a partner in Spain, were you close?”

To that, he dropped his chin and stared at his lap. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I didn’t know him. We met under strange circumstances and ended up helping each other. I got the impression that he regretted a lot of things but wanted to believe people could change.”

“I believe people can change, for the better or worse,” you mumbled.

Your server came with your drinks. Leon didn’t waste a second and downed nearly half of his drink. “You tried to quit?” he asked.

“I did. I thought it was time for a little stability in my life. This is as far as I can get to it,” you said and took a sip of your drink which was the same one as Leon. It was strong.

“Stability. That’s unlikely in this job,” he scoffed, fingers tapping at his glass.

“Do you see it as impossible, Leon?” You desperately hoped he would say no, you needed to hear from someone that it wasn’t just a pipe dream.  

He seemed to be thinking for a slow moment. “I guess, for some people, it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“For you it would?” you inquired.

“I once thought I would marry my first girlfriend. I was like what? Twenty, twenty-one? I was really stupid and in love. If twenty-one-year-old Leon saw this, he would be devastated,” he said and raked a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I can find someone who would understand what I do. It’s not like I can tell them. They’d be in danger because of me. I can’t ask them to trust me blindly. I wouldn’t want them to.”

“If someone was willing to accept you as you are, do you think..?”

“Who in their right mind would?” he groaned in exasperation.

“I would. But my situation is different, I have an understanding of what you do. I also can’t be in any more danger than I already am.” There was a beat of silence after you said that. The drink was definitely too much for you, you were sure. Your ears were burning hot, one hand coming up to cool one down with your nervous cold fingers, your eyes roamed the whole place. You chugged the remaining of your drink and wiped your mouth.

“Whoa, slow down there,” he bolted and looked at your abashed face as if he was in a contemporary art museum, trying to understand what the artist meant with their absurd piece.

Feeling self-conscious, you fixed your hair and babbled out, “Why did you get into this line of work in the first place?”

His back straightened, shoulders rolling back. “I was… recruited.” You didn’t quite understand how but remained from prodding any further. “I was the best candidate for what they wanted. An orphan who didn’t have anything to lose.”

It really wasn’t going well for you. You wanted to bang your head against the table and avoid looking at him completely but after what he had revealed to you, you couldn’t be any ruder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

If Cathy were to hear about this, you wouldn’t hear the end of it. Good job honey, that’s one way to woo a man. She would’ve said it in that sarcastic tone which she infamously was a master of.

“No, it’s fine,” said Leon. “You could do so much better than me, though.”

Have you seen yourself, you wanted to exclaim.

Your nostrils were wide, trying to sober you up by hogging as much oxygen as possible, you tried to remain calm, you were feral however. “Why do you keep putting yourself down, Leon? You know, you could’ve called your friends today and they would’ve come running to you. You’re a great person, they don’t give a damn about how successful your mission was. They’re happy that you’re back, that’s all. They are your friends, not the alcohol.”  

He was dead silent, staring at his glass with an expression you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m sorry for overstepping but I saw how they were trying to look out for you at the dinner. There wasn’t even a glass of wine there, celebration my ass. Everybody can tell you’re not fine. I don’t know you that well but even I can tell. What you’re doing to yourself isn’t healthy. It’s self-destructive.”

He wiped his forehead. “You’re the one to talk.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hunnigan’s always talking about how you’re running away every time you see her. She has to drag you everywhere. She’s being nice to you, you could try appreciating that, you know? And you’re clearly stuck up on something, are you trying to repent for your sins or what?” He quite literally disarmed you with his icy stare.

“I’m not Catholic,” you retorted.

“Well, would you look at that. We’re more similar than I thought.” The smirk he had on was sardonic, the furthest from being friendly. You felt an urge to get up and never look back.

“Wrong,” you said as you crossed your arms. “I don’t expect alcohol to solve my problems.”

“Yeah, you’d rather run away from them. And that isn’t going well for you, is it?” He finished his drink and motioned for the server for another. “Also, stop being a hypocrite.”

“Excuse you?” you said with seething anger.

“Are you not trying to ‘get wasted beyond recognition’ right now, as you put it?” he sneered and pointed out your empty glass.

“That was one time, I usually don’t drink. And I’m not planning on drinking more.”

“Oh, did I ruin your fun?”

“Stop that,” you said through your gritted teeth. “Stop being mean. I’m not your friend. You don’t have to push me away. I don’t know why you invited me here. I can just get up and go, leave you with whatever you have up your ass that’s making you act like this. I’m only asking you to stop putting yourself down so much and you’re being all defensive. You know what, I don’t deserve this.” You got up from your chair, grabbing your jacket and purse.

He stood up quickly and tried to follow you. “Sit down, Leon. Your drink is coming.” You didn’t give him any chance to reply and threw the amount of cash that covered your single glass of alcohol on the table.

The walk from the noiseless bar to the nearest bus stop was not pleasant, to say the least. The air was biting cold, hitting your warm cheeks and making you shiver.

Leon only lost sight of you because he stopped to tip the server generously. He fucked up big time, he knew that. It was going to be a pain in the ass if you already jumped in a cab but he had hope that no vacant cab was passing the area on a Friday night.

He was stupid to think this would go smoothly. The last time he saw you, he was concerned about you. The way you’d casually admitted you were not fine was echoing in his mind. He wanted to see if you’d be there by the time he was back from duty. He admitted he was scared for you, for that woman who seemed so small during the funeral, for that woman who had a meltdown in her car in the middle of the day, barely hanging on.

He wanted to tell you today that maybe you should quit. But you had already crossed that bridge.

Maybe you wanted to help people, too. At least at the beginning. Now you wanted peace and quiet, because your life has been anything but. Unlike you, he gave up on that a while ago. He wanted to regard your daring words— I would— as being drunk, he really did.

Ada would never admit she’d want something like that to him, to anyone. Ada didn’t want a stable life, she would never live at a place longer than a month, work with someone more than twice. Even after all of their encounters, Leon still didn’t know what her actual motives were. Raccoon City, Spain, his last mission.

It was pitiful, the way his breath would hitch every time he saw a dark-haired woman wearing red out of the corner of his eye. His heart would pound in his ears for a quick second before he’d realize he was mistaken. He would allow himself, for a brief moment, that maybe it was Ada, here to see him. However, she was never the one to be sentimental. Her every action had a tangible intention that Leon could never guess.

But Leon knew she cared. Enough to save him every goddamn time he needed saving. Enough to ask him to come with her. If he was twenty-one, he would’ve chosen to tail behind her, ready to follow her wherever. Except he had changed, he was not naive anymore. He’d like to think he made the right choice by separating their ways back in Spain. He didn’t know if he was going to be used again.

He also didn’t know what would become of them. Needless to say, he wasn’t going to abandon the mission and ride off into the sunset with Ada yet a part of him wondered about their alternate universe in which he chose to follow her. What would have happened if he just hopped onto that helicopter with her? Where would she have taken him? Was she planning on greeting him properly after all those years? Was he ready to forgive her after Raccoon City?

Perhaps she would have dropped him off somewhere, with a phone number or an address, leaving him confused yet again. Maybe he would’ve reached out, met her in a different circumstance where they didn’t have to constantly run away from trouble. Maybe she’d be living in a small flat and then she’d ask him to come over. Maybe he’d continue to visit her, make himself familiar with her small space.

Except that was not feasible at all, since she was a fleeting kind of woman, just like all the moments they shared. Not there to stay. And none of these would happen, it would always be a different hotel room, different city, barring him from being constant in her life.

A puppy love, he used to think. Young, naive, credulous love. No, he realized, it got older and bigger, sicker. It was time to put it down, put it out of its misery.

He sprinted to the bus station, his hunch was right, you were sitting there, arms folded on your chest, alone. You looked up the moment you heard his footsteps. He left a few steps between you two and braced himself by putting his palms on his knees.

“Why did you come here?” he asked, his eyes were focused on your red nose. Probably from the cold, he convinced himself.

“What do you mean? You asked me to,” you grimaced.

“You said we’re not friends, so why did you come here?”

Your head turned opposite of Leon, resting your chin on your shoulder and hugging yourself tighter. “I wanted some company,” you grumbled, the collar of your jacket muffling your voice. “I think Hunnigan’s right and I might need it.”

“Sorry I’m not a decent one.” He took slow steps to sit next to you on the narrow bench of the bus stop, his shoulder grazing yours. That made you perk up at him.

“I’m sorry for the things I said earlier,” you said, holding his gaze.

“You said a lot of things.”

“Well, I’m sorry for all of them, I crossed a line.”

“Don’t be, I needed the scolding.”

“I didn’t mean to scold you.”

He knocked his knee to yours. “Do you always regret the things you say immediately after? I was an asshole, you got angry, rightfully so.”

“But I was the one who started it,” you pursed your lips.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re not kids.”

“I, uh, called a taxi, should be here in a few minutes,” you said after a minute of silence.

“Okay, tell me something in the meantime.”

“What do you want to hear?”

His thumb caressed his brow, he was contemplating. “Would you consider marrying me?”

“What?”

“Would you marry me? If I asked?”

“No, I heard you the first time.” Your eyes took in every inch of his face, searching for a sign, anything that might explain this. “Leon, are you drunk?” 

“No, I’m nowhere near drunk. It takes more than one drink for me to get buzzed.” He crossed his arms, imitating you. “Think about it, we can both try to live calm and stable.”

Your face was contorted in confusion, still for a slight pause. “People don’t marry out of spite, Leon. They marry out of love.”

“Who said anything about spite?”

“You’re clearly angry at something or someone.”

“I am not.”

“This life you are living right now… isn’t quite what you planned, is it? Some things didn’t go according to plan and now you’re here, trying to steer the reins again. And you’re angry.”

“What are you, my therapist?” This time his comeback didn’t sound as if it was meant to hurt you, but to make the air between you lighter. “I guess I do resent some things, doctor.”  

You went along with his enactment. “Admitting is a huge step Leon, I appreciate the honesty.”

“Now you be honest,” he said, bouncing his leg in impatience. “Are you in a relationship? Am I being creepy by cornering you like this?”

“I’m not and I don’t feel cornered. If I did, I’d just get up and go. You just saw.”

He nodded, his lips in a thin line. “Experienced firsthand how you run away from your problems and I don’t mean it figuratively.”

You chuckled. “You are not a problem in my life.”

“Not a friend either.”

Your smile dropped. “I don’t think we know each other that well.”

He hummed, looking far away. “That’s probably your cab.” He got up, shaking off dust from his jeans. “Take my number before you get in and let me know when you make it home safe.”

You gave him your number but didn’t get to write your name in his contacts as the cab drew near. “Thanks for keeping me company, you didn’t need to run after me,” you said as you handed him his phone.

“We won’t dwell on it,” he winked as he opened the back door of the cab for you. “And think it over, okay?”

“What?”

“My proposal. We can get to know each other, then we can get married. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It’ll be convenient.”

“Tell me one good thing that will be convenient.”

“Uh, okay. Here’s two for you,” he said and held up two fingers. “A better healthcare plan and tax benefits.”

You laughed and the driver seemed annoyed that you were still standing in front of the open door. “I should get going.”

“Text me when you get home,” he said when you finally got in the car.

You texted him again two weeks after his ridiculous proposal.

Hi, Leon. Do you remember what you asked me after the bar two weeks ago?

Hi. Yes I remember.

Were you being serious or should I pass it as tipsy nonsense?

There was no response from him for a few minutes and you had started biting your nails nervously.

I was being serious. I wasn’t tipsy.

You stared at his short text longer than it took him to reply. You had already made up your mind but it felt cheap telling him over a text. This was not the proper way of doing this. You also didn’t know how to convey this to him, so you resorted to a playful text.

Ask me properly and I’ll consider it.

I’ll ask you again properly over dinner next Friday? I know a good Italian place.

The next Friday, he kept his promise and said those four words in a fancy quiet Italian restaurant. You said yes.

“I have a request,” you said, swirling your wine before taking a sip. “I want a wedding dress, not like a gown or anything. Just a simple white dress.”

“Sure, I already have a suit that I can wear.”

Your heart tugged in your chest. The fact that you had to buy your wedding dress by yourself, no matter how simple you envisioned it to be, without Cathy by your side was making your ears ring, drowning out all the knife and fork clatter around you.

Here's my hand There's the itch But I'm not supposed to scratch

—Love Me More, Mitski

It’s four a.m. and you want to say you’ve actually seen it coming. Every time something good happens, its catastrophe follows eventually. Just like how Cathy’s mission was going so well until it wasn’t.

It’s four a.m. and the meal you’ve prepared for Leon has gone cold on the dining table. You thought he’d be hungry when he came back from mission, so you went out and bought ingredients, followed a recipe word for word, even made soup additionally just in case he didn’t feel like eating solid food after what his body’s been through. He said he’d be back at one a.m. and he hasn’t contacted you since. You’ve called and texted him numerous times but it was radio silence from him.

He had promised you, before you got married, that he would always let you know when he got back from a mission and he always did. He never once forgot because you were very serious about this, wanted to know as soon as possible that he was back safe.

It’s four a.m. and you feel like you’re going crazy, soaring into a heaving fit as each minute passes by.

The sound of his keys makes you clutch at your chest and before you even realize, your legs are walking you to the front door. He’s being quiet and you wait for him few steps behind the door. His steps are feather light, head bowed down to take off his shoes, he exhales a long breath as he places his backpack down.

He flinches when he sees your silhouette in the dark. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“You didn’t text me,” your voice breaks, your hands are clutching at the sides of your pajama shirt like it’s a lifeline.

“I forgot.”

Your tears threaten to fall down and you’re grateful that it’s dark and he can’t see. You bite down your lip strong enough to make it bleed. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine, you didn’t need to stay up.”

It’s not like you chose to, you physically couldn’t lie down or eat anything when your mind went all haywire, creating the worst possible scenarios it could think of.

“I, um, made dinner.” You point to the table. “But it’s gone cold, I can heat it up. Don’t know if it will taste any good, though. Did you have any chance to eat something? I mean, if you ate dinner, it’s been hours and you’re probably hungry—”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I also made soup, so it’s easier on the stomach. You’re tired, right? Just eat some soup and then go to sleep. I’ll heat that up and there’s also tea in the pantry, supposed to help you sleep. Oh, I filled up the bathtub, I’ll go drain it, the water’s gone cold and you probably want to have a hot shower—”

He cuts you off again by blurting out your name. “Hey, hey, slow down.” His calloused hands come up to hold your shoulders and you let out a small whimper of surprise, your chin dropping to your chest. “I don’t want anything, I’ll just sleep.”

You shrug and escape from his hold, so he doesn’t ask you why you’re trembling like a leaf. “But shower…” you manage to make out and point to the direction of his room.

“Yes, I’ll drain the tub and shower, you go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” you say softly. He’s home, you repeat deliriously. He’s here, very much alive. The thought calms your nerves instantly.

He doesn’t turn on any of the lights while navigating his home in the dark. You crane your neck to watch his silhouette move to his room. He opts to turn on the bathroom light first. You listen to the water droplets as you put away the food you made for him in containers. He says something you can’t quite hear when he gets out of the shower.

“Did you say something, Leon?” you raise your voice slightly.

“Yeah, did you clean my room?”

“It was messy. Thought it’d be nice to see it tidy when you came back.”

He doesn’t reply right away and your head turns to his direction as if he can see you through the door.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to.”

You actually cleaned the whole house when he was away, not that he had the chance to see it.

You were aware from the very beginning that this was what you got yourself into. You and Leon never promised each other love. But why are you feeling like this now? Stupid question, really. Because things have changed, you’ve grown to love him and you’re afraid. You’re afraid that one day you’ll have to face the world without him by your side because he has become your anchor, holding you in place where you now call home. It’s nice having his warm hands on you, it’s nice coming home to him.

However, in moments like now it feels like you’re playing house, actors going their separate ways after the lights go out. It awfully feels like you’re standing in the middle of a dark stage, curtains closed so nobody can see what goes down behind the scenes.

You’re in front of his door, first aid kit in one hand, knocking. “Leon?” You know he’s not sleeping. He can’t sleep well after he comes back from his missions, his insomnia making it impossible for him.

The door cracks open and you slide past him before he can say anything, perching cross-legged on the side of his bed, placing the kit on your lap before propping his pillow against the bedpost so he can sit comfortably in front of you. “Let me have a look.” You pat on the bed. “And turn on the lamp, please.”

You can finally see him when he does. The first thing you see is the big purple bruise on his side because he’s only wearing his sweatpants. His hair is wet from the shower, hanging to his eyes, eyebags dark and prominent, one of his forearms is freshly bandaged. Despite all, he’s standing tall in front of you.

“They already patched me up,” he says, showing his bandage.

You take his hand and draw him near, making him sit on the bed with one leg dangling from the side. Half of his face is illuminated like this and you can see the cut on his jaw in its full glory. Your fingers begin to work quickly, cleaning the wound all the while he winces by closing his eyes. “Seems like they didn’t take a good look at you. What happened to your ribs?” you ask to distract him.

“Got kicked. They’re not broken.”

You put the band-aid on his jaw and search his eyes as they open. He blinks slowly at you, understanding that you want to hear more. “Hurts when I breathe but it should be gone in a few days, it’s not that bad.”

You take his unwrapped hand in yours, the skin of his knuckles is very red, it probably hurts when he flexes it. You grab the ice pack you remembered to bring with you and place it on top on his knuckles.

“Not there,” he mumbles. “Put in on my shoulder, it’s really sore.”

You place the pack on the shoulder he points. He tries to turn his head that way but his face contorts in pain and he gives up, exhaling a long sigh.

“Did you have them wrap it up?”

“No, can’t be bothered to rewrap it later.”

“That’s why you have me to do it for you,” you hum, adjusting the ice pack. You’re closer to him like this, able to smell his soap and shampoo from his body. You can make out the shape of his chapped lips and yours ache to kiss his pain away, except you are overheated with grievance.

His eyes bore into you, taking you in. There’s an unassuming hand on your bent knee, squeezing lightly. “Did I scare you?” he asks.

“You promised me,” you gripe to him, fumbling with your fingers on your lap after you place the first aid kit next to you. “You promised me that you’d let me know when you were back. Of course I was scared.”

His forehead falls onto your shoulder, damp strands of hair pressed to the side of your neck as the ice pack tumbles down his back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, honey,” he says breathily.

He’s only called you by your name all this time, so this is new. And stomach lurching. Your cheek knocks the side of his head with your startled reaction.

“I have no excuse,” he murmurs. His palm on your knee slides up, leaving a burning sensation as it goes along your thigh, bypassing your hips and finding place on the curve of your waist.

“It’s okay,” you squeak when you feel his thumb caressing your ribs through your t-shirt.

You don’t remember ever sitting down with him, drawing lines about the nature of your relationship, lines that both of you never meant to cross, because you didn’t. You didn’t discuss anything about boundaries because at the time you were getting married, you didn’t know him much. Both of you assumed that it would naturally develop, silent agreements to come.

It was manageable before, now it confuses you to the point of ripping hair from your own head. There were times where you didn’t think twice about giving him a friendly hug, a pat on the back, a reassuring squeeze to his knee but after getting into bed with him, every action was testing the waters.

It wasn’t even a bed; it was the couch in the living room where you had countless dinners and conversations, the heart of the home, if you will. It felt shameful afterwards as if it happened in an open space, because it was quick and devoid of any intimacy, but it was in the confines of your own quiet home still.

You want to go back to the time when you were friends, and not what this was supposed to be. You want to go back to the time when you didn’t know how it felt to have him like that, when you didn’t know his touch would be so tantalizing, his lips unbearably addicting, his warmth conquering.

Initially, you thought you’d cross any bridge regarding him when you came across it, but there weren’t any bridges around to reach him to begin with. You quickly realized that he had burned them before you, for everyone. So, you painstakingly built each and every one of them with your bare hands, desperate to get to him. And him shaking them felt immensely unfair, all your hard work threatened to fall.

Your hand on his chest pushes him away ever so slightly before his hand drops from your waist. He hisses softly yet the action hurts you more than it hurts him. He yields to your touch, back leaning on his propped-up pillow, waiting for you to gather the scatter of your thoughts patiently.

“Stop confusing me, Leon.”

“What do you mean?”

“What am I to you exactly?”

“You’re my wife,” he says. Obviously.

“So why doesn’t it feel like it?”

“We never guaranteed that it would.”

“Yeah, I know that. All this time I thought maybe we were doing better, now I don’t know Leon, you’re confusing me. Either stop giving me hope or just say it outright.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That I’m just a fuck buddy to you.”

His jaw ticks, lips curl in disdain. “How shallow do you think I am?”

“I know we never established any boundaries between each other but it’s gotten to a point where I don’t know how I should act around you.”

His face stays stagnant. “You can’t be serious. Your boundaries were set from the beginning. You never had a place for me in your heart.”

Time seems to stop for you in that dire moment, Leon’s blue eyes serving you a new wrench of dismay. “When did I give off that impression?”

“Our first anniversary,” he clarifies hoarsely. “We ate pizza on the couch, remember?”

You do, you even remember the Disney movie he had rented as a cheeky nod to time you two first flirted. The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“I always wonder why you said yes to my proposal in the first place,” he said after taking a bite from his pizza slice. It had been a year since getting married, Hunnigan was the one to point out to him. Apparently, she was proud of herself due to the fact that she was the one to introduce you two.

“I thought of Cathy and what she would’ve said to me,” you said, watching the animated Quasimodo sing his heart out to the town below him.

“What would she have said?”

“That it is ridiculous and maybe I should say yes.”

“So, you thought of what Cathy would’ve said to you getting married but not your family?”

You turned your head to him, ready to get vulnerable. “Cathy was family to me.”

“I didn’t know you two were that close.”

“Yeah, we met when we were roommates back in college. She urged me to change majors and follow her path.”

“To become an agent?”

“No, she was the one who always wanted to be a special agent. I didn’t know what to do at first but somehow ended up working alongside her.”

“What were you studying before?”

“I was studying to become a nurse. Kind of in my sister’s path, she’s a doctor.”

He scratched his nape, looking ashamed. “I believe I never asked that before, sorry about that.”

You elbowed his side after taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, you better be sorry for not knowing what your sister-in-law does for work.”

He rolled his eyes upon your teasing. “Were they supportive of you changing majors? Your family, I mean.”

“My family’s always been small. It’s just me and my mom and sister. Dad’s never been in the picture. He left when I was a few months old. My mom raised us herself. And yes, she would support anything I did. She loved Cathy because she would make me do things I’d never do myself.”

“Your mom sounds like a great person.”

“She was. She died four days before Cathy did.”

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he said, much more ashamed than before. You didn’t blame him, the first year of your marriage flew by really fast, with him on duty most of it. Forget sitting down like this to talk, you rarely got any chance to see him.

“Yeah, their deaths being so close fucked me up really bad. We were on mission. My mom was living with my sister then because she was sick. My sister didn’t tell me her condition was even worse than before.”

“Why?”

“Mom knew we were working on something big and begged my sister not to tell me. She thought she’d see me after I was done with the mission. I had a whole fight with my sister about it. I felt betrayed.”

“I think I would, too, in that situation.”

“I was so fucking unprofessional after that. I couldn’t keep on helping Cathy properly. And she—”

“It isn’t your fault.” He shook his head, meeting your gaze in the space between you two on the couch.

“I’m tired of hearing that,” you huffed.

“None of that is on you. It’s the truth.”

“It’s not. I knew the situation was going bad. Cathy tried to make me believe it was not. Somebody else had to be transferred to take my place instead. I insisted but I had to be taken out. That’s when we lost connection to her.”

“How did you know it was going bad?”

“I could tell from her voice. I know her better than I know myself. I failed to get her help. I should have never listened to her.”

“But you couldn’t do that, could you? She clearly gave you wrong intel. You can’t send back-up until—”

“I could’ve made it seem like she requested back-up. That would’ve saved her, exterminated the mission, but saved her. I’d have faced the consequences of my actions sooner or later. If I did that and saved her, she’d be mad at me for years but who cares as long as she’s safe and sound?”

“I get it. I’d also have someone mad at me if it meant they’d be safe.”

“In the end, she died for nothing. The cult she was infiltrating dispersed after they killed her, all fled to different countries. It’s harder to track them down now. They’re everywhere.”

“You follow through with it? It would be impossible to track down each mission.”

“Why do you think I’m in the archives? I have access to mission reports. They don’t think it is bioweapon related, so sometimes they let me see them.”

Esmeralda was dancing along people’s whistles, captivating every man in the square.

“You said Cathy died for nothing but you actually don’t want that to be true.”

Fiddling with your fingers, you said, “Obviously.”

“You’re loyal,” he remarked. “I’m sure she would’ve loved to see her mission completed. Do you ever think of working as an analyst again?”

“Nope.”

From his expression you could tell he wanted an explanation, so you gave him one, “I don’t want to see people get hurt anymore. It’s a dangerous job, you know it. Why are you asking me?”

“No offense, but then why did you agree to marry me knowing I do the same job? If you’re scared of losing someone this much—it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You sighed, having a hard time thinking where to even start. “You’re going to call me crazy.”

“I would never,” he said, half-jokingly.

“Okay, I really did think what Cathy would tell me to do. I always listened to her, the whole time we got to spend together. She told me what she wanted to do with her life, told me I looked depressed with what I was studying and maybe we should join an academy together. She was larger than life, lit up an entire room with her presence, never spoke ill of someone, liked to help people in any way she could. I’ve always been shy, so she went above and beyond to find me decent blind dates.”

“She sounds wonderful. She was also your matchmaker?”

“In a way, yes. Dragged me to parties with her so I could have some fun.” You gave Leon a smile, recalling Cathy and her antics in your mind, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Nothing sounds crazy so far,” he reassured you.

Finished with your pizza, you dusted off the crumbs into the box and lifted up your knees to sit cross-legged facing him. “I couldn’t keep someone interested in me for more than two dates.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he replied, his eyes traveling up and down.

“No, seriously. This one time, a guy left mid-date, told me he had a phone call, paid for the coffees and just left. I waited there for half an hour. It dawned on me when I couldn’t see his car outside. Didn’t call me after.”

Leon shrugged one shoulder. “His loss.”

You smacked his bicep playfully as a way of thanking him for his compliment. “I only went on these dates because Cathy thought it would be good for me. I had a few fights with my sister about Cathy and her influence on me. She thought I was like her puppet but I genuinely don’t think like that. I told you I knew Cathy like the back of my hand. It was the same for her. Never pushed me to do something I’d be uncomfortable with. Well, I’d feel awkward at times but it would be momentary, I’d learn so much in the long run.”

“That’s a very healthy way of looking at things. I’m still waiting for the part where you think I’d call you crazy.”

“I trusted her judgment because I knew she only wanted the best for me. She’d definitely try to set me up with you if we weren’t so busy all the time,” you said, lips curling into a roguish smile.

His eyebrows shot up, being brazen about it. “Oh, you’re saying I’d have her approval?”

Especially when you keep raking your hands through your hair like that, you wished to say. “Yes, you would.”

“Thank you, that means so much.”

“You didn’t even know her.”

“Well, she means so much to you, I feel honored that you think that way.”

A haze of grief washing over your heart, lungs expanding, you started, “I also… never mind.”

A comforting hand fell on you shoulder, shaking you slightly. “Now you have to say it, don’t leave me hangin'.”

“Here’s the crazy part,” you swallowed dryly. “Whenever I thought of my future, it was always with Cathy. I didn’t even think of getting married. I thought we’d retire together when the time came, she and Allison—her girlfriend—would live next to me. And if they ever had the chance, they’d marry and maybe have kids. I’d look after them like they were my own, be the best aunt. Isn’t it crazy, dreaming of looking after someone else’s kids and not yours? Sometimes I’d lay my head down and imagine myself in a little community, living next door to Cathy and her family, growing my own vegetable garden—though I don’t know the first thing about gardening but I’d learn! I would also grow pretty flowers and give them out to anyone who decided to come over. Go to the bakery in the morning, greet everyone on the way and grab my breakfast fresh out the oven. I’d get so fat! Eating baked goods every day, sounds like heaven to me.”

“Indeed.” With a fond smile on his face, he took of his hand from your shoulder and fully turned to you, bending one leg up on the cushions. “I don’t think I met an Allison at the funeral, was she there?”

“She was,” you said, remembering the painful conversation you had with her. “She arrived really early and left before anyone from work came.”

“What happened?” he asked, noticing you ripping skin off your fingers just like you had been doing during that day.

“I tried to talk to her. She told me I was a liar and walked out—” Leon interrupted your chain of thoughts by taking your hand, preventing you from damaging your fingers further. “I couldn’t keep my promise to her. It’s awful. I told her before the mission that it was going to be okay, we’d done this with Cathy many times and I’d make sure to keep her in one piece.”

Your other hand had a death grip on your knee, nails digging and leaving indents to keep yourself grounded. “They tortured Cathy while she was captive. She died because she refused to give them any information.”

Leon seemed like he didn’t want you to continue, placed your hand in his as though he was reading your palm and started to fidget with your gold wedding band on your ring finger. “Tell me more about that dream of yours. I bet you wouldn’t even install normal ceiling lights in your house. It’d just be little lamps everywhere.”

Giggling, you said, “Yeah! I’d be that auntie that collects little trinkets and displays them all around her house. I’d learn how to knit and make so many ugly sweaters for God knows anyone.”

“So, no partner living with you? Just you with your trinkets?”

“There’s so many types of love and I just didn’t see myself in a romantic one. It just happened that I never pictured myself alone. That’s it.”

His hands slipped away after your raw confession, broad back straightening, appearing tensed up. Yet again, you couldn’t make out what his expression meant.

Esmeralda was now singing a hymn, Quasimodo staring at her in admiration from the shadows.

“I talked so much today, now’s your turn. I feel embarrassed that you know my abysmal attempts at finding love. How about you, Leon? You got any embarrassing stories that you can tell?”

His answer was quick and mischievous, “Yeah, this one time this lady just got up and left me at the bar. In the middle of an argument.”

You pursed your lips and bumped on his knee on the cushions, restraining a laugh you know he’d get satisfaction out of. “Don’t piss me off, that wasn’t even a date.”

“I had a girlfriend when I was twenty-one, she broke up with me before I started working as a cop.”

“That’s so long ago and not that embarrassing if I’m being honest,” you sniffed at him.

“I already told you about how I thought I’d marry her. I really believed my first ever relationship would live to see its future.”

Offering him a new perspective, you explained, “Well, technically it did, it just wasn’t a bright one.”

“Pshh,” he scoffed, turning to the TV, stretching before bending his arms behind his head. “Wait—you’re telling me I’m the only long-term guy you had?”

His late light-bulb moment pulled a chuckle out of you. “Turning it back to me again, okay. No, I did date a guy for nearly one year. And before you ask, he said I worked too much and wasn’t fun.”

Leon’s face scrunching as if he just ate something sour, he blurted out, “Where do you find these types of guys? Did Cathy set you up with this asshole?”

“No, actually, I found him myself.”

“Is he the one who made you think you’re not fun to be around?”

You were left stumped, unable to think of any answer.

“What? If he is, I disagree with him.”

“You only say that because I go along with your corny jokes.”

“Yeah, that’s the only reason,” he chimed sarcastically.

Quasimodo was saving Esmeralda from the burning stake, the sign that the movie was about to end.

“Your dream,” he cleared his throat. “I could just picture it like a happy ending to a Disney movie. You know, they all have happy endings. Besides, I don’t think you’re insane for wanting a happy, peaceful life.”

“What’s insane about it is that I even imagined myself dying before Cathy. Getting buried before I got to bury her. I’ve never thought I’d live the day she wouldn’t, yet here I am… I wrote an entire script for the rest of my life in my mind, that’s why I spiraled down and down and down when it was not possible to play it out anymore. So, I stopped. It wasn’t healthy for me to continue obsessing over my ruined happy ending. I decided to live in the present. Write as I live on. Be more like Cathy, hopefully.”

There was little beer left in his can but he raised it anyway. “In the loving memory of Cathy Donovan, then.”

“I don’t have any drink left,” you gasped, lifting your can. “Cathy, I’m so sorry, you deserve the fruitiest of Martinis.” If Cathy was there, she would’ve laughed like a hyena, found it hysterical that you managed to call her fruity given the context.

After the honorary toast, Leon leaned back and intertwined his hands on his stomach, eyes fixed on the TV screen where Phoebus and Esmeralda were passionately kissing.

“The novel’s ending was not family friendly, I guess,” you mocked.

“I haven’t read it.”

 “If you’re planning on reading it, my lips are sealed.”

“Don’t know if I have the time. I don’t mind, tell me.”

“It’s painfully sad. Esmeralda gets hanged, Quasimodo pushes Frollo from the cathedral tower in grief and rage. That’s the moment he realizes he’s lost everyone he’s ever loved. He also refuses to let go of Esmeralda, starves himself holding on to her dead body in her grave. Years later, an excavation group finds their intertwined skeletons and when they try to separate them, Quasimodo’s bones crumble to dust.”

“Now that’s vile.”

Toss your dirty shoes in my washing machine heart Baby, bang it up inside I'm not wearing my usual lipstick I thought maybe we would kiss tonight

Baby, though I've closed my eyes I know who you pretend I am I know who you pretend I am

—Washing Machine Heart, Mitski

“How would I know I’d end up here?” you ask him, voice shaking. “We didn’t promise each other anything, so I didn’t have any hope.”

You want nothing more than to ask him about the teddy bear keychain he has in desk drawer, why he holds onto it, ask whether you should be relieved that it no longer has a key attached to it.

There is that gut feeling, clawing at your churning stomach, that tells you he has someone. Someone else who knows him better than you, who is a better match to him, who makes him happier.

Someone he loves.

“But we had sex, it made me question everything and I’ve come to the conclusion that we were both lonely and weren’t thinking straight. You acted like it didn’t change anything, it almost made me go crazy. Please say something so I can finally understand, Leon,” you cry out.

“I don’t regret it,” he declares. “I don’t regret what we did. And I know how we started this marriage, I assumed it would always be the same after you told me your feelings.”  

“I admit I’m hard to be with.” Your head hangs to the side, brows furrowed. “It’s hard for me to trust someone as much as I trusted Cathy. I’m sorry it took two years for us to be candid with each other. I used to be laidback about who I slept around with before. Now, I don’t know, I think twice about how I should touch you, talk to you. I used to think romantic love was not for me, so I wasn’t worried when you proposed because you didn’t expect it. I thought it wasn’t for people like us.”

“But you are capable of love,” he emphasized. “I know you are. You’re so good to me all the time. You stay up all night worrying when I’m not home, cook food for me despite your hatred for it, remember the smallest things and help me out, talk to me when I can’t sleep. I can’t even repay you for any of it and you still continue to be good to me. See, you’re speaking in a way that’s making me think there’s a chance that you love me and I still can’t say it back.”

Your silent tears unsettle him, this is the first time you let him see you cry. He has heard it before, the soft sobs and small chokes at night when you didn’t know he was awake.

You sniffle, “I know you’re capable of it, too, Leon. If the reason you can’t say it back to me is what I think it is, you definitely are.”

You quickly wipe your tears with the back of your hand when he asks, “What do you mean?”

“There is someone, right? You love them.”

His silence speaks volumes and it becomes your acceptance.

“Don’t let this thing between us hamper it, okay? I’m fine with it. To be honest, I didn’t expect you to keep up the faithful husband act.”

“Jesus,” he howls. “Just how terrible do you think I am? This thing between us is our fucking marriage. Not some situationship. Although I can’t make you think otherwise because you refuse to. I’m only gonna say this once, okay? I respect you enough to not sleep around behind your back.”

“Thank you, Leon, but I’m saying it doesn’t matter. None of it matters.” You take both of his hands, wanting to remember the feel of him. “You love someone else and it’s okay. You’re better off with them. Hopefully they’re better at love than I am.”

You take off your ring and place it in your palm, caressing it. “I know I probably shouldn’t be asking for this but I got so used to the weight of it on my finger. Can I have it as a keepsake?”

He grips your wrist tightly, grimacing. “What are you doing?”

“This is me letting you go.”

“No.” He shakes his head, voice thick. The way he places the ring on your finger again is a wretched overcompensation for not doing it before. You two didn’t have rings at the wedding and you were the one to place it on your own finger after purchasing them. “You’re running away,” he speaks in a hoarse croak. “Where will you go this time, hm?”

“I’ll resign and move close to my sister.”

His palms are cupping your jaw, fingertips in your hair. Him closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours is a way of saying I can love you if you give me time, I know I can.

“Stay,” he whispers, narrowing your whole world down to his warmth and you shudder from it. “Just tell me what you need.”

I need you to love me more, love enough to fill me up till there’s no crack left for me to write happy ever afters that will never come true. I need you to fill me full up, love enough to drown it out. Drown me out.

“Kiss me.”

“That I can do, honey.”

You know perfectly well that you’re selfish for wanting him like this. However, you yearn for the still of his hands on you, the irresistible feel of his skin on yours.

A kiss is placed on your temple, another one on your damp cheekbone, another on your jaw. Your eyes are closed the whole time he moves slow with his kisses. He grazes his nose beneath your ear, bringing you close to the brink of tears again. His hot breath is licking the other side of your face after, pecking the corner of your mouth.

“Scoot,” he says before gripping your waist and tipping you towards his torso. “My back is killing me like this.”

You’re afraid of hurting him with your weight but he insists, pulling you and placing you on his lap, getting you to straddle him, your thighs encasing his on either side. Your face a few inches above his, he tips his head back and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You can see a gash on his shoulder that disappears down his back which you didn’t notice before and you become aware once again that this isn’t the right moment to ask him for this.

“Leon—”

He can tell you’re about to get off him and he shuts you up by pulling you in a crushing kiss, pressing your chest to his with arms around your back so you won’t get away. “Stay here, don’t run away from me,” he says between labored breaths. His fingertips dance on your sides, making the hair on the back of your neck stand. He can probably feel your heart thumping crazy against his chest.

You caress the indent on his chin with your pointer finger, leaning down to kiss it. Leon lets out a delicious sigh, hands feeling up the sides of your thighs.

“Why did you kiss me at the wedding? There was no one to see,” you finally ask.

He lifts an eyebrow, eyes flicking to the side trying to remember it. “The officiant was there. And the photographer.”

You nod and his lips are on yours again, tender this time. He opts to place quick kisses over and over again when he’s done being gentle. A chuckle escapes you when his nose bumps yours.

Fingers drifting under your shirt, he scratches your back up and down with his blunt nails. Any inch of skin he comes across, he kisses. Earlobe, jaw, neck, shoulder peeking through shirt. One hand splaying his fingers on your back, middle finger in line with your spine, right between your shoulder blades, the other one comes up front, lifting the front hem of your shirt. “Take this off.”

He doesn’t move the hand on your back when you’re taking it off, eyes dropping down to meet the new exposed skin. But you feel too naked, even though he’s wearing the same amount of clothes as you. You hug him around his neck, careful not to hurt him, bare chests pressed together.

He clasps the tops of your arms, biting the inside of one bicep.

“Ouch.” You retreat. “Why did you do that?”

“Let me see you.” He tips you backwards after his hand comes up to your nape, your butt slides on his lap, making you sit right on his crotch. He lets out a content hum, not embarrassed of his half hard erection. You cling to his biceps although his hand on the back of your neck is securing you in place.

A kiss is planted to the base of your throat and then to each collarbone. The hand on the front cups the underside of your breast, goosebumps rising on your skin. A wet kiss on the valley of your breasts, his breath cooling it. A low moan from you when he takes a stiff nipple in his hot mouth, finally giving it some attention. He twirls his tongue around it, teasing, before licking it right.

Your hips move involuntarily, rubbing against him through clothes all the while he sucks, kisses, grazes teeth. A jolt of electricity travels down to your core when he switches sides, underwear clinging to your sticky folds. You keen into him, pushing your chest out when he begins to suck a bruise under your breast. Your fingers dig into his scalp, tugging on his damp strands.

You discern his knitted brows and inclined back before tapping his shoulder. “Leon, stop.”

He halts the moment he hears you. The sight of a string of spit connecting his lips to your chest is obscene. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re hurting. You should lay down,” you say while standing up.

His eyes never leaving you, he gets off the bed as well. He seizes you under your arms, picking you up with ease. “See, honey? I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” He doesn’t let you protest and nips at your bottom lip before sloppily kissing you, tongue claiming every crevice of your mouth.

“No, put me down!” you wail, kicking your feet in the air.

“Okay, okay,” he grins, setting you down on the floor. Your heated cheeks amusing him, he takes your hand and places it on the waistband of his sweatpants. “This is the only thing you need to worry about.”

You decide to be daring and slide your hand down, palming him through layers of clothing. “Fuck,” he huffs, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against yours, big hands pawing at your backside, fondling your ass. Your hand slips past his briefs, touching him without any barriers.

“Oh, just like that,” he encourages you when you pick up a pace. His abs tightening, it doesn’t take long for him to fully get hard. “Ah, wait—”

“Hm?” You look up at him, just holding him in your palm.

“Need to get a condom, be right back.” He squeezes your ass one last time. “You better take everything off,” he teases before stepping away to get to the bathroom.

Second thoughts come rushing to your mind the time he’s undressing and grabbing a condom in the bathroom. Maybe, you shouldn’t do this. It’s only going to make it harder for the both of you. You admitted loving him and he wasn’t able to say it back. But he told you to stay, he needs you, wants what you’re able to give him. And you desperately need to give him all you have, mind and body, even if it means for a short time.

Because you know you will never be able to love like this again.

Your thoughts are interrupted when a packet of condom is thrown on the bed in front of you, hands gathering your hair on one shoulder to return messy kisses to your neck from the back.

Your back meets his pecs, his erection snug between your bare ass cheeks, you sigh softly when his fingers find their way to your clit, making your spine tingle. You hold on to his forearm, clawing at his veins as he gathers your wetness from your entrance, back to circling your bundle of nerves with now soaked fingers. His bandaged hand urges you to spread your legs more before finding place on your throat. He ruts his hips against your ass, breathing loudly while you whine out incoherent sounds.

He groans your name, drawing your attention up to his scrunched face. “You’re so good to me.”

“Leon,” you whimper as he drags two fingers all the way along your slit, pumping them inside. The way you stretch around his fingers distracts him from the rhythm of his hips, making him still. But you crave the friction, arch back your own hips to get him to move again. Your hand winds around and finds his aching hard dick, thumb stroking the precum all over his angry red tip. Your head rolls back over his shoulder and you want nothing more than to properly see.

“Leon, I’m close,” you moan and push his hand away. “I want to see you.”

“Anything you want, honey,” he pants in your ear, tip of his tongue tracing the shell of it.

You crawl to the middle of the bed, endowing him the sight of your glistening slit before laying down on your back, waiting for him to get on top of you. He parts your legs, taking a good look before smearing his tip on your folds, a mix of your wetness and his precum making it extra slippery.

“Please,” you manage to make out, one arm across your chest, another resting on his shoulder.

He rips your arm from your chest and pulls both your wrists above your head. “I said let me see you.”  

He doesn’t let you fuss, fucking up his cock against your clit, allowing himself the bare feel of you for a little while.

He kisses your pout away before retreating to roll the condom on. You hiss as his tip breaches your entrance, legs trying to close on instinct, but he’s laying between them. He gets you used to the feel of him inside before you nod for him to move, slowly at first. Once your back arches and your hips shift, he gets the message to piston his hips faster.

He searches for the right pace just by examining you, what your face does when he tries something new, how your back arches, by the sounds you make. Not too fast, not too slow, he eventually finds an angle you particularly like.

“Too good for me,” he chants whilst thrusting, intertwining his fingers with yours above your head. You notice the absence of his ring but you don’t worry about it because you know he leaves it on his desk when he’s away for a mission, not wanting to lose it.

Your legs hug him around his waist, heels pressing him into you deeper. “Yes, yes, yes…” You keep singing his name when you feel it building up inside.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last long,” he grunts, listening to the slaps of skin and your frantic cries of pleasure.

“Good ‘cause I’m so close.”

He takes that as a challenge, making sure you reach your high before him. He watches as you do, walls clenching down on his length, lips chasing his.

He’s cooing in your ear between your gasps, coaxing your bliss out of you. “I know, honey, I gotcha. You can let go.”

Your mouth opening in a silent moan as your orgasm ripples through you, hands trembling in his hold, legs trying to shut, your entire body quivering as you ride it out.

Irregular thrusts of his hips bouncing your breasts in front of him, he nestles his face between them, breathing in your scent. He noses the blossoming mark he left under there and moves slow, dragging it out as much as possible.

He sinks boneless on you, his weight feeling comforting rather than crushing. You embrace him as he softens out of you, leaving you feeling empty. He peels the condom off and lays on you for a while, head between your ribs, trying to catch his breath. You wipe away sweat from his temple, frowning.

“You’ll have to hop in the shower again.”

“Give me a few minutes,” he says, voice muffled and nasal. “And you’re coming with me, too.”

“Leon!” you shriek, playfully slapping his twitching bicep. “You shouldn’t tire yourself more.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. I was gonna ask you to wash my back.”

After a few minutes, you drag him in the shower, helping him soap his back. He stands under the hot rain when you’re cleaning yourself with his body wash, eyes and hands wandering, groping here and there. You smack his naughty hands each time, can’t help but giggle. However, he’s tired and sleepy, so he’s only playing.

You offer to change his sheets but he insists on doing it in the morning and tugs your arm to your room, preferring to sleep in your clean sheets. He nearly falls asleep as you blow-dry your hair, waiting for you in the bed.

As soon as you’re snuggled up to him, he tucks you to his chest, chin on your forehead. Soft sighs tickle the crown of your hair.

“Can I ask you a question?” he murmurs, barely audible.

Your pointer finger stops drawing circles on his pectoral muscle. “Mhm?”

“After your mom and Cathy passed away, how did you survive? There has to be a reason.”

“I actually planned to end it all after both funerals. I told myself to just get past that week. It’ll all be over in a week. But there’s my sister. She came with me to help with Cathy’s funeral. Forced me to eat anything she could cook while I lived on autopilot. She was washing my hair in the sink when I realized I can’t leave her behind. It’s just not fair. She has a wonderful husband but a husband doesn’t mean forever— I mean, look at what my mother got. A deadbeat husband who left her with two little kids. My sister doesn’t have any kids. Worst case scenario, her husband leaves her and—”

He retracts abruptly to search your face, hand on your cheek to steer you to him. “So, you wrote a script again. With a sad ending.”

“My sister is my only family left. I don’t want her to live unhappily.”

“Hey, I’m your family, too. Why are you talking like I’m not here?” He presses a long, soothing kiss to your lips. His fingers tip your chin up. “Look at me. What do you have in that mind of yours? What kind of script do you have for us?”

You lie. “I don’t have one.”

He smiles. “Good. Because we’ll write one as we go on.”

(a/n: a very short part 2 will be posted here in a few days, keep an eye out for that. ty for reading!)

PART I | PART II | PART III (finale)

[hitomisuzuya]

Student council president!scara x troublemaker!reader

But reader always get sent to his office until he's had enough

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Orgasm denial. Nipple play. Degradation. Scara with a tongue piercing. Fingersucking.

I am glad a request like this popped up again. I was writing a similar request a few months ago, but Tumblr glitched and ate it whole before I could post it😭

All you wanted was the student council president's attention. And despite the lazy way Scaramouche approached the position, he still enforced the school rules. Breaking the school rules would get his attention.

So that's what you did week in and week out. You even spent your weekend thinking up ways to make trouble for him.

However, before you realized you were in over your head, it was already too late.

Scaramouche's cock was throbbing seeing the look on your face. There was a shy, embarrassed flush on your cheeks as you looked at him. You were sitting on his office desk with your legs spread. Your panties lay forgotten on the floor, your skirt hiked up around your thighs. Your blouse was open and hanging off one shoulder, your bra pulled down off of your breasts.

"How many times have you been sent to my office this week, hm?" His eyes were hooded in an annoyed and aroused look. A smirk tugged on the corners of his lips, though. He practically seen the embarrassed realization in your eyes when you felt how wet you are.

You could barely look at him, fidgeting a little on his desk. Your eyes slid away from him shyly, catching sight of his hand inching closer between your legs. Your breath quietly hitched in your throat in anticipation. "Three. It's been three this week," You let out a flustered noise.

"That's how many times I am going to deny you the privilege of cumming," The teasing smirk widened into one of cruelty when your eyes widened. He knew your poor little brain hadn't even considered that as a punishment. He saw it on your face.

His fingers hovered over your throbbing clit just to tease you. He could tell you were dying to move your hips a little, bringing your clit closer to his fingers. "Lick," He commanded, bringing his hand up and tapping two fingers on your lips.

Your tongue swept out to lick his fingers. Your licks were long, languid and indulging. You look just as good as he imagined you would look while he fisted his cock at night. He'd always wondered what you would look like reduced to a pliable, drooling slut.

"Is this what you wanted?" Scaramouche purred, pushing the tips of his fingers into your mouth, "To be the student council president's pet slut?" He had half the mind to order you onto your knees to tend to his straining cock, but breaking you took priority.

He pressed down on your tongue, making you let out a soft, choked moan. "Mhm," You replied, sucking on the tips of his fingers. His fingers are so beautiful. And they could certainly do a lot more than yours could.

You let out a whine of protest as Scaramouche took his fingers out of your mouth. "Did you think I was going to indulge you? What do you think a punishment is, slut?" There would be plenty of time to make you happily choke on his cum spattered fingers when he was finished with you later.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words were cut off before they could form. You felt him part your drooling folds, slowly tracing the shape of your pussy. A shiver of pleasure curled up your spine as the tips of fingers slowly circled your clit.

You threw your head and moaned, shamelessly grinding your pussy on his fingers. Your clit throbbed as his fingers teased it at various paces. Paces that were torture for you. Your legs were starting to shake, your walls clamping around nothing from the stimulation.

You felt a hand roughly grasp the back of your head. "Look at me while I make you moan, whore," He moved your head so you would look at him. You only moaned louder hearing his consistent degradation.

"Y-Yes, sir," You managed. His fingers were expertly coiling the knot of your orgasm tighter in your stomach. He groaned hearing you address him as sir, a rightful title considering his position as student council president.

In his opinion, anyways.

You squirmed as he withdrew his touch, seeing your body twitching and on the verge of cumming. He watched you shake as you came down from being denied.

"Look at you," Scaramouche taunted, bringing his fingers up to examine the way your slick shined on them, "Making a mess on my fingers. Does your insolence know no bounds?"

"Please, will you let me cum if I apologize?" There were tears in your eyes as you looked at him. Your watery eyes made more precum soak his jeans.

"No," He replied, bracing an arm around your back. He arched your back, bringing your chest closer to his mouth as he leaned down. He slowly swirled his tongue around your nipple. Shocks of pleasure buzzed right to your clit, reigniting that warm feeling in your stomach.

The ball of his tongue piercing rubbed on your sensitive nipple as it hardened on his tongue. You were embarrassingly sensitive from being denied earlier. The stimulation of his tongue piercing took your breath away.

You could do nothing but whimper and moan as he sucked on your nipple. It was startling to you how good it felt to be sexually tortured by him. "Please, please! I'll be a good girl I promise," You pleaded, reaching for the hand that was kneading and fondling your other breast.

Your hand shook as you tried to move it between your legs. The look in your eyes was so desperate. You are a pliable play thing for him to enjoy. He jerked his hand from yours. "Troublesome sluts don't get to decide when they cum," He growled, grazing his teeth over your nipple.

You are breaking so well for him.

Scaramouche waited until your body was gripped with the tell tale signs of cumming. Drool rolled down your breast as he sucked on your nipple. He couldn't stand the throbbing in his cock anymore, reaching down to hastily palm it. Fuck you look and sound so intoxicating.

The way his tongue was lingering on your nipple gave you some hope that he was going to go easy on you and let you cum.

How wrong you were.

"We have still got one more to go," Scaramouche reminded you, releasing your nipple with a wet pop. "How much longer can you last, I wonder?"

[lightyaoigami]

☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ how to resume ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ

after 10 years & 6 jobs in corporate america, i would like to share how to game the system. we all want the biggest payoff for the least amount of work, right?

know thine enemy: beating the robots

i see a lot of misinformation about how AI is used to scrape resumes. i can't speak for every company but most corporations use what is called applicant tracking software (ATS).

no respectable company is using chatgpt to sort applications. i don't know how you'd even write the prompt to get a consumer-facing product to do this. i guarantee that target, walmart, bank of america, whatever, they are all using B2B SaaS enterprise solutions. there is not one hiring manager plinking away at at a large language model.

ATS scans your resume in comparison to the job posting, parses which resumes contain key words, and presents the recruiter and/or hiring manager with resumes with a high "score." the goal of writing your resume is to get your "score" as high as possible.

but tumblr user lightyaoigami, how do i beat the robots?

great question, y/n. you will want to seek out an ATS resume checker. i have personally found success with jobscan, which is not free, but works extremely well. there is a free trial period, and other ATS scanners are in fact free. some of these tools are so sophisticated that they can actually help build your resume from scratch with your input. i wrote my own resume and used jobscan to compare it to the applications i was finishing.

do not use chatgpt to write your resume or cover letter. it is painfully obvious. here is a tutorial on how to use jobscan. for the zillionth time i do not work for jobscan nor am i a #jobscanpartner i am just a person who used this tool to land a job at a challenging time.

the resume checkers will tell you what words and/or phrases you need to shoehorn into your bullet points - i.e., if you are applying for a job that requires you to be a strong collaborator, the resume checker might suggest you include the phrase "cross-functional teams." you can easily re-word your bullets to include this with a little noodling.

don't i need a cover letter?

it depends on the job. after you have about 5 years of experience, i would say that they are largely unnecessary. while i was laid off, i applied to about 100 jobs in a three-month period (#blessed to have been hired quickly). i did not submit a cover letter for any of them, and i had a solid rate of phone screens/interviews after submission despite not having a cover letter. if you are absolutely required to write one, do not have chatgpt do it for you. use a guide from a human being who knows what they are talking about, like ask a manager or betterup.

but i don't even know where to start!

i know it's hard, but you have to have a bit of entrepreneurial spirit here. google duckduckgo is your friend. don't pull any bean soup what-about-me-isms. if you truly don't know where to start, look for an ATS-optimized resume template.

a word about neurodivergence and job applications

i, like many of you, am autistic. i am intimately familiar with how painful it is to expend limited energy on this demoralizing task only to have your "reward" be an equally, if not more so, demoralizing work experience. i don't have a lot of advice for this beyond craft your worksona like you're making a d&d character (or a fursona or a sim or an OC or whatever made up blorbo generator you personally enjoy).

and, remember, while a lot of office work is really uncomfortable and involves stuff like "talking in meetings" and "answering the phone," these things are not an inherent risk. discomfort is not tantamount to danger, and we all have to do uncomfortable things in order to thrive. there are a lot of ways to do this and there is no one-size-fits-all answer. not everyone can mask for extended periods, so be your own judge of what you can or can't do.

i like to think of work as a drag show where i perform this other personality in exchange for money. it is much easier to do this than to fight tooth and nail to be unmasked at work, which can be a risk to your livelihood and peace of mind. i don't think it's a good thing that we have to mask at work, but it's an important survival skill.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ good luck ⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎ ﾟ｡⋆

[mack-mack-mack]

Very Demure, Very Mindful-Toto Wolff

First time posting on Tumblr. I think you all would appreciate this more here than on AO3.

Summmary: Mr. Wolff was the…most interesting person to work with. He was always willing to participate in a trend, but he always took extra convincing. I have to basically beg on my knees every time I step into his office asking for content. He seemed to enjoy watching me struggle and I still don't know how to handle that. It felt like I was losing a game I didn't quite know I was playing.

or

Toto is very mindful, very demure (We all saw the video).

I love my job. I swear I do. I mean how many get to say they follow the Mercedes Formula One team around, convincing them to participate in social media challenges and trends?

Unfortunately, some days it was an impossible task. On other days, it was the best job in the world. Today was one of those rough days. 

George was the easiest person to make videos with. He was charismatic and funny. The audience ate him up every time. Lewis was an enigma. I was terrified of the man. He was way too cool for TikTok let alone casual conversation with the social media manager. The crew was always eager and the junior divisions often came up with their own ideas…that they would send me at all hours of the day, begging me to do whatever it was the next time they were together. 

And then there was Toto. 

Mr. Wolff was the…most interesting person to work with. He was always willing to participate in a trend, but he always took extra convincing. I have to basically beg on my knees every time I step into his office asking for content. He seemed to enjoy watching me struggle and I still don't know how to handle that. It felt like I was losing a game I didn't quite know I was playing.

He flusters me. He makes me blush and I have to fight the giggles that try to escape when he speaks to me. And then he makes this really intense eye contact and I forget how to breathe. Every. Single. Time. 

It wasn't right to have a crush on the Team Principal. But honestly, who didn't? Have you seen him? Can I be blamed? No. 

I had already collected footage of George, Kimi, and a few others for the day. That was easy and it was fun. Lewis wasn't in today so his photoshoot from the last race weekend would suffice. Huge weight off my shoulders, really. If I had to work with both Lewis and Toto today I don’t think I would have survived.

Maybe I’ll post a Roscoe slideshow and count that for Lewis. I’ll text his agent later. 

I nodded and wrote down a few notes on the outline attached to my clipboard, noticing the limited content I gathered while at headquarters. It was race weekend so everyone was heading to Zaandavort in a few days. I knew I would end up with more footage over the weekend and plenty to edit before we left. 

It was time to visit Toto though. Which meant I had to stop avoiding the office at the end of the hall on the top floor and actually speak to the older man. I checked the watch on my wrist and saw it was 4:30. I had an hour to get up the nerve, talk to him, film things, and not melt into a puddle at his feet. Easy.

Most people had left the office already, preparing to jet off the next day, so it was silent as I made my way to the elevators and up to the top floor of the building, turning left at the landing. I took a deep breath, shaking out my hands as I approached the end of the hall. I stopped in front of his slightly ajar door and gave myself an internal pep talk.

You're a bad bitch and you will not succumb to Toto. He is just a man. You eat men for breakfast. 

I rapped on the door three times, waiting for the response from inside.

I heard the tapping of keys cease after a moment and then an accented voice spoke, “Yes?”

I pushed the door open with shaky hands, “Hi, Mr. Wolff,” 

He smiled when I walked in and shook his head, “I’ve told you to call me Toto,”

“And I told you I can’t do that, sir,”

The man stared at me from behind his desk, his head tilted and the same small smile on his lips. Very kissable lips.

Stop it.

“Very well. Come in. Shut the door.” He motioned me into the room.

I walked in and stood in front of his desk and closed the door behind me. I walked to his desk but didn’t sit down on any of the plush chairs. I was far too jumpy to take a seat. 

“How can I help you, dear?” Toto asked standing from his seat, coming to the front of the desk, and leaning a hip against it.

Did he just call me dear? Why is he so close to me?

I resisted the urge to take a step back, maintaining the foot of space between us. He was close enough I could smell him and it was already starting to cloud my senses. 

“Umm,” I had to remember the question. What did he ask?

He arched an eyebrow at me but said nothing as I stuttered in front of him. Was he smirking? Did he think this was funny?

“I-uh. I need some social media content from you if that's okay. There's this trend that everyone is doing right now and the crew thought it would be the most funny if you were the one to do it. And I have to listen because they are so right. It would be hilarious. Really it would. But only if you want to, Mr. Wolff. It’s silly really,” I was rambling. I shut my mouth mid-thought and stared up at the man in front of me.

“It would be funny if I did it, you say? And why is that, darling?” He was fully smiling now, his eyes sparkling with something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. 

“So there’s this trend, right? And it's really silly,” I was repeating myself. I want to crawl into my skin, “Basically there was this creator on TikTok who made a video and it blew up and now everyone is making videos saying ‘very, demure, very mindful’ and it would be funny if you did it cause y’know…um,” I trailed, fidgeting under his unrelenting gaze.

“Because I’m so very demure, very mindful,?” Toto cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

“I mean, I um well...I mean do you feel demure and mindful, Mr. Wolff? I can’t tell you how you feel so do you feel demure and mindful? If you don’t want to we won’t make the video and I’ll leave you be. It’s really okay, I’ll ask George to do it this weekend. It’ll be funny too,” I couldn't stop talking. I always word-vomited in front of this man. Have since I was hired. I am praying for the day he finally decides to shut me up.

He just stared at me, that same look still dancing in his dark eyes. I stared back at him, frozen in place. I could feel my cheeks getting hot. 

Please stop looking at me like that or I’m going to combust.

“What was that, darling?” Toto asked, licking his lips and leaning back onto his hands. He looked at me from foot to head and came back to rest on my face.

“What was what?” I asked quickly, too quickly.

“You’re going to combust if I look at you like this? How am I looking at you, then?”

I said that out loud. Shit, I said that out loud. 

My eyes widened and I felt my mouth opening and closing like a fish on dry land, “I am so sorry, sir. I just meant. I mean I. I-. Shit. Shit, I can't say shit in front of you. I’m going to stop talking and I am going to leave. Have a great day, Mr. Wolff,” I placed a foot behind me, ready to turn and run out of the office and go home. I wanted to crawl into bed and never come out.

It could've been worse. I could've said a lot worse.

“Wait,” Toto reached out and grabbed my hand.

I froze staring down at my hand in his. 

What the fuck? Why is he holding my hand? 

I looked back up at him and released the breath I had been holding.

“Yes, sir?” I whispered, my voice barely audible through the tightness in my throat.

“You need to stop calling me sir or I might be the one to combust,” He whispered back, equally as quiet.

What? Did I hear him right?

“Sir, you're my boss. It’s kinda the thing to call you,” I replied, confused.

“Ah, ah. I am not your boss. I do not give you directions or sign your paycheck. I already feel wrong enough, do not call me your boss and make it worse,” Toto tugged me closer, taking the gap between us from a foot to mere inches. 

I gasped sharply at the movement, afraid to look away from our hands resting on his lap.

“Make what worse…sir?” I looked at him through my lashes, pulling my lip into my mouth.

He tracked every movement, his hand tightening around mine.

“You don’t want to know, dear. Somethings are better left unsaid, yeah?”

We were whispering in the quiet room as if someone nearby would hear us. As if the building wasn't empty at almost 5 o’clock the day before race weekend began. 

“But what if I do? What if I want it to be said? What if I want to make things worse?” I met his eyes finally, nerves or butterflies churning in my stomach. I couldn’t tell. I don't think I cared all that much. The way he was looking at me was enough to clear any anxiety I was feeling. 

“That’s a very dangerous thing to say, dear. Only say things you mean not things you’ll regret,” Toto’s eyes were hooded, as he looked at me, brushing his thumb over my hand.

“I like living on the dangerous side, Mr. Wolff,” I did not recognize the voice that came out of me.

I do not do dangerous. I don’t ever do dangerous. What am I saying?

”I told you not to call me that,” His voice had gone deep and husky and it was doing something to me that I didn’t want to admit. 

“Make me, sir,” Who the fuck was she? That couldn’t have been me, no way. 

Toto made a noise in the back of his throat and it sent shivers down my spine. He pulled me closer, placing one of his free hands behind my neck. I was inches from him. I could feel his breath on my skin, “I am going to kiss you now, is that okay?”

I nodded, my eyes falling shut, my head tilting up. He pressed his lips to mine and every thought left my mind. He was so gentle, nothing like I thought he would be but somehow so much better. His hand was firm behind my neck, keeping me in place. We were still holding hands and he continued rubbing his thumb over mine. 

He slowly explored my mouth with his, moving his lips with mine. He lightly licked my bottom lip, requesting entrance. I opened my mouth, letting him in, begging him to take me. 

The kiss deepened. He removed his hand from mine and moved it to my hip, squeezing gently and pulling me close. I was standing between his open legs, hands at my side, still in shock from what was going on.

Wait what was going on?

I pulled away, somehow, “Wait, wait, what is happening, Mr. Wolff?”

He looked at me and chuckled softly, “I am kissing you. I would like to continue to kiss you and much more if I am being honest with you, darling. Is that okay?”

”Yes but why?” It took all of me not to fall back into him but I needed to know. I couldn’t just let this man kiss me out of nowhere without some kind of explanation.

”Because you are beautiful. And you are strong. You are kind to others and very funny. You are excellent at your job and I admire you. I want to do this because I want you and I have for a long time. And I see the way you look at me. I see how red your cheeks become and the way your breath catches when I get close. I know you want this too. Am I correct, darling?” His gaze didn’t move from mine, captivating me in its intensity. He was being honest that much I could tell.

I nodded taking a shaky breath, “Yes. You’re right. I do. I really do, Mr. Wolff. I-“

He kissed me again, crashing our mouths together, an effective way of shutting me up. He tugged me to his body, his chest and mine pressed together. His hand on my waist went around to the small of my back, pulling me until our bodies were completely flush. I could feel every inch of him against me. Every inch.

I laced my fingers into his hair, moaning quietly. He bit into my bottom lip, then licked into my mouth. We stayed like that, pressed together, exploring each other for a while. I couldn’t tell how long I was lost in Toto’s embrace.

He pulled his mouth and pressed it to my ear, “What can I do to you?” He pressed a wet kiss to my neck as I took in what he said.

”Anything, sir,” I was breathless, his lips leaving flames everywhere he pressed them.

”Anything?” He asked in my ear again.

I nodded, choking on another moan.

”Lovely,” He stood from his desk and turned us around. He put his hands under my thighs and lifted me onto the desk, pushing things out of the way. Some pens and files fell to the floor and he made no move to pick them up. I placed my hands on his chest, fiddling with the buttons on his white shirt. He nodded and made a soft noise, urging me to take it off. I slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his strong shoulders. I dragged my hands down his toned chest, taking in every hard plane and soft angle. 

Toto tilted my head to the side to gain better access to my neck. He continued his journey off my neck and down my shoulder, pulling the neckline out of the way to reach my skin. The hand that wasn't in my hair was fiddling with the bottom of my shirt, silently requesting me to take it off. I promptly yanked my shirt over my head and I heard him let out a low chuckle.

”What do we have here?” He asked, raking his eyes over my naked abdomen and breasts still trapped in the dark lace of my bra.

 He ran his hands up my hips and sides and back down, his calloused thumbs a perfect contrast to my soft skin. His mouth was warm as he pressed his lips to my collarbone, working his way across my chest. He hovered his mouth above one of my nipples, his warm breath raising it to attention. He took it into his mouth and bit down lightly with his teeth, then licked it to soothe the sharpness. He moved his mouth to the other side, leaving a wet splotch in his wake, and did the same thing, until my breasts were aching to be set free. I arched my chest, begging him to touch me, please me, anything. 

“Someone’s eager, isn’t she?” Toto’s hands were on the top of my thighs and he slowly spread them further apart. 

He fell to his knees in front of me, and I stared at the top of his head in shock.

Toto Wolff, team principal of Mercedes, was on his knees in front of me kissing my thighs. What the fuck was happening?

“What are you doing, sir?” I asked, placing my hand in his hair and the other on the desk behind me. 

“I plan on eating a little snack. Is that okay?” Toto looked up at me, a smirk on his swollen lips.

Holy fucking shit. He wants to eat me out. How the fuck is this happening right now?

He pulled off each of my shoes one by one, cradling my calf in his hands as he did so. Toto raised his hands to the waistband of my pants, popping the button and slowly taking down the zipper. He let his hands drift back up to the bare skin of my stomach again, gentle fingers dragging across my skin, leaving goosebumps behind. I let out another shaky moan at his touch, fisting the hair I held in my hand.

He drew his mouth down from my belly button over the open seam of my zipper. He used his hands to start shimmying my pants off of me. I lifted my hips so he could continue pulling them down and off my body. He drew a hand up my leg from my ankle to my knee to my thigh and back down. Then his mouth followed a similar path on the inside of my leg. I was in a daze, his mouth had me entranced. My breath was ragged and my hands were barely holding me up. I let out a louder moan as he licked a long strip up my center and continued kissing down my other leg. He let out a hungry growl as he did it. 

I panted quietly, feeling the wetness I knew he tasted through my panties. I needed him to hurry up,  “Mr. Wolff, please, sir,” 

“I love when you beg for me, darling,”

I softly moaned at his words, feeling myself clench around nothing.

”Please,” I said again, reaching for him, to drag him closer to my middle.

”So needy for me,” He whispered on my inner thigh before brushing another kiss there.

He tucked a single finger into my underwear, feeling the desire gathered there. He traced his finger down my slit, gathering some of the slickness, removing it, and then sticking his finger in his mouth, maintaining eye contact the entire time, “So fucking good, baby,”

My thighs tensed around his head and he turned his head to press another kiss to my thigh. I placed a hand in his hair, tugging him forward.

He kissed me through my panties again with a breathy laugh. He placed a finger on each side of my hips, under my underwear, and tugged them off, until I was completely bare before him. 

I should be nervous. I really should. But I wasn't I just needed his mouth on me as soon as possible. 

Toto looked up at me again, waiting for my nod of consent.

”Please, Toto,” I said. 

”Sir. You call me sir,” He pressed his mouth to my core, kissing directly onto my clit, sending a shock through my system.

”Fuck! Yes, Sir.  Mr. Wolff, I need you,” I moaned loudly, my hand clenching in his hair. 

Toto licked a stripe down my slit and back up, circling the little swollen bundle of nerves. He took it into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing it and going back towards my entrance. He dipped his tongue, lapping up the pre-cum already collecting. He grabbed one of my legs and placed it over his shoulder, changing the angle and driving himself deeper into me. He moved his hand from my thigh and dragged his thumb from his tongue to my clit. His thumb pressed against the bud and worked it in circles while his tongue was moving inside of me.  

The noises I was letting out were filthy. He continued his silent assault and I felt my orgasm building. He removed his mouth and pressed a kiss to the inside of my thigh. He took one long finger, inserted it in me, and curled it, immediately hitting a spot deep in me that made my hips buck in response.

Toto tsked me and lightly bit down on my thigh as his finger continued working me. He added a second finger and brought his mouth back to my clit.

”Mr. Wolff, I’m not going to last much longer,” I panted out, feeling the precipice approaching rapidly.

”Good. Come for me, darling” He curled his fingers again and took my clit between his teeth. That did me in.

My entire body tensed and I exploded on Toto’s fingers, walls clenching around him. 

“That’s a good girl,” Toto purred, continuing to draw the orgasm out of me. 

My body stopped shaking after a moment and he removed his fingers from inside me. He took them into his mouth and licked them clean. 

I stared at him wide-eyed, breaths coming rapidly, watching him clean up. He stood and reached over his desk to grab a tissue. He patted the inside of my thighs, removing the dampness there. He reached down to the chair by his side to retrieve my panties before gently sliding them back up my legs. Neither of us had spoken yet.

He stood up and stepped between my legs, placing his hands on either side of my face.

”Are you okay?” Toto whispered, thumbs brushing my cheekbones.

I nodded and he pressed his lips to my forehead before wrapping his arms around me. We stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other. 

We pulled away when I shivered as the air conditioning kicked on, realizing I was still in my panties and bra.

Toto bent to help me collect my discarded clothing and handed it to me. I pulled on my shirt and pants and tugged back on my shoes. Toto stood watching me the entire time and I glanced up to meet his gaze when I was done.

“Yes, sir?” I asked, a blush warming my cheeks.

His eyes flashed at the word choice and he shook his head, “I want to do that again soon,”

I giggled and looked down, “Okay, Mr. Wolff,”

He shook his head at me, stepped forward, and placed another kiss on my forehead. 

“Mr. Wolff?” I said a moment later when he pulled away.

“Hmm?” 

“We still have to make that TikTok,”

He threw his head back and laughter erupted from him, “Maybe at the paddock we can do something, yeah?”

I nodded and smiled at him, “We can make that work. I’ll draw something up for us to do,” 

Toto stared at me a moment longer, “Do you want to go get dinner, darling?”

I looked at him, slightly shocked, “Dinner?”

Toto nodded and moved behind his desk to grab his things and shut down his computers.

“With me?”

“Yes of course with you. I know it’s the wrong order but I figured we could go out to eat,”

My mouth dropped open “Like a date?”

Toto looked up at me, confused at my confusion, “Yes like a date,”

I nodded slowly waiting for him to say Nevermind.

He did not.

“Okay. Well. Okay. Yeah, let me get my things then. I need to stop at my office,”

Toto grabbed his jacket and his bag and came around the front of the desk, “Let’s go then,”

He took my hand in his and started tugging me out of his office. 

“Yes, sir”

[icantdothistodaybruh]

[[Tumblr ate another Anon's ask about my way of drawing\painting I can't with this app😭😭😭 If half a year later this ask mysteriously reappears in my notes like previous I'll edit screenshot of it up here, other then that I just hope you'll still see this post, dear Anon🕯🥀]]

Hello Anon!

I made a quick timelapse of one of my old-ish work for you, under the cut I'll go into more details about the process! I hope it'll be of use to you, but don't expect some crazy insights, I'm a messy artist ahjkakhj

So, step one! When the sketch is clean enough for me, I go in with plain colours to block out objects that I'll be refining on separate layers later. At the same time it helps me take a step back from details and break down the image into bigger, simpler shapes, so it's easier to find better composition and proportions.

Step two (actual colouring) Usually my brain shuts down on me on that part too, Anon… Basically I use a very limited palette at the start and gradually build up more hues and contrasts as I go. Sometimes I do a gray scale drawing first to get my values right, but this one is simple and was more of a vent&relax piece for me so there is none of that haha Also, since I tend to work on as little layers as possible and merge sketch layer and colour layer together at literally the first opportunity I get, most of the times I have a copy of my sketch saved on a separate hidden layer in case I overdo the painting part and need some roughness back.

Step three, Details! And when I say details I mean

D E T A I L S .

There is simply something magical in squiggly lines and dots… I can never fight them…

There is not much of advise I can really give you here, just do what feels right to you, what looks beautiful to you. Make your art finished in the way you see it finished, take another step back and ask yourself "what's missing? what feels undone? empty?". Combine styles, find new patterns and brushes, most importantly HAVE FUN!!!

Sooner or later you'll find the perfect algorithm for painting and drawing, only to 5, 20, 50 works down the line realize that's something in your own style doesn't sit right with you anymore and feels rather routinish and start that journey anew.

Never stop your searching, chase after your own definition of beauty because without you there will be nobody to show it to others.

[lowkeyrobin]

Hello! I would like to please request a MCYT preference (Quackity, Tommy, Ranboo, Karl, Tubbo, Badlinu) dating a SO who is a model. Their partner always look amazing in photos whether its blurry or not. They can even make a simple outfit look amazing.

You know those viewers pick my outfits videos (example: Dan and Phil)? You bet your ass that they will do it with their partners.

oooo yeah sure!!! ; also sorry if this is like wrong in any way, idk much about modeling lmaooo ; thank you for requesting, hope you enjoy!

MCYT ; model babe

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, quackity

warnings ; language

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

the most supportive person everrrrr

you model mostly for alt brands so when a new thing pops up he's ON IT

he's a little dumb when it comes to remembering when you do certain shoots and he's like "when was this???"

always bragging how he pulled a 10

"remembering I have a model for an s/o 😍😍😍"

tubbo replies with "stfu"

you reply to him with "hater era is the worst tubbo era"

"u aren't even that big of a model u model for like hot topic bitch"

"learn to use commas"

he's so jealous of you but he keeps it lowkey

"I wish I had hair like yours" "I wish my smile was as pretty/handsome as yours"

you have to constantly remind him he's a 10 too 😔

RANBOO

plugging your shoots and socials all the time

you do some streams with them teaching them and Charlie how to model/what you do for shoots

you three did a "pick my outfit" video and posted the pics to insta before posting the video 💀

"guys... what happened?"

"I think they got drunk because what is this 💀💀"

"new y/n shoot dropped : we got drunk edition"

"HELP THESE ARE THE BEST"

became the face of tumblr memes for like 2 years after that

you also model for their merch/have given them tips on modeling the merch as well

model duo 😍

FREDDIE BADLINU

sooooo infatuated with you

saves literally every professional photo taken of you

"me and my s/o 😊❤️" and it's the cutest couples video ever of the bf swooning over his gf

always sending you poses to try out and stuff for your own personal pics

he always makes you the center in all his pretty photos and getting you to model / show him how to pose

he's literally so obsessed and thinks you're so fucking cool cause you model

even if it's just content creator merch or small shops, he's just like 🤯

"i went to a shoot with y/n... video drops tomorrow 3pm est"

"you ate that dress up freddie, trust"

yall r THE two pretty best friends

ALEX QUACKITY

BAD BITCH! WITH HER BADDIE FRIEND! TWO BAD BITCHES TWO BAD BITCHES!!!

anyways

sooooo infatuated

brings u on stream when he's lonely just to stare at you for a minute

"this is my baddie model s/o guys, say hi! 🤗🤗"

replies "BARK BARK BARK" under your posts like some crazy stan

the only stan u appreciate

he has a secret fan page for you

he edits too

they're pretty good for a beginner trying transition edits

made you a model playlist so you can get hyped for shoots as well and feel like a bad bitch

[accirax]

Danganronpa: Despair Time Chapter 2 Episode 12 Dissection

DANGANRONPA DESPAIR TIME IS BACK, BABY!!!

And in the vein of what many others have being doing since the episode came out, I will here be posting my thoughts on what this latest episode has brought to the table. This post will be a mixture of pointing out things I found fun/interesting and more serious theorizing about the murder and the events of the surrounding chapter. I also tried not to read too many other people's opinions or theories before writing my own post so that I hopefully wouldn't have my immediate opinions swayed, so I apologize if I've missed any critical easter eggs that others have pointed out or if I'm just beating a dead horse.

Let the episode commence!

SPOILERS for Danganronpa: Despair Time through Chapter 2, Episode 12!

Really important/long stuff will probably have a header-y title under it as well. I also might skip around in time a bit to put relevant pieces of evidence together? IDK, I'm kinda winging this for this first episode.

The Whole AM/PM Thing

Charles: The evidence against David-- in fact, our entire line of reasoning hinges on the fact that Arei must have been killed at around 7:30 PM last night. But the primary reason we believe the murder occurred at that time is because of the fish found at the crime scene. From that, Teruko concluded that since the killer accessed the relaxation room for water, the murder couldn't have occurred during night time. So, unless I'm missing some other piece of evidence that could explain it... Why couldn't the killer simply have taken the water during daytime and stored it for later use?

Well, by this point I think that pretty much everyone (on Tumblr, at least) was in agreement that Arei was killed in the morning rather than the evening, no matter who their personal choice of killer was. So, the murder happening in the morning isn't much of a surprise.

For all my talk of trying not to look at others' theories, I did talk with my sister @venus-is-thinking in person after we watched the episode, and she brought up a really good point that I'd like to reiterate here. Sorry for stealing something that you'll certainly bring up in your post as well! I just want as many people to be aware of it as possible.

During the investigation, Nico says that they fed the fish last night after they ate dinner, and didn't notice any fish missing at that time. To be fair, Teruko tries to press them for a specific time, and Nico responds that they don't remember at what hour exactly they fed the fish or ate dinner.

However (likely relevantly to the murder) we do have specific intel about last night's dinner to get a better sense of some timing. When Teruko is talking to Charles and Whit in the Computer Room, Whit remarks that it's "past dinner time," and Teruko's stomach growls. This is likely using Whit's internal clock and sense of when dinner time is as opposed to a MonoTV-mandated meal time, but given that no one else is in the Kitchen besides Teruko, Charles, Whit, and David when the former three enter, and we know that Nico must have had dinner before the Relaxation Room closed at 10 PM, we can probably assume that Nico also ate dinner around a regular "dinner time."

However x2, we also know that, after Teruko, Charles, and Whit go to the Kitchen, Whit sends David to the Relaxation Room, and Teruko mentions that she was planning to eat there as well. That means that we have three accounts of students believing that the Relaxation Room was open at that time, so we can assert that the terucharwhit dinner scene occurs before 10 PM.

So, what does this mean? Well, we'll start by assuming that Nico ate dinner at, like... 6:30? Hu says that she and Eden have a tradition of cleaning up after dinner together, starting at 7 PM. I'm ballparking that eating a meal might take about 30 minutes, so that would mean everyone is done at 7:00. Therefore, Nico probably fed the fish at around 7:00 as well.

We'll also set egg dinner (that's what I'm calling terucharwhit + David dinner now) at, like 9:30. Once again assuming that someone could eat dinner in about 30 minutes, that means either David or Teruko could comfortably eat their dinner before the Relaxation Room closed. It also gives the culprit basically the widest possible amount of time to steal the fish, and I like to be as all-inclusive as possible.

To return to the main point for a moment, Venus' argument was that, because Nico interacted with the fish at night and didn't notice any of them missing, the culprit still must have taken the fish at night (but before 10 PM), not just at any point of the day. Based on my time frame, that means that whoever killed Arei (or someone working with them) must have gotten the fish at some time between 7:00 and 9:30. Let's run through who that could possibly be:

Teruko: There's a small window of opportunity for her to have done it before meeting with Charles and Whit in the Computer Lab, but we didn't see her do that, so I'm gonna say no.

Xander: He was dead.

Charles: I'm pretty sure Charles and Whit have claimed to be together all day, and they were at least already together in the Computer Lab working together on something before Teruko entered. Assuming they weren't in on this together, I'm going to give him a tentative no.

Ace: So, assuming that Ace was telling the truth about overhearing David and Arei on the night of Day 7, he would have been in the Gym at ~9:30 on the night the fish were taken. That is to say, if he had just taken the fish (and potentially even hid them in the Gym fridge), he absolutely could have gone to the Gym afterwards. I don't remember him having any sort of alibi otherwise. Easy yes.

Arei: Given that, other than Ace (and David) claiming to have seen her at 9:30, no one is admitting to have seen Arei since lunchtime, Arei did have a window of opportunity to take the fish. Obviously, why she would (inadvertently or not) help her killer to kill her is still a huge question mark, but we're talking possibility, so it's a yes.

Rose: Rose has no alibi ever because she's asleep. Yes.

Hu: Hu and Eden claim to have a continuous alibi together between 7 and 10 PM. Again, unless they're in on it together, tentative no.

Eden: Same as Hu. Tentative no.

Levi: Levi was "doing his laundry," which even he admits is shaky at best. He's a yes.

Arturo: J says that Arturo was by her side from the entire time between 7:30 and 10 PM. Third time's the charm-- unless Arturo and J were in on it together, Arturo is a tentative no.

Min: She was dead.

David: David entered the Kitchen for egg dinner at ~9:30, but we don't know where he was before that. Similarly, we don't know what happened at the end of Ace's story, which leaves David a window of opportunity to have taken the fish just before the Relaxation Room closed. Either way, definite yes.

Veronika: Veronika was with Teruko at the end of the night, but we don't know where she was before that. She had an opportunity; yes.

J: Arturo's alibi goes both ways. Tentative no.

Whit: Same as Charles. Tentative no.

Nico: Nico both had ample opportunity to have taken the fish before 9:30, and could have been lying about the timing of the fish despite that. Another easy yes.

So, what does that tell us? Well, it likely means that either the killer has to be Ace, Arei, Rose, Levi, David, Veronika, Nico, or someone who has one of those seven as an accomplice, or I/the students have something wrong about the timing. Venus' other point was that it's weird that that hasn't come up at this point in the Trial, so don't be surprised if we come back to it later. Or we're wrong.

And those were my notes on... the first two minutes of the Trial! That whole ramble that probably could have been a whole theory post by itself! God, I need to pick up the pace...

Dang, what a cool detail that literally none of us picked up on (as far as I remember). Seriously, how did nobody even throw that out as an off-the-wall possibility? Anyways, if the body was still swinging, that means the murder-- or at least the hanging-- was recent recent. Sadly, given that no detail is given as to who arrives in the Motive Screening Room when, I don't think we have any further evidence to pin down who this might have been at the moment. Keep it in mind, though.

Okay, so I believe that J is right about "answering her own question" here, but that does therefore lead us to the conclusion that the body probably was drenched in water at some point. I do not know why. It'd be interesting if it was to clean blood off of Arei's body, although Artruro-not-being-the-killer pending there weren't any cuts or scrapes on her body. It could have also been a mistake, it's just weirder to have a mistake that covers the entire body in water. Or, it could be a failure in Arturo's alibi, which is obviously a major point of the episode.

I literally said exactly this while Ace was talking. Thank you Charles <3

First point that I feel people have commented on already: we now know that the DRDT cast believes that they are about 18! This makes sense, given that they believed that they were about to enter their first year of college, which, in the United States, happens at about 18.

Secondly...

Arturo: I started studying medicine when I was twelve. Twelve! All that amounts to is six years of medical training!

Arturo: I was only able to get this far in such a short amount of time because I specialized in plastic surgery, and nothing else. I neglected everything that wasn't immediately relevant to my goals.

Felicity is 3-4 years younger than Arturo. Therefore, she was 8-9 when Arturo started studying medicine. I don't think we have enough info at the moment to speculate as to when Arturo might have left home to pursue being a doctor, other than that 14 is generally the minimum possible age of employment in the US, while the legal age to live alone is 18. I'd love to dive into this more, but I don't think we've been given enough to complete a full timeline. Still, important to keep in mind.

A certified W for verturo shippers. "Adorable" is such a word choice.

Oh, so that's where that came from. Convenient that it doesn't seem to be relevant to this murder, because I have no explanation for it. I wonder if it'll be relevant in the future, though, or if it was just a funny gag that DRDTdev wanted to include.

As much as I've tried to refute Whit mastermind theory in the past, I have to admit that this moment was pretty suspicious for Whit. "Because it was funny" could easily be a coverup for "that's an executable offense but I'm programmed to not want to kill my mastermind so I let it go." It's still not concrete proof by any means, but I can tell that I'll be seeing this screenshot more in the future if I try to argue against Whit being the mastermind again.

Mechanisms, you say? 👀

I have been thinking so much about what the fuck this line means ever since Whit said it. Did they actually spend the night together, and Whit is just framing it in a subversively funny way? Is he saying that he's so sure that Charles doesn't have any friends other than him that there's no possibility that Charles could have been with anyone else other than him? Is he secretly the mastermind, and knows that Charles was alone through watching a security camera? Was he just saying that to be random and banking on being correct? Sir, I do not understand you. You're the best <3

Are J, David, and Veronika Telling the Truth?

Given how popular of an option J being the killer is (and to a lesser extent, David as well), I'm sure there are plenty of people out there right now wondering if this alibi, which seemingly clears J, David, and Veronika of being the blackened, could possibly be untrue. That's what we're going to attempt to examine right now.

For starters, I'm going to eliminate the possibility that all three of them are co-conspirators in Arei's death. Like, yeah, it's possible-- I guess-- but I don't understand what any of their motivations would be, or even if they did all have corresponding motivations, why any of them would have shared them with each other prior to the Trial. It also seems like a mess narratively, with three largely unconnected characters coming together to pull off an unsupported major stunt. So, I don't think this was a planned lie to conceal their teamwork.

All of them do also have plausible enough reasons for being out early in the morning. J shared hers with the Class-- she was hoping to have an Arturo-free breakfast. David makes lots of sense, as he was probably looking around hoping that there would be a body so that the secrets wouldn't be revealed. Veronika might have been awake for the same reasons; looking around for a body in hopes of having another exciting Class Trial. Or, maybe she was just so excited about seeing all the motives that she couldn't sleep. Either way, it doesn't seem too unbelievable to think that any of them would be awake in the morning, so I'm not inclined to believe it's a lie.

The only way I think you could get out of this disqualifying these three is if you say that all three of them, but especially J, are exceptionally quick on their feet.

For this to work, J has to realize ahead of time that David was trying to draw votes to himself in order to purposefully fail the Trial, bank on the fact that this is true, and throw this fake alibi out to him, hoping that he'll accept. If J could win the Class Trial as a blackened, this would also end the killing game early, which is David's stated goal. Veronika is an easier get, given that she might agree to a chaotic lie if she found it interesting enough, but it's still a gamble.

However, this situation is incredibly niche, and still really only works if J specifically is the killer. I think we can pretty officially take David and Veronika out of the running with this. Personally, trying to see things from DRDTdev's point of view, I think he just wanted a clean sweep to remove David from killer contention, and added J and Veronika as collateral as two people who aren't the killer.

I would personally take this alibi as concrete proof that J isn't the killer, but I understand if anyone still thinks there are enough holes in its suddenness to keep J in contention. My deepest condolences to J!culprit truthers-- I'm sure that alibi must've stung. (/gen)

"Harm yourself for fun" secret go brrrrrrr.

I'm making this my new tumblr header.

Yeah, seems in accordance with his actions to me.

Oh my god another "good person" name drop AAAAAAAAAA--

Being good corresponding to sacrificing something is super interesting. Whether he's a culprit or an accomplice or what, I can't help but feel like this theme might apply to Levi in the near future.

But also, David is saying that the sacrifice is being seen as a good person, not that you have to sacrifice being seen as a good person to do good things. That part seems like it relates to David's career. He doesn't seem to like being around people very much, but he's seen as a paragon of motivational speaking because he thinks that those speeches, will, overall, do some good. David would rather be a nobody, but he'll sacrifice himself to do some good for others. Or, at least, that's the charitable reading.

And, the other "good person" jumpscare. This brings our "good people" counter up to 6, including Teruko, Eden, Arei, David, Levi, and Xander.

What the Fuck is David Talking About?

David: After all, it's still unbelievable to me... That I'm the only person here who remembered him. Even if you all lost a year of memories for this killing game, there's no reason you shouldn't have recognized who he was.

Alright. So! This was one of the biggest reveals of the episode. Probably unrelated to the Trial at hand, but very intriguing for the story overall.

I went back to rewatch some of the most prominent David/Xander scenes. From David's introduction, here's everything he says before Xander runs off to grab the pen and paper for the autograph. All of these are said directly to Xander.

David: Woah! (chime sound) Sir, is everything alright? You gave me quite the scare.

David: Yes, that's me, although I don't believe we've met before.

David: Ahaha, you flatter me. But yes, it is my goal to inspire others. I wish to make everyone realize that their aspirations are within grasp; all they have to do is find the motivation within their hearts to inspire them.

David: O-oh, wow. I'm incredibly honored, I suppose? Sorry, I don't really know how to respond.

Interestingly, there isn't actually anything to directly contradict the idea that David remembered Xander at this point, if you get a bit creative with it. Just because David "doesn't think they've met before" doesn't mean that he doesn't know who Xander is, and being "genuinely honored" could have been more genuine than most people interpreted.

There are only two points of contention, the first of which being that David calls Xander "sir." That does read more as David not knowing who he is-- he doesn't call Xander "Xander" even though Teruko already said Xander's name. However, depending on how highly David thought of Xander in the past-- because he certainly seems to think highly of Xander in the present-- David might have wanted to call him "sir" at first as a sign of formality and respect, before getting Xander's permission to be on a first name basis. Even if Xander still calls him Mr. David.

(Goddamn I typed Xander so many times in that paragraph)

The other weird point is when David says "anything for a fan" in response to Xander asking for an autograph, but that's far more excusable. Like, Xander is a massive fan of his, so calling Xander a fan is reasonable. David might have been happy that such a cool guy as Xander was a fan of his, and was stressing that fact out of delight. Or, this is after Teruko caught him slipping, so he could have also reverted into default customer service mode and said that in a more scripted mindset.

Meanwhile, in the scene where David approaches Teruko and Xander after Nico flees the lunch table...

... I CAN'T BELIEVE WE FUCKING MISSED THIS.

Do you see that? Do you see where David says "in person"? That strongly implies that David knew Xander not in person prior to the killing game. Good god, it's been there all along.

Other than that, the scene is full of David being embarrassed at Xander speaking highly of him, David speaking highly of Xander, and, of course, the mutual "you're my idol" moment. Dude, I thought that David was just gaslight gatekeep girlbossing here. You're telling me that everything he was saying about thinking that Xander was the coolest guy on earth was legit? Unreal.

Anyways, I don't have the time to rewatch, like, the entire first Trial to check up on every little comment David makes, but I find that comment about knowing Xander in person definite enough to conclude that David knew who Xander was since the very start of the killing game, not that he remembered something about Xander along the way.

How exactly David knew about Xander is still up in the air. I know that Microphony has a theory that David remembered Xander from their time together at Hope's Peak, and while it's a great theory and I don't doubt that the two did go to Hope's Peak together, I have a bit of a hard time believing that. My only holdup is that I feel like letting David remember Hope's Peak would be too powerful, and having him remember being with Xander at Hope's Peak while remembering nothing else about his time there is too... like, specific? Nit-picky? I don't have the word, but I hope you understand what I mean.

Instead, I think that David might remember what Xander did in response to the North C and Chariton incident that presumably earned him the title of Ultimate Rebel. That makes more sense to me as something that would make David idolize Xander in the same way that Xander idolized him-- if David just remembers their time at school, he would probably remember Xander on more friendly terms. It would also be super convenient to have David still be alive with memories of, say, Richard Spurling, to share with the class in future chapters, now that Xander is too dead to say anything more on the subject.

Sadly, I don't remember if there's any information in Literature Girl Insane to point theories in either direction. I'm gonna have to rewatch FF's video again sometime fr.

Is David Telling the Truth?

David: We're... in a television show, after all. That's... what MonoTV said, right? "Entertainment" is an ongoing show. If Min successfully got away with the very first murder and escaped while we all died, then isn't that way less interesting for a TV show? What's the point of roping 14 other people into one murder, only to kill them all off immediately? The killer is supposed to fail and be executed. We're all supposed to catch the killer, again and again, and participate in trial after trial. You're supposed to try to survive. All of you who are trying to survive these class trials to continue living on are playing straight into MonoTV's hands. As if I'll accept that. I don't care how low I'll sink, or how despicable I'll have to become. I'll do anything to carry on Xander's ideals by ending this killing game, even if it means that I have to dirty my hands.

Firstly, I'm so glad that we're returning to the fact that this is a televised killing game! It seems like it has to be really important to whatever the lore is, so I'm glad that the students haven't artificially forgotten that fact until Chapter 6.

Secondly, I phrased this part as "is David telling the truth" because, initially, I thought that David had a different reason for lying about killing Arei. My thought was that he thought that pathetically advocating for himself would only make himself look more guilty, so he switched up tactics by making it look like so easy of a victory that people like Teruko would wind up proving his innocence themselves. Because that seemed plausible, I wanted to examine if David could have come up with this explanation on the fly. He's known for lying and should be socially savvy, so it's possible that this argument was just a red herring to conceal his true intentions.

However, given the prior section in which I argued that it really does seem like David knew and admired Xander prior to the killing game, I'm more inclined to believe that this was the true reason. Furthermore, this was a really interesting scene, and it'd be a shame to introduce such a fascinating character idea to toss it away for an "actually, he was just trying to lie about this Chapter 2 Trial."

There's also the good ol' Literature Girl Insane, for real this time. This plan reminded me so much of the "tallying votes" scene that I had to check it out for myself.

[12] “Majority rule” is known to be the fairest method of making decisions for a group. That's why murderers never complained when we voted for them to die.

The voting results definitely sound like David's plan. If he successfully made himself the killer, everyone would be executed, and while he would have "victory" over the killing game, it would certainly be a hollow one.

The 16 vote tally is still a bit more confusing, but I think you could relate it to David's plan as well. If you assume that David is the one getting all of the votes, you could say that his plan to end the killing game no matter the cost (throwing away his career, being hated by everyone, possibly even killing someone himself) might make him guilty of a crime/worthy of being voted for, whether he literally kills someone or not. Therefore, if the majority hates him and he achieves the closest thing to "victory" that he can, there's no reason for him to complain if it means he has to die. It could be his justification for why he has to fill out his mission, even if, in his heart, he doesn't want to.

I don't know if that's the explanation of footnote 12 or just an explanation with the new scenes given, but I think it's a possibility. There's also certainly far more to dive into regarding both David's worldview and the motivations behind the killing game, but if I started looking into that now, I wouldn't publish this post until way later. I'll have to leave that analysis for another time and/or another person.

Love Hu for this. At least for someone like me, who finds David's mindset sort of relatable at times, it's important to have someone around to point out the flaws of compulsive martyrdom and give a reality check that doing something wrong in the pursuit of what you think is right is still (sometimes) an utterly fucked up thing to do. They're both such good characters, and they work off each other so well.

Furthering the above point, even if David is doing it for what he believes to be "good" reasons, he's still ultimately manipulating people! You know, like his secret said!!! You don't have to believe that everyone is stupid to believe that you're smarter than them and you know what's best. But there's also the delicious irony that, despite Hu being the one to say this to David, she's also the one talking over Nico.

I am so sorry to all the whitvid shippers in the crowd. Unless this is the dynamic you crave, idk.

I wish that this line was voice acted just so that I could hear Ace's "uhh umm" Nico impression.

Are Hu and Nico Lying?

We're back at it again.

Needless to say, this is way more suspicious than J, Veronika, and David's alibi. First of all, Hu and Nico are only two people, which makes it far more believable that they could conspire on the murder together. Second, unlike the former random group of characters, this latter pair are very intertwined. And third, this supposed breakfast occurred in a private location that only Hu and Nico could have possibly seen, as opposed to J, who said she was in a public location. If Ace or whoever had been in the public Dining Room at 7:30 AM, he could have called J out for lying, whereas no one can contradict the idea of Nico and Hu being in Nico's room.

However, for Hu to be lying and for Nico to not oppose her (despite pointing out the fact that they were interrupted) would strongly imply that they'd have to be in on the plan to murder Arei together. The easiest way to get there would be to assume that they were also in on the plan to murder Ace together. Understandable enough; I'm sure we're all aware at this point that Nico and what appears to be Hu's wire were both found at the scene of the Gym crime. They could've tried to murder Ace, got caught, and then switched targets to a different bully because Ace was too on guard? Nico would have been able to grab the fish, so there's no issue there.

I'm inclined to believe that Nico and Hu are telling the truth just because I personally don't believe either of them to be Arei's blackened, and I don't understand what either of their motivations to be an accomplice specifically would be in this situation. It would be pretty hypocritical of Hu to go off on David for trying to control whether everyone else lives or dies if she was currently the blackened trying to get everyone else to die so she could live. Or, even worse, if she was an accomplice trying to get everyone else to die so that Nico could live. That'd basically be what David was trying to do with a different coat of paint!

However, this could easily be a lie, especially given how suspiciously late it was compared to what J said. We had a whole David monologue in the middle. Those things last for ages.

WHAT THE FUCK!!!

Okay, so, obviously, I could try to go over the implications of this, but with the next episode only a week away (I cry tears of joy), I think it's in my best interest to leave whatever I'll have to say about what Levi is doing until we have more information about his mindset. What a cliffhanger, though. Levi accomplice nation, it's currently looking... iffy.

Anyways, that was a fantastic episode! I loved getting a chance to learn more about Arturo, David, Xander, and the rest of the gang, with promise of more interesting things to come in the near future. I can't believe that they still haven't talked about the actual murder method at all. And that there were literally no trial mechanics in this video. Who needs 'em?

I hope you enjoyed my perspective on the episode. If you have any additions or questions, feel free to send me a comment or an ask. There's also a chance that I'll add onto this myself after seeing other people's ideas to respond to them. But for that, I'll have to read other people's ideas. I'm off to see what my mutuals have to say >:D See ya!

[allfryam]

sugarcoated (remastered)

for those of you that don’t know, sugarcoated was the first story I posted on tumblr and… it’s rough. So I decided I would rewrite the story so it’s at least a little bit better because I really like the idea. Enjoy!

The crowd roared in excitement as Andrew made the winning shot right as the buzzer went off. He pumped his fist in the air as his team surrounded him cheering. Andrew had just won the championship basketball game for his school. It was the last game of his senior year and he was gonna be off to college soon.

in the locker room, Andrew took off his clothes and got in the shower. Little did he know, his friend miles was watching from afar, admiring Andrew’s perfect body. His wet, curly brown hair fell perfectly onto his tan face. His sharp jawline could cut through steel, and miles had to practically stop himself from drooling as he admired Andrew’s body. His toned abs and muscular arms looked even better with glistening hot water running down them. His tight ass sat atop his meaty legs proudly. Miles had to stop himself from staring before he got a boner. He couldn’t wait until college though. Miles and Andrew decided to be roommates when they went to college. Miles dreamed of seeing Andrew’s perfect body every day.

when it came time to make his schedule for the fall, Andrew discovered he had an open slot. Looking through the available classes, he only saw one that didn’t look like a snooze fest. “Baking 101”. Andrew reluctantly clicked on it and forgot about it until the first class.

Andrew was relieved to see miles when he walked into the baking class for the first time. He was nervous about not knowing anyone in his classes but miles made it a little bit better. Professor miller began the class by saying it will be very difficult and take up a lot of your time. Andrew rolled his eyes but decided to stay because of miles. The boys grabbed dinner after class and Andrew decided to skip the gym to get started on his homework. He had gone to the gym almost everyday in high school, but with all of the stress in college, he hardly ever had time.

the first week had come and gone and Andrew was starting to get into a routine. He only ever had time to go to the gym on the weekends and he usually skipped cardio. He figured he got enough of that walking to class every day. He actually ended up really liking his baking class in particular. The professor was pretty cool and they got to eat everything they made in class. One day the professor asked miles and Andrew to stay after class and have a chat with him. “I’ve made an accident, and I figured I would reward my two best students with it.” Professor miller said. “I read the ingredients wrong and made way too many cookies for my other class to sample. These are the leftovers.” Professor opened a Tupperware full of sugar cookies. “I decided to let you two have them so they wouldn’t go to waste.” Andrew’s eyes lit up as he thanked the professor. Miles was running late for his class so he grabbed a few cookies and took off, but Andrew had nowhere to be, so he plopped his ass down in a chair and dug in. Professors cooking was phenomenal. The cookies were the best Andrew ever had! He stacked them three high and ate them as quickly as he could. There were about 40 cookies in the container when he started, and there were only 5 left now. Andrew moaned as he slowly continued eating the cookies. For the last cookie, he just shoved the whole thing in his mouth and tried not to gag as he chewed. He eventually got it down and leaned back in his chair.

that night, when Andrew was on his way to the shower, Miles noticed his abs were looking a little less defined. Probably just the bloat from all those cookies. Miles wasn’t mad at what he saw though… he actually kinda liked it…

classes continued to ramp up in difficulty and Andrew had less and less time for exercise. He would find himself going to the school kitchen late at night to practice his baking. To his surprise, he actually ended up really enjoying the baking class. He got to hang out with miles, and eat all of the sweet treats he made in class. He ate pies, cookies, cakes, pastries, brownies, bread, and more. He only had the class two days a week, but he found himself going to the kitchen when it was empty to make some more treats for himself. One late night, Andrew had just finished making himself a warm apple pie. He sat down at one of the tables and dug in. The warm, gooey apples slid down his throat and he instantly felt relieved. He continued eating until he heard a small “pop”. He looked down to see the button on his jeans had come undone. He grabbed the two sides and tried to pull them back together, but he was really struggling. He stood up and struggled some more before he finally got them to button. He went to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and to his surprise, his perfect abs were starting to turn into a soft, round belly. Andrew grabbed it and gave it a little shake. It jiggled a little but he could still feel some muscle in there. Andrew shrugged it off as a bloat and finished off the rest of his pie. when he got back to the dorm, he took off his shirt and walked over to miles. “Dude, do you think I’m getting fat?” He asked. Miles eyes grew wide as he looked at Andrew’s gut. “Uhhh… no way man! You look great! Sure you’ve probably put on a few but it makes you look way stronger.” Miles replied, trying to hold back his boner. “Yeah you’re probably right. Thanks dude.”

over the coming weeks, Andrew continued to eat various treats and his waistline continued to grow. He stopped wearing jeans because he could never get them buttoned, so he only wore pants or shorts with an elastic waistband. His belly continued to grow rounder and began to fall over his waistband. His size medium shirts no longer covered his gut so he started wearing large, and those were even starting to get a little tight.

as Andrew laid in bed eating cake one night, miles got an idea. He knew Andrew couldn’t resist food, especially sweets, so he started bringing home all of the treats he baked in class to give to Andrew. Andrew would always be incredibly grateful and scarf the food down like it was nothing. For his second semester of classes, he decided to take all of his classes online. He hated having to walk across campus, and it was easy to just sit in bed in his underwear all day.

now that Andrew practically never left the dorm, his weight began to skyrocket. Miles watched his slight paunch turn into a dad bod, and that turned into a beer belly, and that grew into a tub of lard. Miles continued to bring Andrew food, and Andrew ate everything he brought. He didn’t even seem to mind the extra weight. It’s almost like he didn’t even notice it. He was just happy to be eating.

one day, miles decided to push Andrew’s limits. He brought home a massive amount of treats, all for Andrew. There was cake, doughnuts, pie, cookies, and more. “Woah! Is that all for me?” Andrew asked. “Yup! Decided to bring home a feast for my favorite person!” Andrew immediately dug in, tearing through the entire cake within minutes. With his face still covered in frosting, he started eating the pie. Crumbs and pieces of pie filling were falling onto his round gut bit he hardly noticed. He ate the cookies and the brownies at the same time, stacking them on top of one another and eating them as one. Miles’ boner felt like it was gonna bust through his pants with how hard he was right now. Watching Andrew devour this food was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. He needed to get in on this. “Why don’t I help you with the doughnuts?” Miles asked. Andrew just nodded his head and opened his mouth. Miles grabbed a few doughnuts and climbed on top of Andrew. Sitting on his gut, he shoved the doughnuts into his mouth and Andrew mindlessly chewed. After about 6 doughnuts, he motioned for miles to stop. “URP… I’m… full…”Andrew said breathing heavily. Miles ignored him and continued shoving the doughnuts into his mouth. By the time they were finished, Andrew’s stomach had never been so full. He looked like a beached whale. As Andrew drifted off to sleep he pulled miles close and whispered in his ear, “I love you.” Miles face got red and he saw Andrew smile. “I always have…” Andrew whispered before passing out from all of the food he just ate.

don’t really know if you guys will enjoy this one or not. The weight kinda piles on really fast and I know a lot of you like the slower paced stories, but I think the fast ones are fun! Anyway, next story will probably be fattest team in the country part 3 so stay tuned for that

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

post-s2. good omens mascot here, coping unhealthily.

This is the first proper post I'm writing since the audio breakdown, good thing I queued a POTC one last week, I suppose. Yes I slept through the entire day today, missed the theatre workshop I was supposed to attend and may or may not be listening to A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square on loop. Have an update on my coping because my social life and family are both Tumblr now:

Every song is about them now. A lot were before, but now every single one. Even an old Hindi song from a 1900s Indian military movie that I have not watched, by the way. But the lyrics (thank you Google translate) are: Everybody wants a handful of the sky, everybody searches for a handful of the sky, there is a world waiting to be hugged to the chest, the moon is a fair full of stars, but this heart is still lonely. And of course that makes me think of Crowley as the starmaker. Ow.

I made the very intelligent decision to rewatch the first three episodes of season 2, knowing what the Job minisode and the Edinburgh minisode do to me. I'll be here clutching Crowley, well, hugging him close to the chest, just like that song... ah, fuck, here we go again.

I listened to you all and am drinking a lot of water, since my tear ducts were emptied yesterday and now I'm unable to cry. I also ate too much chocolate.

I searched for sad Aziracrow edits and watched them. Don't look at me. I'm in a hell of my own creation.

I used too many emotions last night and now I feel hollow and achy. Maybe I should cope with humour and write the summaries.

Or maybe that will backfire and I will be filled with horrifying levels of emotion.

I slept. A lot. Many hours. Lots sleep.

So. Well. You know. Adopted child of divorce. You were all right, this is exactly like dealing with a breakup or divorce, but much more painful.

Someone please, please, please stop me from clicking the Crowley whump tag to find fanfiction.

I remember my initial Good Omens posts. I remember calling the fandom sad, desperate, queer and masochistic, and also pointing out how you all blame Neil and then sit and make headcanons that are a hundred times worse than canon.

I was so right. Look at me now, sad, desperate, queer and masochistic, making headcanons that are a hundred times worse than canon.

Wahoo.

[screechingfromthevoid]

@disastertourwaterdeepedition

Sorry for the weird fucking post but like tumblr straight up ate your ask?? I had to search and screenshot from my email??

Its like super fine I love big rants and big feelings (especially about the blorbo of the month).

Whoa buddy if you wanna talk about a rant. This got so long I'm putting it under a read more.

I'm not sure any of this is above board conscious thought process. When he looks to Orym, when he thinks about how he feels about Orym, I think Dorian, king of compartmentalizing, gets a rush of all three of the things in the post. He gets a little too lost in thought looking at the way Orym's hair now tries to curl against his ear or how well tailored the armor is to his body, he first gets hit with the Will guilt. Then he thinks about "ohmygodtheresawaron" and he'd shovel all of that down. Because its not time to think about Orym and him. But he knows by the way Orym watches him "sleep". He knows by the way Orym refused to be princess carried in Aeror. (Seriously dude Dorian princess carries everyone. It would have been less suspicious if you let it happen). He knows because Orym didn't see his husband when they were in Zephrah. But when he dares himself to actually think about a possible future together, he uses the big three to shove it down. And no, he has no clue that Orym thinks he doesn't return his feelings. (Wow you're right. Pronouns are hard)

Lol to finally answer your question: I'm not sure! Because the thing is! Orym has gone down twice in a battle with Dorian there! And honestly if Orym being on death's door doesn't make either of them confess, i'm not sure what will! (thats a lie I do have an idea). But like Orym went to the moon and back and almost died on the moon and all the count communicate to Dorian was "I miss you"!! Orym nearly died twice in one battle and he didn't think to give Dorian a sloppy, "If I die again I want to have kissed you once" kiss before going in for another round of getting hacked on. Dorian watched him go down and had to bring him back from death's door (one failed save scared the shit out of me) and he didn't think to give Orym a "We need you, I need you" kiss.

My unfortunate thought process, which I can't decide if I want it to come true or not, is that Dorian has to get hurt. Like when I say hurt I fucking mean it. Taken down in a round or two, two failed death saves, hurt. Because then Orym will have to face losing Dorian again. Face losing the man he loves, again. He pours a healing potion into Dorian's mouth because warlocks don't have a single healing spell. (Just checked). Orym feels so helpless in saving Dorian, because a healing potion isn't nearly enough to keep him up. He starts to cry over Dorian's (now conscious) body. He whispers between sobs "Not again, not again. Dorian you can't leave me. I love you, please, I never got to tell you, please stay alive." and Dorian, having heard all of that, reaches up to cup Orym's cheek and says. "Alright, just for you though."

Or something like that.

As much as I would love for them to be adults and just talk to each other. I know thats not going to happen. (Please, Robbie, Liam, prove me wrong.) So I think major tragedy will be the reason they confess to each other. Because they're idiots in love with a lot of weight on their shoulders.

[inthemoodforlove4eva]

Blood Orange String Of Fate Theory Amplified.

I was inspired to continue with this post after seeing @freedelusionshere bring up the Blood Orange a while back. Also this is my first full analysis here on tumblr so I am nervous and so excited!!! Please share your opinions and thoughts

Another thing to note is that this not based on my original idea, a while back someone in the #sydcarmy tag explained that Sydney and Carmy possibly met or Carmy saw her before. (I would love to chat with you if you happen to see this post! lol ) The person went on to explain that this possible Sydcarmy moment happened at Empire on the day of The Blood Orange dish that is known to be Sydney's favorite. I support this theory and have some evidence that I would like you guys to read.

SO LETS GETS INTO IT !!!

EVIDENCE 1: The Chef and The Consumer

Food being the central focus of the Bear is used to portray bigger ideas and themes when it comes to its characters. Like Carmy = Tomatoes and Sydney = Cherries explored by @fresaton or @bootlegramdomneess creating the family style vs michelin mode post.

But this time if we look outside of the food and instead looked at the Chef (creator of the meal) and consumer (person who eats the meal) there is a recurring theme about connection and the three things that can come from it. To put it explicitly when a chef creates food for someone the characters either reestablish a current connection, create a new connection or learn something new. Here are some examples:

Marcus and Sydney bonded over a meal after quitting in Season 1 of the Bear. As shown above. (NEW CONNECTION)

Sydney makes a meal for Natalie and they become closer. A display of care and love. (RE-ESTABLISHING A CURRENT CONNECTION)

Luca makes a dish for Marcus as he is learning more during his time in Denmark (LEARNING SOMETHING NEW)

Tina makes mashed potatoes that Sydney's tries and acknowledges is good because it is (CREATING NEW CONNECTION AND LEARNING SOMETHING NEW)

Marcus and Tina in this scene both take the Chef role and Consumer role and are experiencing happiness (RE ESTABLISHING A CURRENT CONNECTION & LEARNING SOMETHING NEW)

Connecting and learning happens during the the CHEF AND CONSUMER EXCHANGE especially when they are in close proximity. Whether work related or not the creation of food changes theses character's lives everyday.

Now I will carry this idea as I also mention a another piece of evidence.

EVIDENCE 2 : Sydney's Creation and Carmys Creation

There is a lot of mirroring between Sydney and Carmy, like a lot. Many times in the SydCarmy tag this is acknowledged by many analysis posts. However I want to focus on two specific scenes that happen in Empire and the Beef.

Carmy rebels and creates the blood orange dish which Sydney receives at Empire

(Picture taken from @whenmemorydies)

This is exactly similar and a parallel to Sydney rebelling against Carmy by giving her Cola Braised creation to a consumer at the Beef

(picture from @whenmemorydies)

Now what is really significant about Sydney's scene is that she establishes a new connection with her consumer. Displaying the Chef connects with consumer idea from earlier.

So this begs the question why wouldn't this have happened at Empire also? As each part of the scene is similar why would the moment of chef & consumer not happen?

Also with how much the blood orange shows creation and rebellion wouldn't it make sense that Carmy was curious about someone who ate this meal?

Curious about her........

Of course there are the other questions like how is this is not shown in the Bear and why the characters do not talk about this in their first meeting?

I think as explored by the original poster of this idea maybe Carmy forgets about this as he wrapped in the early stages of grief as his brother dies while he is at Empire. It wouldn't be surprising if his memory is faulty as that sometimes happen when people are experiencing grief. Also Sydney may not want to address their history because she thinks Carmy does not care to remember.

So this is where the theory ends, I wish I had more cause I loved it so much when I first saw it explored by another person on here.

The thought of any of this being true would make me go crazy me cause i already ship them so much with this possibly added to it I would explode lmaoo

But again THANK YOU TO ANYONE WHO READ THIS FAR I AM NEW TO THE ANAYLSIS PART of Tumblr SO THIS WAS FUN!!

bye for now

[apolloendymion]

ok! i think tumblr ate my fucking apple cider recipe post. still, my autumn equinox tradition must carry on!

Apollo's Foolproof From-Scratch Apple Cider That Was So Good It Allegedly Landed Me A Boyfriend

you will need:

12 apples (the variety is up to you, i usually do half granny smith and half whatever's on sale plus a red delicious for garnishing)

10oz raisins

cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, star anise, nutmeg, allspice, cardamom pods, any other warming spices u like (whole > ground) (follow ur heart on the amounts, it's like garlic just throw so much in there. just go wild)

1 orange

brown sugar (i don't have measurements but be prepared to use a LOT lmao, i always buy at least one 32oz bag. you'll be sweetening to taste.)

large pot with lid

potato masher (optional)

two large bowls/pots/receptacles to strain the cider into

fine mesh strainer

cheesecloth or coffee filters (optional)

apple corer or knife

citrus zester

slotted spoon or ladle

the steps:

1. scrub apples gently under hot water to remove grocery store wax coating. core apples making sure all seeds & stems are removed. add apples, raisins, and mulling spices to pot with enough water to fully cover ingredients, and bring to boil. reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 1 hour.

2. scrub orange to remove wax. zest and juice, avoiding the pith & seeds. use a potato masher or other utensil to lightly mash boiled apple mixture so every apple slice is at least partially broken up, then add the zest & juice to the pot. bring back to boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer for another hour. then turn off the heat and allow mixture to cool.

3. place two mesh strainers over two bowls or pots (and cover each with a cheesecloth or coffee filters, if you have them). with a slotted spoon or ladle, remove as much of the solids from the pot as you can and place them in one strainer (the larger one, if they are different sizes) to drain, then press out as much liquid into the cheesecloth as possible.

4. pour the cider from the simmer pot into the second cheesecloth and press. combine the liquid from both bowls.

5. add brown sugar to taste

cooking tips:

the times listed above are bare minimums. once all the ingredients are in the pot (minus sugar!) you can simmer as long as you want, so long as someone's nearby to supervise.

always add any sweeteners after the cooking process. otherwise, they'll burn and make the whole thing bitter.

if it's too acidic, add baking soda or more spices. if it's not acidic enough, add lemon juice, additional orange juice, or apple cider vinegar.

variations:

add 12oz fresh cranberries to the first step

sub oranges for lemons or apple cider vinegar

sub brown sugar for straight molasses, maple syrup, or alternative sweetener of your choice (I'd imagine fig or other fruit-based sweeteners would work best)

report back to me if you try something new!! i want to hear how it turned out!

serving suggestions:

add three or four cinnamon imperials (red hots) to your mug, along with a dash of fireball whiskey if you're so inclined. i cannot stress enough how fucking amazing this tastes.

garnish with apple slices, orange slices, cinnamon sticks, and/or star anise

if you have dairy-free ice cream on hand, pour some cider over a scoop. you can use dairy ice cream, but it's more likely to curdle.

freeze some in an ice cube tray, then blend with some non-frozen cider for a slushie

ok I've never tried this, but i bet blending with pumpkin puree would slap. PLEASE tell me if you try it

this makes a metric fuckload of cider, which is very rich and can be watered down considerably (seriously). share with your friends and/or freeze some to last the season (or halve it, i guess, but that's no fun :P)

[putting-eddie-munson-in-places]

EDDIE IN PLACES 1k FOLLOWERS ANNOUNCEMENTS!

Hello friends!

We've hit 1,000 (!!!) followers and that means three things:

You can now buy some Eddies in Places at the following links:

eras tour microwave drawn eddie sheet 1 prom

please feel free to request other ones you'd like to see on the shop or if there is a specific drawn eddie (for example) that you'd like and i'll do my best (redbubble has already taken a couple down for copyright 😭😭)!

2. i've been collecting those tumblr milestone posts in the drafts since they started popping up so here's some metrics!

I started this blog on March 20, 2024 and since then:

we hit 2.5k likes on April 16th

we hit 10k likes on May 5th

@wyverntatty was the 3,000th reblog, reblogging the corroded coffin post on May 12th

our 250th post was outsiders on May 23rd

@jadeylovesmarvelxo was our 5,000th reblog, reblogging the pornstache cop keys post on June 4th

we hit 25k total likes on June 12th

and @betelgeusing became our 1,000th follower today, July 4th!

and 3: time to tell you all who's behind this blog!

it's only ever been me behind all the Eddies, and that me is me! @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe!!

my lovely moots have known since i made the eddie blog (though some missed the original message in discord and had a fun surprise later when i mentioned it was me 😅) but i'm curious if anyone ever had any guesses lmao

for the most part i will be operating much the same as i have been, but i was just so excited to tell you all it was me and knew i had to tell you before i made anything available to purchase on redbubble since my name is on the account already

thanks for all the love!!

~mod noelle 💖

[nausikaaa]

WIP Wednesday

happy wednesday, everyone! hope you're having a good one! i'm currently in Manchester, visiting a friend and christmas shopping.

thanks for tagging me @that-disabled-princess!

i've already written this entire post once, but tumblr ate it. but i'm nothing if not stubborn.

as well as a snippet from my post-troy wip, you can find below a discussion of ancient greek periods and pregnancies, ancient anatolian food, and a painting.

so first of all, here's a snippet of Hermione, talking about periods:

"Is this not a conversation we should have in private?"

Deidamia laughed, loud as always, but not cruelly. "Oh, they don't mind! Pyrrhus grew up with six aunts and countless girl cousins, he's heard this all before."

I looked at Pyrrhus in surprise, and he shrugged in agreement, expression perplexed, like he didn't see why I was making a fuss about his presence.

"And him?" I jabbed a finger at Helenus.

"I had fifty sisters." He replied, lifting a cup to his lips to unsuccessfully obscure a smirk. Smug bastard. "And I find ginger tea helps more, but apparently that doesn't grow on this forsaken continent." He sighed wistfully. "Gods, I miss rice."

i've spent a lot of time researching ancient greek periods and their attitudes to them. i also spent an inordinately long time looking up alternative names for it, because "period" sounds very modern to me. i landed on menses. there's a surprising amount of discussion of them in this story, because Briseis and Andromache both have pregnancies in their chapters (Andromache has 5 sons and a step daughter, because everyone wants to be descended from Achilles through her. Alexander the Great claimed to be descended from her through his mother, and her grandsons supposedly colonised not only Epirus and Macedonia, but France and Britain too.)

i also had to research what foods ancient anatolia had that ancient greece didn't, for that last line. eventually the only thing i could see was that there is evidence that Troy traded with Asia for rice, while the Greeks knew about it, but didn't bother.

finally, since i'm in Manchester, i can feel this painting of Andromache in the art gallery calling to me. i've seen it three times and it never fails to take my breath away. it's huge in real life, you can really appreciate the details. i could stare at it all day.

in the Iliad, Andromache begs her husband, Hector, to be careful on the battlefield, as he is the last family she has left, and if he dies there will be nobody to protect her and their baby son, Astyanax. Hector agrees, sharing his fears that if he dies and Troy falls, she will be enslaved and taken to Greece. they tactfully don't mention what would happen to Astyanax, and instead share a sweet moment where he doesn't recognise his father in his helmet, and they laugh through their tears.

this painting is set after that. Hector has died in battle, Troy has fallen, Astyanax was murdered. Andromache is a slave in a foreign land, dressed in mourning black, sent to collect water. around her, life goes on, people bustling about, some stopping to look at her and gossip about the sad fate of the princess of Troy. Andromache ignores them all, standing still at the centre... her gaze fixed on a happy young couple with a baby, lost in their own world.

tags: @forabeatofadrum @cutestkilla @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @prettygoododds @bookish-bogwitch @ic3-que3n @blackberrysummerblog @j-nipper-95 @youarenevertooold @larkral @orange-peony @aristocratic-otter @thewholelemon @alexalexinii @confused-bi-queer @shrekgogurt @comesitintheclover @raenestee @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @noblecorgi @shemakesmeforget @ileadacharmedlife @supercutedinosaurs @artsyunderstudy @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 and @ninemagicks