#struggled with the background before settling on something simple

[chiliger]

Will you fight for them?

Will you be loyal?

Will you bleed?

#chiligerart #clone trooper dogma #clone trooper slick #star wars #the clone wars #swtcw #tw blood #dogma and slick fascinate me #their polar opposite views and yet they both wind up with the same fate #and ain’t that something to gnaw on #this was sitting in the wip pile for a few months #struggled with the background before settling on something simple

[chuuyrr]

ᡣ𐭩 COME HERE, YOU CAN MEET ME IN THE BACK — NAKAHARA CHUUYA .ᐟ

ಇ. CW(s): f! reader, MDNI, unprotected sex, dry hvmping, p → v, oral (f! receiving), hot tension, strangers to lovers, you fall first but he falls harder

ಇ. SYNOPSIS: in which you and him share glances across smoky rooms, whispered conversations amidst clinking glasses, and the intimacy of tangled bedsheets with him

ಇ. NOW PLAYING: delicate & so it goes by taylor swift .ᐟ

as the door creaked open, a wave of chatter and laughter engulfed you, accompanied by the sweet scent of tobacco smoke and aged whiskey. the dimly lit bar welcomed you like an old friend, its walls adorned with vintage posters and dimly flickering candles casting a warm glow over the worn wooden tables.

taking a seat at the worn barstool, you watched as the bartender expertly mixed drinks, the clink of glasses and soft jazz music creating a soothing melody in the background. the low hum of conversation surrounded you, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter from the regulars at the far end of the room.

the weight of the day began to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of tranquility that only the ambiance of a late evening in a cozy bar could provide. the flickering candlelight danced across your face, casting shadows that seemed to whisper secrets of nights past.

lost in the gentle ebb and flow of the evening, you found solace in the simple pleasures of good company and the comforting embrace of the familiar surroundings. and as the hours slipped away, you realized that sometimes, amidst the chaos of life, all you needed was a quiet moment in a bar filled with smoke and alcohol to find peace.

as you continued to savor the tranquility of the bar with a drink in hand, your attention was drawn to a figure taking a seat beside you. with a graceful fluidity, he settled onto the stool, his presence exuding an air of mystery and intrigue. his sharp features softened by the warm glow of the candlelight.

you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as he ordered his drink, the bartender nodding in recognition before swiftly preparing his usual. the faint scent of his cologne mingled with the subtle aroma of tobacco, adding to the allure of his presence.

despite the casual atmosphere, there was an undeniable aura of confidence about him, as if he were always one step ahead of everyone else in the room, and you found yourself drawn to him, captivated by the effortless charm that seemed to radiate from his every movement.

as he raised his glass to his lips, a small smirk played at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of the enigmatic depths hidden beneath his facade. in that brief exchange, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were in the presence of someone extraordinary, someone who belonged to a world far beyond the confines of the dimly lit bar.

feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity, you turned to him. before you could utter a word, he was already flashing you a charming smile, his gray blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

"enjoying the ambiance?" he asks, his voice smooth and velvety, with a hint of playful mischief.

you nod, returning his smile. "absolutely. it's a welcome retreat from the hustle and bustle of the outside world."

chuuya's laughter rang out, a melodic sound that seemed to blend seamlessly with the jazz music drifting through the air, "i couldn't agree more. there's something magical about these late evenings, don't you think?"

as the conversation with him flowed effortlessly, you couldn't shake off the tingling sensation of nervous excitement coursing through your veins. his magnetic presence seemed to pull you in, his every word laced with a potent blend of charm and charisma.

with each exchange, you found yourself hanging on his every word, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain your composure. yet, despite the nervous flutter in your stomach, there was an undeniable rush of adrenaline that fueled your every response.

chuuya's laughter echoed through the air, a melodic symphony that sent shivers down your spine. his gaze still lingered on you, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint as he leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne enveloping you in a heady haze.

"you're quite fascinating, you know," he remarks, his voice low and husky, sending a shiver down your spine, "there's something about you that's different from the usual crowd."

you swallowed hard, your cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration. "i... i'm flattered," you stammer out, struggling to find the right words amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

leaning in closer, chuuya's gaze locked with yours, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

"so, tell me," he says, his voice low and velvety, sending a shiver down your spine, "what is it that you do for a living? you've really got that air of mystery about you."

his use of the endearment sent a rush of warmth flooding through you, the sound of it rolling off his tongue like a sweet melody. gathering your composure, you met his gaze with a coy smile, "i work in business," you reply, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest.

chuuya's eyes sparkled with interest as he leaned in closer, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space between you. "ah, business?" he muses, his tone filled with genuine curiosity, "you must have quite the way with words then, don't you?"

you nod, feeling a surge of confidence coursing through you at his attentiveness, "i like to think so," you admit, unable to tear your gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes.

as the night deepened, the thick sensual tension between you and him became palpable, igniting a fiery passion that neither of you could deny. his gaze lingered on yours, smoldering with desire as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear in a tantalizing whisper.

"business, huh?" chuuya murmurs, his voice husky with desire, "i bet you know how to handle negotiations, don't you?"

the warmth of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine, your heart racing in anticipation of what was to come. with a daring glance, you met his gaze, your lips curving into a seductive smile, "i can handle more than just negotiations," you tease, your voice laced with a newfound confidence.

chuuya's eyes twinkled with mischief as he leaned back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips. "oh, i have no doubt about that," he says, amused, his voice sending a thrill down your spine, "and since you've caught my interest, care for a talk as we drink on?"

you felt a rush of excitement course through you at his words, your pulse quickening with anticipation. with a playful glint in your eyes, you leaned in closer, your breath mingling with his as you smile, "of course."

as the fiery passion between you and chuuya simmered down, a comfortable silence enveloped the air, punctuated only by the soft sounds of the night around you. breaking the quietude, chuuya's voice, now gentle and earnest, filled the space between you.

"so, aside from being a 'master negotiator', what else should i know about you?" he asks, his eyes filled with genuine curiosity as he studied your face.

you smile, feeling a warmth spread within you at his genuine interest, "well, for starters, i have a penchant for adventure," you reply, your tone light and playful, "whether it's traveling to far-off places or diving into new experiences, i'm always up for a thrill."

chuuya's lips curves into a grin as he leaned back, propping himself up on one elbow, "i can relate to that," he remarks, a hint of mischief glinting in his eyes. "life's too short to play it safe, isn't it?"

"exactly," you agree, a spark of excitement dancing in your eyes, "there's so much out there to see and do, and i intend to make the most of it."

with a playful smile dancing on your lips, you leaned in closer to chuuya, a glint of mischief sparkling in your eyes this time, "you know," you begin, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper, "i have a feeling this isn't going to be our only encounter."

chuuya's gaze met yours, a flicker of intrigue lighting up his features as he leaned in slightly, mirroring your playful demeanor, "oh, is that a promise?" he replies, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

you chuckle softly, your heart pounding with exhilaration as you reached into your pocket, retrieving a slip of paper. with a teasing wink, you slid it across the bar table towards him, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you did so.

"consider it an invitation," you say, your voice laced with undeniable charm.

as chuuya glanced down at the piece of paper, a smile tugged at his lips, his eyes sparkling with anticipation, "i'll be sure to keep that in mind," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement.

with a satisfied grin, you leaned back in your seat, the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins as you savored the thrill of the moment.

chuuya's downs his drink and he leans closer to you, his breath hot against your ear. with a soft growl yet confident grin, he whispered his name, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

"the name's nakahara chuuya," he breathes, the sound of his name rolling off his tongue like a seductive melody. the mere utterance of it sent a surge of desire coursing through you, your heart racing with newfound intensity.

your breath now got caught in your throat, every sensation heightened by the intoxicating blend of desire and anticipation. with each whisper in the dimly embrace of the bar, each touch, the connection between you deepened, weaving a spell of passion that seemed to bind you two together in an unbreakable bond.

you were falling in love.

as chuuya's name lingered on your lips, you couldn't help but feel another surge of boldness wash over you. meeting his gaze with a smoldering intensity, you whispered your name in return, the sound of it hanging heavy in the air between you as you chuckle softly.

"[surname] [name]," you breathe out, the word laced with a mixture of desire and uncertainty. the alcohol in your system blurred the edges of reality, but the intensity of the moment was undeniable as you and chuuya shared a smile.

in the days that followed that fateful night at the bar, you found yourself unable to shake the memory of nakahara chuuya from your mind.

his name echoed in your thoughts like a haunting melody, his intoxicating presence lingering in the corners of your consciousness.

driven by an insatiable desire to see him again, you reached out, tentatively at first, but with growing confidence as the days turned into weeks. cach meeting filled you with a sense of exhilaration and anticipation, the connection between you deepening with every shared moment.

you couldn't even care less if you had a reputation, the heiress of your well-known family business. you wanted chuuya.

as you spent more time together, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper under chuuya's spell, his magnetic charm and unwavering confidence captivating you in ways you never thought possible. his mere presence was enough to set your heart ablaze with desire, and with each passing day, your feelings for him grew stronger and more undeniable.

you knew deep in your heart that nakahara chuuya had become so much more than just a fleeting encounter in a bar filled with smoke and alcohol—he had become the missing piece of your soul, the one you had been searching for all along.

and so, chuuya stepped into the familiar embrace of the bar, a sense of comfort washed over him, the dimly lit ambiance and familiar faces welcoming him like an old friend. he made his way to his usual spot at the bar, exchanging pleasantries with the bartender as he ordered his drink.

he settled onto his stool, his phone buzzed softly in his pocket, drawing his attention away from the comforting hum of the bar. with a curious glance, he retrieved his phone, his heart skipping a beat as he read the message from you.

"come here, you can meet me in the back," it read, the words sending a surge of excitement coursing through him.

with a sly grin, chuuya pocketed his phone and rose from his seat, his senses tingling with anticipation as he made his way towards the back of the bar, and with each step, his heart raced with excitement, the prospect of seeing you filling him with a heady rush of desire.

as he reached the secluded corner where you had arranged to meet, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you waiting there, a smile playing on your lips and a glint of mischief in your eyes. without a word, he closed the distance between you, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close.

surrounded by the familiar embrace of the bar and the intoxicating presence of each other, you knew that this was where you belonged—wrapped in the arms of nakahara chuuya, the one who had captured your heart in a haze of smoke and alcohol, and who now held it firmly in his grasp.

"i missed you," you whisper softly to him with a sense of longing.

warmth flooded chuuya's heart, his arms tightening around you in a tender embrace. he buried his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume as he held you close.

"aww, i missed you too," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with emotion.

as you nestled in his embrace, nakahara chuuya's curiosity got the better of him, prompting him to gently inquire about the reason behind your request to meet in the back of the bar.

"so, what's the occasion for this clandestine meeting baby?" he asks, his tone laced with playful curiosity.

"we've only met a few weeks ago and you're already calling me baby?" you raise a brow with a teasing smirk—not that you hate it though.

chuuya chuckles softly, his arms tightening around you as he met your playful gaze with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "can you blame me?" he replies, his voice husky with amusement, "you've already managed to captivate my attention in ways I never imagined."

you felt a rush of warmth spread through you at his words, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you leaned in closer to him. "well, in that case, consider it a term of endearment," you say, your tone affectionate yet teasing, "as for the occasion, let's just say i couldn't resist the opportunity to steal a moment alone with you."

chuuya's eyes softened as he listened to your confession, his gaze never leaving yours as he reached out to gently cup your cheek.

"you have a way of surprising me, you know," he says, his voice tender yet filled with admiration, "but i have to admit, i like your boldness. it's refreshing."

a faint blush dusted your cheeks at his words, a rush of warmth spreading through you at the sincerity in his tone, "i'm glad you think so," you reply, a shy smile gracing your lips, "i guess i've always been one to follow my heart, even if it leads me into uncharted territory."

chuuya's thumb traced a gentle path along your cheekbone, his touch sending a shiver of anticipation dancing down your spine, "well, in that case, i'm honored." he murmurs, his voice laced with genuine affection.

the admission hung between you, the weight of his words sinking in as you searched his eyes for any hint of hesitation. but all you found was a depth of emotion that mirrored your own, a silent affirmation of the connection that had been steadily growing between you.

suddenly the gentle buzz of your phone interrupted the moment. you couldn't help but furrow your brows in confusion. with a quick glance at the screen, you saw a series of notifications from various apps, but one message in particular caught your eye.

it was a notification from the company email of your family's business, displaying the familiar name that chuuya seemed to recognize, he too comes from a line of business—just not the legal kind.

chuuya's eyes widened in surprise as he caught sight of the notification, his gaze flickering between you and the screen, "wait, is that...?" he trails off, his voice laced with disbelief as he made the connection.

you nodded slowly, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you realized there was no use hiding the truth any longer, "err, yeah. it's the company my family owns," you admit, your tone tinged with apprehension."

for a moment, chuuya was silent, his expression unreadable as he processed the revelation. then, to your surprise, a soft chuckle escaped his lips, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he met your gaze.

"well, i have to say, i didn't see that coming," he remarks, a playful grin spreading across his face, "here i was, thinking i was just having a drink with a charming stranger, and it turns out you're a big shot heiress."

you couldn't help but laugh at his lighthearted response, the tension easing from your shoulders as you realized that chuuya wasn't fazed by your background in the slightest.

in fact, if anything, his playful demeanor only served to deepen the connection between you, reassuring you that his feelings for you were genuine, regardless of your family's wealth and status.

"so, is this why you keep meeting me like this then?" chuuya muses, chuckling softly.

"mhm, i have responsibilities that come with being part of my family's business. it's not always easy to find privacy, especially when there are expectations to uphold," you nod and sigh softly.

chuuya's expression softened as he listened, his gaze filled with understanding and empathy, "i see," he murmurs, his fingers gently tracing patterns on your back, "must be tough, having to navigate all of that."

you nod, grateful for his understanding, "it can be," you admit, a small sigh escaping your lips. "but moments like this, with you... they make it all worth it."

as the weight of your responsibilities hung in the air between you, chuuya pulled you closer, his arms a comforting anchor in the midst of uncertainty.

you suddenly feel the soft brush of chuuya's lips against your ear, and you couldn't suppress a gasp of pleasure—your cheeks flushing with warmth at the sensation. his nibbling sent shivers down your spine, his teasing touch causing your heart to race with a heady mix of desire and anticipation.

chuuya chuckles softly, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, "you know, darling, reputation is everything in our world."

his lips curled into a mischievous smirk, his gaze locking with yours, holding a hint of challenge, "not to scare you but it is only fair for you to know me too, darling." he murmurs, his tone carrying a weight of secrecy, "i'm an executive of the port mafia. quite the reputation holder like you, if anything."

"port mafia?" your eyes widened for a second, but they eventually softened.

you knew about the port mafia. in fact, you've heard about them, especially in the gossips at your work. they were practically the night wardens of the city, people not to be messed with. but despite hearing the reputation chuuya holds—it's strange how you do not mind it.

chuuya's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise at your response, his admiration for you growing with each passing moment, "so you've heard about us," he remarked, his voice a mixture of intrigue and approval.

"most people would run at the mention of our name, but you..." he trails off, a glimmer of something akin to admiration shining in his eyes, "you see beyond the surface, don't you?" he says, a faint smile playing on his lips.

he couldn't help but admire the way you leaned in, drawn to the mystery rather than recoiling from it.

"it's not often someone reacts like you do," chuuya admits, "most people tremble at the mere mention of the port mafia, but you... you're different."

now with a playful glint in his eyes, chuuya pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned brighter than ever before as he whispered, his voice low and husky, "but i think that's enough talk."

"why don't we take this somewhere more private? where no one has to know, nor see us, baby," he murmurs next, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

you feel the warmth of his breath against your ear once, and you trembled with anticipation as he whispered his suggestion.

your heart skipped a beat at the suggestion, your mind racing with excitement at the prospect of being alone with him, away from prying eyes and the constraints of the outside world.

with a nod and a soft smile, you whisper your agreement, your voice barely above a breathy whisper, "lead the way," you reply, your pulse quickening with every passing moment.

as chuuya took your hand in his, a surge of electricity shot through you, the promise of what lay ahead igniting a fire within you that burned hotter than ever before.

with an almost impatient urgency, chuuya led you to his car, his hand firmly clasping yours as he practically pulled you towards the vehicle. the air crackled with anticipation, the heat of the moment fueling your desire as you surrendered to the intoxicating pull of his touch.

as you reached the car, chuuya wasted no time in opening the door, his movements swift and determined. with a playful grin, he gestured for you to climb into the passenger seat before joining you behind the wheel.

but before you could settle into your seat, chuuya's desire got the better of him. with a swift motion, he pulled you onto his lap, his lips crashing against yours in a feverish kiss that left you breathless and longing for more.

"c-chuuya—" you pant softly in between the kiss, but he presses his lips against yours when you pull away from him.

his hands roamed eagerly over your body, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment. fumbling for his car keys with one hand, he refused to break the passionate embrace, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of you with a hunger that left you dizzy with desire.

finally finding the keys, chuuya managed to start the car with a practiced motion, the engine roaring to life as he shifted into gear. with a devilish grin, he tore himself away from your lips just long enough to murmur against your skin, "hold on tight, darling. we're just getting started."

and with that, he pressed his foot down on the accelerator, the car speeding off into the night, leaving behind nothing but a trail of dust and the promise of endless passion and desire in its wake.

as the car came to a halt in front of his luxurious penthouse, chuuya wasted no time in guiding you out of the vehicle and into his embrace once again. with the taste of his feverish kisses still lingering on your lips, you two stumbled together towards the entrance, the anticipation of what awaited you inside sending a surge of excitement coursing through your veins.

with fumbling fingers, chuuya managed to unlock the door, his lips never leaving yours as he practically dragged you inside. the moment the door closed behind you, you found yourselves consumed by a whirlwind of desire, your hands roaming feverishly over each other's bodies as you stumbled further into the dimly lit space.

his penthouse was a luxurious sanctuary, every corner bathed in the soft glow of ambient lighting and adorned with elegant furnishings. but in that moment, none of it mattered—the only thing that existed was the electric connection between you and chuuya, igniting a very passionate flame that threatened to consume you both.

chuuya's lips grazed your earlobe, his breath hot against your skin as he emitted a soft growl of desire. the sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a primal response within you as you melted further into his embrace.

with each kiss, each touch, the intensity between you deepened, the passion building to a feverish crescendo that left you both breathless and longing for more, and chuuya's hands roamed over your body with a possessive hunger, his touch setting your senses ablaze with a fiery passion that consumed you both.

chuuya's whispers caressed your ear like silk, each word sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body, "you're so pretty, baby," he groans, his voice husky with desire, "so perfect."

he traced the lines of your lips repeatedly, almost hungrily even, but his touch remained gentle yet possessive as he explores every inch of your body. his hands roamed freely over your body, his fingers igniting a trail of fire wherever they touched, leaving you gasping for breath and yearning for more.

chuuya lifts you effortlessly into his arms, the heat of passion fueling his every movement as he carries you towards his bedroom. your heart races with anticipation, your fingers tangling in his hair as you surrendered to the intoxicating embrace of desire with each feverish kiss.

as you two approached the bedroom door, chuuya's playful nature emerged, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes. with a smirk, he gently shifted you in his arms, allowing him to reach for the door with one hand while keeping you close with the other.

with a swift motion, he kicked the door open, the wood slamming against the wall with a resounding thud.

as the door swung open to reveal the plush interior of his bedroom, you couldn't help but laugh softly at his bold display. with a playful glint in his eyes, chuuya stepped inside, his arms still wrapped around you as he carried you further into the room.

chuuya gently lowered you onto his bed, his touch tender yet filled with a raw, primal desire that set your heart racing. as he settled you onto the soft mattress, a surge of anticipation coursed through your veins, the air thick with the electric tension of what was to come.

with a quick movement, chuuya hovered over you, his gaze locked with yours as he trailed his fingers along the curve of your jaw, sending shivers of pleasure dancing down your spine. there was a hunger burning in his eyes, a hunger that mirrored your own as you surrendered yourself to the irresistible pull of desire.

and then, with a sudden burst of passion, chuuya leaned in, capturing your lips in a fervent kiss that stole your breath away. his touch was electric, igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment, as if the very air around you crackled with the intensity of your shared desire.

"chuuya, please," you whine softly, your voice laden with desire and longing as his fingers deftly worked to unbutton your blouse, his touch sending shivers of anticipation racing down your spine.

"shh, i got you, love. i'm right here," he says in a hushed tone, chuckling softly.

with each button that came undone, the air between you crackled with an electric intensity, the heat of your passion igniting a fire that threatened to consume you both. as the fabric of your blouse fell away, revealing the curves of your body beneath, a surge of heat washed over you, leaving you trembling with need.

chuuya's hands roamed eagerly over your exposed skin, his touch setting your senses ablaze with a fierce, primal desire. the weight of his gaze bore down on you, filled with a raw, unbridled passion that left you breathless and longing for more.

"already wet for me too," chuuya whispers as one of his hands slips beneath your skirt, his nimble fingers already prodding at your soaking panties, leaving you panting softly for more.

shedding layers of clothing with reckless abandon, chuuya eagerly climbs on top of you as the two of you moved further into the depths of desire, the sound of him unbuckling his pants was already enough to make you quiver.

he trails kisses along the side of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake, you couldn't help but arch your back into his touch, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck.

the sensation of his warm breath against your skin sent shivers of pleasure dancing down your spine, awakening every nerve ending with a tantalizing jolt of desire.

as chuuya shed the rest of his clothing, the fabric falling to the floor in a haphazard pile alongside yours.

with a hungry glint in his eyes, chuuya closed the distance between you, his hands roaming eagerly over your bare skin, his touch was electric, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with each caress, each stroke, each tantalizing graze.

as he presses himself against you, his body hot and hard against yours, you gasp and whine with pleasure, the friction sending sparks of ecstasy dancing through your veins. with each grinding movement, the heat between you intensified, the passion building to a feverish crescendo that left you both trembling with anticipation.

chuuya's movements became more fervent, his hands exploring every curve of your body with a possessive hunger, you couldn't help but whimper softly in response. each touch, each grind sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, building a fiery heat that threatened to consume you both.

his lips found yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a passionate dance that left you breathless and longing for more. he continued to dry hump you repeatedly, the friction between your bodies only intensified, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your veins with each rhythmic movement.

your fingers clawed at his back, your nails digging into his skin as chuuya could feel the tip of his flushed cock getting wet from the amount of arousal you were producing.

you found yourself pleading for more as you grinded down on his cock, your movements matching his. your voice a soft, breathy whisper filled with longing and urgency, "c-chuuya—" you murmure, your words barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breaths.

his gaze trailed lower, his eyes alighting on the glistening evidence of your arousal, a low growl rumbled in his throat, his desire reigniting with a fierce intensity. with a hunger burning in his eyes, he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers, "you're so wet for me, my darling. let me take good care of you."

chuuya then pulled away, a soft whine escaped your lips, your body yearning for his touch, for the intimate connection that only he could provide. but instead of relenting to your pleas, he took hold of your thighs, spreading them apart with a firm yet gentle touch.

with a hungry gleam in his eyes, and smirk chuuya lowered his head, his lips trailing a path of fire along your inner thighs before zeroing in on your puffy clit.

with each tender kiss and delicate lick, you gasped with pleasure, your body arching towards him in a silent plea for more, "a-ahh! c-chuu—ah!" you babble out.

his tongue danced over your sensitive flesh with skillful precision, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless waves. each flick, each swirl if his tongue sent bolts of ecstasy shooting through your veins.

lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation, you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure, your fingers tangling in his hair as you guided him closer, urging him to take you to the brink of ecstasy and beyond.

with each expert flick of his tongue, chuuya sent bolts of pleasure coursing through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensation. each lick and caress designed to drive you to the edge of ecstasy and beyond, letting a knot pool in your tummy.

as plunged his tongue deeper inside you, you gasped and moaned with pleasure, your body quivering with anticipation as he explored every inch of your most intimate depths. his hold on your thighs remained firm, anchoring you in place as he devoured you with a relentless hunger that left you trembling with desire.

lost in the throes of passion, you could do nothing but surrender yourself completely to the overwhelming tide of sensation, your moans of pleasure mingling with the sound of his soft murmurs of approval.

"you taste so good, my darling," he whispers, his voice husky with desire. "so sweet, so perfect."

chuuya sensed your body writhing with pleasure, he intensified his movements, his tongue flicking and lapping at your puffy clit with a fervent urgency. each lick was more insistent than the last, sending jolts of ecstasy shooting through your body as you gasped and moaned, your pleasure mounting to dizzying heights.

with each rapid flick of his tongue, your body arched off the bed, seeking more of the delicious sensation he was providing. your fingers clenched the sheets tightly, your knuckles turning white with the intensity of your pleasure.

chuuya's hold on your thighs remained firm, anchoring you in place as he continued to lavish attention on your most sensitive spot, his movements relentless and unyielding. the pleasure was almost unbearable, a sweet torment that left you trembling with desire as you teetered on the edge of release.

and then, just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body convulsing with the force of your climax.

"chuuya!" you cry out his name in a crescendo of pleasure, your voice echoing through the room as he laps at your puffy, wet cunt.

immediately after your orgasm, chuuya rose from between your legs with a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he gazed down at you with raw desire. he positions himself over you, his hardened length pressing against your slick folds, eager to claim you as his own.

with a slow, deliberate movement, chuuya began to hump against you once again, the slickness of your release coating the tip of his cock as he teased and tormented you with each rhythmic thrust, "you like that, baby? want more? come on, speak to me. tell me."

the sensation was electric, sending bolts of pleasure coursing through your body as you moaned and writhed beneath him, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation.

as the intensity of your desire reached a fever pitch, you found yourself begging chuuya to take you, to fill you completely with his throbbing length that was rubbing and teasing you.

"chuuya, please," you whimper, your voice thick with need, "put it in me, please."

chuuya hushed you sweetly, his touch gentle and reassuring as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips, "as you wish my love," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody that washed over you like a warm embrace, "you're mine now."

with a slow, deliberate movement, he positioned himself at your entrance, his gaze locked with yours as he guided himself inside you inch by agonizing inch. the sensation of him filling you with his length completely sent sparks of ecstasy shooting through your veins, leaving you trembling with pleasure.

he began to thrust inside you, the rhythm slow and deliberate at first, you gasped with pleasure, your body arching towards him in silent invitation. with each powerful thrust, the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo, until you were both lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation.

and as he pounded into you with a primal fervor, you cried out with pleasure, your voice echoing through the room as you surrendered yourself completely to the intoxicating embrace of love and desire of being with chuuya like this.

his movements wrre powerful and unyielding as he held you close against him. each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, your bodies moving in perfect harmony as you surrendered yourself completely to the intoxicating rhythm of passion and desire.

"god, you feel so good, baby. do you even have any idea just how much i want you? how you've always been on mind since that night—f-fuck," he lets out a breathy moan as he buries his face into your hair, arms never letting you go, "and now i finally got'cha right where i want you."

his grip on you tightened, as if he feared losing you in the sea of sensation that engulfed you both. with each powerful thrust, he grunted in pleasure, his voice a symphony of ecstasy as he reveled in the feeling of being buried deep inside you, hitting you raw with a primal hunger that left you both breathless and craving more.

"mmh, baby.. you're so tight," he moans in your ear, tugging your earlobe with his teeth, making you clench around his cock.

as the intensity of your pleasure built to dizzying heights, you clung to him desperately, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your cries of ecstasy mingling with his own as you tumbled together into the abyss of passion and desire.

your body was now trembling with the approach of release, you couldn't help but whimper and squirm beneath chuuya's relentless thrusts. the sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of ecstasy threatening to consume you in its powerful embrace.

but instead of relenting, chuuya only increased the intensity of his thrusts, driving you closer to the edge with each powerful movement. your pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears as he held you firmly in place, his grip unyielding as he continued to pound into you with a primal fervor.

"nuh-uh, let me love on you, baby," he chuckles, his voice a husky whisper against your ear as he kissed the sensitive flesh. his words sent a shiver of pleasure coursing through you, the sound of his laughter mingling with the sound of your own ragged breaths.

with each thrust, each kiss, each caress, the pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo, until you were teetering on the brink of release, your body writhing with the intensity of your desire. and just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, the dam broke, and you were consumed by a tidal wave of ecstasy that left you gasping for breath and trembling with pleasure.

you whimpered out loud and squirmed beneath him, the intensity of your pleasure reaching its peak, chuuya felt your walls clenching around him, your sweet release coating his cock in a warm, slick embrace.

with a guttural groan of pleasure, he buried himself deep inside you, savoring the sensation of your climax rippling through your body, "a-agh, baby.." he grunts.

chuuya pulls out from you, leaving you panting softly, he leaned down to kiss you tenderly, his lips trailing a path of fire along your skin as he murmured praises in your ear.

his words were like a sweet melody, filling you with a sense of warmth and contentment even as desire continued to burn fiercely between you, "you did so good, love. so pretty for me."

but even as he showered you with affection, you could sense that he had no intention of stopping now. with a firm yet gentle touch, he repositioned you onto your stomach, guiding your body into the perfect angle for him to thrust inside you from behind.

"w-wait, chuuya. what are you—" before you could finish, chuuya hushes you with a teasing smirk across his face.

with a husky chuckle, chuuya used your own words against you, his voice laced with desire as he whispers in your ear, "come here, you can meet me in the back too."

the playful reminder sent a shiver of excitement coursing through you, knowing that chuuya was eager to continue their passionate encounter in a different setting.

he entered you once again, the sensation of him filling you completely sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins.

as he moaned in pleasure, his thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, driving deeper into you with each powerful movement. gripping your hips firmly, he forced you to meet his rhythm, the sensation of his balls slapping against your behind adding to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.

with each repeated thrust, your moans of pleasure filled the air, the sound a symphony of ecstasy as chuuya relentlessly pounded into you.

your pussy clenched and squelched around him, your body writhing with pleasure as you gripped the sheets tightly, seeking to anchor yourself amidst the overwhelming tide of sensation.

the rhythm of your bodies was like a dance, a primal ritual of passion and desire that left you both trembling with ecstasy. With each powerful thrust, he drove himself deeper into you, the sensation sending bolts of pleasure shooting through your veins.

"i'm so close.. m'gonna give it to you," he grunts with the impending climax he was feeling, his lips found your neck in a heated kiss, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulled out slightly.

with a subtle adjustment, he lifted your hips, altering the angle of penetration before plunging back into you with a newfound intensity.

"f-fuck, chuuya! mmh.. ah!" the change in angle elicited a whimpered cry from you as he thrust deeply, the sensation of his cock penetrating you at a different angle sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

with each powerful thrust, you could feel the tip of his cock pressing against your tummy, a delicious ache building deep within you.

"coming.. take it all for me, darling," chuuya moans as he reaches the peak of his climax.

he drives into you with one final, deep thrust, his body tensing with release as he spilled his essence deep inside you. a pleasured cry escaped your lips as you felt him pulsating within you, his hot seed painting your walls white with each powerful surge.

beneath him, you squirmed and writhed with pleasure, your body convulsing as waves of ecstasy washed over you. his grip on your hips tightened as he continued to thrust, prolonging the pleasure as he milked every last drop of pleasure from his orgasm.

with each thrust, each pulse of his release, you cried out with pleasure, your voice mingling with his in a symphony of passion and desire.

"shh, it's okay. it's okay, baby. i've got you, yeah?" he whispers softly.

and as chuuya hushed you sweetly, his caresses soothing your convulsing body, you knew that in this moment, you were truly alive—alive with a passion that transcended time and space, binding you together in a bond that could never be broken.

chuuya continued to thrust gently, ensuring that you took every last drop of his seed, you lay beneath him, your body trembling with exhaustion and satisfaction. with each lingering movement, you felt his essence filling you completely, leaving you feeling full and content.

finally, when he was certain that you had taken all of him, he pulled out slowly, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he gazed down at you with tender affection. you remained there, on your tummy, on his soaked sheets, panting softly as you reveled in the aftermath of your passionate encounter.

the air around you was heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, his room filled with the echoes of your shared pleasure. and as you lay there, spent and sated, you felt a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that in the arms of chuuya, you had found solace and strength.

with a soft smile, chuuya wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him as he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead and to the top of your head, his voice a gentle murmur in the quiet of the room.

"i love you," he whispers, his words filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away, "i love you more than words can express, more than i ever thought possible."

the soft glow of the moon casting shadows across the room, and he held you close as ever, his touch gentle and reassuring. with a tender smile, chuuya brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his gaze filled with adoration.

"you know," you begin, your voice soft yet filled with conviction, "being with you feels like dancing in the rain, like spinning in the dark. It's delicate, it's fragile, but it's also the most beautiful thing i've ever experienced."

as you snuggled closer to him, chuuya's voice broke the silence, his words filled with a playful yet sincere tone, "you and me, darling," he says, his lips brushing against your forehead, "we've got big reputations. and you know what? i wouldn't have it any other way."

"so let them talk," he continues, his voice filled with determination, "let them speculate, let them whisper behind our backs. because at the end of the day, they'll never understand what we have. and as long as i have you, nothing else matters."

with a soft chuckle, he pressed a loving kiss to your lips, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned brighter than any spotlight, "we're the end game, my love," he murmurs against your skin, his words a promise of forever.

surrounded by the warmth of his love and the certainty of your bond, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them with unwavering courage and unyielding strength.

for in the arms of chuuya, you had found not just a lover, but a partner, your very refuge.

ಇ. tagging: @osaemu @sachiyoh @little-miss-chaoss @pe4rl-diver

ಇ. a.n.: t.s. reputation inspired fic for chuuya finally done <3 honestly don't know what came over me to write this much, but thank you for reading until the very end. delicate has me in a chokehold, along with so it goes, king of my heart, and end game i tell you ughhh.. also the reader being the heiress is somewhat inspired by do-hee in my demon lol (｡>\\<)

#chuuya x reader #chuuya x reader smut #chuuya smut #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara x you #chuuya x fem!reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #bsd fanfic #bsd chuuya

[ma1dita]

'en route' - i. imaginary friend

pictures are not mine, 3rd is a photo concept by @geloyconcepcion on ig

read along here (will update) : part ii, part iii, part iv

song of the chapter: revolution 0 by boygenius

en route playlist: here

words: 3.9k

summary: pt ¼ of ‘en route’. You and James are kindred spirits. Fighting in the First Wizarding War just seems to be your only escape.

warnings: no use of y/n, religious iconography sprinkled here and there, depictions of loss/war, angst, unhappy(?) marriage, fake marriage, twin flames vibe, they’re just kids they should be at the club bro

a/n: setting the scene is always so hard LOL. i love writing morally grey characters, please feel free to comment if you want to be added onto the taglist, or scream at me <3 thanks for the patience, you won’t have to wait as long for the next part lol

(posted 12/28/23, might come back to edit)

—

END OF MARCH 1980

There’s not a lot of things you like to remember about the year 1980. The memories blur together, highly repressed in a busy corner of your mind, and if someone held you at wandpoint to ask about what happened, you’re not sure where to begin. You don’t talk about it much anymore, but if you did, it wouldn’t be sufficient to put it in a few simple words.

And maybe if you did, the remembering wouldn’t hurt as much. With little physical things to hang onto, however—holding onto this hurt reminds you it was real.

From what you can remember anyway, it all started on his birthday.

You felt eyes on you as soon as you stormed into the room. In this congregation of people trying to save the world, it was easy to feel unseen in your struggles to keep moving forward. A pair of kaleidoscope eyes meet yours for a small moment, and that’s when you knew it was risky. It’s easy to hide in a crowd of Aurors enjoying the reprieve from the reality of the world outside of headquarters’ protected doors, fading into the background.

But he saw you, and that was terrifying–to be perceived.

Frank Longbottom pours you a pint, and you nod your head in thanks, taking a long sip before settling down into a chair at the bar. The same pair of eyes see through you, past your hunched frame, down to the core of your grief. Something about it resonates with him deeply, and the boys notice his attention is away from the conversation they’re having in the living room.

“She's pretty, yeah? French, I think. Never says more than a few words to anyone though, I tried. All business,” Sirius mumbles to his best friend over a glass of firewhiskey.

James looks up at Sirius from his position in the armchair, his head tilted to one side in curiosity at the way you fold into yourself.

"Yeah, I guess," James replies reluctantly. "I've never properly spoken to her, but I can tell she's very... mellow."

“Heard she lost people. The war hasn't been kind to her like it has to a lot of us. Don't know if she'll budge, Prongs. Some pages are best left unturned,” Remus says, shuffling a deck of cards between his scarred fingers. Sirius grunts in response, not caring for the conversation as he takes another sip of his drink.

James knows now what he recognizes within you. Grief has been looming over him too, latched onto his spine, weighing him down as the responsibilities grow by the day. His eyes flicker to his wife’s baby bump as she stands near the window laughing at something Marlene and Peter were acting out. Lily falling pregnant was his sign to get his shit together, because if he didn’t, who would?

Like a shadow, you shy away from the light and laughter that fills the room. But there was no escape once he started walking in your direction. There was no grandiose introduction, no heart-stopping, earth-shattering moment. Both consumed by grief unseen by most, two people sat at the bar in silent reverence of each other’s breathing, daring the other to say something.

“Didn’t know I was crashing your birthday Potter. Seems I don't have a gift,” you say suddenly, words rushing out as your eyes trace his profile.

A beat passes.

His head bobs up and for a second you think you’ve said the wrong thing until you realize he’s smiling. He looks up grinning like the devil, eyes meeting yours with a smile you could only describe as radiant. It stirs something deep within you, and you watch your hands reach toward your butterbeer to avoid his searing gaze.

“Terrible time to have a party anyway. I think it’s more for them than it is for me.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you scoff lightly, and his head jerks towards you as you continue, “You’re a bit too happy for my liking.”

“Oh?” His body turns to follow, knees bumping against yours under the bartop.

“How come you know so much about me then? You don’t give any of us a chance with you.”

James says this jokingly, but a part of it rings true like a punch in the gut. You were so impressionable, left soft and malleable by the grief that became you that you found it quite infuriating that someone like him could be so happy in the middle of a war like this one.

A noise of acknowledgement leaves your throat and he watches your fingers clench around the glass. Too much? Change the subject.

“What’s the ‘T’ necklace you have on?”

The chain swings against your chest as you adjust yourself on the barstool, becoming aware of the weight of it.

“What?”

“What does it mean? Must be important to you, whoever this fellow is. See you wear it every day,” he says adamantly, before backtracking and realizing how stalkerish that sounds.

“Potter, have you never met a Christian?” Your eyes dart between him and his hands on the bartop, more glaringly, the platinum wedding band on his left hand. Surely, anything should be more interesting than conversing with a stranger at his own party.

“A who? Who’s Christian? Are you?”

The beginning of a smile breaks onto your face like daybreak. It’s refreshing, he thinks. He doesn’t think he’s made someone smile like that in a while.

“You idi–,” you exhale, “It’s not… Muggles don’t have magic like us, so they have belief systems. Higher power they believe in. Weren’t you Head Boy at Hogwarts, how did you pass Muggle Studies?”

“Elective. Do you believe in that stuff? God and what not?”

Your calf brushes his pant leg accidentally. Why can’t you stop fidgeting? He makes you nervous, all these questions, and then you blurt your response out in rapid succession that he’s almost unable to catch it.

“No. Maybe. My parents did, and God was important to them, so I wear this necklace because of it. They’re important to me. I used to before I found out I was a witch. Used to pray that God would save me, make me something other than mundane—well, here I am now. Not quite sure if he heard me.”

It hits you that the last time you’ve been able to speak about your parents like this was at their funeral two months back. Right before you joined the Order, and sitting here in front of James suddenly feels stifling. You roll your jacket sleeves up, hyperaware that he’s watching your every move.

He keeps his tone light, but the smile on his face is kind as he mutters, “You think some bloke up top is calling all the shots for everyone?” James says this without judgment and your breath quivers.

“I don’t know, but I think things happen for a reason. I’m still trying to find out what that exactly is.”

His pinky nudges yours on the sticky bartop, and his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose as he tilts his head in thought.

“Did. Is the believing past tense?”

You’re not sure what’s changed in the past few minutes that’s made you comfortable in his presence, but you crack a joke before you think too hard.

“My parents are. Past tense.”

Laughter spills out of you like the bubbles on your refilled pint glass, and James scrunches his face, holding back until his shoulders are shaking from the effort.

“Merlin….yeah. Mine too.”

Oh.

You look at him through your eyelashes, silence filling the space between you two as the rest of the party goes on in the background. James clinks his glass with yours, and there’s a silent understanding that bridges between you, connecting you together.

—

END OF APRIL 1980

“You know if we’re gonna be friends, you should probably call me James.”

The two of you were left sitting in the den to deliberate on the mission you were being sent at the end of this week. Three whole months with James Potter could be a nightmare. But it could also be quite fun, you think, watching him flick through the mission files with a quirk in his lip that can only signal mischief. Signing away your life wouldn’t be so bad if you had him to keep you company. You’d never tell him that though.

“Will we be? You don’t seem that excited.”

“Excited to be shipped away from everyone we know is definitely a statement, love.”

“I’m not eager if that’s what you’re insinuating. Just feel obligated, especially if it helps the cause. That’s why you’re here, right?” Right. In a war like this one, ordinary people like you and him pay the highest price. But nothing seemed ordinary about you, like a complex puzzle he was constantly wracking his brain to figure out. There are aspects of your personality that come to light the more he talks to you over these past few weeks, almost luring him in so he can unveil the secrets you hold. Why do you put yourself on the front lines like this, mission after mission? Who do you have in your life that makes you want to fight against the odds? What do you think of to keep you going? Why can’t he stop thinking about you?

He blinks, before looking at you, “S’not that I don’t want to go with you, and do my duty, I just…”

“You love it. I can see it in your eyes, you were trouble at school, weren’t you?” James’ smile gets wider, thinking back to the last few years, before everything went to shit. Back when it was easier, just him and his three friends, and his biggest worry was getting Lily Evans to look at him.

“Just a lot to worry about. People to take care of.” His mind falls back to his wife sitting at home, probably wondering why he isn’t back from the Order meeting, getting more agitated by the minute. He thinks of the nursery he still needs to set up, and the legal affairs he’s left behind after his parents’ death. He thinks of checking in on his boys, who barely know how to take care of themselves if they don’t come over for dinner, and finally, he exhales.

“You?“

It’s an honest question, and by asking it, he extends himself to you, an insight into the burdens he carries with him daily. The difficulty and complexity of having a large capacity to love is carrying the weight until you cannot.

“Just me and my rucksack. Gives me something to do.” You give him a tight-lipped smile, busying yourself with packing the supplies Dumbledore gave you two earlier. Vials of Polyjuice Potion, two golden wedding bands, magically enhanced IDs— it was like playing pretend. That’s all this has to be. Easy enough.

James looks at you and understands a bit more. You need this job. And if he’s being honest, so does he.

“I still wonder what would happen if it doesn’t work out, don’t get me wrong. But then I think, what if it does? What if no one else has to die?” A noise of agreement rises from his throat as he straightens his posture on the couch.

War shouldn’t be an escape, much less a distraction to two people grieving. There are countless muggles and wizards alike losing their lives to a genocide of people undeserving of a fate dictated by a person who plays god. But when you’re fighting for your life before you can even legally drink in some countries, there are two things left to consider when making a decision: to choose something difficult or to choose wrong.

And neither of you have ever found anything easy. Not in this life at least.

He sighs. James really needs to get home.

“Well…We will be friends by the end of this. I’m sure. Already gonna be married to you anyways,” he jokes.

“Don’t get used to it, what a pity that would be for your ego,” you gripe, but a trace of amusement is present on your lips as you watch him stand up to leave.

“We’ll see about that, love.”

He apparates home. Onto the next difficult thing.

When James told Lily that he’d be on a mission for the latter half of her pregnancy, she didn’t take it well. But to be honest, with everything going on, James couldn’t help but feel exasperated. How bad is his marriage that he’d rather risk his life instead of tending to his family’s needs? James sits at the dining table listening to her yell, and he feels extra heavy today, wondering how he feels so ancient at 20 years old.

Years ago he dreamed of this, a wife, kids, a pretty townhouse. But this isn’t what he quite imagined. He looks at his wife as she paces around the room, hand on her bump, red hair spreading little fires as she goes. She’s his everything. Truly. He spent years trying to even find that spark in her, dedicated his life to her, and gave up everything to take care of her—but she struggled a lot these past few months. Her pregnancy brought on incendiary words falling upon him like lashes as she blamed him for moving too quickly. Blamed him for the fact they’ve felt like strangers in this little house. But with his parents both sick, getting married seemed like the next right thing.

An owl flits to his kitchen window once Lily storms out again, leaving nothing but ashes of her disappointment in her wake. Ashes, ashes… James wonders where his spark has gone. He hates to disappoint.

Just wanted to owl and check in. I found myself thinking about you and wanted to make sure you’re okay, with everything changing so quickly. Hope you and your wife figure it out, I’ll be on the 11 AM Knight Bus tomorrow outside Diagon Alley regardless. See you.

He thinks of you, so brave and filled with a spark he used to recognize within himself. This isn’t wrong, he reasons, just difficult. But he won’t admit that taking his wedding band off before settling onto the couch was easier than he thought it would be. He feels lighter. As he takes off his glasses and stares at the ceiling of his living room that night, James wonders how much longer he can ignore his problems by not looking at them properly. How much longer does he have to carry the weight? When will someone help him carry the load?

For now, he tries to sleep. One step at a time, James. Like always. There’s a mission he has to start tomorrow. And he doesn’t want to disappoint you.

—

You’re not surprised when he turns up to your meeting point the next morning, not addressing him when you stick your wand hand out to summon the bus. He bites back a smile, knowing you were right and thinking you see right through him. Now look who’s the eager one.

After paying eleven sickles each, you lead him to a window seat, ignoring the babbles of other passengers as you look out the window.

“You ever think about all these people, with their little lives and everything they have to do?” you pipe up, head against the glass. James scoffs, “I always think about other people. Sometimes I wonder if anyone thinks of me like that. If anyone worries as you do over strangers.”

“I thought we were friends,” you say coyly, still not looking at him, and his heart skips a beat. Probably nerves. “You think Dumbledore cares that he’s sending off two teenagers to fight a war and save the wizarding world?”

“I’m an adult, thank you very much.”

“We’re kids, James,” You look at him, and he blinks at the sound of his given name falling from your lips that he almost loses the next part of your sentence, “we’re kids working towards a bigger picture of world peace. Isn’t that fucking insane that this what our lives amount to?”

He couldn’t agree more, but his forehead creases at your tone.

“Why do you act like your best years are behind you? There’s a lot to live for still,” he murmurs knowingly.

He pats your thigh and the only thing you notice is the tan of his hand against his missing wedding band. Soon it will be replaced by one that binds him to you, temporarily, but it’s jarring all the same. You shake off the uneasy feeling that rises in your stomach.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

James is doing that thing again, the whole savior complex bit that you notice is one and the same with his trying hard to be carefree personality. But you’re coming to learn that James cares. A lot.

—

“Apartment 11B?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Two swigs of Polyjuice Potion did the job once you stepped off the bus and walked through town to the place you’ll inhabit for a fourth of the year, and quickly, you both become unrecognizable to even each other. A blonde eyebrow looks at you under James’ glasses at your hesitation, so you clear your throat.

“For Mr. and Mrs. Fawley. We just got married, you see. Newlywed jitters.” His voice is lighter and more posh as his hand reaches out to rest on your shoulder.

“Hmm, yes. Harry—er…Henrietta and Draco–” the receptionist squints at her paper, and you sigh at how pretentious the names sound together. Not in this life. You ought to wring Alice’s neck. That girl loves to make stories, and the more frilly your personas she created, the more difficult it’ll be to upkeep.

“No need, Etta and Drake are fine, love,” you say with a more confident grin, leaning against your faux husband.

The keys slide across the countertop, and you walk to the elevator, hand in hand until you’re out of sight. As you approach the door, James crouches a bit and puts his hands on his knees.

“What are you doing?”

“Jump up. Gotta carry you over the threshold.”

“Shut up, Drake,” reminding yourself to use his false name in case someone’s watching, but he looks at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Exactly. Just in case. Come on, just indulge me.” You shake your head in disbelief but hop onto his back all the same. Not exactly traditional, but it stirs up a feeling in you that you haven’t felt before. He carries you through the doorway and spins you once, twice, three times before you squeal and he giggles, placing you gently onto the sofa. It’s a cozy apartment with enough space for the two of you, cream walls, and a small kitchen with an island overlooking the entertaining space. The hallway leads to what you presume is the only bedroom, and there’s a nervous energy that sifts through the air as you both place protective charms everywhere, to ward off prying eyes and ears. How intimate. James falls back onto the sofa with a huff, sitting next to you, and both of you are unsure of what to say.

“I can take the sofa,” he says into the silence, and you turn to look at him incredulously.

‘For three months? James, I can't ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

“You’re gonna be hunched over by the end of the week. What if we rotate?”

There’s no disagreement, feeling the springs in the cushion beneath your bottoms already. James perks up, leaning over to grab something from his bag, and by the time he leans back up, he looks like himself again, the small dose of Polyjuice wearing off. You can feel your hair go back to its original shade and texture, and he smiles wider when he sees your face.

“Look what I got. Remus gave it to me back at Hogwarts but I never really used up all the film. Thought we could take some pictures and look back on this one day.” It’s sweet, how he loves his friends like they’re an extension of himself. You reckon you don't have anyone like that, smiling at him fumbling with the tiny camera in his hands.

“It’ll take a while to develop. Gotta keep it safe if we’re making it out of this,” you say, taking it from him and throwing yourself back onto the backrest leaning against him to point and shoot one of yourselves in this moment, disheveled and domestic. The flash goes off and he looks like a deer in headlights, making you cackle.

“You miss them?” He’s not sure who you’re referring to, so he rattles on anyway. He loves talking about the people he loves.

“The boys…Just miss being kids at Hogwarts, y’know? The end of the world back then was not getting enough O’s on NEWTs. You?”

“Mhm. None of them are in Britain though. They came for my parents’ funeral, and they always say they’ll visit but…That’s my fault too, I guess.” You tuck your leg underneath you, turning to face him, and he’s cuddled up against a throw pillow.

“Your parents were awesome. Didn’t know them well besides your dad being in the Order and stuff, but they were really brave. Your mom hugged me at my parents’ burial and I think that was the first time I let myself cry after they died. That’s one of the few things I remember from that day.”

A breath of air escapes your lungs at his anecdote. It’s been a few months since they passed but you’ll never stop missing them.

“I don’t remember a lot from theirs either. It’s all kind of been a blur since. I think I remember you and Sirius smoking in the back and him offering me a cigarette.” He laughs silently at the memory of his best friend.

“No one ever talks about how much there is to do after your parents die,” he says, and you roar with agreement.

“Yes! I’m still battling out their assets in court! It’s difficult to live life alone, thinking they’ve set you up for the future, but feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath you. I just wish…They left this world together, y’know? And that’s great, but sometimes I feel selfish wondering what will happen to me.”

James nods slowly, taking your words in. He’s never had anyone to talk about this with, people pitying him instead, or acting like it didn’t matter, but it’s been almost a year and he can’t go to bed without thinking about how his parents died a week apart because even in death, they couldn’t be away for long. James wonders if you’ve noticed that he hasn’t talked about missing his wife, and the selfishness you mentioned prods at him. He smiles grimly, and takes the ring box from your bag, asking for your hand.

“Hey. You’re never gonna be alone again, alright? Not if it’s up to me.”

You roll your eyes as he flips the cover open, revealing the two gold bands, yours with a sizable diamond in the center.

“Do you think I’d give you that much power over me, James? This is all fake.”

“Fake marriage, but a true promise. I think you might, eventually.”

He slides the ring onto your left ring finger, sealing it with a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

—

“The first time you caught my eye it was not love at first sight. Instead, a quiet curiosity was planted in my chest and I knew it was only a matter of time before you sunk beneath my bones and nurtured this deep-seated familiarity into a love so fierce that I would question if I had ever been in love before.” - Lyra Wren

general taglist: @jsjcue

en route taglist: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @babyclea @idkman5335 @timhalamet @ttulipwritezz @lilylovesu @thatonedogwithablog @lovemerigt

#made by ma1dita ♥︎ #james potter x reader angst #james potter x reader #marauders x reader #marauders era #mischiefmoons er

[projectionistwrites]

I HEAR A SYMPHONY

Joel Miller x gn!reader (1.5k+)

Joel Miller once lived and breathed a melody, before Cordyceps came and stole the music in his heart away—but then he met someone who set his world back into tune.

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: SMUT (very abstract descriptions of sex, suggestive themes), this entire thing is supposed to come across as an eloquent metaphor but it’s rushed and probably super scattered

i hear a symphony — cody fry

i used to hear a simple song that was until you came along now in its place is something new i hear it when i look at you

He strummed chords on invisible strings when he was nervous.

It was something he’d done since he first learned to play guitar, fingers absentmindedly following practiced patterns when his hands were at his sides. He'd sometimes sing along in his head—Smoke on the Water, Purple Rain, Bad Moon Rising—his fingers dancing across the frets in his mind, nimbly plucking away at familiar melodies.

For many years, Joel Miller aimed to find song in every corner of his life—it was his calling since he was a child. Even when his aspirations of being a singer faded into the background as reality settled in, music always dwelled within him, all-encompassing and ever salient. It came in the form of tinny vinyls spinning on a record player; rewound cassettes echoing his favorite albums through his tired Walkman into the early hours of the morning; the shitty radio in his old pickup that only ever picked up a signal to the country music station; humming softly to himself as he flipped pancakes for his daughter's breakfast; compulsory whistling as he and his brother worked long hours in the blistering Texas sun.

When the outbreak happened, and the familiar melody of his daughter’s laughter died alongside her, his fingertips still bore the callouses from the guitar strings and his hands still itched to follow the progressions of long-forgotten tunes—but his world had fallen silent. The once steady time signature that had helped keep his days flowing with an even rhythm and tempo was holding an indefinite fermata; the once routine symphonies of daily living devolved from a worldly tune into a cacophony of dissonance; the once musically-inclined man struggled to find any semblance of lyricism in the sounds around him when everything just seemed to be noise.

But still, his fingers reminisced what his mind had since forgotten—they continued to maintain their dexterity, strumming silent harmonies and dancing along the neck of the ghost of his acoustic guitar.

The reflexive tendencies that occupied his hands were instinctual, nothing more than an idiosyncrasy that served to synchronize the energy in his body with the rapid pace with which his thoughts traveled. He didn’t notice it anymore—the chord progressions were unidentifiable at this point, his fingers operating outside of his conscious control.

But you noticed. He wasn’t sure how, or why you were observing him so meticulously that you were able to identify the patterned movements of his restless fingers, but you noticed. The inaudible melodies that his hands persistently played had always fallen on deaf ears—but the songs seemed to echo at a frequency at which only you were attuned to hear.

A knock on his door on a brisk winter evening in Jackson—your cheeks were dusted pink as you shivered on his front steps, glowing beneath the dim shine of his porch light.

There was a guitar in your hands. Your fingers were wrapped around the neck tightly as you stared up at him, a certain innocence twinkling in your kind eyes. You were nervous—the timbre of your voice fluctuated as you explained the purpose of your surprise visit. You’d been drawn to the constant motion of his fingers, your curiosity piqued at just how fluid, deliberate, and controlled each stroke appeared to be. You’d found the instrument abandoned in the attic of the home you resided in, destined to never play another tune until you’d stumbled upon it accidentally. Joel listened to your long-winded explanation—you’d been trying to teach yourself to play, and that’s why the twitching of his fingers had caught your attention; you’d recognized the technique, as you’d been hopelessly trying to emulate it yourself.

Something awoke in him as you stood on his porch that night. It was unidentifiable at the time, even after he’d invited you inside to escape the frigid December air and you’d sat across from him at the kitchen table. He was intrigued by your interest in him, and slightly impressed at your audaciousness to confront him at his own home with nothing more than an inkling that your deductions about him had been correct. It was only after you’d passed the guitar over into his lap and he began to carefully twist the tuning pegs to tighten the strings that he finally recognized what, exactly, had changed inside his mind when you first opened your mouth to speak.

The empty static had been replaced with a note. Soft, and discreet, but he could hear it. The very first chord plucked on his guitar, signifying the beginning of a composition. An overture.

Joel began to seek you out. It wasn’t difficult to do—he just had to close his eyes and listen. The wind carried the gentle dulcet of your voice; the mellifluous trill of your laughter soon became his favorite sound; with each exhale, you conducted an elegy; your very being seemed to coalesce into an aria, everything you touched seemed to resolve itself into harmony.

Similar to his recollections of your songs, your meetings increased in frequency—his large, weathered hands guided your fingers with patience and restraint, watching the quiet concentration on your face as your fingertips grew accustomed to the bite of metal strings. He became partial to serving as your audience in the mezzanine seats—your back settled between his parted legs as you sat on the floor in front of his chair, your shoulders nestled between his knees as he observed you from above, leaning forward to coach you through your occasional mistakes. His arms would blanket your own when he’d reach to manipulate the position of your hands, his palms settling over your knuckles as he adjusted your fingers to mimic his own.

You were a fucking earworm. When he was out on patrol, when you were busy helping in the dining hall, the only thing replaying in the back of his mind was you, you, you. The way your eyes shone with wonder when he’d finally relent to your endless pleas and play you something from his past. The way your fingers would twitch from where they rested on your thighs, mindlessly trying to mirror each chord he strummed. The way your lips would part when the acoustics trapped you into a trance, your mind completely enraptured by the songs he shared.

You clung to each melody with devout appreciation, drinking them in as if they were the only remedy to quench your insatiable thirst for euphony. On the rarest of occasions, when his vulnerability peeked from behind the curtain and he allowed you to listen to the gravelly timbre of his voice, the awestruck expression on your delicate features would provide a metronome for his performance in the form of his pounding heart, beating rhythmically against his ribcage.

Crescendoing. The brush of his fingers against your skin would linger for just a bit longer each time—the cloyingly sweet redolence of your honeysuckle perfume permeated even the stench of blood and decay that sometimes followed him home after macabre patrol shifts. The refrain of your duet finally made way for the bridge on the night your lips first melded with his—the hot sting of your mouth against his, your fingers buried in his hair and your body flush against his own—he found himself continuously longing for an encore.

As more and more of your musical arrangements revealed themselves to him, he familiarized himself with his favorite pieces in your repertoire—the desperate whine subdued by a kiss when he nipped at the swell of your lower lip; the ragged panting breath that escaped you when his hands slowly removed your clothes; the carnal whimpers of need when your body demanded a faster tempo than the one he was providing; the incessant repetition of your begging as his mouth worked you over, pleading for your release; the depraved moan that accompanied the initial stretch of him breaching your entrance; most of all, the sound of his name on your lips, his favorite fucking verse, your typically melodic intonation reducing itself to a wrecked, breathy version of your voice as you chanted nonsensically—please, Joel, fuck, give it to me, yes, yes, yes—

Joel was the maestro—but you were the fucking musician. He knew how to conduct, but Christ, you knew how to play. His body was your instrument, and you knew exactly how to make him sing. With practiced flicks of your wrist and calculated slides of your tongue, each note you drew from him was deliberate and strategic, performing perfectly in unison with the conductor's gesticulations.

His life had fallen back into tune. The soft, forgiving lull of your presence had reminded him of the aspirations of his past—the reason he wanted to pursue a future of music, the way the vibrations felt low in his diaphragm when he allowed his voice to ring clear. For so long, he’d lived in a world characterized by chaos and disorder, but somehow, you’d quelled the dissonance and reintroduced the broken shell of a man to the solace of song.

He watched you strum the guitar, sitting on the bench on his front porch. Your face was illuminated by the dim yellow glow of the porch light, reminiscent of the time you’d first wound up on his stoop. As your fingers deftly plucked at the strings, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth in concentration, every wrong note that Joel had ever played resolved itself as the symphony you personified washed over him—a frisson of overwhelming magnitude possessed his body as a resounding realization dawned on him.

You were his magnum opus.

#tlou #the last of us #tlou series #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel x reader #tlou smut #tlou imagine #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfic #joel and ellie #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #projectionistwrites

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: "Altercation at the Auspicious Auction"

Happy, uh... Tuesday, everyone! I'm a little bit behind 😬

Man oh man, but do I have mixed feelings about this episode. While drafting today's recap I kept trying to come up with a summary to start with; an abbreviated takeaway of my overall thoughts - especially for any readers who don't feel like wading through the whole post. Unfortunately, anything that simplistic kinda misses the point, so you all are just gonna have to settle for a, "I'm a glass case of mixed emotions!" while we unpack this episode.

First, a note about our title. Last week I bypassed commenting on "A Place of Particular Concern" for the simple reason that I wasn't sure what to do with it yet. Now, I think I understand the general vibe that RWBY is going for, though it does surprise me a little. The alliteration of "Altercation at the Auspicious Auction" is definitely catchy, but it doesn't have much of a Wonderland feel to it. Carroll's chapter titles were, by and large, descriptively straightforward:

Down the Rabbit-Hole

The Pool of Tears

Advice from a Caterpillar

Who Stole the Tarts?

You get the idea. They're very accessible for a child because although the combination might be new - how does one get advice from a caterpillar? - every element is familiar. They know what a rabbit-hole is, a tart, a pool, tears, etc. just not how those elements are fitting together in new ways. RWBY's titles, meanwhile, are a little more complex. Which isn't a bad thing, they're just not titles that would have fit well into Carroll's original or, arguably, fit the whimsical, fairy tale, 'This is kinda for kids' vibe of the Volume thus far. If anything, what we've gotten reminds me of Lemony Snicket's work. An auspicious auction sounds like it belongs smack dab in the austere academy.

Anyway, let's get into the actual story. Last we left off, Volume 9 was struggling significantly with its tone and I'm sorry to say that things haven't improved in that regard. If anything, the introduction of better written, more emotionally driven scenes means that they're suffering from the endless gags surrounding them and those gags, in turn, feel all the more out of place. We open on the girls all looking out on the world that Blake has revealed to them, though none of the emotion from last week has transferred over. Ruby and Yang are just kinda blank as they stare ahead, whereas Blake and Weiss appear intrigued by what's before them. Blake I can understand - the episode goes out of its way to frame her as the book nerd who's prepared to navigate this world and though I mentioned in a recent ask that Ruby feels more like the fairy tale lover to me, I do really like that Blake is given agency as the bibliophile again - but Weiss spends the entire episode having an absolute crisis over navigating a fairy tale, so why she's animated looking smugly pleased at this development is beyond me.

This is a common problem though, especially is modern RWBY. Unless the story is going out of its way to highlight a particular emotion (such as Ruby's depression at certain points) then everyone is given randomly generic expressions to fill a shot. Rarely do I feel like the smaller moments accurately reflect the overall mood. If a character is angry, they're just as likely to be smiling while someone else talks; if a character is frustrated, they're just as likely to appear content when the focus is no longer on them. In some ways this highlights the difficulties inherent in animation - you can't just let an actor do their job in the background, you have to actively conceive of and construct a characters' every micro-expression - but, the issue of crunch aside, it's still something the show could improve on. If your character is on screen, make sure their expressions actually matches what's been going on.

So we're off to a slightly rocky start and then, of course, we really kick things off with a joke. Yang wants to know if they're just going to stand around thinking about this in silence, or...?

Yeah, we definitely needed the meta acknowledgement that there was a break between episodes and we don't technically know how long the girls were staring at the view in-world. That's absolutely the best way to follow up on Ruby collapsing over the death of a friend🤦‍♀️

It'll come as no surprise to anyone who has seen the episode that this will be a common complaint from me today. Consistently the writing portions out moments for Ruby to be sad about what's happened, neatly separated from the rest of the story, and everything surrounding those moments works very hard to undermine that emotion. For example, in this moment I couldn't help but re-frame what we've been given through Yang's perspective: she saved her little sister and in the process fell into a terrifying void, waking with the thought that she's probably dead. Her arm was stolen from her and she somehow encountered a (meant to be) terrifying beast she wasn't able to fully defend herself against. This led to her reuniting with her team and the realization that them being here meant that they failed spectacularly to defend the world above. Weiss confirms this by tearfully admitting that one of their friends has died and Ruby is so shocked that she passes out.

So how does Yang react to all that? With incredibly bland questions about whether Ruby is okay. No physical comfort. Lots of jokes about their situation and, as we'll see later, an endless desire to punch someone's lights out - but even that is presented as a cute character quirk, not a symptom of her trauma. Yang - and everyone else - is only reacting to the horrors of Volume 8 when the story wants them to react, the Bad Emotions flipping on and off depending on whether the writers want another gag or not.

But I'm getting way ahead of myself. The point is that we begin with this sarcastically cheery tone and segue right into more animation humor. Ruby says that it's impossible that they're in a fairy tale, but Blake points out Little as evidence. (Side-note: how is that irrefutable evidence when the woman giving it is part CAT?) A highlighted mouse and Ruby's sweat-drop convey that yes, this is really happening! Because we can't convince the characters without those humorous details.

Oddly though, Little agrees with Ruby? We see them nodding along when Ruby says they can't possibly be in a fairy tale and right now I'm not sure if that's because they agree with the idea that their obviously real home can't be equated with a made-up story - something Little will outright say in a moment - or if they're just agreeing because, frankly, Little seems confused 99% of the time, but possesses enough emotional intelligence to want to make Ruby happy.

Regardless, with Little acting as (shaky) proof, Weiss revises Ruby's statement to say that it's "improbable" that they're in a fairy tale and we get the trailer line, "Let's look at this more logically, shall we?" You know, I think this line comes across much better here than it does in isolation. It's still not going to be winning any voice acting awards, but the flow of the conversation helps it out quite a bit.

However, I think Weiss', “Okay. I see your point of view. I’m going to go over here now" sounds so much worse.

Before that though she runs through all the plot we've already seen or, in Yang's case, was mentioned off screen while Ruby was unconscious. (And yes, the fact that Yang told everyone about her harrowing journey when the most important person in the world to her couldn't listen in still bugs me.) They all fell from the sky, Ruby met a talking mouse, Weiss and Blake encountered killer vines, and Yang had her arm stolen by a purple racoon. As if the deadpan nonsense of that wasn't enough, the scene needs to inject even more humor by having Little interrupt with a shouted "FRIENDS! :D"

Please note that nothing in this scene emphasizes - or even hints at - Ruby's current emotional state. From the flat expressions as she listens in, to the tiny smile when Little celebrates their friendship, this Ruby is indistinguishable form the girl we've seen for the last four-ish Volumes. As I mentioned above, it's an ongoing problem for me that the Volume is consistently separating Ruby's depression from, well, everything else. I'm not saying she has to be sobbing every second of the episode, but if you can snag a random scene - especially one so soon after her faint - give it to an ignorant RWBY fan, and expect that they'd have no idea based on this animation that she was dealing with the traumatic death of a friend... you need to go back and re-write that scene.

The absurdity of Yang's experience results in Weiss giving up on her logical approach. She gives that line about going over there now, bye-bye, and then we see... uh...

What is this? I have nothing against Weiss struggling with them being here - that actually makes a lot of sense for her character - but do we really need to convey her struggle like this? I literally cannot take the emotional beats seriously when they're surrounded by this Chibi-like silliness. Worse, later in the episode Weiss' comedic grumbling will return and actively interrupt Ruby's grieving.

But we'll get to that.

“As crazy as it sounds, something about this is familiar," Ruby says and then the girls realize that what they've experienced sounds an awful lot like "The Girl Who Fell Through the World." And by "an awful lot" I mean it's nearly an exact, one-for-one recreation. Cool concept! Too bad the viewer barely knew this story existed before the girls landed here. If you'll recall, the fairy tale was mentioned back in Volume 8 when Oscar was captured by Salem, which tells us that the writers realized what they wanted for the upcoming Volume and hastily tried to shove a reference in so this didn't come entirely out of left field. However, this wasn't a successful attempt imo. All we learn from Oscar's conversation with Ozpin is that a) a girl fell through Remnant, b) she wound up in a new world, and c) she returned to Remnant sad because she'd been so changed by her journey. Nothing in that tiny summary tells us what the world was like, or what Alyx experienced there, the two things that would help sell the idea that our characters recognize this environment and the things they've been through. Hell, we don't even learn the girl's name prior to Blake info-dumping the plot. "Alyx" exists only in Roman Holiday, a book I read and 100% did not remember learning the name. How's the average fan not obsessively plugged into every RWBY side-project supposed to emotionally invest in this?

Here then, we see another case where RWBY needs long-term revision. Given that they'd be basing an entire Volume around this fairy tale and putting an emphasis on the girls' knowledge of this story, we needed to spend time actually showing that the girls possess this knowledge; that it's of cultural significance to them. Give us a flashback of Summer reading the fairy tale to a young Ruby. Have the girls reference it during their Beacon days - Weiss makes fun of Ruby for still reading fairy tales when they're unpacking their room, Blake admits that it's one of the few tales she likes because of what Alyx needs to do to survive, Yang reminisces about sharing the story with her little sis. Give us Pyrrha bringing it up when she's asked what her favorite tale is. Ozpin hints during their travels that everything they grew up with is more than it seems, hiding grains of truth. Jaune reads bits of the story to his nephew, they overhear a version while the people of Mantle are trying to find comfort while they wait, there are posters up in Atlas for a movie adaptation coming out next Spring... Obviously some of these aren't possible - I never expected RT to invent a time machine and actually revise the earlier Volumes lol - but if you're going to pull this, "The characters knew this story all along and it was a super memorable part of their childhood" card then there needs to be something to set that up. And if you can't backtrack due to the medium you're writing in, you put off the Ever After Volume until you've done at least some of the work to properly prepare for it. At the very least you do more than have Oscar randomly mention it post-torture session, complete with no identifying information for the viewers to recognize once the Volume 9 trailer drops.

Or, they might have conceived of this as a tale that isn't well known and the girls are damn lucky that Blake is well-read enough to have come across it. But as it stands, Ruby suddenly recognizes where they are, Yang agrees, Weiss casually tosses out that oh yeah, of course they've all read this as kids. Obviously. You just never heard about it until now. Funny that! I found this particularly annoying when Blake suddenly reveals that the entirety of the premiere makes up the plot of this tale: Alyx falls a long distance, meets a bunch of mice, has to deal with killer vines, meets a Jabberwocker (why bother changing the name to little?), and had her knife stolen by a racoon. This is only impactful if the viewer can see the similarities as they're happening and come to the early conclusion that, oh wow, they're reenacting a Remanent fairy tale! What RWBY actually does though is present a bunch of seemingly random events, leaves the viewer for a week, and then comes back to say, "Actually you know what? That was all important!" But, I'd like to emphasize, not in a way akin to foreshadowing. This wasn't deftly planned; a trail of subtle breadcrumbs that the viewer can look back on and go, "Oh my god I should have realized!" We haven't the slightest idea that they're reenacting the plot of a fairy tale until Blake announces that... after its all occurred.

As the girls realize they're living out Alyx's story, there's understandably a bit of push-back. How can that be? It's fiction! (Even though, you know, by now they're well aware that their headmaster lived through a lot of 'fiction' too.) Little pipes up that this place isn't make believe, it's where they live... but doesn't actually provide any useful information beyond that.

Blake then proceeds to lay out the rest of the fairy tale's plot and also, presumably, the basic outline for our season: Alyx beat the Red King at his own board game, met the curious cat, encountered the rested knight (interesting description. I assume that'll be Jaune?), and finally escaped back home through the tree. Of course, if the girl we saw in our opening is really Alyx, then she didn't get back to Remnant (or wherever else she might be from. At this point I'm not putting it past RWBY to introduce a MCU-style multiverse. Especially with the Justice League crossover coming out). Right now, I'm not sure how to reconcile this idea. If Alyx never escaped then how did her story - and all its personal details - make it back to Remnant? Did someone else escape to tell her story? Does Ozpin have some world-traveling powers that we don’t know about yet? Does Alyx?

Maybe that’s not Alyx and this question is pointless.

Ooor maybe this question will simply go unanswered, leaving us with the plot-hole of how her story became a fairy tale so common that everyone from farmers out in Patch to corporate princesses in Atlas grow up on it.

(RWBY has a lot of world building diversity, don’t worry about it.)

Anyway, I do appreciate that this gives the girls a solid reason to seek out the tree. Last week I honestly thought they might be heading there under the ‘logic’ of “Why not? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” Yes, the tree is massive and at the center of the land, but that kind of marker is only useful if you already know where you’re going - it doesn’t necessarily imply an exit. If anything, my first attempt to get out would have been via the ocean, given that some, like Ruby, appear to have come in with the tide post-fall. Plus it’s the only boundary we’ve seen. But what RT wrote holds together, even if the delivery had problems: Ruby was seeking higher ground and then realized she’s re-living a story where the tree is the protagonist’s way out. Well done, that tracks.

From there though things continue to struggle. Weiss reminds Ruby that she hasn't even found Crescent Rose yet and I thought, foolishly, that this would result in some kind of acknowledgment? Meaning, it's really easy to view this as a symptom of Ruby's declining mental health. As her encounter with Jinxy will demonstrate, she's so hopeless right now that she can't take joy in the things she once loved - or even care about their existence. Weiss is clearly concerned that Ruby hasn't found Crescent Rose, but no one else is concerned that Ruby isn't concerned. There's no mildly shocked, "Oh" from Ruby as she realizes, oh yeah, she's without her beloved, hand-made weapon modeled after her Uncle, perhaps also in connection with her mother, the thing she once turned to for comfort when she didn't know how to make any friends. Ruby: 'I should probably care that I've lost that, huh?' But we get zip in regards to her realizing that this emotionally significant object is still lost in the Ever After somewhere. Worse, no one else reacts to Ruby's lack of reaction. Alarm bells should be going off in Yang's head at the moment, but the episode is too focused on comedy and flirting to let her really check in with her little sister. Yang has come to the realization that Ruby horrifically lost that fight, watched her faint in response to the death of a friend, and now she doesn't even blink at the idea that her prized weapon might be gone for good. By all means, give us bumblebee, I WANT more canonical content (more on that below), but there's a time and a place. Ruby still not having Crescent Rose should be a huge deal for her and when it's not that should be a huge deal for Yang.

Also, I'd like to point that this loss makes Ruby incredibly vulnerable here (as the brief Jabberwock encounter demonstrates), potentially highlighting her less than passionate desire to keep herself safe. So is Yang - or even her other teammates - at all concerned about Ruby's mental health? Her own sense of safety?

Barely. They're not showing much.

I give Weiss props for trying to reach Ruby in a few moments, but Blake and Yang are too busy being wrapped up in each other to bother. (Which could be an interesting conflict/character flaw if the show acknowledged it.) This is the same problem we had in Volume 8: why is Yang worried about Blake when she had a huge fight with Ruby? Because RT can't figure out where to put their bumblebee moments so they don't actively draw away from the other relationships.

Before that though we need to have another gag moment, this time through flashback images of Yang having her arm stolen.

Look at this.

Who decided this was a good tone for the Volume? The contrast between past and present says it all. Yang is looking quite serious as she recalls presumably falling to her death, but we can't take her seriously because the trauma of that is undermined by a circle of cartoon stars over her head. Having her assistive device stolen while she was vulnerable makes Yang furious? Well, it doesn't make the viewer furious because they're too busy laughing at her dramatic reach, Jinxy's equally dramatic, evil design, and the cartoon-y white eyes/exaggeratedly open mouth. Notably, Blake is laughing too, rather uproariously, and I'm surprised that I haven't seen any non-RWDE grumbling from the fandom. After all, weren't people upset when Tai made a joke about Yang's arm, insisting that it was the height of insensitivity? How dare he say such a thing! ... never mind how Yang reacted to it. For me, a father knowing his daughter well enough to help jolt her out of an angry spiral, weeks after the event occurred, is better than a school friend laughing at the traumatic event mere hours after it happened... but that's just me. Apparently, shipping trumps all because it's presented as cute and wholesome for Blake to laugh over Yang having her assistive device stolen after the worst night of their lives. Disarmed, am I right?

Nothing in this scene tells the viewer to take the theft seriously, so... I don't. Yang went through something incredibly difficult after an already horrific night? No she didn't. She experienced an average annoyance, something to laugh at - as Blake demonstrates.

Deciding that they need to track this Jinxy down (I'm not challenging the need for that, especially when it's Yang's arm, but is no one planning to find Crescent Rose too?), the girls head to the nearest town. Cue the already overused joke that Little will lead the way! And then they don't.

We get more info-dumping about this story, including that Alyx accidentally started a war in the town because she went blundering in without understanding their customs. Blake is worried that fictional history might repeat itself which I like because yes, you should be worried about that! Not just because it's basic human decency not to sow chaos in the town you're visiting, not even because they've already seen themselves repeating Alyx's story (fall, mice, vines, theft) and thus have an excellent reason to think that they might repeat her mistakes as well, but because what has this group been doing since Volume 6 except blunder into places and sow chaos? Not intentionally. I am always fully aware that our cast is written to be well-meaning heroes consistently doing the best they possibly can for the people, but even if we believed that they truly had done everything within their power to help (which I often don't), their "best" has still caused irrevocable damage. Intentions aside, the group has tampered with one of the world's few remaining sources of communication, drew a terrifying grimm toan unsuspecting populace, tested the already shaky relations between Kingdoms, lied to their one remaining ally in a way that did nothing to help his declining mental health, risked a major operation on literal, blind trust (which wouldn't be so bad if the story hadn't gone out of its way to paint that as stupid, but only when a non-Team RWBY memeber does it), sat around drinking tea while an actual apocalypse was happening outside, lost two of the magical relics that may well doom the world (a failure that I personally wouldn't blame them for if they hadn't been so stupidly brazen in their "protection": not putting it in the vault, carrying it on their belt, not sending someone through to Vacuo with the Staff, etc.), and to top it all off, made the conscious decision to obliterate two cities, evicting a fourth of the world's population, without even TRYING to find a way to work around that nearly unimaginable consequence. Without even acknowledging it.

Yeah, they should absolutely be concerned about bringing chaos down on these people. The fact that for once they don't when narrative logic says they should is so painfully, hilariously ironic.

What really grinds my gears though is that none of the others care about this possibility when, as outlined above, they should. MAJOR kudos to Blake for being the voice of reason here, but Yang is all, "Yeah, but [Alyx] was kinda a mean person, right? She lied and cheated her way through most of the book."

OH BOY, YANG. HAVE I GOT NEWS ABOUT YOU AND YOUR TEAMMATES.

We don't need a rehashing of all the times they - Yang in particular - have lied, cheated, or been needlessly mean to others, so I suppose all I have left to say is that she's at least consistent? I mean, Yang is by far my least favorite of the group nowadays, especially the version of her that would sneer at Ren for daring to point out that they've made horrific mistakes, but for what it's worth this is the attitude we've come to expect from her. Us? Fuck things up? Never! We're perfect! We're not like mean old Alyx who would do something as awful as lie to people.

Weiss tries to defend Alyx's actions by saying that "she was trying to survive" and grousing that the morals are too simplistic. That's a position I can respect, though I wish it weren't coming from a show that, at the end of the day, pushes such a simplistic perspective. As we've seen plenty of times in the past, RWBY continually claims that it has complex morals while not actually engaging with complex morals.

Just to hammer the point home, I'd like to point out that this conversation about harmful actions and gray morality is broken up by Ruby poking a sleeping Little, trying unsuccessfully to wake them up. After all, nothing highlights the complexity of your story like continuing mouse gags.

Let's put all that aside for a moment though. I've been jumping around just a bit, discussing some conversation pieces out of order because it works better with the flow of the recap. Now, we come to a crucial moment I previously skipped over:

The bees.

Being over a week late with this recap, pretty much everything that needs to be said has been said, to the point where even some non-RWDE folks are tentatively going, "So is that it then? Is it confirmed? Can I say with complete confidence that it's canonical?"

Well... no.

But it's the closest we've ever gotten.

It's also a setback.

Let me explain.

While Blake is laughing it up over Yang having her arm stolen, she gets very flirty. In fact, I think we can make a case that her laughter is exaggerated in an effort to catch Yang's attention, though that doesn't detract from the problem of what she's laughing at in the first place. Regardless, Blake is clearly enamored with Yang in this moment, grinning, leaning real close, teasingly touching their fingers together. They don't hold hands, but the desire is obviously there, and Weiss responds to the flirting with a, "It's about time."

Now, the reason why this is the closest we've gotten to a canonical confirmation is 100% because of Weiss. I wouldn't argue for a moment that this scene wasn't deliberately flirty, but it still holds a certain level of plausible deniability, which is the exact problem all the other Yang/Blake scenes have. Yes, forehead touches, hand-holding, and blushes are all coded as romantic, but until you actually confirm a relationship or interest, homophobes can come back with, "I blush at compliments/hold my friends' hands/they were just overwhelmed after nearly dying! Why do you hate platonic intimacy so much??" (To be clear, I do mean homophobes in this example, not the ace/aro community who might want to see the same things, but for very different reasons.) In fact, I recently came across a tumblr post tagged for arospecs upholding forehead touches over kisses:

Now, I certainly get what OP is saying (and it's worth pointing out the obvious: they don't know anything about my recaps, aren't responding to RWBY, etc. The post just came across my dash). There's an intimacy here that rings as more heartfelt than what we often get with a kiss. After all, kisses are a dime-a-dozen in television, just not for queer people, and largely in response to those restrictions, queer characters have historically been coded through other, intimate touches. So yeah, for some - even those who aren't aro/ace - a forehead touch might mean so much more in a pairing than an outright kiss. But note that the texpost starts with, "sure, fine, your characters kissed, whatever." OP is imaging a scenario in which that confirmation is a given. They kissed. So what? We want more meaningful interactions than just that!

"Just that" being the key phrase. Blake and Yang don't have "just that." They have not kissed. They have not been confirmed, so to argue for forehead-touch supremacy here is insufficient. It's like going, "Who cares about the core outfit. The best part is accessorizing!" Sure, that's a legit opinion, but for anyone who doesn't have any clothes yet, a pair of earrings and a scarf isn't going to cut it.

Despite all this, the line "It's about time" isn't attributed to anything other than romance. If a character looks at two others and says that, they're not talking about anything other than a decidedly non-platonic interest. So this, on its own, is definitely something to celebrate and is by far the most solid piece of evidence that the bees will be 100% confirmed by the end of the Volume.

Nevertheless, I have to ask: why are we still in the flirting stage?

Yes, Weiss makes a 'They like each other' comment that really can't be interpreted as anything else, but the comment itself translates to, 'It's about time they admitted they liked each other.' Now, if Blake had kissed Yang - or asked her out on a date, said "I love you," whatever confirmation we're each personally leaning towards - then we'd be golden. It's about time they did that? Yeah, it sure is! But the actions Weiss responds to are that flirty dialogue and a minuscule hand-brush, both of which we've seen before. A fair bit, actually.

This is what I mean when I say the moment is regressive. Weiss is acting like Blake and Yang have taken this huge step forward in their relationship, but the reality is that they've gone backwards, from full-on hand-holding to tentative brushes. The hand-holding already wasn't enough, as established, but now we're meant to cheer for an aborted hand-holding instead? I suppose it's possible to read this purely from Weiss' perspective. Meaning, she wasn't out in the shed when Blake took Yang's artificial hand. She wasn't at the Adam fight (even though she should have been...) to see their actual step forward, clasping hands as one and promising to defend each other. And though she was there, I doubt Weiss was paying them any mind when they had their moment of comfort on the airship, or even when Yang complimented Blake's new haircut. So yes, from Weiss' limited perspective this might actually be a significant change. Most of the girls' development has occurred in private and they haven't shared these changes with the group, so of course Weiss is going to go, 'Oh wow, Blake is leaning in close and teasing Yang with intimate finger brushes - they've never done that before! It's about time! :D'

But - and this is a crucial 'but' - neither the story nor RWBY's marketing present this as something solely from Weiss' perspective. Despite making this "It's about time" statement to Ruby, she doesn't come back with any additional knowledge to catch Weiss up to speed. There's no moment when Blake and Yang turn around to reveal that, oh yeah, we've actually been flirting like this for a while - culminating in an on screen admission of their feelings. And the official RWBY twitter puts out stuff like this:

The audience isn't supposed to work through who knows what like I've done above, they're just meant to celebrate that omg, the girls touched fingers!! Never-mind that they've gone past that before and, as said multiple times, that's not enough.

Do I think the bees will be confirmed this Volume given that this is the most overtly anyone has acknowledged the relationship? Yes. Do I think it's a problem that after nine years we're still in the barely flirting stage when other, straight relationships - even slowburns like renora - have already been explicitly confirmed? Also yes.

RWBY is writing this badly and I again question where most Yang/Blake fans are coming from. Either you're old enough to recognize queerbaiting and are likely wary as fuck that we'll get a repeat here, or you're young enough that you've grown up with queer ships that are unambiguously canonical within the first few seasons - if you even had to wait that long - in which case this 'Are they or aren't they?' dance should seem ridiculous. All I can imagine is that the RWBY fandom's tendency to rewrite canon has led to a legitimately inaccurate reading of the text. The same way that people will claim that their headcanons 100% happened on screen and will not be dissuaded even when you stick screenshots under their nose and go, "Look! That's literally not happening here!" I wonder how many fans imagined up a romance and just... honest to god think we've already gotten it. Not that anyone is literally hallucinating or anything, just that there's this pervasive trend of imprinting what one imagines onto the text. What do you mean Ironwood wasn't a dictator the whole time? What do you mean Ruby is repeating the actions she's criticized others for? What do you mean Blake and Yang aren't dating? We've spent so long rewriting the canon online that it's now hard as hell to differentiate between those creative hopes and what has actually happened on screen.

So yeah. I want to praise this moment. I am praising it just because this is the most we've ever gotten out of RWBY in terms of non-background character queer rep, but damn is it still falling short of what it could be.

It's worth pointing out that Ruby has no reaction to her sister almost-dating her teammate, but I give this a pass because Ruby is so obviously lost in her own, dark thoughts. In fact, she doesn't even seem to follow what Weiss is commenting on. As we'd expect, their semi-private conversation turns dark and Weiss stops walking. “It’s all gone. There’s nothing left for me to go back to," she says.

I'm really glad they're acknowledging that Weiss didn't just broadly mess up along with the rest of the group, but that she, specifically, has lost her home too. I honestly thought the acknowledgements would end there, but when Ruby tries to comfort with a, “You did the best you could for Atlas, Weiss” she shoots back with, “We hatched a crazy plan that put a whole kingdom at risk!”

Yeah you did! Thank you for finally saying that!! If we can't have heroes weighing the repercussions of their actions prior to engaging with them, at least give me heroes who will grapple with their mistakes after the fact. I mean, like with Yang I have a very hard time taking Weiss' grief and self-recrimination seriously when the majority of her struggle has been depicted through absurd gags... but beggars can't be choosers. This, coupled with Ruby's closing line of the episode, gives me more hope for the girls' development than I've had in years, certainly more than we got from Ren's argument with Yang.

As a sidenote though, I wish they hadn't hidden Weiss' face for the majority of this scene. I liked it when this cinematography was used to emphasize how she was hiding from her teammates - AKA when she was keeping Penny's death a secret - but now? Everyone knows everything (for the most part, anyway) and it would add a hell of a lot for the viewer to be able to see the struggle taking place on Weiss' face. Of course, the animating of emotions this Volume has been iffy, as acknowledged earlier, so maybe it is for the best that they didn't try and then fail to depict that kind of sorrow. Not when vaguely wet eyes and mostly blank expressions have been our norm. Still, when we have this important a character moment I don't want to be staring at Weiss' back, or her ridiculously complicated belt. Let me see her.

(I just realized that combining those screenshots makes it look like Weiss has messed up shoulders and a head turned round backwards whoops lololol.)

Another weird detail is that Weiss seems to be under the impression that Jaune may have saved the Relics. Sorry, but what? I'd buy this as a holding out hope situation if the whole group didn't know that Cinder had the Lamp and if Weiss, as the last to fall, wasn't at least vaguely aware that Cinder had snagged the Staff too. I mean, I'd have to re-watch the finale to get the exact timing, but I don't think it was that long between Weiss falling and Cinder flying off to make a new wish. Besides, what's the healer of the group going to do against a fully powered Maiden, especially without the rest of his team? It's not a literal mistake/retcon, just a really weird thing to have your character believe. I'm kinda getting the vibe that the writers didn't want to list all the ways the group fucked up - because yeah, that's overwhelming. That's what we've been saying! - so some mistakes are just kinda... glossed over. 'Well sure, we destroyed a Kingdom, Penny died, and we're now lost in this world, but maybe the Relics are still safe!' Mmm no, sorry. The only 'Well maybe' I'll accept is in reference to the people of Atlas being safe because yeah, there's no reason for Weiss or the others to know that they wound up in a grimm-infested sandstorm. I definitely give Weiss a pass for not realizing how her wish screwed them over - "One way ticked to Vacuo" - because it literally took Oscar summoning up a memory he didn't have to figure that out. I mean, I'm in full agreement with what others have said: it would be great if Weiss did realize/learn that at some point and was forced to grapple with the fact that the lack of help she's so angry over was, in fact, her fault... but I don't expect her to realize that on the fly, especially not when she's dealing with so much else in the Ever After.

I mean hell, I can barely remember the last sentence I wrote here. If you wanted me to backtrack through a conversation I had hours ago to find a linguistic mistake I made - when I don't even know there is a mistake I'm looking for - I'd be screwed lol.

As the conversation continues Weiss also acknowledges that learning about Penny's death must have been "a lot to hear" and - pushing back against my earlier frustration with the characters' expressions - Ruby actually looks affected by this. By and large I think this is the best interaction we've gotten in a while, right up through Ruby just walking away, unable to even respond to that statement yet. Unlike hiding Weiss' face, or Ruby fainting instead of otherwise reacting to the tragedy, this doesn't feel like a cop-out, but rather a legitimate, believable response. She's not capable of processing this yet, let alone chatting it out with Weiss.

Unfortunately, this engaging emotion doesn't last for long. As expected, I've seen posts in the larger RWBY fandom criticizing our criticisms, claiming that all RWDE folk want are "doom and gloom" for the girls; something "edgy." To which I can only respond with a "Nah." I like horror and tragedy and morally gray storytelling, but if we're defining "doom and gloom" as a work that has nothing but hopeless pessimism to impart, I'm not here for it. All I want is a Volume that appropriately engages with the darker tone introduced in Volume 3 and ramped up like WHOA in Volume 8, without cracking its foundation with constant, contradictory jokes.

In short, we have really done without another, humorous' moment where Little proves themselves useless - they have no idea what lies beyond the bridge, despite offering to guide Team RWBY on this journey - as well as a long sequence (long for a 15-20 minute episode, anyway) wherein Little tries to build themselves a home because...? I mean, I get that they don't know their way back to the village, but what made them think they weren't continuing on with the girls in the first place? I think the logic is loosey-goosey because the writers just wanted an excuse to have Little build a rickety home to fall apart. While singing. While the group has over-the-top reactions to that. Gags upon gags upon gags.

Continuing on, they arrive at the town and I've gotta say, I really like the design here. The red of the architecture pairs nicely with the deep green sky. As a fantasy aesthetic, I mean. I do wish this had carried over onto the actual streets though. We loose that cohesion among the townspeople and, frankly, they look bad in comparison.

We get a little discomfort from the girls as they navigate among sentient game pieces and we're shown a closeup of a flyer advertising the birthday of "His Most Royal." I'm writing this paragraph having seen Episode 3, so kudos to RT for keeping that title vague. As the groups awkwardly move through the crowd we get what is, hands down, the best line of the Volume so far:

Blake: "Just act like you belong."

Little: "I've always wanted to be long, but I'm still just small."

Hilarious. Witty. 10 out of 10. That's the kind of Caroll-esque humor that could permeate the Volume without undermining the darker tone. Too bad this is currently a one-off moment.

They spot Jinxy's caravan. “So what’s the strategy?" Yang asks, eagerly looking back at her teammates. "Just start roughing 'em up, or what?” Ah yes, Yang. Start an attack with innocent, defenseless civilians all around you. I honestly hate how her solution to everything is still 'Get angry and punch things.' Not because that's a bad trait in a character, but because Yang specifically went through an arc to get better at that. Yet instead of improving, or have a story that engages with her failure, she's just as impulsively violent as she's always been, but now it's treated as a justified response at best, a cute quirk at worst. Here we've got Option #2 with Yang smiling, acting like beating up Jinxy is a fun outing for her and her friends.

And you know what? No, I don't really care that this is all to get her arm back because as the girls should have learned by now, the Ever After doesn't follow their rules. We know, post-scene, that Jinxy is legitimately a conman who knowingly stole Yang's arm, but crucially none of the characters know that. Not for sure. This is a world where mice talk, vines move on their own, people are made out of wood, and most don't even know what a human is. The group should at least be questioning Jinxy's motivations in a world where everything is (supposedly) so topsey-turvey and, in turn, questioning whether it's right to go in gun's blazing. Hell, I actually would have liked that better. Give me a Jinxy who honestly didn't realize he was doing something wrong. You were just lying there, possibly dead, that metal thing is clearly not a part of your squishy body - it detaches! - and as your mouse friend will clearly tell you, it's not stealing if no one sees you do it. What are you so upset for? Give me a scene where Yang has to acknowledge her, 'Attack first, ask questions later' response to every. single. problem. Give me a RWBY where Yang is allowed to be wrong again.

Blake at least tries a peaceful approach. She looks as uncomfortable with Yang's attitude as I am (is that ever going to come up in their budding relationship?) and reminds her that Alyx bartered for her knife back. Yang's response?

"Yeah, I think I'd rather hit him :D"

We get our first real look at Jinxy when he comes out to start his auction. I'll admit this never even crossed my mind while first watching, but uh... yeah. I see what people mean about the Romani stereotyping. The brightly colored, free-flowing clothing. The caravan. The travel (the fact that Jinxy can trick these townspeople implies that he's never been here before; never staying in one place for very long). The characterization as a dangerous charlatan scamming unsuspecting innocents. It's not a one-to-one comparison - stereotypes very rarely are - but there's enough there to catch a glimpse of the writers' bias. It's unfortunately a rather common bias and, as said, one that those like myself won't always immediately spot, but that's why it's important to point it out. There are so many ways of depicting a conman. Why did you choose the version that looks distinctly like a marginalized ethnic group?

The answer is likely just ignorance but again, that's why we discuss such things. We need to help others - and ourselves - do better in the future.

Obviously unaware of the uncomfortable implications, Weiss exclaims that Jinxy is oh so cute and Blake comments that he looks older than he appeared in the book, perhaps providing evidence that a significant amount of time has passed since Alyx fell. We learn that Jinxy screws over people by selling trash disguised as treasure, so Yang will have to let her heart tell her which is her arm.

Spoiler: Yang doesn't use her heart to find her arm. Oh, she correctly identifies her arm, but only because it's the most arm-shaped, yellow colored thing on the stage. I honestly expected that not to be her arm because that's how situations like these go in stories, right? It's never the most obvious choice... but in this case apparently it is! I want to emphasize though that Yang does not choose this because she has an emotional connection to the object. We are explicitly shown what that connection looks like via Ruby and Yang, in comparison, basically points and chooses at random.

So that's an awful way to depict her relationship with an assistive device, but it is consistent. We see Yang first emerge with her arm with very little fanfare - the audience doesn't watch her decide to put it on for the first time, nor do we see her actually experiencing those first moments. From there her arm is used largely for jokes - scaring Nora, new puns - or is left behind to get an advantage in a fight. (Which, I'd like to clarify, I don't dislike on its own, but it is relevant in the grand scheme of how Yang approaches her prosthetic.) Last Volume she's given a line about how it is not an important part of her identity, it continues to be used for humor purposes now, and when a fantasy mouse says, 'What does your heart tell you? Which is your arm?' Yang's response is a straightforward, 'I don't know.' For me, this moment perfectly encapsulates how hollow Yang's disability journey has been, all the way back to her simply not caring that another disabled ally procured her a state-of-the-art device. Though it makes for a lackluster scene, to put it mildly, I admittedly would have scoffed if Yang had felt some call to her arm because when has RWBY ever established that? It hasn't, so yay keeping things consistent I guess?

Also, just the fact that all of Jinxy's wares are bits of trash disguised as treasures says a lot. Unlike my little rewrite above, we don't get any exploration of Ever After's culture that reveals that Jinxy has no idea what this arm is, why it might be important, etc. So literally the narrative is just saying, 'Others think Yang's assistive device is trash' and we leave it at that. Fantastic.

As said though, Ruby does feel a pull towards the little doll on the stage, though she can't say why. As she stares, Jinxy sells his first 'treasure' for... a hug.

...

.....

..........

"And what happened, then? Well, on Tumblr they say that Clyde's small heart grew three sizes that day. And then – the true meaning of RWBY came through, and Clyde found the strength of ten turtles, plus two!”

I'm not gonna lie, I thought that detail was super fucking cute. Hugs acknowledged as incredibly valuable? Hell yeah! I like that the townspeople are paying in ways beyond handing over [insert fantasy money name here]. That's a nice world-building detail and when Jinxy has to give the hug back when his con is exposed? Fantastic. This scene might be struggling like whoa with the larger concepts, but many of the details are really nice.

When it's time to sell the arm both Yang and a nearby royal guard raise their hands. However, Jinxy asks for "knowing what it is to feel love" and, with a glance at Blake, Yang gives up the bid. If they were going to tease the ship some more, maybe specify romantic love? As it stands, Yang should be backing down regardless of whether there's a relationship in the works because love as a broad concept would have her losing everything: love for her sister, her teammates, her family, her home, for adventure. That's not a Blake specific thing, that's a, 'Holy shit he's asking her not to be human anymore' thing.

So it makes sense then that a wooden puppet, nameless and identical to every other guard, existing only to serve "His Most Royal" would be able to pay that price.

Of course, losing what she assumes is her arm (because remember, she doesn't actually know that yet) makes Yang angry. Check out Blake's totally chill, not at all worried, definitely not uncomfortable look.

Finally we come to the doll, which Ruby immediately bids on. However, like Yang's, Jinxy asks too high a price: fill this jar with hope. It's a bit on the nose, but I like the idea, as well as the shot of the doll sitting dejectedly through the jar's reflection.

However, I think this moment would have had far more of an impact if Ruby had tried to fill it. Sure, she's clearly struggling right now, but why doesn't Ruby at least make an attempt? Especially given that one of her most defining traits lately is to sink deeper into denial: I'm fine, everything's fine, we're going to get home, we're going to fix things, why would anyone be doubting that? Of course I can fill the stupid jar! Let her angrily charge up to the stage, snatch the jar, glare in annoyance because duh it's going to fill... but then it doesn't and her expression falls. That's when Jinxy can say, "You can't, can you?" Simply announcing that to the audience is probably the least compelling way to go about this. Oh, our story is telling us things again rather than showing them? Groundbreaking.

While all this is going on Little has scampered up on stage to fucking steal the doll and you know what? Good on Little. That's the first thing they've done that hasn't felt like a waste of time. I especially like that this calls back to the Ever After rule that it's not stealing if no one sees you do it. "Fairs fair," they say.

Given that Little took the 'treasure' before Jinxy received his payment, his spell is broken and all the objects are revealed as the 'trash' they always were. The random citizen finds a mouse in his hands, the guard screams as he sees Yang's arm in his hands, and the doll turns into...

Penny's sword.

(Get it? The green doll was a green sword belonging to a not-real girl? Everyone got it, right?)

Say, did anyone else expect it to be Crescent Rose? Ruby feeling an emotional connection to an object while her beloved weapon is still missing, lost in a world where a Racoon picks up any random objects to sell? That would make a LOT more sense than Penny's sword winding up in the Ever After. As I explained in an ask, Penny made those swords out of her Maiden powers and they disappeared as soon as Cinder struck her in the chest. Of course they did, she likely lost control of her aura/magic as soon as she took a killing blow. But apparently the swords actually hung around despite Penny passing her powers to Winter, despite being dead, and were... blasted? All the way to the edge of the bridge?? From a blow that didn't have any force behind it??? Yeah sure, totally believable.

So instead of resurrecting Ruby's love for the weapon she designed and re-arming her before the team faces any real danger - because there are no battles these first two episodes - we get another emotional moment without a real foundation underneath it. The writers were so eager to continue Ruby's grief arc specifically through Penny (even though SO MUCH has happened that she could be triggered in any number of ways) that they just kinda... forgot to set that up...

I do like the moment itself though. I think Ruby's frantic run to the sword, her gasp, her clutching the sword to her chest and crying over it - all that is well done. Certainly better than much of what we saw in episode one. I just wish this wasn't so freaking contrived.

In the realm of not setting things up, we get another severely awkward moment as the group "escapes." I put that in quotation marks because, well, the problem is that they're not escaping from anything. Jinxy isn't trying to attack them for revealing his con, the townspeople don't mistakenly blame them for things, and though the guards will show up in a bit, they're notably not seen chasing them yet. So we've got Yang and Blake booking it out of there, Weiss walking leisurely away, Ruby barely paying attention, all of it with nothing seemingly happening in the background.

Then they wind up back in the forest with:

Yang [out of breath]: "Those people... take auctions... VERY seriously”

No they don't? This implies that the people were turning on the girls for ruining their auction, but none of the civilians were paying them any mind. The most we see is the guy who bought the bunny getting his hug back which, you know, is kinda the opposite of a mad crowd threatening violence for this deception. Yang functions more as a threat at the start of all this than the group they're supposedly running from. Blake literally starts freaking out about how they're "ruining everything!" and I'm like you didn't? Nothing happened?? I mean, yay Blake continuing to take responsibility for their actions, but in this case the girls legitimately didn't cause any problems. In the story Alyx started a war because she didn't know how to properly deal with the townspeople, so I expected the team's visit to go equally as bad; something to explain Blake having a crisis once they'd left. All they did was reveal a conman though, a conman everyone is only passively angry at. Please give me my hug back, sir, and shame on you for tricking us. We will all calmly disperse now.

I know it's years too late, but RWBY really needs to learn how to show what they want depicted on screen.

We learn that the theories were right about the weather being influenced by others' emotions - or at least Ruby's emotions in particular. As she sits down with Penny's sword a localized storm starts and, in a few moments, we'll hear a guard shout that someone's sad over there. So this is a useful tool for showing (good job!) that Ruby is really struggling right now, even if she appears calm on the outside, and I'd have so much more to praise about the scene if it hadn't been ruined by freaking Weiss.

Seriously, forget Little. Weiss is by far the most annoying character this Volume.

So after Ruby fainted at the news that her dear friend had died, unexpectedly discovered her sword, and now sits with a grief so heavy it magics up a storm to drench them all, her teammates do... nothing. Honest to god they do nothing. Yang has a single, "Ruby?" before the scene is stolen by Weiss having a temper tantrum. She doesn't like Blake's idea that they're following in Alyx's footsteps - even though everything they've done has followed in her footsteps - and starts ranting about how "We are not in a book!" and even if they were, they know the ending takes place at the castle, so let's go. Does Weiss care that Ruby is sitting there in shock, even after she tried to connect with her earlier? No. Does Yang care that her sister is loosing it two feet away? No. Does Blake? Nope. Does the narrative? Absolutely not. Ruby sits in background while Weiss has more stupid comedy moments, getting trapped in a loop and hitting herself in the head with a rock.

I keep seeing celebratory posts about how the show is tackling Ruby's grief, but it's not? It's introducing her grief and then immediately ignoring it. Ruby cries and then finds a cute mouse to distract her. Ruby faints and just brushes past that - she's fine. Ruby finds her dead friend's weapon, but why would we focus on that when we can watch Weiss hilariously knock herself out? I feel like the stock answer to these complaints is always something along the lines of, "They're working up to Ruby's breakdown," but frankly I don't care if they are. The execution is atrocious now and a sudden swerve into respectful storytelling isn't going to change that.

Plus, as I've mentioned previously, these moments don't help convince me that the girls care for each other outside of the dramatic, self-sacrificing actions added to finales. Bad enough that everyone ignored Ruby's faint and extended no care towards her, but now they're literally just standing there as she suffers. This is by no means a new problem, but the heroes have become so passive the last few Volumes. What happened to Black who marched right up to Weiss and let her how important the faunus are to her? The Yang who squared off against her mother just to reach her little sister? Weiss delivering a cup of coffee and checking in with her newly acknowledged leader? Say what we will about Volume 8 - and we've all said a lot - but at least there Yang puts her arm around Ruby and tries to comfort her on the steps, no matter how much denial that comfort required. Now? Now Yang just stands there because again, why comfort her little sister when Weiss is making a fool of herself?

At least this has some basic care and human decency behind it.

"This way!" the royal guards yell. "Someone's sad!" Yeah and her teammates don't care. Sure, we know in the way someone knows who reads the script, or who knows the writers' intentions, that of course Team RWBY all love each other so, so much... but man, would it kill them to show it more?

As the guards show up we get an interesting shot of Ruby that mirrors the one with Jaune's blade--

--and then she pulls herself together enough to face them, deciding that if Alyx went to see the Red King then they will too.

Ruby offers to give the guards “the weapon of a powerful warrior," AKA Penny's sword, and what follows is a legitimately emotional speech:

"[She was] the most powerful [warrior] to ever live. She was touched by magic and she gave her life for thousands. She took a message of hope to the stars and she saw the world through better eyes."

At least, it would be legitimately emotional if it hadn't been undercut, again, by all the comedy. We just had Weiss loosing it. The guards all "OOOOOO" loudly over the sword. Then they burst into exaggerated tears at Ruby's words, complete with their toy horses crying too. I've said it a million times now and I'll say it again: you can't expect me to take these moments seriously if the story can't take them seriously.

Also, I have to ask... why is Ruby giving the sword up? The logic is that they're trying to get to the Red King, but they were already heading to the Red King. That is, the guards were after them, trying to take them into custody for ruining the birthday present. So why bother with this bribe? It's simply not necessary, especially since they're still basically escorted as prisoners, guards on all sides. It's not like these guards are presented as terribly intelligent. All Ruby needed to do was go, "Oh, we're so sorry for ruining His Majesty's special day. Yes, please take us to him so that we can apologize in person. Your Majesty, can we please make it up to you by playing some games? Etc. etc."

The sword is a needless addition and that wouldn't be a problem if it didn't (supposedly) have such emotional impact. Ruby just found this piece of Penny. This is, likely, the last bit of her she'll ever encounter... and she's going to just give that up? Literal minutes after she found it? To a bunch of identical goons who snatch it up and run off in another, stupid gag? Once again, this is not convincing me that Ruby is having an authentic grief arc. She might be sad for the whole Volume, but each individual moment is ignored or "solved" almost instantaneously. To say nothing of the fact that Ruby is without her weapon. She has the PERFECT, practical excuse to hang onto Penny's sword with everyone, characters, and audience alike realizing that her logic is hiding a harder truth: she can't give it up. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But then sure, give me a moment at the end of the Volume when Ruby must part with the sword for some reason, to save another, or further their cause. Giving it up now, especially when it's not necessary, makes the supposed attachment she feels to it ring hollow.

This is just so... meh. I honestly thought we'd be getting an updated version of this for a second.

As they follow the guards to the castle Ruby bitterly tells the girls that they need to "stop pretending we know what we’re doing." Hell yeah, Rubes, that's the first time we've agreed in a while. Whether or not anything comes of this line is still to be seen, but I'm happy that their failure - stemming from arrogant complacency -  was at least acknowledged. It's definitely a hard-hitting line to end an otherwise goofy episode on.

Now! I'm off to try and write up "Rude, Red, and Royal" in... three days🙃

Thanks for reading! <3

#rwde #rwby #mymetas #RWBY Recaps

[kingdaddydaichi]

☆ title: redefining (ch. 7) | ( ch. 6 ) ☆ ( ch. 8 )

☆ pairing: cop!daichi sawamura x single mom!reader

☆ wc: 2.2k

☆ synopsis: four years after leaving your toxic ex, you find yourself a single mom to a 10-year-old boy named musubi, who harbors a lot of misdirected anger. you hear from his fifth grade teacher, mr. suga, more often than your own mother and a resulting friendship is born. meeting suga’s best friend wages a war between your head and your heart - one that challenges everything you think you know about love and police officers. neither are to be trusted. both have left you lost and scared when you needed them the most. so, when a cop comes knocking at love’s door, just how strong is your resolve to keep your heart under lock and key?

☆ warnings/notes: nsfw. mdni. cop!daichi. single parent struggles (mention).

She once thought that love wasn’t just a game Her feelings once came from the heart

Alibis - Tracy Lawrence

Daichi, being the simple guy he is, had already decided what he wanted as you pored through the online menu. While he waited, he looked at the many pictures on your fridge. 

“Is this your nephew?”

You followed his pointed finger to a smiling image of your little boy.

You shook your head, pursing your lips into a reluctant smile. “He’s my son.”

“You have a son?” he beamed, almost offended that you hadn’t told him.

You smiled at him, finding his surprised expression almost comical. It’s not that you’d been hiding it from him per se. It’s just that you’d been keeping Daichi compartmentalized. The less he knew about you, the better. But, if anything, finding out you were a single mom would keep him from getting any closer and, in fact, might even push him away. All in all, it would go a long way towards your goal of maintaining your distance from the cop. It was a win-win situation.

“Wow…you’re a milf!” He was so serious his eyebrows knitted at the last word. You could tell this was a huge revelation for him.

Not the reaction you were expecting. You genuinely laughed with a what the fuck look. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a mom I’d like to fuck,” he explicated. “Well, more accurately, I suppose you’re a mom I have fucked.”

“I know what the fuck it means,” you said, cackling. “I can’t believe you just said that! You’re so mature, Daichi! What happened just now?”

“Sorry,” he said, putting his palms out in front of his chest. “It was a lapse in maturity, but I promise I didn’t mean for it to be derogatory. Seriously, I’ve never fucked a mom before!” The wonder in his eyes, the air of accomplishment about him was endearing. He was too cute.

“Congratulations,” you said, patting his chest as a giggle escaped your lips. “Glad you made it into the I fucked a mom club.”

Eventually, when the laughter between you died down, he called your orders in. He insisted on paying, of course. And when they asked for a name, he answered with 'Sawamura'. You tried to ignore how oddly comforting it was that Daichi gave your order his last name.

After the food arrived and Daichi made the exchange with the delivery guy, you went for the bags to carry them to the kitchen. But Daichi didn’t let go. Confused, you looked up at him. He just smiled and said, rather matter-of-factly, “I’ve got this.” That he so effortlessly and agenda-lessly took the lead knocked you back on your proverbial heels. It took a second to compute that someone was taking care of something for you. Even longer to decide that it was okay to relinquish control and let them this time. 

The two of you settled down on fluffy floor pillows between the coffee table and couch, Daichi protectively sitting nearest the door. You put a movie on, but the two of you were too enthralled with each other to pay any attention to it. You fell deeper and deeper into conversation as you ate while the movie merely served as background noise. 

You talked about your son - the nice, easy stuff. Daichi didn’t need to know about the hard stuff. He laughed when you told him that Suga was Musubi’s teacher, which was why you met and became friends. 

“So, ultimately, I have your son to thank for meeting you,” Daichi mused with a warm smile. 

You learned that Daichi was a bachelor - never married, no kids of his own. But he had grown up as the oldest of five kids in a single parent household. 

“I have the utmost respect for single parents who are trying their damnedest to raise kids on their own. I watched my mom struggle a lot. She worked her ass off. I stepped up and sort of assumed the patriarch role; did as much as I could to help her out - made sure my brothers and sisters did their homework, brushed their teeth, shit like that.” He chuckled to himself. “She used to yell at them and say ‘just wait until your big brother hears about this!’” 

You smiled, a quiet snicker hinting at your amusement. “I’m sure it meant the world to her that you helped out so much, but it must’ve been hard on you too. No kid should ever have to grow up that fast and take on that much responsibility.”

Daichi shrugged. “I agree, but I think I’m wired for it. Maybe I was placed with my particular family for that very reason. But I still wish I could’ve done more for her…”

You wondered what happened to his dad. Had he, like yours, decided he wanted a different life? Had he left his wife and kids for another woman? You could’ve asked but it would have meant crossing the self-imposed invisible line into intimacy. Better to keep things as superficial as possible. 

Frowning, you put your hand on Daichi’s and brushed your thumb over his knuckles. “I think you’re right - the universe, or whatever you believe in, put you right where you were needed most. My son can be five handfuls, but I can’t imagine what it was like for your mom to be on her own with five kids. She’s lucky to have you as a son.”

“She tells me that all the time,” he said with a laugh. “And yeah, I don’t believe in a god per se, but I do think there is some kind of higher power that we’re all connected to.”

Your eyes widened. “Exactly! It’s like the universe is a macrocosm of how we each share a connection with the rest of humanity. Like, what if we ourselves are little universes and our brain cells are really just microcosmic galaxies?”

“So, everything just comprises a meta-universe? That would mean even the quarks and shit in atoms could be entire universes…” he wondered.

You nodded excitedly. “And it just gets infinitesimally smaller and smaller, but also infinitely bigger and bigger!” Gazing into the distance as though you could see it all before you, you added, “I often wonder just how big this sort of ‘body’ really is.” Daichi watched your lips move as you spoke. He so badly wanted to kiss you.

“I don’t think there is an end or a boundary. It just kinda goes on forever,” Daichi suggested, smiling. “Also, you just said ‘infinitesimally’...”

“Yeah?” You were trying to decode the gleam in his eyes.

“That was really fucking hot,” he smirked, catching you entirely off guard.

“Oh my god.” Embarrassed, you hid your face in your hands. “Shut up. You’re such a dork!” 

“Talk nerdy to me, baby…” Daichi joked in a seductive tone.

“Don’t make fun of me!” you said, poking a finger into his side and consciously repressing the pang of hope that resonated in your heart when he called you ‘baby’, even though you knew it had only been in jest.

“I’m not making fun! I’m serious,” he retorted, protecting his torso. “I happen to think intelligence is sexy, okay?”

When the movie was over, you both agreed that it was high time to put the leftovers away and discard the trash. You each went to one of the bathrooms in your house, agreeing to rendezvous at the sofa afterwards. 

When you returned, you found Daichi lying on his back, doing his best to spread the throw blanket out. Preoccupied, he didn’t see you hiding a smile behind your fingers as you walked towards him.

You laid down on top of him, between his legs, with the blanket pulled up to your shoulders. It was hard to focus on the movie with the weight of Daichi’s gentle hand resting on your back. You fought the battle, but ultimately lost the war with sleep. You dozed off to the sure, steady sound of his heartbeat and the mindless strokes of his thumb on your back. 

Daichi noticed you were asleep when he muttered something about the movie, but you didn’t react. He looked down to see your eyelashes adorning your pretty cheek, which was smooshed against his chest, your back gently rising and falling in a contented rhythm. He smiled fondly as he took in your peaceful features, basking in the warmth that rushed to his heart. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if your son’s dad was the one who had hurt you in the past. He could sense it the night that you met, but you had shut down when he asked you about it. He wouldn’t ask again, figuring that if/when you wanted him to know, you’d tell him. Whether it was because of what you had been through or what, he wasn’t sure, but Daichi felt the overwhelming urge to keep you safe.

A couple of hours later, you awoke to the soft shaking of your shoulder and the husky grumble of Daichi’s sleepy voice. Your eyes blinked open, and, at his prompting, you sat up so he could swing his legs off the sofa and stand. You started to get up as well, but he put his hand on your thigh to stop you. 

“Let me.” 

Sooner than you could process what was happening, he scooped you up in his arms. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck and held on as he carried you back to your bed. 

After laying you down gently, he walked around to the other side while you shimmied out of your bottoms. Daichi towered over you, his dilated eyes fixed on yours as he stripped down to his boxers. You reached for him when he finally slid into bed next to you, your hands exploring his thick arms as he pulled you closer.

You carded your fingers into his dark brown hair, pulling him in for a needy kiss. Hooking his hand behind your knee, he brought your thigh to rest on his hip. Fuck, you needed him. 

Pushing your fingers under his waistband, you reached into his boxers and pulled a groan from him when you wrapped your hand around his shaft. Your tongues swirled like the remnants of dreams; your inhibition lessened more so by sleep than it had been by alcohol a few nights before. 

“Daichi…” you gasped.

He shivered at the way his name fell from your lips, like you were calling him forth to be your next breath of air. Soft sighs and wet kisses filled the dark room as he tugged his boxers off. He sucked hard enough on your skin to leave bruises and you returned the favor, pulling him to rest between your legs. Daichi rutted with slow rolls of his hips as you guided his hard cock to your entrance. His head fell to the crook of your neck, quiet gasps escaping both of you when the dripping head of his cock slipped inside your tight heat. 

He fucked you slow, but hard. Loud claps of skin with long glides of his cock. The plush of your hips dimpled under Daichi’s fingers, his hot breath fanning across your neck as you anchored one of your arms around his back. Your other hand found purchase in his hair, fisting it as your head dipped backwards and your mouth opened in a loud moan. The orgasm he fucked you through was ethereal, dreamlike as your body drifted weightlessly through waves of pleasure. 

“Gonna cum,” Daichi whispered with quickening thrusts. He swore under his hitching breath just before his hips crashed into yours one last time as he poured his hot seed inside your still-twitching pussy. He’d barely pulled out and rolled onto his back, keeping your body close to his when you both drifted off to sleep again.

Later the next day, with Daichi long gone and Subi back home, you’d been hurled back into the fray and chaos of making sure your angsty son got fed, bathed, and in bed. 

You dragged your feet to your bathroom, feeling exhausted and grateful for some much-needed alone time. As much as you had enjoyed Daichi’s company, you were not accustomed to being so…physically active. You were sore all over, becoming increasingly aware of muscles you didn’t even know you had. There were also a lot of conflicting feelings swirling around inside you, but it was all so overwhelming. You would deal with that later. 

As you undressed to get in the shower, you discovered the hickeys that Daichi had left between your thighs and decided it wouldn’t hurt to send him one last text. Thanks for the bruises on my legs, you typed, followed by an unsolicited pic of your inner thigh.

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, making you smile. 

Officer Big Dick: You’re welcome, ma’am. 😏

You quickly placed your phone screen-down on your vanity and covered your face, gritting to fight the urge to jump up and down and squeal with delight. The garbled sound that escaped you was foreign, even to yourself, as you dragged your hands down your face. Pull yourself together, y/n. 

You picked up your phone again, navigating to Daichi’s contact card, thumb hovering over the little trash can icon before locking your phone and setting it back down. 

Tomorrow. You would delete it tomorrow.

ch. 6 ☆ ch. 8

31 days of daichi mlist | main daichi mlist | haikyuu mlist

☆ tagging: @chaoskrakenuwu @yuujispinkhair @luvkun4 @briokayama @mrs-sawamura @heroesfan101 @millenialfanfictionaddiction @lanaxians-2 @darthferbert @hannas16 @a-girl-cant-decide-on-a-name @cookiesandmilksx @strawberrystepmom @maexc @little-ms-awkward @samkysnks @anejuuuuoy @productivity-blogs @patheticliesblog @cheesechopchive @strawbmarma ++ get added

#31 days of daichi #the 19th day of daichi #redefining #king dom daddy daichi 👑 #daichi #sawamura #daichi sawamura #daichi x f!reader #daichi x reader #cop!daichi #tw police #tw cops #daichi long fic #haikyuu daichi #hq daichi #haikyuu x f!reader #hq x f!reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #sawamura daichi #daichi x you #daichi x y/n #daichi smut #daichi sawamura x y/n #daichi sawamura x you #daichi sawamura x reader #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu smut #hq smut

[rubyarrows]

Matters of the Heart

I watched as YN entered the room, her presence lighting it up instantly. It was a platonic bond we shared, an unbreakable connection forged through countless missions and shared experiences. Deeks and Kensi were there too, like our extended family, their camaraderie adding a sense of familiarity to the air.

As YN and I exchanged a knowing glance, I couldn't help but notice the slight tension in her expression. It was a look that only someone who knew her as well as I did would detect. Deeks and Kensi, always attuned to the nuances of our interactions, exchanged a glance of their own.

We gathered around the table, the mission details laid out before us. It was a routine briefing, the kind we had been through countless times before. Yet, there was an underlying tension, an unspoken weight that hung in the air. We were professionals, adept at masking our emotions, but even the best spies couldn't hide everything.

YN's eyes met mine again, and in that moment, I knew that she was struggling with something. I had always been able to read her, even when she thought she was hiding behind a mask. And right now, that mask was slipping.

"I know that's not what you want to hear," I said, my voice low but steady. It was a simple statement, but one loaded with meaning. It was my way of acknowledging her feelings without prying, of offering support without pushing her to reveal more than she was ready to.

Deeks cleared his throat, breaking the momentary silence that had settled over us. "You guys are like a married couple," he joked, attempting to lighten the mood. Kensi nudged him playfully, but even she understood the gravity of the situation.

YN managed a small smile, a flicker of gratitude in her eyes. She knew that I was there for her, that I would always be there, no matter what. And I knew that she appreciated my understanding, my silent offer of companionship.

As the briefing continued, our attention shifted back to the mission at hand. But that unspoken exchange between YN and me lingered in the background, a testament to the depth of our connection. Deeks and Kensi were more than just colleagues; they were our friends who had become family over the years. And in this tight-knit team, we found solace and strength in each other's presence.

So, we faced the mission together, as we always did. And as the briefing came to an end, YN and I shared another look, a silent promise that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would confront them as a united front. In this world of secrets and uncertainties, our bond remained unwavering, a source of stability in the midst of chaos.

Sam and Hetty entered the room, their arrival marking the final pieces of our team falling into place. Sam's strong and steady presence was always reassuring, while Hetty's enigmatic wisdom and guidance were invaluable assets to us all.

"Is there something we're missing?" Hetty's keen gaze swept over the room, her eyes settling on each of us in turn. It was as if she could read our thoughts, dissect our emotions with a single glance.

"We were just discussing the mission, Hetty," I replied, keeping my tone neutral but respectful. I knew better than to try and hide anything from her.

YN's fingers tapped softly against the table, a telltale sign of her restlessness. Sam's observant eyes darted between us, a faint furrow forming on his brow. He might not have known the specifics, but he sensed the undercurrents at play.

"I sense there's more to this than meets the eye," Hetty mused, her gaze lingering on YN for a moment longer. "Mr. Callen, care to enlighten us?"

I took a deep breath, my eyes never leaving YN's. "It's personal, Hetty. Something YN is dealing with."

Hetty's lips curved slightly, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Ah, matters of the heart. The most intricate puzzles of all."

Sam's raised eyebrow and Deeks' barely suppressed grin made it clear that they were intrigued. Kensi gave YN a supportive smile, a silent gesture of solidarity.

YN finally spoke up, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes. "It's just… complicated."

"I know that's not what you want to hear," I repeated, this time directed at YN, my voice soft but firm. It was a reminder that I was there, that we were all there, no matter the complexities.

Sam crossed his arms, his expression serious. "We're a team, YNN. We've faced danger and uncertainty together more times than I can count. You can trust us."

YN nodded, her gratitude evident. "I know, Sam. It's just… difficult."

Hetty stepped closer to the table, her presence commanding attention. "Difficulties are the stepping stones to growth, my dear. And challenges, whether personal or professional, are best confronted with those who stand beside you."

As Hetty's words settled over us, a sense of unity enveloped the room. We were more than just colleagues; we were a family. A family that supported each other through the toughest of times.

"So, let's face this mission, as well as your personal challenges, head-on," Kensi said, her determination mirroring that of all of us.

The mission details regained the spotlight, but the atmosphere had shifted. There was a renewed sense of purpose, a shared resolve to not only tackle the mission but also to stand by YN as she navigated her own path.

As we dispersed to prepare for the mission, I caught YN's eye one last time. Our unspoken understanding remained, now fortified by the unwavering support of our team – Sam's strength, Hetty's wisdom, Deeks' humor, Kensi's empathy, and my steadfast presence.

In this ever-changing world of espionage, where loyalties could shift and trust was a rare commodity, our bond remained constant. And together, we were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, as both a team of professionals and a family of kindred spirits.

#ruby arrows #ruby arrows imagines #ncis #ncis la #ncis x reader #ncis imagine #ncis fanfiction #ncis la x reader #ncis la imagine #ncis la imagines #ncis la fanfiction #g callen #g callen x reader #g callen imagine #g callen imagines #g callen fanfiction

[choicesficwriterscreations]

September MC & OCs of the Month - Special Edition: Ava Flores

Help us in welcoming September's MCs and OCs of the month! That's right, plural! Most months, CFWC highlights one randomly selected MC or OC from our Meet My MC / OC List. (More info here.) But this month, we're doing something different.

In August, @lilyoffandoms hosted a Writers Appreciation Month, and we announced the September Writer of the Month would be selected from its participants. But all participants agreed - Lily deserved the honor! Still, we wanted to do something nice for the eleven writers who elected to participate to help uplift other writers in the fandom. So, this month, each of the eleven participants will have one of their MCs or OCs highlighted.

We will introduce each MC / OC individually, and once all eleven have been highlighted, a masterlist for the month will be created. We hope you enjoy getting to know all about them!

The first MC of the Month is @petiteboheme 's Ava Flores!

Learn more about Ava below!

In your own words, tell us what you like most about your MC. 

Ava Flores is kind, free-spirited, loyal, adventurous, and down to earth. As an Afro-Latina, she is bilingual, with strong cultural roots and a large, close-knit family. The ‘Flores family love and support each other, and this has given Ava a strong sense of self. She knows her worth and won’t settle for less than what she knows she deserves. She is expressive of her feelings, both positive and negative, and had no issues calling Drake out on things during book 1

Following the scandal and being escorted to the airport, she refused to return when they tried to retrieve her. She’d felt unheard by a lot of the people around her and had had enough. Drake had to take drastic action and a lot of convincing to get to return in time for the first tour stop in Italy.

Do you feel your MC is like you at all? How are you alike or different?

I think, as a writer, it’s hard not to sprinkle a little bit of yourself into characters, even existing canon ones. But Ava is very different from me. Her family dynamic, upbringing, life experience background, and culture are different from my own. She has Caribbean timekeeping while I’m OCD, lol. She’s stronger, braver, louder, and more outgoing and determined than I am. I’m an introvert, and I don’t think I’d be able to deal with the Cordonian court at all lol

What is most important to your MC? What is their motivation in life?

Happiness, first and foremost. Everything she does is motivated by that. Her career choice (chef) is something she loves doing; she grew up with a mother who bakes for a living (her own business), so the fact that she wants to run her own simple little restaurant certainly influenced her mom. Writing slam poetry is her outlet and has helped her through many difficult situations. Her impromptu decision to go to Cordonia was less motivated by ‘winning a prince’ and more about adventure, making new friends, and doing things she’d never done before. The fact that she found love with Drake along the way was just the icing on the cake.

A relatively new motivation for her (since arriving in Cordonia) is making a difference in the lives of people she’s never met. Shortly after the sailing event, where Ava had worn braids, she met a young mother who told her that her daughter struggled with self-image, especially with her hair, and wouldn’t wear braids because she’d felt they were ‘ugly’. Seeing Ava wearing braids had a big impact on the little girl.  Hearing this moved Ava, who never imagined herself as a role model. 

What are their biggest pet peeves/dislikes? 

She hates racism, xenophobia, and she has had to deal with it more times than she cares to remember. Dishonesty and insincerity, she has little tolerance or patience for those either. The things most valued at court (wealth, power etc.) are alien to her, which is why she’s happier away from it. 

If your MC could change one thing - anything - what would it be? 

Very little. She believes in growing and learning from her mistakes. But in my writing, her encounter with Tariq was more intense than in canon, and she hates that it happened. Drake begins teaching her self-defense before book two, but she wishes she’d had the skill sooner. She's still carrying a lot of anger over it and won’t be as forgiving to those involved as you had to be in canon.

What is your MC’s favorite quote or song? 

She has many, from famous speeches to songs and poems that talk about injustice. Here are just a few

"You can only become accomplished at something you love. Don't make money your goal." –Maya Angelou

Emancipate yourselves from mental slavery

None but ourselves can free our mind - Bob Marley

Before we find world peace, we gotta find peace and end the war in the streets. -     Tupac

          “If you don’t live your life, then who will?” - Rhianna

Is there anything else you’d like to share about your MC?

People say you should write for yourself, and that’s pretty much what I did with Ava. She is the MC/LI for Drake, and I wanted more than anything to see and read about her. I couldn't not write her. She’s developed over time, of course, but I knew from the beginning she would be big-hearted, lively and would come from a warm, loving family whom she was close to. She is everything Drake needs and more,  Although I don’t have a lot in common with her, she’s made a big impact on me. She’s broadened my horizons, and I’ve learned from her. The response she’s created is amazing, and I am so grateful others have taken to her so well.

#choices fic writers creations #cfwc mc of the month #petiteboheme #ava flores #playchoices

[starryevermore]

none of it was accidental ✧ cassian andor

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: cassian andor x fem!reader

summary: it was all by design, because you’re a mastermind.

word count: 1,406

warnings?: implied smut, fluff, kinda shitty but we’ll pretend it’s not lmao, not proofread

The first night he saw you, he knew nothing was going to stop you. The first time you walked into the room, he could tell you decided that he were going to be yours. He saw it in your eyes, the way you looked him up and down, a twinkle in your eyes. And, he didn’t mind. He didn’t mind, because it was you. There was a warmth to you, a sort of kindness, that he hadn’t experienced in so long. Cassian Andor had become accustomed to coldness and distance and being kept at arm’s length. It was the nature of his profession. One doesn’t become a spy for the Rebellion by cozying up to people. Though, he mused, it had worked well enough for you.

He remembered you tripping over your feet as you walked by the booth he was sat at. He remembered practically jumping out of his seat, reaching out, steadying you, stopping you from falling flat on your face. He remembered your quiet gasp at the feeling of his hands on your waist. (He remembered wanting you to make that sound again and again and again.) He remembered offering you a seat at his booth, the way you smiled appreciatively at him. 

“Do I get to know the name of the kind gentleman who’s helped me?” you asked as you settled in your seat, your eyes practically twinkling as you peered over at him. 

“I don’t know how much of a gentleman I am,” he said. That much was true. He had seen too many things, done too many things, to be called a gentleman. That part of him wanted to run the other way, if only to preserve you. You didn’t deserve to be tainted by him.

“Perhaps because you don’t see yourself the way others see you.”

“Perhaps because I know how others see me,” he said. 

“Let me convince you otherwise,” you practically purred, leaning in closer to him. 

He swallowed hard, realizing how close you were to him. He had been sitting alone in a booth before you came over, his arm slung over the back of it, his legs spread out, taking up more room than perhaps was necessary. He had resumed that position after he helped you, finding it more comfortable than any other way he could have sat. Now, you were mere inches away, practically tucked under his arm. You were close enough that he could smell the soap you used. He could smell how you were clean and fresh. Did you really want to be dirtied by him? 

“Cassian,” he said. Would he regret this? Perhaps. But, Maker, he wanted to feel something good for once. “My name is Cassian.”

“Well, Cassian, I think you and I are going to have a lot of fun together.”

He wanted to laugh at the thought. Fun? During times like these? It seemed more like a far flung hope than anything that could become reality. But as he looked at you, he wanted to believe it. He wanted to have a life that was simple, carefree, fun. He wanted it all.

“Then lead the way.”

You became a near permanent fixture in his life after that. It wasn’t uncommon for you to appear when he was least expecting it, presenting him with a gift you’d found for him on a mission, or telling him a story about a mistake a rookie made, or struggling to tell a joke to him because you can’t stop giggling your way through it. It made him wonder where you had been before. It made him wonder what life had been like before you. 

Being around you was nice. Cassian was used to slipping into the background. He was used to going unnoticed. He used to prefer it. But then you came around. And you saw him. You heard him. You remembered him. When he mentioned that he was going on a mission with someone he hated, you always offered him something nice when he got back. When he could barely keep his eyes open but still needed to work, you would bring him caf with cream because you knew he couldn’t stand the bitter taste of the drink but still enjoyed the energy it would bring him. When the nights were quiet and he found himself in your bunk, desperately seeking comfort, you would let him lay on your chest, card your fingers through his hair, and let him talk about the life he used to have, the life he long since left behind. 

Now that you were a part of his life, Cassian wasn’t quite sure he could ever live without you. He didn’t want to. 

Sometimes, he wondered what he should call what he had with you. Was it a relationship? Were the two of you just friends? It certainly felt like something more. Should he ask you for clarification? Or should he let it be? Why kick a gift horse in the mouth, after all? 

The answer became clear, however, when after months of dancing through his feelings, the two of you were assigned to a mission together. As excited as Cassian was to have a reason to spend time with you, he nevertheless dreaded the mission. It was relatively simple. An Imperial ball was to be held. You would go in as the entertainment, he would go in as a member of the waitstaff. If you remained as the entertainment, it wouldn’t be so bad. But Cassian knew that you would have to sidle up to an Imperial officer, look at the bastard with the sweet eyes you reserved for him, so you could retrieve invaluable information. 

Worse, perhaps, was how much you seemed to be enjoying yourself. You giggled and laughed and smiled at the officer. You leaned into his side, ran your fingers along his jaw. You leaned in close, whispered into his ear. Worse, you climbed onto the officer’s lap, locking eyes with Cassian, It took everything in him not to blow his cover right then and there. 

That night, you didn’t leave his bunk as he told you over and over and over again that he was yours, that you were his.

In the morning, he woke before you. You had stolen the sheets in the middle of the night, leaving Cassian with only a corner of the blanket covering him below the waist. He didn’t mind. He would give anything for you. He shuffled closer to you, pulling your body against his. You let a contented noise, smiling in your sleep. Oh. He liked that. 

Cassian lifted his hand, caressing your face. He ran his thumb over the swell of your cheek. A rare smile, a smile that became more common in your presence, settled on his face. He liked how soft you were. He liked knowing that you trusted him with that softness. It made him feel like he was a good man.

As he admired you, you slowly opened your eyes, your smile growing as you realized he was still there. “Good morning, handsome,” you said, your voice thick with tiredness. 

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. You nuzzled your face into the spot where his neck met his shoulder. His breath hitched at the feeling of your breath tickling him. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” he said without missing a beat. “You can tell me anything.”

“When we first met…none of it was accidental.” You lifted your head, watching closely for his reaction. “When I first saw you, I decided that nothing was going to stop me until you were mine. Everything from that point forward was a carefully laid plan.”

Cassian huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. A smirk settled on his face as he said, “You think I don’t know? You had my heart at the first step in your plan. Or, perhaps, at the first trip in your plan.”

“You knew? And…you didn’t mind?” you asked. 

“I’ve known this entire time you were a mastermind,” he confirmed. “And I love that most about you.”

A smile stretched across your face. “You know, I recall saying that you and I were going to have a lot of fun.”

“Oh? I think you should live up to that promise, don’t you?”

And, Maker, you did. Because you were a mastermind, and he was happily yours. 

#cassian andor imagine #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x fem!reader #cassian andor x female reader #cassian andor x you #cassian andor x y/n #cassian andor fic #cassian andor fanfiction #cassian andor fanfic #cassian andor fan fiction #cassian andor fan fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

[moonchildbaby]

Masquerade - Terry Silver x Reader

A little possessiveness can just prove my loyalty to you ?

Inspired by “Masquerade” by Beach House

Mentioning of violence!, murder!; Gender neutral yandere!Reader

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

All is calm when you remove the cushion from his head. No sound, no movement, nothing that interrupts this perfect moment- a moment of balance.

Your eyes absently trace over the buttons bleeping, shimmering in the background of your vision as you focus on the specks of dust floating through the air, settling, as if recognizing what will become one of them. Settling on the cooling skin and you imagine them devouring the flesh underneath.

A man. A cause of pain.

Entangled in his sheets he lies and you chuckle to yourself at how you managed to wipe him out in the first place. One of the greatest karate masters in the valley. In Japan.

Mute he lies. Peaceful. Just as you wanted it. How it should have been that night.

In the end it was very simple, Not even a struggle.

But how should it been when you have been hiding in the shadows waiting. Watching him close his eyes as your fingers slid towards the morphine trickling into his body one drop at the time, filtered through the tube running into his body....

....His eyes in wild realization upon seeing what you had done, the haze hooding the lids while the orbs pierce yours holding nothing but pure wrath and something akin to determination. Hah how sweet it was. That look. A chuckle akin to a purr pushes forward from the back of your throat, slithering onto your tongue and moistening your lips as it flicks out for just a second. A python after the kill. You had squeezed the life out of that bloodbag, the delicious anger in his face, the disbelief never but a flicker when he heard of your last name finally after so long of play pretend.

And when he had looked at you so sweetly, eyes in turmoil. you couldn’t help yourself to who had really payed Mike Barnes a visit after the brat had dared to open his mouth and speak of someone so holy and pure as him. Had used the sacred letters in the filthy mouth of his. Who would still be punished after his petty ambush by your hand. Yet you promised, knowing of their bond, that you would save the best for last. Yes, yes you would take special care of him after all remainders had been cleaned. Little Larusso. Dannyboy as your silver tongued saint liked to call him.

You kick the cushion from your feet as you slip from the door, unbothered by the uprising commotion. You sense it. the vibration. The uprising storm you feel in the sticky hospital hallways. The voices a deep thunder in the background as you weave through them unnoticed, not even a shadow to trail behind.

There are advantages looking like the counterpart to the master in Silver. Goldilocks Unassuming, mellow and friendly like a Buttercup wrapped in white satin blouses, a hint of Chanel, big eyes, warm colour in skin and cheeks. Toylike and naïve, an easy laugh..... All that makes it easy. Fooled them once more.

Its pouring when you approach the silver Mercedes 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupe, easily sliding into the black leather seat as the winged door closes above your head, the engine roaring louder than the thunder in the palm trees as the two of you speed through Beverly Hills.

“So?” he coos. Demanding yet voice a velvet duvet suffocating any remaining morals of a time before him.

You can’t help but smile up at your silver haired devil. Your good man. The stars and the moon on a blue night. The martyr those lowlife beings had dared to hurt, dared to touch.

Terrys body had healed. His pride had not. So you felt a little gift had been in order to restore your beloved’s temper.

Doe-eyes turn up to his, a smile on your lips as your hand holding your silver band places itself on his bejewelled one holding the gearstick.

“ An offering to your success. “  

When your palm turns he can see it, the war trophy, a hospital bracelet simple white and nothing more on it than

Chozen Toguchi        Born XX/XX/62

The smile you give each other can from the outside only be described as a horrendous bone-chilling sight.

But then nobody would be able to feel what you feel. See what you see in each other, the moon, the stars and the sky reflected in existence. You think of Napoleon and all the ancient emperors . What does a perishing “existence” mean to god, to an empress, to anyone for the sake of their emperor.

“And there will be more.” you promise, eager to see the beautiful curve of Terrys mouth as something flashes in the sky of his eyes, lightning reflected in your own.

“Cobra Kai never dies.”

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #cobra kai spoilers #terry silver x reader #yandere #reader insert #karate kid #karate kid 3 #Cobra Kai #fanfic #requests open over my main account @moonchildbaby at the moment #originally posted to retrosimp on tumblr #chozen toguchi #daniel larusso

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

WIP Wednesday

So okay I don't know if this is like...a cool thing to do or not, but there's a fic I claimed from the 2022 kink meme list (I couldn't resist, in large part because Tales From Jianghu Shopping Center was listed by the prompter as one of their inspirations for the prompt) that I'm not sure when I'll actually finish writing but I have started it and I'd like to at least acknowledge that I'm doing it even if the prompter won't see this. But the prompt is something along the lines of anything highly specific and niche (like my strip mall AU lol), and I actually happen to have a growing little stockpile of very very niche knowledge about my chosen professional field, which is ceramics! I specialize in wheel-throwing (though I'm also a...passable hand at plaster mold-making/slip casting and handbuilding, I just don't enjoy them nearly as much) so I've started a little something from Lan Wangji's point of view that's a love letter to throwing ♥

--//--

As is tradition, Lan Wangji works in porcelain.

The Lan family have been respected masters of porcelain for centuries, generations stretching back, back, back nearly to the beginning of the imperial kiln production in Jingdezhen. They once produced the enormous pots that adorned emperors’ palaces – there are (very distant) cousins of his in Jingdezhen who still do so for wealthy patrons.

It’s easy to forget such a background when he enters his personal studio on the other side of the world and flicks on the lights to begin the day’s routines. It’s precisely what he wants – a quiet life like this, simple and unassuming, is much more suited to his desire than the weight of tradition that could otherwise press him and his work down into something he would never want to be.

Not that he deviates very far from tradition anyway, but it’s the principle of the thing. Lan Wangji takes quiet pleasure in simplicity, in function that is beautiful in its hard-won mastery. There are very few non-traditional ways to accomplish this that he’s interested in, but he likes having the option should he want to take it. 

Lan Wangji had learned to throw at his uncle’s knee as soon as it was possible to do so. He has continued to do so since childhood with a single-mindedness that once surprised even his uncle. All he’d ever wanted to do was to sit at the wheel for hours and hours on end, only pausing to warm the water in his bowl with a fresh influx from the kettle and to transfer full wareboards (once he was strong enough) to the drying racks in the corner of his uncle’s studio.

Lan Wangji has always struggled to find the words to convey how integral the motion of the wheel and the smooth slip of clay through his finger and against his palms is to feeling like he fits into his skin properly, but his family seems to understand just the same.

Yesterday, as the sun was westering, Lan Wangji had weighed up a few bags of fresh porcelain. The lumps are waiting for him now, tumbled together under their protective sheets of plastic, ready to be molded and shaped by hands and hypnotic motion. There’s enough of a chill in the studio this time of year that there isn’t any condensation on the plastic when he lifts it, so he folds it away neatly and settles into the easy rhythm of wedging his clay to prepare it for the wheel.

There is, in the middle of the studio, a sturdy butcher’s block workbench. He built it himself right there in the studio, the first piece of furniture that had filled the space even before he’d purchased his Shimpo wheel. It’s very likely too heavy to lift – it’s certainly too big to ever get through the door – but he has no intention of ever leaving this studio to begin another, so it suits his purposes just fine.

Wedging the clay on this sturdy, hip-height table is nearly as meditative a process as all the rest of it. A bit more of a workout than sitting at the wheel, but it’s a good way to warm up in the morning, his muscles well accustomed to the push-turn-push-turn-push-turn of spiral wedging that it’s gone beyond second nature, it simply is. His mind wanders pleasantly as he watches the misshapen lumps of pure porcelain become smooth and rounded beneath his palms. Perhaps he’ll spend the day on bowls. They’re quick and simple, suited to his mood today, and he’ll have plenty of them done by lunch when he already knows his typical solitary routine will be interrupted (and can therefore plan for it so far in advance). 

The sun is up properly by the time Lan Wangji finishes his wedging, and once he’s transferred the first batch of prepared clay to the wheel he pauses to stand in the open doorway and look out over the garden that sits between his studio and his home. The grass and the flowers are glittering fresh and dewy in the sunlight as he rolls his shoulders, stretches out his back in preparation to be seated for long hours.

When he returns, the wheel welcomes him, familiar and comforting. He fills an old bird seed bucket with warm water from the tap and arranges the small mirror at the back of the wheel’s tray to the perfect angle to watch his own hands before he settles in and takes a deep breath, sleeves rolled up and apron cinched comfortably tight around his waist as an unnecessary reminder to keep his back as straight as he can while he works.

The first ball of porcelain hits the perfect bullseye of the wheelhead and Lan Wangji leans in to begin centering, the porcelain buttery soft where it runs under his hands. Porcelain, he knows, is notorious for being difficult to work with, particularly for beginners. This far into his career, it’s simply polite and responsive to each confident press of his palms. He cones it first, hands curled around it to coax it in and up; presses it down again with the flat of his hand, every movement focused on the centerpoint of the wheel gliding silently through magnet-powered rotations. 

Up. 

Down again. 

Up.

Down.

Push.

Press.

Lan Wangji loves every part of the throwing process for what it is, but if he were to have to choose only one, this would be his favorite: the moment he can feel the clay running smoothly, perfectly centered the whole way through and ready to become whatever he will tell it to be, the possibilities – for this moment – endless.

#the untamed fanfic #WIP Wednesday #Lan Wangji #If I'm not mistaken the name of the prompt in the list is 'Bring Your Yiling Laozu To Work Day' or something to that effect #and I do plan on WWX showing up later in a way that's inspired by some of my friends in the studio #who work MUCH more chaotically than I do #(ie one of them currently goes mudlarking and digging for wild clay then brings it all in to chuck it in the kiln just to see what happens) #the other one can't remember anything that they do because they take no notes and treat highly precise chemical processes like they're #still a chef adding a dash of this and a dash of that to whatever's in their mixing bowl #and then there's me with my extensive notes and thoroughly researched glazes and all being like #'.....sometimes I don't mind if my glaze ingredients are a gram or two off' #anyway for anyone who didn't know I'm a ceramicist and it's one of my special interests lol #my profile picture and header images across both my blogs are photos of my current work #oh and the Shimpo wheel?????? IT'S A FUCKIN DREAM #the museum I sometimes teach workshops at borrowed one from a different college than mine in town and it was just #so fuckin NICE. It's DEAD SILENT and smooth as silk #and the pedal stays where you put it so if you're doing something large scale you can stand up to get your arm down in it #without having to balance on one foot or sacrifice speed or anything #it was like heaven #it's also like 4k to buy new so LOL NOPE

[killjoyjuice]

HOW I DRAW MY PORTRAITS (long post below)

so I thought it would be fun to talk about how I actually make art. first, these are the main two apps I use:

both offer a subscription type service but you seriously do NOT need to pay for them. I don’t and they’re still relatively useable. for traditional art I take pictures of the piece in daylight and bring it into picsart, and use their copy/paste tool to remove things like pencil marks and such to make it look smoother. for my digital art I use my finger on the touchscreen of my phone on picsart.

my process (using most recent art as the example):

I always always start portraits with a reference image of someone that is close to what i imagine for the character. most of my traditional art (which doesn’t really got posted online) is realism, my stylised art is sort of a mesh of semi realism and comics. having a real base to work from gives me a good idea of placement of features and such. I never make a sketch layer, I just start with line art and clean it as I go with the erase tool. I prefer square brushes because the thicker geometric lines are more satisfying for me visually.

I put very little shadows in my line art, reserving it for the darkest areas. over time I have picked up traits from others artists as well (see three lashes, blocked in upper lip). I think for new artists trying to find their style it’s important to know that we all adopt things from eachother. I struggled to settle into a style because I was trying to find something completely unknown (newsflash: not possible). I also usually don’t give my portraits eye colours, so eyes are finished on the first layer.

next I make a new layer beneath my line art and begin the skin tone. I colour pick from real photos of someone with the skin tone I would like so the tones are accurate. general areas of shadow that I include are the eyes, nose, under the lip, cheekbones, under the neck and ears (and sometimes hairline). though I didn’t do it in this image, I sometimes use a lighter tone along the bridge of the nose and in the middle of the eyelid.

clothes! this is pretty simple. I prefer using muted colours for these

Any small details in a separate layer above the piece. I also tweak the line art in this layer.

Next is hair and any outside details. It’s helpful for me to draw hair as one large chunk before adding strands and pieces that point out

Finally, background. For portraits I like to do monotone solid backgrounds. I will either use a complimentary colour to the clothing or if the character has a certain colour theme I will use that

Finally, I import the drawing into picsart and apply the ‘noise’ filter to give it some texture. Finished drawing is on my blog :D <3

#my art #hope this is interesting #long post

[tangledfate]

@defiedfate asked: [ dressing room ] our muses have some fun in a dressing room together --Alastor for Lucifer

Lucifer hissed as his back hit the mirror, long spindly fingers curled around his throat, holding him in place as the Radio Demon loomed over him, free hand slipping between pale flesh and fabric. How had they gotten here? From palpable irritation and frustration to…this…

Well it wasn’t like they could just duke it out, now could they? Firstly, it wasn’t really a challenge and both of them knew it. Should either of them actually get serious, it would’ve been a fight unfairly balanced in Lucifer’s favor. Secondly, there was the matter of Charlie. Oblivious as she might be–or might pretend to be–to the clear (could it really be called) rivalry between them, she wouldn’t appreciate either of them taking a swing at the other. Proverbial or otherwise.

So how had they gotten here? Simple. There was more than one way to deal with frustration. And despite Alastor’s clear lack of desire to fuck just anyone, the King of Hell, it seemed was too lustrous of a prize to pass up. Oh, Lucifer was no fool, he knew that this wasn’t about sex. This was just another power struggle between them. A way to settle the score in at least SOME way.

“My, my…” Alastor’s staticky voice broke through his thoughts as he felt those same spindly fingers curl around his softest–proverbially speaking–part.

“Already so eager, YOUR HIGHNESS” His tone is ominous, threatening, and a soft lilt of jazz plays in the background of his own interference as Lucifer hisses again. Gloved fingers grasping for something, anything, to take back the upper hand. There is very little.

So he mimes Alastor’s actions back at them, palming the power trip induced erection straining in the demon’s own trousers and earning a hiss of his own before he’s grinning cockily.

“I could say the same about you. What’s the matter? Been a while?” And as if to prove a point, he squeezed gently just to drag out another hiss from the demon above him. Just enough to throw into question whether or not he was truly the one in control.

#defiedfate #defiedfate ;; alastor #{ encounters ;; lucifer } #{ ns.fw } #listen I love Luci but he's a new muse #go easy on me #{ answer } #tbt radioapple

[heartofspells]

Read the previous parts here or on AO3.

@wolfstarmicrofic​

Prompt: dog days

Sirius leads him up to the top floor of the house and into a very small room. It's dark inside, and Remus has just enough time to make out the vague shapes of shelves, wondering if they're in some sort of tiny library, before the door closes behind him, plunging them into blackness. He can hear the other man moving around him, can smell him, his senses heightening to exaggerated levels with the loss of his sight.

But then a small light springs up to one side of him, and Remus can just make out the shape of Sirius' body hovering near it. Remus steps closer, looking at Sirius, his face glowing ominously in the strange purple hue of the ethereal light, but finding him looking down at the small vial on the shelf containing the thing, Remus redirects his attention.

He leans down, peering closely at the what's inside the glass. It's odd, a sort of liquid that somehow holds no substance and wisps out from itself, swirling almost lazily, sometimes barely moving at all.

"It's weak," says Sirius, and Remus startles as the deafening silence crashes down around them. "The weaker it is, the less it moves."

"What are you – ?" begins Remus, frowning at him, not understanding, but then Sirius is tapping at the side of the vial, and everything changes.

Two more vials come into focus, lighting up on either side of the first, before more follow. It's like dominos falling, a chain reaction, more and more stuttering and flickering to life around them until they're surrounded by them, dozens of the same thing, washing the room in that same eerie glow.

Remus stares around, some sort of horror overtaking him that he doesn't immediately understand. There are dozens of small vials, all containing various states of those same strange little wisps of things.

"What are these?" he finally asks, voice only a whisper, like it's afraid to become louder, like he'd be disturbing something divine, or something so terrifying no one could possibly survive it.

"Magic," comes Sirius' easy response, staring at Remus now through the faint light. "It's magic." He taps the same vial again idly. "See how some of them move better than others? How some of them never stop struggling, fighting to break through the glass? Those are the strongest. It means the witch or wizard it was taken from was powerful, upper level. They had that raw sort of talent most can only dream about. Then there are the ones like this." He taps against the vial once more before removing his hand. "Weak and sluggish. Those people were barely above Squibs as far as abilities go. Maybe they studied hard during school, but they never would have amounted to much, would have struggled their entire lives, pushed into the background. I think I made them better."

"Better?" cries Remus. "By ripping out a piece of who they are? Leaving them broken beyond repair? How is any of that better?" Sirius only shrugs, looking unaffected and uncaring. Remus' eyes narrow. "Would you be better for it?"

"Of course not," he scoffs, rolling his eyes before settling them back on Remus coldly. "But I'd never let someone take mine, and if they did, they likely wouldn’t survive it. Magic can be volatile when extracted, and mine would be murderous."

Remus tries not to shudder at the chill contained within the words. Sirius continues to stare at him, and Remus can see it in his eyes, how little he cares about anything. Nothing is important to him, not really. Sirius Black is empty, and that's far more dangerous than anything else he could ever be.

"I'm going to kill him," states Sirius abruptly, startling Remus from his thoughts. At his blank look, Sirius huffs in irritation. "Voldemort. I'm going to kill him. But it can't be done with something as simple as a spell. He's done something, but I'm not sure what. My brother tried to tell me before he vanished, but he wasn't making much sense with it. I think he'd gone a little mad by that point." Sirius' eyes grow a bit distant for a moment before he seems to flick his thoughts away like a pesky fly. "I've tried looking into it since then, but I can't find anything. So now this is my plan. I'm going to use the combined force of dozens of layers of magic to bring him down."

"You're going to – " Remus begins to repeat before he stops, gawking at the other man. "You're insane," he breathes. "You really are. People have always said that about the Black family, about you, that insanity runs rampant, but I've never believed it, not really. But to think you can do this – you have to be. There's no other explanation."

Remus shakes his head as Sirius continues to stare at him, expression a blank mask. "You can't honestly believe this will work. It will kill you. That much raw magic trapped inside one body is enough to cause you to explode – or implode. I'm not sure which, but it isn't possible. One person cannot contain it."

He expects Sirius to lash out, anticipates a hand around his throat, something that's become almost commonplace and dull in the passing months. He expects a curse, pain caused by the whip of a wand. But the one thing Remus never sees coming is the broad, stretching smile that spreads over the other man's face.

"Who said it was going to be just me?" he asks, leaning forward in Remus' direction a little, his eyes flashing with unimaginable heat, like the unbearable, suffocating crush of it when trapped in those dog days of summer sun. "You're doing it too, Remus. That curse trapped in your bones is exactly the sort of strength that's needed for this."

Remus' heart stops beating in his chest at the words. He's not sure it will ever start again.

#blackness bleeds #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #sirius/remus #dark sirius #dark sirius au #wolfstarmicrofic #does this make sense? #frack i hope so #half asleep plotting taking effect ahoy #My writing #my microfics #holli writes

[predvestnik-a]

in duty, there's some relax: when there's nothing else that they can do, when the cogs are moving by themselves, the prince lets himself slump against his beloved harbinger with a guilty sense of relief washing over him.

there shouldn't be relief in his life. his is a great burden, always peeking from over his shoulder, urging him to move, do something, keep going for the end goal ━ but when they both have done all they can and are simply waiting for results... then, the relax isn't tinted with guilt at all.

on the contrary: their well deserved rest has a side of heavy rain for the night, hitting the windows of kaeya's apartment, and the scent of hot cocoa filling the small space. he stirs exactly ten times, and pulls out a secret treat he managed to acquire just to surprise ajax, a crinkling packages of small marshmallows of a light pink, blue and yellow. the little sweets are dropped in the mug of the only substance the prince has yet to burn. satisfacted with what he imagines being a delightful surprise for his beloved, kaeya gets the blue and gray mug and carries them back to the living room.

the setting for their resting place is the couch in front of the television, turned on some mundane channel just to have some background noise: he has spent a good amount of time stacking pillows and wrapping them in blankets, making a pretty sturdy for them to safely bundle in. ' here, ' with a soft smile, kaeya hands his mug to ajax, pale diamonds alight with curiosity at the reaction to the foreign objects in his chocolate.

proud of this surprise, he takes his rightful place at his side, fixing a light blue blanket around his shoulder and ajax's ones. there's nothing else to do, and the contentment will only settle when he'll take a sip from his cocoa.

but, for now, he's more interested in childe's reaction, really.

What does it feel like to have something stolen from you before you've realized it was meant to be yours?

For years to come and go, a boy whose hands were too small to sustain a weapon in its hold found his own body to be, at the same time, too big to house the entirety of himself; limbs have stretched as is natural of the human body, but what was inside remained so very fragile, protected by an exterior of flesh and violent ambitions.

Childe doesn't remember the last time rain poured and clicked against the windows. By the time snow white had the chance to be replaced by the cutting cold of droplets abandoned by their rain clouds, the man had already changed stations — all around the world, all around Teyvat. The Eleventh has long accepted into his life the routine of someone who doesn't belong anywhere. Not to linger, not to leave footprints.

Ever since fitting in the prince's life, something in that has changed but, for someone who has never taken notice of the stolen pieces, their attempt to rear their heads through littlest acts that would otherwise slot in his young system as a right he should have, as earned by virtue of existing, simply… don't translate.

His head is turned to the television, a witness almost too gullible to its contents — the small room his family crowded back in Morepesok barely had space for them and a dining table, but they were happy around it nonetheless. Kaeya has that which Childe's lacked up until not too long ago, the ranks of the Fatui are generous with their rewards. The Tsaritsa can't see one of hers struggle with the simple when their life is already fated to be so short.

The voice that calls to him is sweeter than the smell wafting off the kitchen to fill the spacious area of the living room. Childe takes it in once in a big yet soft inhale, absentmindedly, deeply immersed in the images flashed through the screen. When Kaeya joins him, before he can even offer his special chocolate drink, the Harbinger turns to grab his attention and point back to the TV. ‘ They're holding another festival in Ritou. I'm not an expert but it seems to me they're trying to attract tourists at all costs lately. ʼ Hm? Eyes travel down from the captain's face to his hands and there's another of that deep, soft inhale when the sweet steam reaches his nostrils.

Thank you, but whispered, lightly muffled by the gentle blow over the hot cocoa. Childe cups his hands around the base of the mug and is promptly reminded of why that's a bad idea: one hand whips away rapidly, waves by his side to ease the discomfort of high temperature between his fingers. ‘ Oh, wow. ʼ Such is the mistake he forgot to make in his childhood coming back to bite him. He snorts, lifts the mug to his lips and peers from behind it at Kaeya, now holding it where his hands are safe.

After the first sips, there’s a need to look back downward, to inspect his mug as if it’s suddenly something unknown to him. In his mouth, warm and sticking to most of his teeth, Childe can’t seem to properly juggle the melted marshmallow in a way that lets him actually savor it. His mouth opens, perhaps a tad too wide, and his tongue tries to poke around to undo the strings of mellow sweetness he doesn’t recall ever having in this way. It repeats amidst his laughs and the rain pouring against the window until the mug is empty again, and the thank you from before has something other than this cocoa to refer to.

‘ Thank you, Kaeya. ʼ Bundled in a heap of pillows and blanket, he tilts ever so slightly to press a kiss to Kaeya’s temple, lips still warm with not only the drink’s temperature, but also with a loving adoration for a moment he’d never realized was his to claim.

#play to win › ( inbox ) #chaotically uncontrollable › ( curse of the abyss ) #long post * #Tfw you unlock a core memory at 24.

[retrosimp]

Masquerade - Dark Reader x Terry Silver

A little possessiveness can just prove my loyalty to you ? 

Inspired by “Masquerade” by Beach House 

Mentioning of violence!, murder!; Gender neutral yandere!Reader

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All is calm when you remove the cushion from his head. No sound, no movement, nothing that interrupts this perfect moment- a moment of balance. 

Your eyes absently trace over the buttons bleeping, shimmering in the background of your vision as you focus on the specks of dust floating through the air, settling, as if recognizing what will become one of them. Settling on the cooling skin and you imagine them devouring the flesh underneath. 

A man. A cause of pain.

Entangled in his sheets he lies and you chuckle to yourself at how you managed to wipe him out in the first place. One of the greatest karate masters in the valley. In Japan. 

Mute he lies. Peaceful. Just as you wanted it. How it should have been that night.

In the end it was very simple, Not even a struggle. 

But how should it been when you have been hiding in the shadows waiting. Watching him close his eyes as your fingers slid towards the morphine trickling into his body one drop at the time, filtered through the tube running into his body.... 

....His eyes in wild realization upon seeing what you had done, the haze hooding the lids while the orbs pierce yours holding nothing but pure wrath and something akin to determination. Hah how sweet it was. That look. A chuckle akin to a purr pushes forward from the back of your throat, slithering onto your tongue and moistening your lips as it flicks out for just a second. A python after the kill. You had squeezed the life out of that bloodbag, the delicious anger in his face, the disbelief never but a flicker when he heard of your last name finally after so long of play pretend. 

And when he had looked at you so sweetly, eyes in turmoil. you couldn’t help yourself to who had really payed Mike Barnes a visit after the brat had dared to open his mouth and speak of someone so holy and pure as him. Had used the sacred letters in the filthy mouth of his. Who would still be punished after his petty ambush by your hand. Yet you promised, knowing of their bond, that you would save the best for last. Yes, yes you would take special care of him after all remainders had been cleaned. Little Larusso. Dannyboy as your silver tongued saint liked to call him. 

You kick the cushion from your feet as you slip from the door, unbothered by the uprising commotion. You sense it. the vibration. The uprising storm you feel in the sticky hospital hallways. The voices a deep thunder in the background as you weave through them unnoticed, not even a shadow to trail behind. 

There are advantages looking like the counterpart to the master in Silver. Goldilocks Unassuming, mellow and friendly like a Buttercup wrapped in white satin blouses, a hint of Chanel, big eyes, warm colour in skin and cheeks. Toylike and naïve, an easy laugh..... All that makes it easy. Fooled them once more.

Its pouring when you approach the silver Mercedes 300 SLR Uhlenhaut Coupe, easily sliding into the black leather seat as the winged door closes above your head, the engine roaring louder than the thunder in the palm trees as the two of you speed through Beverly Hills. 

“So?” he coos. Demanding yet voice a velvet duvet suffocating any remaining morals of a time before him.

You can’t help but smile up at your silver haired devil. Your good man. The stars and the moon on a blue night. The martyr those lowlife beings had dared to hurt, dared to touch. 

Terrys body had healed. His pride had not. So you felt a little gift had been in order to restore your beloved’s temper. 

Doe-eyes turn up to his, a smile on your lips as your hand holding your silver band places itself on his bejewelled one holding the gearstick. 

“ An offering to your success. “  

When your palm turns he can see it, the war trophy, a hospital bracelet simple white and nothing more on it than 

Chozen Toguchi        Born XX/XX/62

The smile you give each other can from the outside only be described as a horrendous bone-chilling sight.

But then nobody would be able to feel what you feel. See what you see in each other, the moon, the stars and the sky reflected in existence. You think of Napoleon and all the ancient emperors . What does a perishing “existence” mean to god, to an empress, to anyone for the sake of their emperor. 

“And there will be more.” you promise, eager to see the beautiful curve of Terrys mouth as something flashes in the sky of his eyes, lightning reflected in your own. 

“Cobra Kai never dies.”

#Terry Silver #Cobra Kai #dark reader #violence #i wrote this at 5 am ok #thomas ian griffith #reader insert #Terry silver x reader #requests opnen under my mainblog @moonchildbaby atm