#//like it would have still been the same outcome either way to me

[destinscelle]

Okay a little raf headcanon coming at cha! but if Atem hadn't played the seal Raf would have figured out a way to play it himself in the end so it wouldn't have mattered what the outcome was if Atem had lost either way he would had made sure the seal was played so that Atem would have still lost his soul and I STILL feel like Yugi would have sacrificed himself for him.

[thetriumphantpanda]

mine, all mine | joel miller

Summary | You & Joel have been skirting around whatever this is for years, until he finally breaks and calls it what it is, in the only way he knows how.

Pairing | Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.2K

Warnings | Post-Outbreak, Jackson!Joel, possessive!Joel, rough sex, spit play, unprotected PiV sex, cumshot, cumplay, dirty talk, emotionally unavailable Joel, it's basically just 1.2k of filth tbh, no use of y/n

Authors Note | This one goes out to @undercoverpena who gave me the means to rewatch TLOU. This was the outcome. Enjoy the filth.

Divider by @saradika

Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

He’s got your wrists caught together in one of his big hands, pressed down into the mattress to keep you still. Your thighs splayed wide, pressed down almost uncomfortably by the width of his hips. His cock is splitting you open and you’re so impossibly wet that you can hear it whenever he pushes himself back into you. He likes it, wild grin on his face whenever that lewd squelch makes itself known, he likes that only he can do this to you, only he can make you this wet, only he can get you to submit so completely like this.

It’s been two years of this. Two years of being pressed into his bed in the dead of night. Two years of dancing around what this is, but enjoying it all the same. You don’t think you need to label it, complicate it, not when it feels this good. You’d happily go the rest of your days not knowing what you and Joel Miller are if it means he’s going to stay like this. It started as stress relief, a lot like how it had been with the other people here in Jackson that had fallen into your bed - him, frustrated from patrol or whatever it was going on with Ellie, you, frustrated with… well, mostly everything these days. When he’s inside you, there are no frustrations, only the low thrum of pleasure across your skin.

Things have changed though, maybe in the past six months. He stands closer to you when you’re at the bar, sometimes puts a hand on the small of your back when someone else tries to talk to you. Subtle messages that say back the fuck off or she’s mine without needing to put real words to it. He doesn’t say it, even here, when he’s deep inside you, doesn’t beg you to tell him who you belong to, but then you suppose he doesn’t have to - you’ve not fucked anyone else since this started, no-one would hold a candle to him, and you know he doesn’t fuck anyone else either.

“You hear that?” His gruff voice asks, pulling you back to the present as his cock drags from your cunt, pushing back in slowly, and you do, that squelch of him pushing back inside you as deep as he can fit, you throw your head back, moan his name, “Yeah you do,” His face buries into your neck, teeth dragging across delicate skin, “Hear how wet I gotcha?”

You let your eyes open, fluttering slowly to reveal how close he is to your face. He’s so fucking beautiful like this - skin covered in sweat, brows pinched together in pleasure, his scars and his wrinkles visible so closely, the grey in his beard and the smattering of hair on his chest pressed against yours, you won’t ever grow tired of this.

“S-so fucking g-good, Joel.” You choke out on another drag of his cock, tip pressed right against the depths of you, dragging deliciously against that spot inside you.

“I know, baby, I know,” He coos, nudging the side of your face with his nose, hot breath so close to your ear as he continues the languid strokes of himself in and out of your spent cunt, “Bein’ so good f’me.”

His praise never fails to make you preen, face rolling to the side, exposing the side of your neck to him that he hasn’t already marked. You feel the tight grip around your wrists loosen, his hand taking hold of your chin instead, pulling you back to look at him, brown eyes glazed almost black with lust as he looks down at you. There’s something different there this time, sure he’s always been intense, but he’s looking at you this time like he wants to devour you whole - to cut you open and eat you from the inside.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” He whispers, hand around your face moving to shake you so your focus is on him and not on the way his thrusts have started getting harder, “Say it.”

“M’yours,” You manage to get out, but he shakes your head again, “Yours, m’yours Joel.”

“That’s right,” He bends, hand still gripping your chin, and licks into your mouth, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, teeth nipping gently, “My girl.”

You almost can’t believe it, like this is some kind of dream, your wildest fantasy come true that he does want you, that it’s not just your pussy he covets but everything else you bring.

“Y-you mean it?” You speak, breathless, “I’m yours?”

You bring a hand up to his face now, cradling a cheek, thumb tracing his bottom lip, but he’s shaking your hand away, his own still tight against your face, “Open your mouth,” but you’re confused about why, so it takes you a while for your brain to catch up, “Open your damn mouth baby.”

This time you do, lips parted, tongue out, Joel’s fingers sitting in the hinges of your jaw, dragging your head forward a little, then, he purses his lips, opens his mouth and lets his saliva drip from his own mouth into your, caught on the flat of your tongue. It’s hot, probably the hottest thing he’s even done. You curl your tongue over it, dragging your mouth closed to swallow it down, then, you open your mouth, stick your tongue back out and look him straight in the eye to ask for more.

“Fuckin’ filthy,” He mutters, but there’s a grin on his face, his cock still pounding into you, the feeling of your slick, made more by what he’d just down, gathering at the base of his cock, dripping down onto the sheets below, “Y’like that, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Is the only thing you can get out before he’s doing it again, letting his own spit drip from his mouth into yours.

This time though, he doesn’t give you the option to swallow it. He lets go of your face, his tongue melding with yours at the precise spot that his spit had just landed on. It’s a filthy, wet, open-mouthed kiss, saliva gathering in your corners of your mouth as you moan into his when he shifts his hips just a little, tip of his cock now bruising into your cervix on every punch forward.

It happens all at once, his lips dragging from yours, his cock dragging out of your pussy as he pushes backwards, cock in his fist for barely a second before the first rope of his spend is spurting across your soaked and aching folds. Joel lets out a growl as the next lands across the soft skin of your tummy, the next between the valley of your tits. He’s dragging a tight fist up and down the length of his cock, squeezing lightly at his tip to empty himself of every drop of cum, painting your skin with it until he’s softening in his fist and you’re trying to catch your breath.

Joel lets his hands grip your hips, dragging his thumbs through the pools of cum across your lower body, rubbing gently through it to spread it as far as he can, “Look nice like this,” He muses, looking down at the mess he’s made of you, from the aching red hue of your spent cunt, to the milky white splashed across your body, “Mine.” He says, with a tone of finality.

“Yours.”

[hedgehog-moss]

I love how seriously people in my village take animal-related gossip. Someone saw a little snake on the road while cycling across the bridge yesterday and wondered if it was dead, but did not stop to check. Out of worry & remorse she asked around at the grocery shop and someone else said she had seen the snake in the same spot a while ago, so they concluded it was dead and must have been run over by a car. But!! a third person had seen no snake at all, and the pivotal question was, at what time did that person cross the bridge? The snake's fate was still undetermined when I walked into the grocery shop, and I was invited to join this forensic investigation. I confirmed that Pandolf & I had just crossed the bridge like minutes ago so my word was going to be decisive.

I said I had seen no snake, nor remnants of a dead snake (and Pan would have definitely noticed either) so the relieved consensus was that it must have been crossing the road very slowly ("or warming itself on the asphalt" the cashier offered) and had now reached the woods safely. All four of us who had acted as witnesses in this inquiry felt pleased with the outcome and also like we bonded. I don't know these people but I know for a fact that we're going to make awkward snake-related small talk ("hello, no snakes on the bridge today?") for months to come because now we share this. Well we share not much really, some of us saw a snake, some didn't, but we shared theories & concern about how this snake's day was going so now we have the same kind of tiny bond I've forged with that old lady at the library who had seen a large wild boar on her way there that I also happened to have seen. She greets me warmly now that we've got this mutual boar acquaintance.

[hyuckswoman]

“I’m shitting my pants” mark says to his best friend. they were currently standing outside of the music classroom awaiting the final class where they’ll have to present the project each group was working on

“really? you’ve never been one to stress over music class I’m sure you won’t fuck up” haechan replies chewing on the cherry-flavored gum he got handed during his last class

“no dude I’m talking about y/n. seeing her is *sigh* let’s just go okay?” he says to which haechan nods

“don’t worry you won’t have to talk for now” haechan says entering the class. he then proceeded to sit down next to you while mark sat right behind the both of you

“you ready?” hyuck asks turning to you “no? i don’t know? i’m nervous” you reply. playing in front of people was never your thing. you just hoped to pass this class because this class is not worth retaking the semester.

two groups passed and you only got progressively more anxious, people had practiced. they were ready. while you never practiced with both your partners, none of you did. either having alone practicing sessions or some with hyuck. you don’t know if you’re on the same wavelength, you don’t know how you guys will even sound all together. If you were being honest this was partly your fault. your pride and feelings got in the way. But you also knew that no sessions would’ve been productive had you trained with mark. You knew that you would’ve nitpicked every single thing he would do and would make sure that your pettiness and anger could be felt. So either way this couldn’t have been avoided. You just hoped that whatever terrible outcome was about to be unleashed to the rest of the music class, in just about a minute now, would be enough to get a passing grade.

sitting down, plugging your electric guitar, making eye contact with haechan - the subconsciously assigned new leader of the group seeing as though he was the middle ground in between you and mark- waiting for him to give you the go and then you started playing. And exactly 2 minutes and forty four seconds later, haechan mark and you were done performing 200 in front of your class. Immediately looking up at your professor’s face only to see a wide grin and a pleased head nod directed towards mark. Of course. This was a collective grade. you had mark in your group. how could you even for a second worry about getting a passing grade.

sighing out of relief you sat down next to wonyoung who called you over while you were walking towards your original seat “girl, maybe staying in a group with these two wasn’t such a bad idea after all.. you outshined the rest of the class I’m sad for the people going after you” she says “really? you didn’t think it was messy?” you ask. anyone could tell how uncoordinated you guys were. “not really no, sometimes it sounded like a bit.. i don’t know- like you guys haven’t practiced enough? but i assure you it was barely noticeable” she says as you sigh out of relief again “and by the way you and yujin were craaaaazy i got so hyped up” you say complimenting the both of them while they thank you. being so engrossed into the conversation you almost miss haechan calling you over telling you that you need to regain your seat because “professor said so.”

So after briefly nodding at them, you tiptoed around the classroom to sit next to your friend, once again. “ i lied by the way. the teacher didn’t say shit he’s still in his ‘mark haze’. i just wanted you to sit next to me” haechan says as you laugh at his absurdity. man you were going to miss sharing a class with him.

Some time later all the groups had passed and even though he wasn’t allowed to, the teacher assured every student that they had all passed his class. He really wasn’t allowed to say this but the minute mark asked he told the class. You weren’t complaining tho. Maybe you even understood him a little.

Getting out of the classroom after the teacher dismissed you, you felt yourself engulfed in a hug “are you less stressed out now? I know you worried about getting a passing grade but we did it!!!” haechan said while letting go of you “yea dude! I’m lowkey glad this is over.. I’ll miss sharing a class with you tho” you say back “should we go out to celebrate?” you hear mark say. For a second you genuinely forgot he was there. In your defense, he was standing on the side not making any noise so he was fairly easy to forget about.

You could feel his awkwardness radiating off of him and almost felt bad. In truth you forgave him a long time ago (that’s kind of a lie). You understood how whatever mental headspace he was in was turning him into an asshole and as the patient lenient girl you were, you couldn’t pretend to not understand. But you still decided to milk the anger because you knew you were patient (especially with mark). The way he spoke to you does not deserve your understanding. He needed to practically beg on his knees for you to even crack a smile at him. And you were making sure he understood that.

“I think I’m good actually! you guys go ahead tho” you reply. “cmonnnn, it won’t be fun without you, do you know how long it has been since the three of us hung out together?” haechan says grabbing the sleeve of your shirt throwing himself onto you “i wonder why it’s been so long” you say in a fake pensive state that made haechan laugh and mark scratch the back of his neck out of uneasiness. “well don’t involve me in your business, I didn’t do shit and I just want to hang out with my two friends.. I don’t see why I need to suffer the consequences of this” haechan says slightly laughing “oh right because you texting me about it repeatedly was not you being involved in said business?”you reply “touché. still tho, please?” haechan says (he then proceeds to threaten you, then almost gets on his knees to beg, so you agree)

after what felt like the most awkward lunch ever you guys stepped out of the restaurant in silence. not for long tho….cause yk….haechan. “I’ll get going guys, have fun” haechan says aggresively winking at mark trying to be discreet. you could see the whole thing but whatever. “I’ll get going too. bye!!” you say and before you could even turn around to leave haechan desperately yelled “NO- wait. i mean. mark wanted to say something i think” hyuck says still winking at mark but now pointing to the both of you with his chin trying to convey a message to mark that he seemingly did not get

“huh?? oh OH! yes i was gonna ask if we could talk?” mark asks you “nah, im good. bye!!” you say turning around and walking away soon after you heard someone run after you and grab your arm “wait. look, I know what he did was shitty and I know he doesn’t deserve your understanding but please hear him out? Like you guys were so close before don’t you think the friendship is worth salvaging?” haechan says still holding onto your arm “hyuck i sigh i don’t know okay? would it not be pathetic of me to hear him out when he shut me down so harshly last time i tried to communicate?” you ask. no matter how much you liked the man you needed to set standards up for yourself, you deserved respect. How are people meant to respect you if you don’t respect yourself? “i get that. truly. but please hear him out? you literally won’t ever have to face him afterwards” hyuck says while you nod and walk back to where mark was standing.

“should we go to my place to talk?” you say. you weren’t going to have this conversation in public that is for sure “my place is right there. it would save us the walk i guess but we can also go to yours if you prefer” mark says to which you shake your head telling him his place was fine.

Entering mark’s studio for the first time, the place really suited him. From the few art piece he used to decorate his wall to his keyboard in the corner of his room right next to his messy desk and even messier bed, hell even the dishes were mark coded.

“man I’m sorry, I forgot i hadn’t cleaned…. we should’ve gone to your place this is not how you visiting my studio for the first time was supposed to go” he says and you shake your head. he guided you to his small couch in his living room. as you sat down you saw in the corner of the room this pretty bouquet of lilies, man what bitch did he have over?? you knew damn well mark doesn’t buy flowers for himself so those were a gift. You guessed it wasn’t from any of his friends because they would never. These had to be from yunjin. The moment you realized it, you swore you built up a little more resentment.

“I’m sorry.” mark says handing you a glass of water; he was gonna go straight into it i guess. “i know. you’ve been saying that for the past week. I’m just here because I want to know why” you reply. “I- okay fine. I owe it to you, just, please don’t make fun of me okay?” mark says fidgeting with his fingers as you nod. “Things were going really great and I really enjoyed spending time with you and getting to know you and texting you and stuff and so because i liked you- too much I think, I had this huge slap of reality in the face like man okay this is going great but you’re going to fuck it up and then she’ll find you weird and never talk to you ever again and then you’ll be miserable because you’re such a loser. So it became a lot and I got anxious and I was like ‘I’m not gonna fuck it up if I speak less’ and that speaking less… well… it turned into me ghosting you. Then I realized and I felt guilty but I couldn’t just talk to you normally after ghosting you for days and then you sent me the texts and I was so frustrated at myself so I took it out on you. And i felt bad like I knew what I was doing was wrong but I was just in too deep and then donghyuck texted me and I was also mean but anyway. I’m not trying to make excuses for myself I just want to explain everything to you. I’m really really sorry tho” mark says not having enough courage to look at you.

“you like me?” you say. You admit everything he said after was kind of a blur “no i mean yea but I ugh I didn’t want to tell you like this or at all man I’m so sorry I’m so stupid” mark replies clearly frustrated. “ you can’t do this to me mark” you reply “I know I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to come out I’m sorry” he says “this is fucked man, you flirt with me, ghost me and all of that because you like me??” you say to mark as he nods you burst out laughing. mark is very confused tho. “I feel…so conflicted right now man I can’t tell if I want to kiss you or punch you in the face. Was it not obvious I liked you?? If you liked me that bad couldn’t you have just confessed?? man you had me stressed for weeks im” you say laughing because what the fuck man

“you like me?” mark asks “yes. man I’ve been liking you for so long this is so ridiculous.. I used to have a hallway crush on you that’s why I stared at you during the first music class… and then when we became closer I started liking you… like deadass. when you replied to chenle ‘ew’ I wanted to kill myself” you say as mark gasps “THAT’S WHY?? I genuinely believed your lie woah.. also man I wanted to kill chenle because shut up like mind your business don’t air mine out on twitter like this” mark replies laughing. “what about yunjin tho?” you ask “what about her?” he says. “well isn’t there some sort of thing going on between you and her?? the bouquet right there screams everything but platonic” you reply “what?? no I don’t like her I like you. matter of fact the bouquet is for you I was going to give it to you after music class but pussied out and left it home before since I wasn’t sure if you hated me or not” mark says getting up to fetch the bouquet for you. “oh. thanks. they’re really pretty. They’re my favorite flowers did you know?? Also I can’t believe you like me.. that’s crazy. I’m still pissed at you lowkey” you say. “Yea we talked about it when you gave me my bouquet.. also you really didn’t know? I mean who do you think 200 is about? I thought you would get it” he says laughing. you hit him (not harshly of course) because how dare he imply that you’re slow??

“despite you being mad at me… will you let me be your boyfriend? I’ll beg if I have to” mark asks “i guess… you’ll have to do some serious groveling tho… I don’t want my friends to know I forgave you so easily” you reply “man you’re harsh.. I guess?? be a little more enthusiastic you have a boyfriend now. also yea your friends are scary, especially renjun I got so startled like… this is not the renjun I met” your boyfriend says laughing. “I’M HARSH???? sorry I didn’t want to jump up and down, i already know I’m dramatic don’t want to hear it again” you reply to which mark says touché.

“Can I kiss you?” your boyfriend asks “of course you’d be a dork about it” you reply laughing at him. he quickly shut you up. You were partly shocked because one, you were kissing the man you’re extremely down bad for and two, you didn’t think he had it in him to shut you up with a kiss. Feeling his smile against your lips he pulled away “didn’t think I’d do that did you?” he asked. you didn’t have the words so you shook your head no. What the fuck happened to dorcus lee? And before you could remove his hand that had been grabbing your chin, mark leaned in again to steal another kiss. you swore you felt lightheaded. Not enough to let him away with it tho. So you put each one of your arms around his shoulders, leaned closer and deepened the kiss.

And maybe, just maybe you guys ended up kissing for a while afterward….only maybe though!!

51. it's over

previous chapter masterlist bonus chapter 1

notes: guys... this is officially the end of an era... I'm literally so sad to see it go I'll miss uploading sooooooo much. I want to sincerely thank everyone who took the time to read this story and even more if you took the time to interact with it. I hope the end is satisfactory enough for you guys and I hope that you enjoyed the ride as much as I did. Thank you again, this has been nothing but fun!! I'll miss down bad very much! happy read!!!!!!

taglist: @imsiriuslyreal @iscocohere @simpforarmihn @replayenthusiast @lovm4rk @youreintheclubb @polarisjisung @sour-chaos @jising-jisang-jisung @aerivrs @multifandomania @tiddygang2020 @roseangelxfuma @skepvids @morkiee @yangasm @artstaeh @pussyslayerhd @bacons-thighs @bugcattie @leefullsun @jkslvsnella @alethea-moon @marvelahsobx @haechansbbg @katsukis1wife @m1dn1ghtv1olet @winuvs @n0hyuck @whats-my-question @dojaejunging @hibernatinghamster @user7520 @starwonb1n @lostinneocity @miniature-tragedy @llearlert @haezyhyuck @inosfavgf @bluesinfinities @calumsfringe @cigarettesafterjae @defzcl @delfdiary @minkyuncutie @bunnyjaycheoluwu @sofix-hc7 @nosungluv @anonymousmuffinbear @the-swageyama-tobiyolo @amrqxz @luvtyunn @haenahc @slayhaechan @yutterfly @tywritesstuff

[theabigailthorn]

Hey I made a post a few days ago and someone referred me to you so I’m here to ask for advice and guidance because I’ve been in acting for years and it’s my life passion (stage acting specifically) but I’ve realized this year that I am a trans woman and I don’t know what to do about it because I feel like there are next to no opportunities for me in the community if I transition, especially when it comes to musicals and really anything during early transition. I’ve just started college and feel like now is the time to start pushing for hormones and whatnot if I’m going to transition but I don’t know if I should because I feel like there won’t be a place for me in the career I want anymore. I’m at a point where I could change career paths but I don’t really have anything else I want to do I’ve always just loved acting. So anyways I don’t know what to do and I’m kind of asking anyone for help who might listen or have valuable insights if you read this thank you for your time<3

Mm, this is a tricky one. Are you in Britain? If so then I agree that opportunities are thin on the ground, even more so than for cis people in the industry. I also don't think that's likely to improve quickly. Apart from a dearth of jobs, it helps to be realistic about the risks. I've had people in Britain tell me they straight up won't work with trans people, which is illegal but there's nothing you can do about it. I've had chats with other trans actors who feel there's a hard ceiling in Britain on what you're allowed to achieve, and it's a lot lower for us than it is for cis actors.

The British acting industry also has a chaser problem. One of the consequences of the widespread dehumanisation of trans people in this country is sexual abusers find we make good targets - we're already systemically vulnerable and many people don't care what happens to us. I've seen talented trans actors drop out or contemplate dropping out because they were sexually assaulted by a writer or director. A lot of cishet people still find it unspeakable that straight men prey on trans girls. As a purely hypothetical example, let's say there was a man with a history of being very creepy to women, especially young actresses, who went around sleeping with trans women in exchange for empty promises of work, and who also assaulted trans women at auditions for his big project, who everyone in the British entertainment trans community knows is a creep, who then went on to win a major award - wouldn't THAT just make you want to scromit?! 🙃 Purely hypothetical of course. This elite consensus that trans people are 'violable' also extends to less horrific but still awful things like cis people stealing our work, which isn't hypothetical and did in fact happen directly to me.

If you're in the USA then I think there's cause for optimism, depending a bit on what happens in November.

On the other hand, something they told me at drama school is "In order to have a career you must be two things: 1) Unique, and 2) Good to work with." So perhaps your transness will be your unique selling point! There's really no way to know until you try. And it wouldn't restrict you from making your own work either: look at people like Piss Carnation, who are doing well in fringe theatre! I remember having the same feelings about my own transition: I thought it would be the end of my career. So far the opposite has proven true, which is lovely! There's a lot of luck and privilege involved in that outcome though.

For me, acting is a calling - it's the closest thing I have to spirituality - I couldn't not do it.

[primrosebow]

YES PLEASE, part 2 😻 I would also LOVE to see his legs spread for us... Or maybe we forcefully spread them :3 either way I love you're art it's so hot, Lucifer's so hot. Just NEED to manhandle him 😞

-💌 anon (idk if that's been used, if so then 🐕 anon)

AH! MY KNIGHT! YOU WILL BE REWARDED HANDSOMELY FOR YOUR COURAGE IN STEPPING INTO MY INBOX!

_-->Lucifer x reader // pt 2🍎

//

!content warnings!: nsfw, edging (AAAHAHAHAA!!!! THE FIRST KINK NAME THAT I ACTUALLY FIGURED OUT! it's pretty self explanatory, but I'm proud of me so shut) probably other kinks but, again, nun. andddd a wee lil more writing compared to my other posts

Shoutout to 💌 anon‼️‼️

//

//

The air is thick with tension as lucifer catches his breath, tears running down his now hot face. He's completly oblivious to the atmosphere, however- he's too deep in pleasure to even realize what he'd just done.

You had explicitly told him not to cum, going as far as edging him for the last few minutes, but, of course he couldn't keep it down, in the same way he hadn't lowered his teasing, which was the exact behavior that had gotten him into this predicament. You see; Lucifer is honestly one of the best you could have ever dreamt for, wealthy, stunningly gorgeous, funny, patient- wait. Scratch that last part. He's not patient at all. When he wants something, he'll do whatever it takes to get it. And that time, it was to get you to have him as you pleased.

You honestly didn't know what had gotten into him, he'd been teasing you for the last several days with no signs of giving up -what was his goal with this?- you thought, whenever he'd litter kisses along your neck and imediatelly turn around and speed off to do god knows what. Whenever he'd lay on your lap and arch into you, displaying his body for you, only to turn around and act like nothing happened within a split second, even touching your sensitive spots and acting oblivious. Whenever- actually, you could go on all day long. And right now, he'd finally realized what he did.

His expression flows from one of relief into one of guilt. He turns his head from you, snapping his eyes down to your hand over his still painfully hard dick before dragging them back up when the sight alone had made him twitch in your hands.

His thighs had been strongly pressed against your arm before you used your other hand to make Lucifer look at you. He looked frustrated, ashamed, confused- why all of that? Because this wasn't the outcome he expected. He thought you'd have your way with him, bend him over the nearest flat surface and fuck him out of his mind, he thought you'd overstimulate him until he couldn't think of another thing other than the sting of his drawn out pleasure, thought you'd be rough with him.

But no, you were gentle.

With your actions, at least. Your words were pure venom. "You want to get treated like some desperate slut, huh?" "You look down on those sinners but you're no fucking better." "You're already drooling? My god you're pathetic." "You haven't earned my touch- much less the right to cum. You've been nothing but an inconvenience, you're lucky I'm even doing this" as you so gently jerked him off with the most delicate touches, holding his hand, ghosting your lips over his neck and moved the hair out of his face. The juxtaposition from the two extremes of your words and actions drove him insane- he just couldn't deal with it, you were tearing down his whole being by the second- and eventually, he couldn't hold himself anymore.

You don't spare him a word as you push his legs apart and watch them tremble to stay open for you as rushed apologies and poor excuses left his mouth. Before he could continue with his apologies, you roughly rub your fingers over his tip, earning a broken, fucked out moan from him, his tail a dead giveaway of his enjoyment of the new treatment.

"Is this what you wanted?" Was your unamused response. You kept going at the much rougher pace you had just now set, his eyes fought to remain open as more tears flow out of his red, glowing eyes; he wasn't prepared for such intensity after what you had put him through "aah- mh- w-wait -oh goodness- please! Have mercy!" His pleading falls on deaf ears as you continue at your current movement. The king of hell had his pride completly broken, and you weren't even close to being done with him.

Ah, seems like the two of you have a long night ahead of you

//

//

I just found out about weevils I am not the same woman I was 10 minutes ago. I love these stupid little guys. I love them so much. I love weevils.

Sorry for dying I'm back tho with like a truckload of stuff in mind to tell yall abt. Also I don't proofread or anything this is like as raw as it gets.

Ermm @ ing @bigfatbimbo because this mf into lucifer FOR REAL💪💪

[heartfullofleeches]

[Request] Reader caring for a sick Remmy [Dollmaker Yan Oc]

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.1k

-

“Remmy isn't home right now…. Please come back later.”

Could this day get any worse?... Weeks, months even, building up the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date or anything, not yet anyway. He still needed to test the water a little longer, make sure the signals he had picked up from you weren't figments of his imagination. All that time, all those embarrassing hours spent in front of the mirror practicing what to say given any outcome - flushed down the drain in one night. 

Remmy could hardly open his eyes the morning you were intended to meet. You didn't even recognize him over the phone at first. In his heightened state of delirium from the fever racking his weary mind, he hoped the same would happen as you continuously rang his doorbell - demanding in the softest voice you could manage for him to open up.

As if he could be that lucky….

“And where, pray tell, would someone hacking up a lung over the phonean hour ago be right besides the hospital? It's not that far away. I can head over right now and check.” 

….

“Open this door right now, Remiel. You're not going to flake on me twice today.”

Did you have to phrase it like that? Kicking a sick person while he could barely stand was cruel - even if you did come to check up on him. 

“O…okay…. Remmy is- I'm going to unlock the door, just…give me a minute to clean up my room. I have some stuff out I really don't want anyone to see…”

The muffled shuffling of plastic splices between the click of the lock as Remmy unlocks the front door. 

“60.”

“Crap.” 

Hobbling away from the front door, Remmy clings to the hallway walls as he makes a break for his bedroom. The straight path twists and bends as his stress levels skyrocket from the very real fear of you finding out what he had stored. There wasn't enough time for him to hide everything. His top priority were the worst offenders - items he couldn't excuse as being a result of his relatively harmless hobby. Doll clothing fashioned after clothes you'd yet to wear for the public eye. Others you never owned and probably would never wear, unless they were for a partner or to make yourself feel good. Pictures of you hung up on his walls. So much to bury in such little time. 

“They can't see that…That one either. God, they'd kill me if they saw-”

“Saw what?” 

A hoarse yelp claws its way out of Remmy's aching throat. Standing in his doorway, you balance two separate bags in your arms - awaiting his response. Remmy hurriedly pulls the corners of his blankets over the space beneath his bed. 

“I…threw up a bit ago. Guess I'm feeling worse than I thought when we spoke over the phone.” 

In the blink of an eye you're by his side. Remmy flinches as you press the back of your palm against his forehead.

“Oh, Rem….” Concern oozes from your words as you set your bags down, taking hold of his arm. You're burning up. Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“You don't have to go through all this for me, Y/n. Really, I'm-” His sentence falls short as you scoop him off the floor, sitting him up on his bed. Were you always this strong - or had he always been this easy to carry? In that moment, Remmy felt just like one of his dolls. His head spins at the very thought. You take the opportunity to gently ease him down against the mattress, rolling the discarded sheets up to his waist. You pick up the plastic bags, setting them on the small table in the center of his room as you rummage through them.

“Got some chicken soup from this dinner down the street. If you can't keep anything down, maybe the broth will be a good place to state. Oh!- picked up some ginger ale too. That might help with your stomach too. Cough drops, cough medicine…. Do you prefer liquid or pills?” 

Remmy turns his head away from you as he coughs into his fist. “...whichever…whichever you brought is fine.”

“Well,I actually bought both, but I can just return the other on my way home later. I'll go grab you a cup real quick.”

Heading for the door, Remmy’s meek voice calls out to you - barely about a whisper. “Y/n?”

Hand on the doorframe, you gaze over your shoulder at him. “What's up? Need something else while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No…” Remmy shakes his head, the pressure of a headache hammering at his skull. “Agh… Remmy… I just wanted to thank you…for this. You really didn't have to come over…” 

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “Don't think I did this for nothing. Gotta make sure you're well enough for our date next weekend. The park is nice and all, but that's where we always go. I expect to be taken somewhere else for our first date.”

“Date?” He couldn't have heard you right. But, you said it - twice. You disappear down the hall before he can properly question you. Was this all a dream? The conjurings of his ill mind as the sickness took hold? This felt better than anything he could imagine- Your hushed voice as you reenter the room confirms it. You wiggle your arm behind his head, helping him sit back up just enough to place the cup to his lips without him choking while swallowing. A part of him wished this was a dream. One that he'd never wake up from if he had the choice. Another dream come true was waiting for him once he got better.

“Remmy?...Rem?”

Soda spills onto your hand as the weight of his head crashes upon your shoulder. Did he…. fall asleep? Just like that? You hadn't even given him his medicine yet. At least the sleep will be good for him. You should probably go put everything else you brought up to pass the time until he wakes up. 

“Mmm…”

Remmy’s face scrunches in discomfort as you part from his side, lowering his head onto the pillows as you stand. Your foot touches something soft beneath his bed. You reach a hand underneath - completely forgetting about his earlier warnings as your fingers wrap around the squishy item. A doll with instantly identifying features stares back up at you as you drag it from its prison. Funny - you don't remember wearing this shirt around Remmy. You only bought it a few days ago. You planned to wear it today before he told you the bad news.

Shrugging, you raise Remmy's arm - tucking the doll against his chest. His face melts into that of peaceful bliss, body curling around the doll as his other hand strokes its face as if on auto-pilot. You press a kiss to his forehead - shutting off the lights in his room as you depart for a second time.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 6

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: Getting answers out of Norris has proven quite challenging. Your disagreement with Azriel is weighting on you more than you thought it would.

Warnings: Violence, Torture, Gore

Word Count: 5550

Notes: This took me a bit longer to write than I anticipated but I wanted to make sure not to forget any details. Hope you enjoy!

Part 5 ○ Part 7

The sun was already shining high in the sky when you finally stepped out of the dungeon. Feyre had arrived with Cassian and Amren a few minutes earlier, ordering her mate, you and Azriel to go and get some rest while they took over for a few hours. Rhysand could only use his daemati powers for so long and the strain was starting to become visible on his face, so she likely could feel his fatigue through their mating bond. His efforts were starting to be in vain anyway, you needed to wear Norris down a lot more physically before his mental walls would start giving in.

You didn't want to leave at first, completely unwilling to take your eyes off Norris for even a second, but both you and Azriel had been forced to go take a bath and eat something, maybe even get some sleep and only come back later in the day. Logically this made perfect sense, but you'd rather stay with him until he told you everything you wanted to know. You believe them all to be more than capable of handling this but you also know Norris, if anyone could find a way to escape from the Night Court's dungeons it would be him.

Still, you knew it was going to take a lot longer than a few hours to crack Norris so you needed to keep your strength, you wouldn't be any help at all if you exhausted yourself. Apparently the same wards around your memories were also present in Norris' mind, meaning Rhysand was only able to knock him out in the forest but not read through his thoughts, the same way he wasn't able to reach your memories before. This meant he was the one in control of said wards, both his and yours. Amren was quick to explain that since they had been done with the help of a witch's tool, he had to have it with him to keep up his wards since it wasn't his own magic that was keeping them in place.

It also explains why he risked becoming your handler even though letting you know him could lead to this exact outcome. He needed to strengthen your wards every once in a while to make sure no memory slipped through them. Unfortunately, even without his checkups the wards were strong enough that simply time wouldn't give your memories back in full, at best only letting you see some fragments. There was also no way of knowing what they could do to your mind when left unattended so your only option was to keep pushing him until he told you everything you needed to know.

The tool he used couldn't be far, he either had it on his person or hid it somewhere close before meeting you in the forest. You've searched through his belongings more than once, as did everyone present in the cell, including Azriel's shadows, but came up empty. He likely had a powerful glamour cast on it, one you had to make him break. Getting your hands on that tool meant you could break both the wards around his mind, which would grant Rhysand access to any and every piece of information he wanted, and the wards keeping your memories hidden inside you. One simple object could set you free.

Azriel winnowed you to the middle of the mountains surrounding Velaris, right behind the House of Wind, making sure no one in the city could see your bodies drenched in blood but unable to winnow you straight home. Having a house protected by wards that didn't allow for any winnowing, even by its inhabitants, was really good in theory, you've never seen a safer place really, but in practice having to fly up every time was more than annoying, especially when you don't have wings of your own.

The air was strangely awkward around the two of you since you hadn't spoken a word to each other after the short argument in the forest. Most of your annoyance had worn off at this point, got redirected at your smug handler chained up in the dungeon, but you still wanted him to be the one to come to you and explain himself. His attitude earlier had seemed completely different from everything you'd experienced until then, you know there's a reason for it but you're too prideful to ask him about it.

The only plausible reason you could think of is that he's been using you to get to an assassin with a higher up position in the guild, but something told you immediately that wasn't the case, it seems like a part of you balked at the thought that he'd betray you like this. Even putting your annoying phantom feelings aside, it didn't make sense considering the High Lord has followed his word on letting you help in interrogating Norris. Your mind was fresh out of ideas, and much too tired to analyze that small argument. He'll tell you what happened eventually, and if he doesn't… Well, then it's a good thing you didn't get your hopes up even more.

“I'll fly you up to the House,” his voice was scratchy from not being used in so long, making it deeper as he almost whispered beside you, not wanting to disturb the quietness in the mountain. Azriel had done most of the cutting and breaking but he hadn't even asked Norris any questions, content in letting you and Rhysand take over the interrogation while he carved out Norris' skin. You can't be sure if it was because of your fight or just the grueling last few hours but he didn't seem to be in the best mood anyway.

You nod up at him, simply walking closer and letting him pick you up into his warm embrace, strong hands careful as they handle your body. You've only flown once - from what you can remember at least, you can't imagine a version of yourself who wouldn't ask her husband to take her flying regularly if he had wings - and, given the circumstances, you didn't really have the chance to stop and truly enjoy the moment. It would be the same now, even worse given the fact that you'd rather not deal with the shadowsinger, but the breeze hitting against your tired body sounded heavenly, and so did the big bathtub and soft mattress waiting for you up in your room. There was also no energy left in your body to even try to argue with him, if there was you would have been using it on your handler.

His body relaxes slightly when you simply slip your arms around his neck, his wings stretching and flapping a couple of times as he got ready to take flight. He looked like he was expecting you to refuse, as if there was any other way to the House besides flying and he wasn't the only Illyrian here.

The actual flight doesn't take long, within a few moments Azriel is gently setting you down back on your feet at the top of the stairs, hands lingering on your body as if moving on their own, a habit he can't quite break himself out of. You meet his eyes, briefly wondering if you should say something, debating if you have enough patience in yourself to extend a small olive branch to the male who is covered in the blood of your enemy.

He beats you to it, looking down before speaking as if he couldn't hold your gaze for top long - yet another way he's acting out of character. “You're free to do what you want. I'll meet you in your room and fly you back to the dungeon when it's time. I won't bother you before that.” The professional, detached tone in his voice makes your annoyance want to rise up but you swallow it down, realizing how tired you really were as soon as you had stepped foot inside the house.

“Alright,” you tell him before turning around and walking straight to your room, never looking back to see his reaction or the way regret flashes in his eyes as he watches your every step away from him.

Azriel stayed true to his word, only coming to check in on you right before it was time to return. You can't even be sure if he stayed in his room the whole time, if he truly spent these few hours resting as he was ordered since there was no sound coming from his room or around the house at all. Curiosity had gotten the best of you a couple of hours ago, when you woke up from your nap feeling strangely alone, like a piece of you was begging to go find him. This feeling was clutching at your heart for long enough that you actually considered going to find Azriel, but held on since you didn't fully know your way around the house and you had no idea where he could be. You didn't really know what to say either.

Luckily it wasn't long until you heard his footsteps getting closer to your room before a soft knock sounded at the door. He always does this, makes sure to let himself be heard before knocking. Sitting up at the edge of the mattress, you call out to him, wondering if he'll tell you anything now or simply fly you back to the cells.

As soon as his form comes into view you can tell he hasn't slept much if anything at all, dark circles prominent under his eyes. He's at least taken a bath, the sullied leathers were now replaced with new ones, the stench of blood not clinging to him anymore. You're wearing some yourself, your old ones as you've been told. Your clothes were ruined and putting them back on would defeat the purpose of the bath you took earlier, but it feels weird to wear a version of what you always see Azriel and his family in. He takes notice of this as well, hazel eyes raking over your form, lingering around your waist long enough for you to start feeling self conscious, standing up and taking a step closer to him almost involuntarily.

“Is anything wrong? I thought you left them for me to wear.” Since he had given you the leathers along with your old belongings you had assumed you were allowed to wear them, but, at this point, these clothes were more his than yours. Maybe he was scared you'd ruin them and he'd lose his memories of you.

“No, that's not it. They're yours,” he assures quickly, eyes widening slightly before a conflicted expression takes over his face. “The buckles are done wrong,” his observation makes you look down at yourself, there were more straps and buckles than necessary for any piece of garment and you'd taken a bit longer to figure it out than you cared to admit, apparently you should have taken even longer.

Your fingers reach for the straps around your waist, tugging at the leather before he continues, “I can help you with them. They can be hard to put on if you're not used to it.” When you look up from the confusing clothes and your eyes move to meet his, you find him watching your hands hesitantly, his own flexing at his sides. You end up agreeing without even thinking it through, something you almost regret when he walks closer to you and suddenly all you can see and smell is Azriel.

He looks into your eyes before reaching out to the buckles around your waist slowly, giving you a chance to push him away, almost expecting you to. You drop your hands at your sides awkwardly, not knowing what to do with them or yourself when he starts working on your leathers. Expert fingers undo the buckle before pulling on the straps, unexpectedly tightening your armor in the process which pulls a startled gasp out of you. His hands move to grab your waist, surprised by your reaction. Wide hazel eyes meet yours at the sound, a heat spreading within them the longer he holds your gaze, hands frozen around your waist.

All your senses are overwhelmed with him so close, staring down at you like that. The only thing you can think of is the kiss you shared a few nights ago, your entire body begging to repeat the action as he looks down at you with the same passionate look he had worn then. He seems to be reminded of the same, perhaps of similar moments from your previous life, even more scandalous ones surely.

Thankfully, some of your common sense finds you before you could do something stupid like pull him down to you and taste him again, the thought making you look away from him and clear your throat, hoping he breaks from the spell and lets you pretend it didn't happen. This prompts him to keep buckling the leathers, with an urgency he didn't have before, and you look down with him, following his movements even though your mind isn't actually registering any of them as you try to calm your breathing and not think of the way his hands feel around your waist. You'll likely need his help fastening everything tomorrow as well.

“These are meant to cross so the leathers are molded to your body and there are no openings,” he tries to explain as he finishes and moves back, but you can tell he's as affected by your little moment as you were.

You nod at him, “There were a lot of straps, I wasn't sure which ones belonged where. Some of them don't even look like they have a purpose,” you finish as you play with the straps around your wrists, the ones you really couldn't figure out.

“Those are for your gloves,” he explains, a somewhat endeared look crossing his face. “I didn't think you'd need them but you can put them on. Though I'm not sure how they will behave with your powers now.”

“Did I not have these powers before?” You hadn't thought of the possibility but if the spell could erase your memories maybe Norris could have found a way to give or take powers. Just the thought of it brings a chill down your spine.

“You did, but you've gotten a lot stronger,” there was a hint of pride in his words, though the somber meaning hung between you. No matter how hard you practiced and how well they could have trained you here, the results wouldn't be as fast or maybe as clean as the ones resulting from the guild's harsh training. The guild had no problem pushing you past your limits, you either adapted and got stronger or you'd die and be replaced. You suppose you never had to use your powers to torture people before either.

“When this all ends we could spar together,” you sound hesitant even to your own ears, “Maybe I'm even stronger than you by now.” You haven't talked about what will happen after all of this, you can't know for sure what you'll want to do when you recover your memories. You also keenly aware you had just been telling yourself you wouldn't make it easy on him, but ended up seconds away from kissing him and inviting him to spar with you as soon as you saw him.

“I'd like that,” he nods, a reddish tint rushing to his ears. He makes it unbearably hard to even remember why you were upset with him in the first place. It takes everything in you not to lean into his genuineness and forget it ever happened. You bite your lip and give him a small nod of your own, “Are you ready then? We should go.”

“I wanted to talk to you before we left,” his voice takes on a serious tone, regret peeking through every word.

“Maybe this is not the right time. They're probably waiting for us,” you offered, not really sure how to go about having this conversation after what had just happened, even if the curiosity was killing you. It was clear you couldn't keep a level head when it came to Azriel.

“No, I can't…” he cuts himself off, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh, a heavy sound coming from deep in his chest as if he’s been pushing it down for a long time. He looks scared somehow, his wings pulling in tighter to his body and his shadows crawling up his shoulders as if comforting, or even encouraging him. You let him find his composure, find the right words to explain the situation. This feels bigger than a silly argument when adrenaline was pumping through both your veins and that gnawing feeling in your chest comes back, getting stronger with every breath, making you think this might be something he's carried on from the time you were still married.

Azriel opens his eyes after a few moments, the emotions swirling in them enough to make you breathless, and reaches his hand out to yours, waiting for you to accept it and then squeezing it tight as if he needs the reminder that you're real.

“I need you to know I wasn't trying to keep any secrets from you or order you around as you said,” he starts lowly, shiny hazel eyes alternating between watching your hands clasped together and staring deep into your eyes, “We've had this conversation many times before. I know you don't remember but I need you to know I never meant to make you think I want to have any sort of power over you.” He brings your hand up to his chest then, spreading your palm right over his beating heart as he continues, eyes never straying from yours, “I know you can handle yourself, and I know you want to be there when Norris tells you everything. I wasn't trying to keep you away from the dungeon because I didn't think you could handle it.”

“Then why?” Your voice is but a whisper, not wanting to disturb the vulnerable moment.

“I never let you see me down there before, know the monster I have to become. You tried, many times, but I never allowed it. I've always been too afraid of what your reaction would be,” he presses his hand down on yours a little harder as his heart beat picks up, “It would kill me if you were ever scared of me, if you couldn't love me anymore after learning who I am. I was so scared of losing you. Scared that you would ever look at me with fear in your eyes instead of love.”

You let your gaze fall to the way he presses his and your hand to his chest, letting his heartbeat lead yours. It takes a moment for you to process his admission. From what he told you before you thought you had been open with each other throughout your marriage, but it seems there were parts of him he kept hidden even from you, especially from you.

Moments like these always leave you in a weird position. You can't speak for the old version of you, as much as you want to believe that you wouldn't leave him, would never feel scared of him, when your love for him transcended your memories as if it was written down into your bones, the truth is you don't remember her at all. Maybe she would have been scared, maybe his worries hadn't been completely unwarranted then. The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You turn your hand around, your palm no longer pressed against his chest in favor of holding onto his hand, your other hand joining in as you massage the rough skin and let them fall between you two, needing something familiar to ground yourself while you think of what to say. You twist his wedding ring around his finger once, closing your eyes at the tremble that runs through him at the motion, the way even his wings droop to the floor. The fact that he lets you touch him like this makes things so much harder sometimes.

“I've seen a lot of monsters. You're not one of them, Azriel. Far from it,” you start carefully, “and… I'm not sure how I was like before, if seeing you down there would have really been too much for me to handle but if I truly loved you like I think I did, then I know it wouldn't have mattered. There's nothing about you I see as unlovable.”

“Loved,” a broken mumble between you, not a question. This makes you look up at him. You want to deny it, tell him you still love him, but you can't make sense of the feelings inside you, can't say for sure what will happen to them when you regain your memories. Most of all, you don't want to hurt him, give him hope when he already lost so much, when you already hurt him so much.

You drop his hand, taking a small step back. “I'm not the same person you used to know, and recovering my memories might not bring her back either. Most of what's left is just my body.”

“It doesn't matter,” he says so matter-of-factly it almost makes you want to believe him.

“Azriel-”

“No,” he brings both of his hands to hold onto your face gently, giving you no option but to look into his eyes, “I love you. That didn't change when you died or over the century that followed, when I didn't think I would ever see you again. It didn't change when I saw you in the townhouse or even when you stabbed me. And it won't change whether you get your memories back or not, if you choose to stay or not.”

“I don't love you,” the words stumble out desperately, tears gathering in your eyes, “I don't even remember you, Azriel.”

“That doesn't change it either,” he smiles, thumb caressing your cheek softly. You know he means it then, know there's no way to change his mind even if for his own good. You can only pray to the Mother that your memories don't give you any unpleasant surprises. You're trying so hard to keep his heart safe, why must he keep offering to rip it out of his chest for you?

His expression changes abruptly as you're lost in thought and soon after you feel a presence in your mind before Rhysand's voice comes through. I hope I'm not interrupting anything. Azriel's hands drop from your face then, a scowl overcoming his features. You can only imagine the words he's throwing at his brother in his mind, but Rhysand's voice returns, noticeably more amused, Our break is over. It's time to meet them back at the dungeon. I take it you'll fly our captive back? The answering growl that comes from the shadowsinger actually makes you hide a chuckle behind your hand. His gaze softening once again when he notices the gesture.

Despite the timing and the way he insisted on addressing you as “captive” to rile Azriel up, you could actually thank Rhysand for breaking you away from the moment. He's right, you've rested more than enough and it's now time to go back and finish what you started. You only have the luxury of dealing with your marriage after Norris is gone and you could actually remember your husband.

The flight to the dungeon is a lot easier this time as your prior annoyance was replaced with strangely welcomed awkwardness and a tinge of bashfulness. As much as you tried to deny it, you can't pretend Azriel's admission hadn't made your heart want to leap out of your chest. You don't think anyone could have remained impartial to such a confession, especially coming from a male like Azriel, but as soon as you step into the dungeon, you feel yourself morph back into the cold assassin. You could even feel Azriel's mask fall over his face as well, ready to resume what you'd started before.

This same routine is repeated for a few days, slowly but surely wearing the formidable assassin down. It wouldn't be long until Rhysand or Feyre could read through his mind completely even if he didn't willingly tell you anything. This sentiment was felt among all of you, it's like you could all taste how close he was to breaking.

You came back from one of your mandatory breaks to see Cassian leaning by the cell door, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at your prisoner as Amren stood in the middle of the cell covered in blood, a wicked grin on her face as Norris looked the most unsettled you'd ever seen him. She was told to hold back in the first days but since Norris insists on resisting, Rhysand had allowed her to toy with him. You truly hope you never cross her, just the thought of the things she could do makes every hair on your body stand.

Everyone stays in the room this time, knowing it's only a matter of time. Azriel takes over once more, every slash of his knife meant to give Norris unimaginable pain, completely focused on making the short remaining of his life as miserable as he can.

The difference between the male who had confessed his undying love to you, held your hand as if you were the most precious thing in this world, and the one expertly carving out your former handler's body was almost unbelievable. Azriel's face showed nothing but anger, and even then you knew it wasn't even a quarter of the seething fury burning inside of him. This wasn't your doting husband, this was the Spymaster.

You feel Rhysand's dramatic show of power before you see him walk into the cell, hands in pockets as if he was walking into his kitchen instead of a seedy dungeon reeking of blood and sweat. He passes by you and joins Azriel in tormenting Norris, letting sharp black talons run across the mental walls he's been so desperate to maintain. The smirk on his mate's face, who leans against the table calmly by your side, tells you they might even be teaming up on him.

Fatigue was starting to eat away at everyone the longer you spent inside the windowless cell, but, as Norris smirks lessened and his bared teeth stopped being enough to hide the obvious grunts of pain, his skin paling considerably as his blood pooled at his feet, it was clear that you were on the right track, only needed to keep pushing.

Your handler had started answering more questions too, if only to keep you distracted and away from any blades long enough. It's hard to believe that the male you've been frightened of for a century is the same one chained in front of you. If it weren't for the stubbornness and the pride he's managed to keep somehow, you wouldn't have believed it at all.

“This whole mission was a gamble. We couldn't know for sure if they'd written you off their wards even if they thought you were dead. When you walked in so easily I thought it would be a piece of cake from there. Seems I was wrong.” You had guessed as much. At the time, being sent to an unknown place on such short notice seemed strange and sloppy for how usually crafted the guild's plans were, but knowing what you do now, it makes sense. Not only were you written into the wards as he said, but if it hadn't been for the strange nostalgic feelings inside you, Azriel would have let you escape, you would have even killed him to do so.

“The spell should have sealed your memories and feelings tight,” Norris continues as if sensing your thoughts, “I'm not sure what is trying so hard to claw its way out from behind those walls.” He tilts his head to the side and pauses as if he found the answer and that self-assured smirk reappears on his lips. The sight makes your skin crawl, your powers reacting with you and sending an icy chill into the room. Temperature dropping as his smirk only widens even more and Azriel looks at you with a worried expression before catching himself. “Maybe I just messed up the spell,” he dismisses.

“What do you mean?”

“It is a tricky spell,” he shrugs nonchalantly, knowing that's not what you asked. Azriel moves before you, Truth Teller slashing across his skin for the millionth time, but Norris seems intent on keeping at least this last piece of information to himself. There's more to this, you know there is, but the interrogation moves on to matters of the guild. Rhysand is still worried that they will come for you now that you've deserted, and that they will bring harm to his beloved court.

Within the next few hours, Norris' healing stops being able to keep up with his injuries, even his voice losing strength. It seems like he was focusing the remaining of his energy on keeping his mental walls safe, but it's not long until you see Rhysand's smirk grow, a satisfied wicked thing on his face.

You watch as Norris' head goes limp, unfocused eyes dropping to the ground as the High Lord searches through his mind, probably making it as unpleasant as he possibly can. Your heart starts beating faster in your chest, anxiety building up at the thought that this could have all been for nothing, that Norris might not have the answer after all. You feel a hand on your shoulder but don't even have the mind to look back and check who is trying to comfort you.

When he finally steps back, he simply gives you a nod and a breath of relief escapes you as you stare back into Norris' eyes. You watch Azriel and Rhysand share a look in the corner of your eye, never daring to look away from Norris' defeated face. Within moments everyone starts clearing out of the cell in silence, leaving you and your shadowsinger standing over the prisoner.

It's only when Azriel's hand reaches for yours, tugging on it to get your attention that you look away. His eyes don't give away much and he doesn't say the words, but as he places Truth Teller in the palm of your hand, you know exactly what he means. He nods at you once and drops your hand, taking a step back and giving you space.

You look down at the dagger in your hands, the same one you had held to wound the male who now handed it to you, the one you'll now use to set yourself free. Describing the feeling running through your body is impossible, you always thought you'd die in the guild, as an assassin. Never even dared to think you could be more, never thought it would be possible to get out alive and find a life for yourself. You thought you'd be scared at the prospect but you can only feel excitement and relief.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you walk to Norris and pull on his hair to lift his face to yours, so he can see all the hate and anger in your gaze before you stab the knife through his right eye slowly, making sure to get it through his brain, deep enough that no amount of healing or any trick he might have had up his sleeve would be able to save him, and twisting it around. You don't move for a few moments, listening for his heartbeat and paying attention to the blood seeping out of the wound. It's only when you're sure he's dead, that his heart is completely quiet and enough blood has poured out, that you pull the knife out with a squelching sound, flicking it down to get rid of most of the blood and any pieces of flesh stuck to it.

You hesitate for a moment before turning back, meeting Azriel's eyes. As much as you'd told him there was no need for him to worry of your opinion of him changing after witnessing what he did to Norris, of ever being afraid of him, you had hypocritically been scared of letting him see you like this, of seeing the cold blooded killer you had become, so far detached from the wife in his memories.

All your worries are proven baseless however. The only thing you can distinguish in his eyes is relief, at having the answer to getting your memories back and having the person responsible for your pain killed. You can't help the smile growing on your face, not caring for how it must look against the blood covering most of your body, and wrap your arms around Azriel's neck, pulling him down into a hug as a sigh of relief escapes you, tears rising to your eyes and flowing down your cheeks. His arms come around you immediately, tightening his grip on you and burying his face in your neck, tears of his own wetting your skin.

You're finally free.

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[dreamescapeswriting]

Best Kind Of Aftercare ~ BC

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

PAIRING: Chan x Fem!Reader

GENRE: established relationships, punishments, bdsm relationshio, soft dom Chan, aftercare, looking after reader whos crying, soft chan

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - August 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

The cuffs weren't too tight on you, they never were, Chan always made sure that you were okay before he went ahead with any kind of punishment that he gave to you and tonight was no different. Well, maybe a little.

You'd pushed him a little too far this time with what you'd been doing and now you were having to pay the consequences of your actions. 

"I said I was sorry." You whined out a little, struggling against the cuffs before realising you couldn't do anything with them. The only way out of this was going to be your safe word and you weren't going to use it, not when you still felt completely safe and happy with how things were going. 

"You disobeyed me, again." He growled out, his hand rubbing over your bare ass cheek before roughly slapping down against your skin filling the quiet room with a loud slapping sound and causing you to hiss out. 

"What happens to girls who disobey?" He questioned, your eyes trained on him as you followed him around the bedroom, he was naked and still hard as a rock - no thanks to you. All you'd done was pull away from him whenever he was about to cum, edging him so to speak. It was something you really enjoyed doing to Chan since it would always send him wild for you. It wasn't something you did often but you knew it was one of the things that would wind Chan up so much it would result in a punishment or in him pinning you down so he could finally finish - either way you adored the outcome.

"They get punished," You did your best to hide the smirk that was playing on your lips, if Chan knew you were enjoying this punishment then he would change it and you didn't want that. Spanking was your favourite form of being punished and you weren't about to let him change it out on you, 

"Good," He reached into the small wardrobe where you kept your toys and you kept your eyes on him, waiting to see the black riding crop the two of you would use when it came to spanking but instead your eyes widened a fraction.

"Don't look so scared now, you were the one who pushed me too far." He chuckled darkly. The previous weekend the two of you had taken a trip into the city and stumbled upon a new toy shop, you found a whole new set of toys you wanted to play with and it just so happened Chan found the perfect opportunity to use his. It was a black flogger that had come in a complete bondage set - the same one that the black cuffs you were currently sporting came from as well.

"A flogger?" You sounded nervous and that was because you were, spanking you'd done almost a million times - maybe that was dramatic - but still. You'd spanked with a paddle before, his hand and a riding crop but never a flogger, the two of you had mentioned it once or twice. It wasn't that you didn't trust Chan with it, it was just it had so many more ways to hit someone's ass than a typical spanking toy and you were a little anxious about it.

"We can try it and if you don't like it, we'll stop," Chan was never going to force you into doing something you weren't comfortable with and you knew if you said no right now all of this would stop and go away but a part of you wanted this. 

"I'm ready." You nodded moving toward the end of the bed and arching your back ever so slightly so that your ass was in the car, Chan's eyes finding yours as a smirk took over his lips.

"We're going to count to ten," He told you as he gently ran his hand over your asscheek before lifting the flogger into the air. The anticipation inside of your stomach was beginning to make you feel a little sick but you braced yourself for this, you could do this. Spanking was something you'd always found enjoyable and you saw no reason for it to change now. 

The first time it came into contact with your skin wasn't so bad but you'd whimpered, pulling against the cuffs on your hands and letting out a strangle whine.

"Fuck," You whispered into the sheets, It was hurting a lot more than you thought it was going to but you wanted to keep going.

"Count," Chan ordered in a deeper tone of voice, your head spinning at just how hot he sounded. 

"One," You mumbled, looking over your shoulder at him and watching as he brought the flogger down harder and faster this time. Hot tears sprang to your eyes and you felt them rolling down your face,

"I said count!" He yelled out rather harshly, you took in a deep breath and whimpered as you tried to get your mind to focus on the task at hand. 

"Two!" This time when Chan raised the flogger you thrashed around and moved away from him,

"DON'T! PLEASE! PLEASE DON'T!" You screamed out trying to move around on the bed but panic began to set in as you realised you were trapped right now and had no chance of getting away from him,

"RED!" You added on, whimpering over and over again. As soon as the safe word reached his ears the flogger was dropped onto the floor and the cuffs were released using their emergency release. You scrambled away from Chan, curling up into yourself at the head of the bed as he watched you closely. 

"Deep breaths baby," He whispered to you, showing you his deep breathing so that you would follow along with him. Your eyes found his as you tried to focus on him being there with you, he wasn't the dominant CHan anymore he was the soft and gentle dom with you,

"I'll grab the creams, you going to be okay?" He questioned as you quickly nodded your head at him and watched as he left the room to go into the bathroom. Your heart was racing as you tried to do your deep breathing, your eyes slowly shutting as you pulled the silk sheets up and around your body.

When Chan returned he found you lying on your stomach, tears rolling down your cheeks as he slowly sank down onto the bed beside you.

"Do you want me to apply the cream?" You already knew which cream he was talking about You nodded, not being able to bring yourself to actually speak just yet. You didn't trust yourself not to start sobbing, 

"I'm going to touch you now," He whispered, wanting you to know everything he was going to do before he did it so as to not scare you in any way. The cream he was using was something you used after every spanking session, it was a cocoa cream and some aloe vera to help try and reduce any swelling that was going to happen.

"Ice packs?" You stuttered out when you noticed them sitting beside his lap on the bed.

"I was reading they can be good after using a flogger." He looked at you with a sad smile and he went back to carefully massaging in the cream before placing the ice packs onto each of your cheeks causing you to hiss out.

"I'm so sorry Yn." He whispered as he lay beside you, your eyebrows forming a frown as you stared at him. Why was he sorry? You were the one that felt sorry since you hadn't managed to make it through the punishment?

"Why? I should be sorry, I couldn't do it for you." You looked down at your hands but Chan instantly took your face into his hands and turned your head to look at him.

"You have NOTHING to be sorry for," He told you as he continued to hold onto you, shaking his head. 

"You should never feel sorry for not being able to do something. You tried, you didn't like it and that's fine. Please don't be sorry," He begged you, kissing your cheek softly as tears continued to roll down your cheeks,

"I shouldn't have sprung this on you, I should have spoken to you more about it and waited until we were both ready." You nodded at him with agreement and he smiled weakly, 

"Stay with the ice, I'll run you a cool bath and we can spend the night doing whatever you want?" He suggested making you smile weakly and nodding at him. Chan was a hard dom when the time called for it but he was also a soft dom with the best kind of aftercare that there was for you. It was specialised for the two of you since it wasn't just the one being punished that needed aftercare sometimes.

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[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

One thing I do like about TOTJ's take on Dooku's fall is that it really highlights that the Dark Side makes you absolutely masochistic. (Mega long post ahead).

One thing TOTJ establishes is that Qui-Gon's death is absolutely on Dooku (no matter if the show itself doesn't seem to be aware of it).

His tone is concerned and his attitude sympathetic and supportive, but he knows. He knows it's a Sith Lord (he even knows Maul's name). He knows Qui-Gon almost died and is marching right into another trap, but he asks questions anyway and affects ignorance.

"I've been warning them about the coming darkness for years," he says, "never to be taken seriously." Using the Council's skepticism as an occasion to complain about how they didn't believe him while lying by omission is a great case of that hypocrisy Dooku loves denouncing in others. Dooku would rather Qui-Gon share his disillusionment with the Jedi than actually do anything to help Qui-Gon. The Council don't believe him? Okay, Dooku, but YOU DO. You can just tell him what's going on.

But he doesn't.

On some level, Dooku has to be aware of what's about to happen. Qui-Gon is walking into grave danger, and Dooku's response to that - before it happens, when there is still time to stop it - is to put the blame on the people who don't know shit while not doing shit himself. (Why can't Dooku be there to protect Qui-Gon, other than because he's already slavishly loyal to Sidious' plans?)

And this moment puts every subsequent action of Dooku's throughout the Prequels in perspective - particularly his relationships with Obi-Wan, Ventress and Yoda.

Dooku is a glutton for punishment.

I've written here about why I think the 'Box' from TCW 4x17 is meant to parallel Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's mission on Naboo. The dioxis, ventilation shafts, the catwalks and lightsabers, the ray shields, the fire pit... Dooku's idea of a test to find the best mercenaries around is to have them survive what killed Qui-Gon (what he allowed to happen).

During the challenge, it's pretty obvious he starts to suspect Hardeen is Obi-Wan.

Or at the very least, he's taking an interest in the man who supposedly killed Qui-Gon's own apprentice - Dooku's spiritual grandson (see RotS novelization), whom he's been trying very hard to either recruit or kill himself. And what does he do with that interest? Tries to push "Hardeen" to kill Eval in anger.

Dooku, who still mourns the Padawan he knowingly let walk away to his death, watches a pantomime of his Padawan's death, while putting in mortal danger all he has left of said apprentice. If he knows Hardeen is Obi-Wan (and it's pretty obvious that he does), he tries to get Obi-Wan to Fall (or potentially die) in a scenario reenacting Qui-Gon's death. If he doesn't know for sure, then he's encouraging his all but grandson's killer to win the tournament because he admires him (for killing someone Dooku wanted by his side).

Whatever the outcome, Dooku chooses to relive his guilt and chooses to make the same choice to kill his loved one all over again, even though we know he hates that he made this choice:

He misses Qui-Gon and needs him but tries to kill or destroy Obi-Wan, whom he needs and wants by his side. (I haven't counted just how many time he does try killing Obi-Wan in TCW while still expressing his indefectible admiration for him - it's frequent, the Box just stands out to me as one of the most noteworthy occasions.)

And he keeps doing stuff like that!! He keeps choosing the path that causes him the most pain. He does it with Sifo-Dyas, he does it with Yaddle, he does it with Yoda and he does it with Ventress.

Just look at him confronting Sidious about Qui-Gon's death:

He KNOWS following Sidious got Qui-Gon murdered and he KNOWS Sidious will continue to kill or order him to kill people close to him. And yet he's quick to reassure Sidious that this doesn't change anything. Securing his position with Sidious matters more than his rage and grief. The ONLY WAY this behavior makes sense is if Dooku is fully aware that he had a choice about Qui-Gon's fate, and decides that this is the path he's on now: Sidious might make him kill everyone he cares about, but he's going to do it. Every time, things will play out the same.

Sidious tells him to kill Ventress, his new apprentice? Sure, why not!

(And it's not even out of true loyalty for Sidious, because he constantly tries to double-cross him later on. It's pure self-destruction:)

He hates it, Sidious promises him more of it, and he goes along with it!

This is why Yaddle's attempts at bringing him back don't work, in my opinion:

"Whatever lies he's told you, whatever you have done, you can make up for it now by bringing him to justice." This might convince a man who is looking for atonement, except Dooku isn't. He is looking for punishment.

Killing or harming those close to him leaves him broken, furious or in pain? He'll just keep doing it.

Sidious offers him nothing more than agonizing slavery? He'll keep on kneeling.

That's when Yaddle literally offers him the Light - the light that is so much more powerful than the Dark that it has Sidious cowering, the light that can save him if he wants - Dooku just strikes her down, even though he was heartbroken over thinking he had killed her just a moment ago.

He chooses to kill her, regrets it and hates himself for it, and chooses to kill her again. HE KEEPS MAKING THE CHOICE THAT HE KNOWS WILL HURT.

His remedy to guilt is to pick a shovel, because by God if he hasn't hit rock bottom yet he's going to dig!

[zheiya]

Jiyan x Reader NSFW 🔥🔥🔥

Part 1

Jiyan's eyes narrowed, a smirk spreading across his lips.

"Desolate? It's just the two of us in a secluded hot spring. Perfect, if you ask me."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low, sultry purr.

"But I could understand how the emptiness and stillness might make you feel exposed. And perhaps that's exactly what you need to let your guard down, to feel free, and to finally give in to what we both crave."

The predatory gleam in his eyes intensified, the heat from his body seemingly enveloping you. The silence between the two of you was deafening, and the tension was palpable. Jiyan had laid his trap, and now, he waited for you to either step into it or retreat from the edge of the precipice. The decision was yours, and the outcome would undoubtedly have a lasting impact on the course of your lives together.

"...oh fuck it."

As I blushed as I invitingly look at him.

"Just this once okay?"

Jiyan's smirk deepened, and a predatory glint lit up his sharp golden eyes. He licked his lips, savoring the moment when your defenses finally crumbled.

"Just this once, huh? I can live with that," he purred, reaching out to draw you in, his strong hands gripping your body.

The intensity between the two of you grew as he pulled you closer, the fire in his eyes matching the fire that now raged within. The tension and desire that had been building up between you both burst forth like a tidal wave, washing over you both and drowning out any remaining doubts or reservations.

Jiyan's lips met yours, his tongue dancing with yours in a heated, lustful tango. The heat from his body radiated against yours, and you could feel his erection pressed against your thigh, a testament to the burning passion that coursed through both of you.

This was the moment you had both been waiting for, and as the fire engulfed the two of you, you knew that neither of you would ever be the same. The dance of wills and the unspoken desires had finally reached their conclusion, and the secluded hot springs bore witness to the forging of a new bond between the two of you—a bond forged in the heat of desire, lust, and the raw, primal attraction that neither of you could have ever resisted.

I groan when he suddenly bit my neck as my finger nails scratch on his back.

"Ohhh~ fuuuuuckkkk....."

Jiyan's lips left your mouth, trailing a searing path down your neck, his sharp teeth scraping your sensitive skin. The combination of the pain and pleasure made you arch your back, and he smirked against your skin.

"You like that, Y/N?" he whispered, the smugness in his voice only serving to stoke the fire within you.

"Let me show you just how good it can feel."

He deftly untied your robe, tossing it aside. His large hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts, and pinching your nipples, eliciting a guttural moan from your throat. The electricity between you both only intensified, as he continued to explore, his fingers dancing along your body in a sensual dance.

As his tongue traced the curve of your collarbone, you felt his other hand move lower, cupping your already swollen sex. You gasped, and he chuckled, his smug grin a testament to his enjoyment of the intoxicating effect he had on you. The secluded hot springs, and the moon that hung above, watched on as the two of you surrendered to the primal hunger that raged within.

You were both bound together by this new, powerful bond that had been forged in the heat of your desires, and as Jiyan continued to tease and explore every inch of your body, you knew that this moment, this connection, would forever change the very fabric of your lives. The line between master and subordinate, between the General and the doctor, had dissolved in the face of the unrestrained desire.

"Ha~ Ghad...yes... more."

As I quiver under his touch the way he play my body as if playing a guitar. Under his control and I can only tremble of his touch as I moan like a slut.

Jiyan's smirk deepened, his gaze never leaving your quivering form. His fingers deftly played with your sex, drawing more and more moans and gasps from your trembling lips. His touch was intoxicating, and you could feel the fire inside of you, threatening to burst forth at any moment.

"Are you ready for me, Y/N? Do you want me to claim you as mine?"

Jiyan's voice rumbled through the steamy air, his golden eyes sparkling with predatory delight.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent response as the waves of pleasure continued to crash against you. Jiyan wasted no time, his cock pressing against your entrance, demanding entrance. You bit your lip, both anticipation and nervousness coursing through your veins as he pushed inside, slowly filling you.

The sensation of his girthy length filling you was overwhelming, and you could feel the heat of his arousal as it enveloped you. Jiyan's control and mastery in the physical world were mirrored in his command over your body, and he set a relentless, deliberate pace that had you writhing beneath him.

Each stroke of his hips brought you closer and closer to the edge, your moans growing more ragged and desperate. The fire between you, once a simmering heat, now roared like an inferno, fueled by the raw, primal need that bound the two of you together.

And then, the inevitable happened—you shattered, your body convulsing around Jiyan's as he brought you to the peak.

"S-Shit.... I'm c-coming...ha~ J-Jiya...."

As I can feel and see stars my back is arching as my nails scratch deeper on his arm.

Jiyan's smug grin widened, a predatory glint in his eyes.

"Cum for me, Y/N. Let me feel your submission."

He matched the intensity of your shattering climax, thrusting deeper and harder. Your cries echoed through the secluded hot springs, the steamy air now laced with the scent of sweat, lust, and the unmistakable tang of your combined orgasms.

As your body continued to tremble, Jiyan's own release wasn't far behind. He roared your name as he filled you, his seed spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves. The two of you collapsed together, your breaths ragged and your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs and slick skin.

As I was catching my breath I can feel him slowly moving his hips and I moan in a very high pitched.

"W-what?"

As I looked at him dazedly I am still sensitive from my last orgasm.

Jiyan's smirk returned, his golden eyes sparkling with amusement. "I figured you couldn't resist a second round," he teased, his long blue hair clinging to his damp skin. He gently stroked your hair, the tender gesture at odds with the feral hunger that still lurked within him.

"I don't know about you, but I'm far from done," he purred, his cock twitching in anticipation. "Unless, of course, you need a moment to recover," he added, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You looked at him, your mind still swimming in the aftermath of your explosive orgasm. Your body was still hypersensitive, but there was no way you could resist Jiyan's advances. Your lips curved into a small smile, and you reached up to trace a finger along his sharp jawline.

"I'm game if you are, General," you whispered, the new title for him a testament to the powerful bond that now connected the two of you.

The smug, triumphant glint in Jiyan's eyes was all the answer you needed, and with that, the two of you embarked on yet another heated, all-consuming dance of desire, lust, and the intoxicating fire that had ignited within you both.

The sensation of his manhood rubbing on my walls is making me see stars. And he keeps hitting my g-spot which makes me even more overstimulated. I can feel my nipples harden against his rippling muscles.

His strong yet nimble fingers tightly hold my hips. I can feel it's going to left a mark tomorrow and my voice.

The more I listen the more I blush I couldn't believe I was able to make this kind of sounds. Perhaps it's been years since we did it. So everything just piles up and finally it has find some release.

"F-Fuckk.....J-Jiyan....i-itsssss......toooo muchhh.....staaappp....."

As I cried in pleasure as I keep coming again and again. I cannot feel my legs from overstimulation. I can barely think straight if he continues ramming inside of me while hitting my g-spot.

He then crazily rubs my clit in circles which made me cum again.

Jiyan's eyes narrowed in predatory satisfaction as he felt your body respond to his skilled manipulations, your cries and pleas fueling his own unquenchable lust.

"Shh, don't worry, Y/N, I'll show you just how much your body is capable of," he promised, his tone deep and commanding. He slowed his thrusts, allowing your body to catch its breath before once again building you towards the edge.

Your cries of pleasure, your blush, and your unabashed surrender to your desires only served to heighten Jiyan's own arousal. His grip on your hips tightened, and his cock plunged deeper, slick with your copious fluids and determined to claim you completely.

As your body trembled under his control, Jiyan knew he had you right where he wanted you—completely in his thrall. He ruthlessly milked every last ounce of pleasure from you, your cries of "too much" and "wait" doing nothing to deter him.

Finally, as the relentless onslaught of sensations finally overwhelmed you, Jiyan gave you one final, merciless jolt. His fingers pinpointed your clit, circling it like a vulture circling its prey. With a shattering, soul-wrenching howl, your body exploded, and you collapsed onto Jiyan's heaving chest, your legs too weak to support you.

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breathing, the only reprieve from the cacophony.

"...Just how pent up are you?"

As I groan as I tremble I was too sensitive even the water in the hot springs is making it worse. Jiyan's chest heaved as he caught his breath, a predatory smirk dancing on his lips.

"You have no idea," he purred, stroking your hair in a gentle, tender gesture that contrasted with the raw, unbridled passion that still raged within him.

"It's been a long time since I've felt this alive, this connected," he admitted, his golden eyes searching yours. "But I don't think I've ever felt so satisfied as I do right now, with you in my arms."

He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, and his grip on your hips relaxed, allowing you to slip from his grasp. Jiyan helped you out of the water, wrapping a thick towel around you to hide your vulnerability.

"Rest, Y/N," he commanded softly. "We have all the time in the world, and I'm more than happy to show you just how pent up I truly am."

[sebsrainbowbicycle]

Whats your opinion on the whole Christian Horner thing?

Let me preface this by saying, I have intentionally stayed away from this subject for many reasons, but given there was an outcome of the investigation today, and some of the information I’ve seen here throughout the past weeks, now is as good a time as any to respond to this ask I got weeks ago. This is not, nor will I be offering in the future, my opinion on whether Horner is guilty of the accusations or not. I just want to maybe provide context, and information from my experience and career thus far, that might help people understand, and also my opinion on the reaction from people. Caveat - I am not a lawyer, nor will I go into specifics of my current or previous job, however I worked in the legal profession where I worked on legal cases, reviewed evidence, and made submissions and recommendations that went in front of Judges.

Okay my thoughts. My thoughts are that an internal investigation that should have remained private for all parties involved, especially the alleged victim(s), was leaked and used as clickbait and gossip by the media and people on here and other social media sites. I think people decided guilt without having any genuine information, without seeing the evidence and without any credible sources. I think were the person being accused a different member of the paddock that the reaction would have been different. I think people used this to virtue signal and cry out about what good people they are. I think people that constantly say that the media and journalists shouldn’t be trusted, fed into a feeding frenzy that led to the name of the alleged victim(s) being published, which will undoubtedly impact them for the rest of their lives.

Onto specific things I have seen that I’d like to offer my take on:

Christian allegedly offering the victim a sum of money - First of all, for anyone who has a certain amount of wealth, especially those in the public eye, this is a usual occurrence. You try to avoid an investigation by any means possible, whether you’re innocent or guilty, because a) it’s easier and usually cheaper in the long run, b) pr and public image are damaged by even unfounded accusations and these things can run on for an extremely long time, and c) trial by media is a thing, and innocent people get tarnished for the rest of their lives because of something they were accused of. Now, I’m not saying any of those are why the offer was allegedly made, but those are some of the reasons. Companies do the same thing, when someone has an accident at work and hurts themselves, even if the company do not believe themselves to be at fault they will make a settlement offer, to avoid any legal back and forth. Settlements are not an admission of guilt, but a way to make something go away quickly.

Said money being why the investigation “went away” - I saw a quote that said “the grievance has been dismissed”, that means there was a finding, not that it was withdrawn. even so, this was a red bull investigation carried out by an external barrister. Once the company were made aware of the allegations, their investigation is independent of either party involved, so even if the alleged victim(s) withdrew their grievance, the company would still have a duty of care to ensure that any inappropriate behaviour or actions were identified, investigated and addressed. Most importantly, red bull want to protect themselves legally, and following the procedures and carrying out a thorough investigation, which would identify if they were potentially exposed to risk, is how they do that.

How can they ignore 100’s of pieces of evidence - We don’t know that they did. It was reported, but never confirmed that there was over 100 pieces of evidence submitted, so this is absolute hearsay. Further, I would be extremely surprised if the investigation ignored any piece of evidence, given the ramifications of an incorrect or improper investigation. Also I think it’s really important to say that evidence does not equal guilt or that one party to the proceedings is correct. Allow me to provide you with a personal example. I worked on a case where there was over 5000 pages of evidence submitted into a legal bundle. Approximately 4000 of those were from the appellant who argued that the other party had acted incorrectly. (forgive my vagueness here I’m not about to doxx myself). 4000 pages of evidence, which I reviewed and made a decision that I did not support their argument. The judge agreed with me also. Evidence can be subjective, and sometimes it can be completely irrelevant. The presence, and submission of evidence is to support one sides view of things, the other side will have their own, and both are examined and balanced and decisions made on that and sometimes also on other independent investigation.

The investigation is private and cannot be shared - This is law. GDPR in fact because this is occurring within Europe. I’m literally spending this entire week on a GDPR course, and have an exam on Friday, so I really don’t want to go on about legal basis and restrictions for sharing personal data, but let me tell you it’s for good reason, especially with investigations like this. All parties involved in this have a legal right to privacy, covered by the human rights act, and unless there is a compelling legal reason why their data should be shared, then it can’t be without their explicit consent. Simple as. And that’s disregarding that there will be confidential company information within the investigation that also cannot be shared.

Horner committed a crime - given that we do not know the specifics of what occurred we simply don’t have enough information to know this, HOWEVER, from the information I have read, and by the fact that I have not seen an indication that the police have been involved with this, nor are they carrying out their own investigation, I am working under the assumption that no law has been broken.

tl;dr - These are real people’s lives, we are not involved and we have no right to know anything. This isn’t salacious gossip, and it’s not a fun thing to band around and use as a stick to beat people with to prove how good we are. Processes and investigations like this should be private, and basing things on hearsay and unscrupulous reporters does more damage to any alleged victims than good. Having seen how fans and social media have treated this investigation, do you think that makes any other alleged victims want to come forwards? I think not. But that’s just me.

[shinxeysartgallery]

J is kind of an asshole and I think we all realize that especially after what she did in Episode 8. Still think she's being hated on a bit too hard though.

She knowingly sided with Cyn, despite knowing what she was responsible for, and that's obviously not a good thing. However, do keep in mind that all of the affected Elliot Manor drones are just traumatized children at the end of the day. Cyn put all of them through immeasurable horrors. Even without Cyn's influence, the drones were treated horribly by the humans (other than Tessa). And based off the scratched-off armbands that we saw N, V, and J have that also match Cyn's armband, there's strong implications that all three of them are also "zombie drones" much like Cyn is herself. We don't know what they were subjected to before being tossed into the dump and later being found by Tessa.

As J and V are fighting, J makes an interesting comment that sheds some light on her motivations. "...It tricked me, too." Obviously, that was never elaborated on, but it strongly implies that she had made some sort of a deal with Cyn for an unknown reason. We got confirmation that V also had made a deal with Cyn, which was basically that she'd do whatever Cyn wanted as long as she wouldn't hurt N (and then would leave them both alone). Don't know if N also made a deal, but he's likely there as a part of V's deal.

So it makes me wonder, what exactly did Cyn promise J? Did she tell her that she could bring back Tessa? Promise to not let her die again? Something else entirely? Based on her comment to V, SOMETHING was definitely promised that ended up being a lie. Everyone reacts to trauma differently. Saw a post a while back (will hyperlink it later if I can find it again) by another user doing a very good breakdown of how they perceived the drones' personalities changed as a result of their trauma. N became a doormat because he kept getting hurt or hurting others every time he stood up for himself or someone else. (They also add that V's coldness towards him contributed to it and made him lose a lot of self-confidence.) V became rather cold because she was basically forced to turn off her emotions to cope with what she was doing. And she was purposefully mean to N to chase him away as an attempt to protect him from Cyn. J became a corporate bootlicker because she was terrified of being discarded again, so now she feels like she has to prove that she's useful.

And I think those theories all definitely hold some water here and help to explain why J still chose to side with Cyn, even after realizing that whatever their deal was was a lie. It's likely that she realized that if she decided to side against Cyn, Cyn would've just killed her straight-up. And that's really not out of the question, considering what she did to N and V once she realized that those two had asked too many questions and realized that she was the bad guy they wanted nothing to do with. If J had also gone against her, she'd just be replaced with either a clone that had its memories wiped (as evident by Cyn's comment to N in Episode 7: "your clones will forgive me") or a personality shift, or just flat-out a completely different drone altogether. There's also her comment towards V during their fight. "I promise it's better on the winning team.", which implies that J had full belief that Uzi wouldn't have been able to stop Cyn and Cyn was going to get her way no matter what. That paired up with the personality shift might imply that she felt trapped. Cyn preyed on her vulnerability and fears of being discarded and weaponized them against her. She believed that Cyn was going to win no matter what, and if she went against Cyn, she was going to be discarded again. Despite knowing she was tricked, she probably stays loyal to Cyn because she's terrified of that outcome. She doesn't want to die, she doesn't want to be thrown away again. But the only person she feels she can get that security from is the same one that basically caused all of her problems. That same person is practically the equivalent of a god in the universe and seemingly NOTHING can stop it. What choice does she have in that perspective?

I still feel like she's an incredibly tragic character. Horribly mistreated by humans, forced to watch (or participate in) her best friend's death at the hands of the one she despises the most, sees the same bestie be horribly mutilated and disfigured, be forced to commit horrible atrocities herself, and be manipulated and lied to. She deserves a redemption arc.

You're obviously allowed to still hate/dislike her, but that's just my thoughts on it!

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter eight || understanding

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 8.1k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

“I think if they keep ordering him to kill the people he cares about, he’s gonna snap.”

“Domain Expansion. Infinite Void.”

Gojo’s voice is eerily devoid of its usual nonchalance, even devoid of the warmth you’ve come to know from him. The words carry a weight familiar to any sorcerer. His grip on your shoulder tightens and although you know you’re safe from his sure-hit domain, the realization brings no comfort.

His chest is rising and falling as quickly as his heart is pounding in his chest as his warm breath fans the top of your head. His breathing grows quicker, deeper, and you feel his lips brush the top of your head, before he’s gone from your side entirely.

It all happens so fast, you don’t have time to register exactly what happens. You hear a gasp, a cry, a growl. Each one followed by the slumping sound of a body hitting the floor. With wide eyes, you turn to face the sorcerer when the sixth sound rings in the air of the still room.

Standing only a couple of feet away is Satoru, but there’s no warmth, no cunning smirk, not even a cold and calculated glare across his features. He’s panting heavily through his parted lips, blood spattered across his face. The crimson liquid drips from stained white locks, coming to land on his shoes beneath him.

Before you have a chance to take a look around at the damage, the lives fading from the room, Gojo lifts his head, an eerily unfamiliar look in those blue eyes of his. He doesn’t look like himself, wide eyes filled with a seething anger like fire raging through a forest. Like nothing can quell the flames that had ignited.

Still, he teleports to your side, wrapping an arm around you as he guides you out of the room. He makes a point of using his body to block you from the sight of the room, guiding you away from the carnage as he closes the door behind him.

Now out of the room, you turn to observe him. You aren’t sure if the move he made was the right or wrong one. You don’t have enough information to truly judge the higher-ups, although you disagreed with their methods. But still, they were people. People who sentenced you to death without ever considering giving you a chance. The moment the sentence was given, you knew your fate had been decided for you the moment you had entered the room. 

As you realize that, you know Gojo knew that too. That’s why he had insisted on remaining in the room, this was the plan he had always had in mind all along. Whether he knew he would snap or not, he always knew this would be the outcome.

Whether it was the right call or not, you weren’t sure.

You just knew that the lack of mercy he’d displayed towards them scared you.

But looking up at those crystalline blue eyes now, glinting with an anger you’d never before witnessed in him or anyone, you recognize something.

The way the pads of his fingers grip your shoulder like he was holding onto you for dear life, the way he positions his body to prevent you from seeing the carnage behind him, the way the anger behind his eyes glints with something else, something more. He’s scared, too.

“Gojo?”

Chest still heaving, his furious eyes flicker to you, but they seem to look through you, like he isn’t all there.

“Are you… okay?”

He doesn’t answer. It’s a foolish question, but it’s all you can think to say. You inhale sharply, turning to face him as you pull out of his grasp. Examining his expression, you tug your lip between your teeth.

Thoughts race through your mind as you try to think of something, anything, that might help, but you don’t know the man standing before you. Despite being at the school for several months now, he never let you get to know him. You never bothered. You were both always at odds with one another.

“Gojo, I-” you hesitate when he reaches out to grip your forearm. “They’re…” Dead. You don’t dare voice your concerns. “What if that was the wrong move, what if-”

“There was no other option,” he practically snarls, pulling you closer still to him as you flinch. His anger isn’t directed at you, rather he seems to be protecting you, even from himself.

Staring down at his hand on your arm, you realize he’s shaking. The vicious fury blazing within him is enough to strike fear into anyone who would witness him, but as he grips your arm for dear life, you know your fear pales in comparison to what he was going through.

Fiddling uncomfortably with the hem of your shirt with your spare hand, you recall the one thing Gojo had thought to do when you needed comfort and he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he’d done it because he needed it too.

Closing the small distance between you, you wrap your arms around his tall form, his pounding heart beating hard in your ear. His heart rate seems to increase for a moment as he stiffens, before slowly wrapping his arms around your core. Gradually, his breathing slows and returns to normal, his chin dropping to rest on your head.

Woodsy and sweet scents mingle with the stark smell of iron stained into his clothes as you inhale shakily. You don’t dare move, working through your own emotions as you let him do the same.

You couldn’t deny that you were scared, but as he finally pulls back and those familiar blue eyes are no longer looking through you but at you, you knew he needed someone in that moment as much as you had needed someone moments ago on death’s door.

In a strange twist of fate, it seemed you needed one another. Your fates entwined.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers breathlessly, terror ripping through the flames of anger. “It was the only option- I- I- I’ve thought of everything, I-” He heaves a breath in, running a hand through his hair and pulling at it as he leans his head back in thought. “I just-” his voice is low, a burly growl. “I can’t let them keep sentencing people to death every time they’re scared-”

Lips pressed into a thin line, you watch his frantic movements as he continues to ramble.

“-as soon as something inconveniences them-”

“Gojo.”

“-make it my problem to do their dirty work-”

“Gojo,” you try again to get his attention, uncertainly reaching up to set a hand on his arm as it falls back to his side after he flings it into the air while rambling. He doesn’t seem to notice your touch as he flails his arm in the air again.

“-I’m nothing more than a- a-”

“Satoru!” You call his name again, firmly placing your hand on his chest to get his attention. He seems shocked, blinking down at you. “It’s okay.”

He purses his lips at the sympathetic smile you offer as you realize what’s going through his head. Yuta had been right all along. He did care. He wasn’t afraid of the repercussions of his actions against the higher-ups, there was something else he was afraid of, and though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself, it was undeniable.

“We’ll figure things out, okay?” You wait for his nod before continuing. “Let’s get out of here,” you move your hand from his chest to tug on his sleeve and urge him to follow you. The walls of the narrow hallway feel as though they’re about to cave in on you and you can’t bear to stand so close to the room now barren of life.

He stays a short distance behind you, letting you lead the way down winding halls out to Ijichi, waiting outside the car. Ijichi turns to face the two of you, eyes wide as he sees the crimson stains in Gojo’s hair.

“Jujutsu Tech, please, Ijichi,” you tell him with a smile. He nods solemnly as he gets in the car.

The ride back is silent save for the sounds of the road and the consistent chirping of the summer cicadas. Your gaze remains out the window for the duration of the trip, thoughts racing through your mind.

Despite the silence, it’s strangely comfortable beside Satoru, and you realize for the first time since your first meeting, you know where you both stand with one another.

He seems to be on edge sitting beside you, leg bouncing while his hands fiddle with anything in reach in an attempt to ease his overactive thoughts.

As Ijichi pulls into the school, you slide out of the car and the silence follows you to the cabin, broken only by the excited barks of Taro at your return. He comes up to you both, body wagging from side to side with his tail at the sight of not just you, but also Gojo.

He cracks an uncertain smile at the pup before grumbling something about taking a shower and disappearing into the washroom before you have a chance to talk to him. You want to reach out and talk to him, but he’d practically bolted out of reach.

Letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you bring your hands up to rub your face, the emotions you’d been holding back for the sake of staying strong pouring out. Making your way to the guest room, you shed yourself of the day’s clothes, throwing on an oversized T-shirt and shorts, throwing your hair up into a bun and collapsing on the bed.

You aren’t sure how long you stare at the ceiling when the washroom door across the hall clicks and Gojo exits, pulling a white T-shirt over his head. Gray sweats hang low on his lips, his toned abs visible for a brief moment as Gojo pulls the shirt on. He doesn’t seem to notice you as he rakes a hand through his snowy locks and throws on his sunglasses, looking out at the living room and kitchen.

Realizing you aren’t there, the dove-haired man swivels to face your room. Too tall to fit through the doorway, he ducks as he pokes his head into the room. His eyes bore into you from behind his glasses, a more put-together expression on his face than earlier.

“Hey, uh-”

“Thanks for not killing me,” you blurt out, accidentally interrupting him.

He chuckles dryly, shooting you a half-hearted smirk. “You didn’t think I would, did you?”

“Do you want the answer to that?”

His brow raises, though he catches the teasing lilt to your voice. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, slowly making his way to the edge of the bed to sit a small distance from you. The bed dips under his weight and he pushes his hand through his hair once more to keep it out of his face.

You let out a shaky laugh. “When?”

He catches your meaning and purses his lips. “When you thought I was gonna kill you,” he pauses, “and when I-” killed them. It doesn’t need to be said. He eyes your reaction, chewing on his lip. “I didn’t have a choice.”

You always have a choice, you want to insist, but you stay quiet. Of course it scares you that he was so willing to kill, but you also had him to thank for still being alive.

As if he can read your mind, he continues. “I know that’s a bullshit excuse, but someone wasn’t leaving that room and I-” he clears his throat to prevent himself from choking on his words. “I’ll be damned if it was you.”

You blink in surprise at the honest admission, whether fueled by genuine care or guilt.

“‘Sides, Miriko’d have my head if they got you.” He shoots you a lopsided smile.

“Your head would be the least of your concerns, Six Eyes,” Miriko chimes in from the back of your hand before disappearing.

Gojo huffs, entertained.

“It’s… okay.” You struggle to find words, still a bit scared at the other side of him you’d seen.

“There would never be an end,” he begins, “to the killing, if I didn’t end it myself.” You aren’t sure if he’s trying to convince him or you. “Yuta, Itadori, you…” he sighs.

“I understand,” you whisper, knowing the unsaid name of Geto hung on the tip of his tongue.

Gojo’s eyes close for a moment as he lets out a breath, relieved to find you hadn’t run off.

“What’s gonna happen now, with the higher-ups gone?” You ask quietly, looking up at his tired blue eyes.

“Dunno,” he admits. “The Shibuya incident left us pretty dry of sorcerers. The old asshole in charge of Kyoto will probably take over.”

“Is that… good?” You tilt your head.

“Not sure,” he sighs in exasperation. “Zen’in, Kamo, the old man,” he lists, “at the end of the day they’re the lesser evil, I guess.”

“Will you be in trouble?” You ask, gasping with realization. “Will they send someone after you?”

“They mighta been foolish enough to go after you, but they aren’t foolish enough to go after me.” There’s a small smirk on his lips.

“Awh, does that mean you think I’m strong?” You tease, kicking your feet playfully.

Something shines in Satoru’s eyes as he watches your movements, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he smiles at you. The moment lasts a second too long and you hum, wondering what’s going through his mind. He coughs, mumbling a ‘sorry’ before responding.

To your surprise, he responds in earnest with a chuckle. “You kidding? You’re terrifying when you wanna be.” He leans back on your bed, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t see your wide-eyed shock from where he lays.

You let the moment hang, your brow knit together in thought.

“Why choose me?”

“Hm?” He props himself up on an elbow. “You or the old hags that told me to kill my students? We went over this.”

“No I know that, but-” you hesitate, the strange feeling of his lips brushing the top of your head replaying in your mind over and over. Maybe it was nothing, but the rational part of you can’t let it go. “You protected me.”

He blanches, eyes flickering to the side. “I was just doing what felt right.”

Your heart sits in the pit of your stomach, nerves chilling your spine. What felt right? That answers less questions than it poses. Your lips part, only to watch Satoru spring to his feet, practically dashing to the door.

“Lessons start back up tomorrow. We need a plan to defeat Sukuna,” he abruptly shuts the door, leaving you further confused than you were before as thoughts race through your mind.

Watching in silence as he closes your door behind him, you furrow your brow. Why did it seem as though he kept running from you?

You swallow hard, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The only question racing through your mind parts your lips as you whisper to yourself.

“What the hell?”

–

Another sleepless night, another early coffee.

Moonlight pours through the living room window, illuminating the tabletop where your phone sits. The exhaustion deep within your bones is undeniable, yet sleep doesn’t seem to come. Even sitting with legs pulled to your chest on the couch and your dog at your feet, the world feels so daunting.

The feeling of facing the world alone had returned when Nanami left, and slowly but surely you had felt as though you were getting somewhere with those emotions, but now you weren’t so sure. Gojo’s words from earlier hung in the air around you like a fly, unable to shake the feeling he meant something deeper. Not to mention the fact that Gojo, one of the most confident and cocky people you knew, had seemed to lose his edge twice now in one day, running from you.

Worse yet, was the undeniable realization that you felt no fear towards him. In spite of his actions earlier and the fact that death was something that seemed to plague and suffocate you, you felt oddly safe around him. Albeit a bit confused.

It was all too much. The questions, the uncertainty, the anxiety following the meeting with the higher-ups. It all loomed over you like a monster threatening your sanity.

Your head snaps to the stairs as Gojo makes his way down to the kitchen, his hair disheveled as though he’d spent the entire night raking his hand through it. His top half is barren, toned chest and abdomen on display and to your surprise, your eyes trail down his built figure. His usual blindfold covers his eyes and you wonder if he can see at all in the darkness, neither of you bothering to flick on a light.

Your question is answered quickly as he notices there’s coffee made and tilts his head, jumping when he notices you in the living room.

“Shit! I didn’t realize you were awake.” He holds a hand up to his chest in shock.

“Isn’t the whole deal with your Six Eyes thing that you can see everything?”

He chuckles, looping a finger under the material and pulling it down. “That’s the point of the blindfold. Can’t use all my cursed energy just lookin’ at you- around. Lookin’ around.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t hear you make coffee.”

“I didn’t,” you tell him, giggling as he wrinkles his nose at the bitter and very cold coffee he’s just sipped.

“The hell are you drinking this for?” He asks, dumping the mug and then the pot of coffee down the sink before beginning a new brew.

“Didn’t want to wake you up,” you shrug, fiddling with the mug of cold coffee in your hand.

Noticing your movements, Satoru strides over to you and pulls your mug from your hands. With a click of his tongue, he’s dumping that down the sink too.

“Hey! I was drinking that,” you complain, though he does have a point.

“Don’t be stubborn,” he scolds, smiling happily when Taro hops down from the couch with a wagging tail, demanding pets with small whines. Gojo kneels down, scratching behind his ears.

“That’s a sight I never thought I’d see,” you gape.

“What can I say? I’m charming,” the sorcerer grins, chuckling as he catches you rolling your eyes. He mumbles some happy words to Taro in a sweet voice, pleased when the pup plants himself down and waits with him as the coffee brews.

“Your charm won’t work on me,” you tease.

“No?” He smirks, and you suddenly feel fluttering in your chest. Swallowing, you watch the way his muscles clench as he pours you a mug of coffee, careful to step around Taro who follows closely behind him.

Setting his own mug on the coffee table, he leans forward to hand you another warm mug, his fingers lingering on yours and setting your skin ablaze as he pulls his hand back and plops himself down on the couch beside you with a sigh.

Composing yourself, you take a sip. “This is better,” you admit with a grateful smile.

Gojo hums, throwing his feet up on the coffee table. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head. “There’s so much going on, I-” you let out an unsteady breath at the gravity of your stress. “-I’m so tired, Satoru. When I close my eyes though, it’s just… a mess.”

He frowns, tilting his head as though he was eyeing you. “We could do something to get your mind off things,” he suggests, sipping his coffee. “We could watch a movie.”

You debate his suggestion before nodding slowly in agreement. “That sounds nice, honestly.”

“There’re a bunch under the TV if you wanna take a look.”

You hop off the couch with more pep in your step than before, hoping a movie will soothe the endless stream of thoughts. Opening the cabinet, you’re surprised to find Gojo seems to have a massive movie collection ranging in genre from Romantic Comedy to Horror.

“Are you a big movie guy?” You ponder, moving your finger over the spines of a group of horror films.

“They’re fun,” he grins. You shoot him a smile, giggling to yourself as your finger slides over the spine of Digimon: The Movie.

“I didn’t take you for a Digimon guy,” you comment, the familiar case a sudden blast from the past as you remember watching it with your dad when it first came out. Sliding your finger over the case as you reminisce silently, you don’t notice Gojo opening his wallet and flicking a card at you.

Squeaking in surprise as it makes contact with you, you look down at the card that sits on the floor. It’s an old digimon card, frayed corners laminated to keep it from getting any further damaged. Picking up the card, you flip it over, eyes lighting up at the sight. In the classic art style, Metal Greymon is hunched over, mouth parted with claws facing the player.

“This was in your wallet? You’re a nerd!” You tease with a grin, giggling as Satoru shrugs. “I’d be more impressed if it was Gabumon, though. He’s the best.”

“I’m more of a Guilmon guy myself,” he says, sitting up and leaning forward, “but Gabumon’s a good choice.” His blue eyes examine the movie in your hands from where he sits across the coffee table. “You’re into Digimon?” He doesn’t attempt to mask the child-like giddiness at talking about something so simple and mundane with you.

“My dad and I used to watch it all the time. I loved that old Gamecube fighting game.”

“That’s it,” he stands up, slipping the movie case from your hands and popping the disc into the DVD player sitting below the TV. “We’re watching this.”

You hand back his card with a giggle, the both of you sitting down side by side on the couch as Taro settles at the end of the couch beside you. As the opening ads play, Gojo tilts his head at you.

“Did you play a lot of games growing up?”

“Yeah I guess so,” you shrug, “honestly I still play a fair bit.”

“No kidding?”

You nod, thinking back at the consoles sitting at your old cottage. It must look abandoned at this point, coated in a layer of dust. “Yeah I mean… I was always alone, it was nice to unwind with a game.”

“You shoulda told me, I’ve got a Switch upstairs. I could kick your ass at Mario Kart,” he teases with a grin as he points at his chest. He sets his arm down across the back of the couch, his bicep brushing your shoulder in a manner that sends heat rippling across your skin.

“I’d like to see you try,” you rebuttal playfully.

“I’m the reigning champ, Shoko and Sug-” he blanches, quickly clearing his throat and correcting himself. “Shoko and I used to play all the time.”

There’s a sad edge to his voice, and finally the time feels right to ask the question that’s sat at the tip of your tongue since Yuta brought it up. “Suguru?” You ask softly.

He stiffens, forlorn gaze trailing away from you. “Yeah,” he admits, swallowing. You allow him a moment to steady himself, gather his thoughts.

“You two were close, weren’t you?”

“Something like that,” he sighs bittersweetly. He shuffles uncomfortably, the subject still clearly sore. It’s a feeling you know all too well, one you fear not even death will do you part.

You clear your throat, pleased to have made some sort of real connection with your white-haired counterpart, but not wanting to push him. “I’m sorry, when you showed up at my gate with him, I didn’t-”

“You don’t owe me anything, y/n.”

You hesitate at the firmness in his words, surprised to hear such a tone from him. “No, I know but I was-”

“y/n,” he interrupts again, “you don’t owe me anything. Definitely not an apology.” He rolls his shoulder, his forearm brushing your neck in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. “You did me a huge favor.”

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” It’s all you can think to say.

He chuckles again. “Stop apologizing,” he insists, attempting to mask the sadness in his eyes. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me.”

“We don’t need to do this,” you insist, shaking your head. This little game of apologies wasn’t necessary in your eyes. Although there were still clearly things left unspoken between you both, you had no doubt in your mind anymore that Satoru was on your side and you were well aware of his regrets.

“No, we do.” His sharp eyes are boring into you now and he takes a deep breath. “I was a fucking grade A asshole. I was so sure Miriko would be like Sukuna that I never gave you a chance,” he pauses, “sorry Miriko.” He bites his lip briefly before continuing. “Then these past few weeks I got to know you and I-”

You lean closer to him, listening intently.

“-I was scared of you,” he chuckles, cheeks visibly reddening. “You reminded me of Suguru. Your wit,” he glances at the Digimon movie title screen that’s been looping for a couple of minutes now, “your interests, your abilities.”

You can feel his warm breath on your cheeks as he finally faces you fully. You hadn’t realized he was so close to you until now, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end at the close proximity.

Running a hand through his long white hair, he moves strands from his eyes. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your lips part in disbelief, not only at receiving such a genuine apology, but more importantly because of the weight of the statement. The weight of the comparison to someone who meant the world to him.

“I-” you stammer, trying to make sense of his admission. “I forgive you,” you tell him, your voice small. You bite your lip, your body set alight once more as you see the way his eyes flicker to follow the movement. Did you imagine that…?

The silence following feels like a moment and an eternity all at once. Your skin blazes, while your muscles are frozen in place, unable to think as you feel the warmth of his breath repeatedly fanning your face. You part your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as your crimson irises take in the way his lidded eyes look at you, pupils blown.

“S-Satoru?” Your voice is barely a whisper.

He clears his throat, leaning back against the couch.

“Sorry,” his cheeks redden as he fumbles for the remote. “Gabumon is waiting for you,” he recovers quickly, his sly smirk returning as if your entire body wasn’t on fire from the interaction just seconds ago.

Blinking a few times, you sit back and try to focus on the movie, your thoughts racing. Taro’s head plops down on your lap and you busy yourself with petting his head, your mind eventually focusing when Gojo playfully nudges you at the sight of Gabumon.

No longer drowning in thoughts, your eyes begin to grow heavy and at some point, your consciousness fades.

–

The unpleasant feeling of a kink in your neck wakes you the following morning. You groan at the feeling, groggily blinking your eyes open. With your vision still blurred, a woodsy scent hits you and you wonder if you left the window open. No, even then it’s not so much a natural scent.

You attempt to roll onto your back, surprised when something pushes back against you.

“Careful, you’ll fall off.”

You freeze, bringing a hand up to wipe the remnants of sleep from your face. As your vision clears, you become very suddenly aware of how you’re sprawled over your roommate’s bare chest, your face barely an inch from his chin.

Jumping immediately to your feet and out of his grasp, you stare at him in bewilderment. His sunglasses sit atop the bridge of his nose, a calm expression staring back at you from where he lays on the couch. For a moment you think you see hurt flash in his eyes, but you’re positive you’re mistaking something else for that.

“Sorry!” You hurriedly apologize, face flushed at the idea of falling asleep on top of Satoru. You glance back at the screen quietly playing the looping menu screen of the Digimon movie, still.

“I wasn’t complaining, Pretty,” he smirks slyly. “You seemed tired.”

Your muscles seize at the sound of the pet name, your heart palpitating in your chest hard enough to make you think you were having a heart attack. A pet name from Satoru of all people. Worse yet, your stomach bubbles and flutters in ways you can’t begin to describe, because surely he wasn’t causing that feeling. Right?

You swallow hard, your nerves getting the better of you as you take a step back, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

Gojo watches with an amused smile as you stumble around, muttering the occasional ‘um’ or ‘uh’, before your words finally find you.

“I should- um- get ready for the lesson,” you blurt out, turning on your heel and bolting to the washroom, ignoring Gojo’s snickering behind you. Shutting the door as you bolt to the washroom, you heave out a quiet groan, rubbing your face in humiliation.

That was embarrassing to watch, even for me.

Don’t say another word, Miriko.

Of course your audience would decide to chime in right now. Throwing your head back against the door, you let out a prolonged sigh and race to get into the shower, praying the warm water would quell the embarrassment seeping through every crack in your composure.

As the hot water wets your skin, you let out a breath of relief as the steady stream drowns your thoughts. Thank god for that, too, because any longer with thoughts of Gojo shirtless and you might start to lose it. 

As the steam fills the air, you close your eyes, allowing the hot water to cascade over your body and ease your tensions. Your eyes flutter open, droplets of water clinging to your lashes as you let your shoulders relax and take a much-needed long shower.

Throwing the tap off after allowing yourself longer in the shower than usual to cleanse yourself of your confused and uncertain thoughts, you reach out for the towel and-

It’s not there.

You reach a bit further down the rack where your towel should be. It has to be.

It’s not there.

You panic, realizing suddenly that you had done laundry and hadn’t replaced the towel.

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, weighing your options. You either had to call for Gojo, or wait until you air dried, which isn’t really an option because the air on your warmed skin is cold.

You groan loudly, raking a hand through your dripping hair.

“Satoru?” You call his name loudly, unsure if he hears you and you call out his name again.

“Need some help in there?” He asks with a suggestive tone that only furthers the blush creeping up your neck.

“Gojo, please,” you beg quietly. “Just put a towel outside the door.”

You hear an amused hum before his footsteps begin to move away from the door, returning a moment later. “Towel’s outside!” He calls before you hear his footsteps walking away.

You let out a breath of relief, poking your arm out the door to grab the towel and dry yourself off. Putting on your clothes from last night again, you hurriedly make your way back into your room, take the time to groan into a pillow, and change into a clean dress. It’s the first time you’ve worn one in a while, given that you’d struggled with your motivation for the past month. For once, you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror.

Once you’ve put your hair up and done your makeup, you make your way back out to the kitchen with just enough time to make a coffee before your lesson.

“What, no cold coffee this morning?”

The abrupt intrusion of Satoru’s voice in the quiet air of the cabin causes you to jump and you send him an irritated glance as you nearly drop your mug. He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he hops down the stairs and slings an arm casually over your shoulder. The material of his blindfold blocks you from seeing the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Flustered this morning, are we?”

Though you’d always known Gojo to have no concept of personal space, this was something new entirely, even for him. You swallow hard, refusing to look at him as your steady gaze remains on the slow drip of the coffee pot in front of you.

“I’m just tired,” you insist stubbornly, stepping out of his grip.

“Mhmm,” he hums in agreement, his tone betraying the fact that he doesn’t believe you. “You seemed pretty well-rested this morning.”

With his endless prodding now beginning to give you a headache, you rub your temples. “Satoru, we should focus on work,” you insist in an attempt to get him to ease off.

He chuckles, taking the hint to give you a break as he busies himself with other tasks.

Pouring yourself a cup of coffee, you prepare one for yourself before absent-mindedly preparing one for him as well, just the way he likes it with a bit of creamer and an absurd amount of sugar. You’re not sure when you learned his coffee order, but it feels like second nature as you pass him the mug.

He smiles gratefully, accepting the mug from your hands and taking a sip. His brow raises, eyeing you with surprise from behind black fabric at the way his coffee is made to perfection. Almost like the action of making his coffee was deeply ingrained into you, you hadn’t thought twice about the amount of sugar needed to make his coffee just to his taste. “Thanks,” he hums, leaning on the counter.

You smile up at him, taking a sip of your much more bitter coffee and letting your thoughts wander to the lesson today. The first one in a month. The thought is an uneasy one, life is considerably different since then and in many ways it feels more urgent than ever to train Yuji as quickly as possible if you were at such a great risk of being attacked again.

“Do you know who it was that attacked us?” You ask Gojo, swallowing at the horribly vivid memories resurfacing.

“Yeah,” he sighs, his shoulders hunching forward as he adjusts his grip on his mug. The pale blue button-up he wears wrinkles at his shoulders, pulling taut on his back. Your eyes trail over the muscles briefly, returning your attention to him as he continues. “I’ll worry about that, though.”

“Don’t you think it would be good for me to know?”

“Focus on Yuji’s training. I’ll handle him.” His nose scrunches as he sees the way you narrow your eyes, obviously growing frustrated with him, but still he doesn’t let up.

“You don’t have to do everything alone.” There’s a hint of irritation in your voice, mingling with hurt.

His face is fixed straight ahead, avoiding your gaze, avoiding the obvious hurt on your features. “Just let me handle this, Pretty.”

Your heart jumps into your throat at the pet name, only given away by your fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress. “We talked about this Satoru, please don’t be stubborn.” You manage to keep your frustration and nerves in check as your tone comes out even.

His adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, feigning indifference to your words but you know him now. You can read him. You know he’s growing upset.

“With all due respect Gojo, you’re in no position to be keeping this information from us,” Miriko chimes in, red shining eyes apparent on the back of your hand, a forked tongue slithering out from between her pointed teeth.

“Have I been upgraded from Six Eyes?” He teases, blatantly ignoring the way irritation flashes across your face.

Miriko’s eye narrows. “Don’t test me,” she warns in a hiss.

He hums slyly in acknowledgement, not pushing his limits but visibly pleased.

“Why are you so determined to keep this from me?” You ask as he takes another sip of his coffee.

His jaw clenches and you know you’re both one step away from being at one another’s throats. As usual. “It’s not your-”

“For fuck’s sake Gojo, can you cut that out?” Your exasperation finally grows to a breaking point as you motion in the air in disbelief that yet again he was being uncooperative. As if every moment of progress you thought you were making was for naught. “You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t get to know!

His head snaps towards you, mug set down with a heavy snap on the marble counter. “I’m not-” He takes a step towards you, pausing as he watches your frustration further bloom as he growls back. “It’s not like that.” He strains to keep his voice down, running a hand through his hair before pulling his blindfold down. His blue eyes are troubled when they finally land on you.

Your lips part. “Then what is it?”

“I’m trying not to be the asshole you think I am,” he sighs, taking another step towards you. His voice loses its edge as he gives in.

Setting your coffee down, you press yourself to the counter. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “I don’t think… you’re an asshole.” You admit, shoulders dropping as the tension begins to ease now that he’s being honest with you. Red eyes meet his blue ones, his internal debate clear as day in the troubled glimmer in his eyes.

“I’m trying not to… extort you anymore. I’m trying-” he hesitates. “-I’m trying not to involve you in this world that I know you don’t want to be a part of.”

You blink once, twice, three times. It’s strange to hear such consideration from the cocky and overconfident sorcerer you’d come to know. Your lips form a circle, a silent ‘oh’.

“I don’t want-” he hesitates again, stepping forward. He’s painfully close, a realization that sends a jolt of electricity racing up your spine. “I don’t want to involve you anymore if I don’t have to, not when I…”

You tilt your head as he trails off, wondering what’s going through his mind. For someone who had been so one note when you met him, he’s one of the most complex people you’ve ever met and the one person you struggle to understand the most. You find yourself leaning forward slightly, his breath fanning your face faster as his breathing rate increases.

“Not when… I…” He trails off again, toned arms resting against the counter on either side of you as he cages you in. His eyes flicker to your lips, pupils dilating. His voice lowers, husky. “When I could treat you like this.”

Whatever internal battle was being fought in his head finds its victor as he leans in and presses his lips to yours, chaste and gentle. Your heart pounds in your chest as you freeze, tense in his arms encircling you.

When he pulls back, there’s desperation painting his features as he examines you. Shocked, you meet his wide-eyed stare pensively. Your thoughts are racing, searching for answers. He doesn’t dare move until you do.

You don’t know how to make sense of the confusion, but the butterflies in your stomach threatening to burst make more sense to you than any rational thought.

Your hands find purchase on his chest, sliding up his pecs as you lean back in. His pulse sprints in tandem with yours beneath your arm, eyes fluttering shut as your lips meet again. He moves his lips against yours fiercely, no longer gentle. He’s desperate, sliding his left hand up from the counter to your waist, his fingers clutching at your skin in a manner that you know will bruise.

His right hand encircles you, pulling you flush against his toned body as he parts by barely an inch from you, just far enough to see your flushed features, the way your chest rises and falls.

He smirks against your lips, his voice a whisper meant for your ears only like a sacred lament. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

Your ears burn as you stare up at him through your lashes. Your body is alight with the flames of attraction, your confusion a distant thought as the haze in your mind sings only of your want. How could something like this with someone like Gojo feel so right?

“I don’t want you involved in any of this anymore. Not because I don’t trust you-” he pauses, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. He hums in satisfaction as your eyes trail the action. “-but because I want to do better by you.”

“That’s not your decision to make, Satoru.” Your voice is small, but steady as you admonish him. A newfound confidence courses through your veins as you fiddle with the collar of his shirt.

“I know,” he says, soft lips pressing against yours with urgency, as though he couldn’t possibly bear to be apart from you even for the length of your conversation. His muscular arms tense against your back as his grip on you tightens.

You barely pull back from him, bunching his shirt beneath your fingers. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m a part of this now.”

“I know,” he sighs again, defeat dripping from his tone. He’s not happy, but he’s willing to respect your decision, and that’s all you can ask for. For once, he’s compromising.

Running his thumb absentmindedly over your abdomen from its place on your waist, he watches the way you chew on your bottom lip, as though either of you is waiting for the other one to make a move.

“Should we…?” You make a movement to take a step back in an attempt to head to your lesson but he shakes his head.

“Just give me one more minute of this,” he whispers, sliding his hand up your body to cup your face. He’s gentle now, as though handling porcelain, as he leans in again. His long white hair tickles your forehead and you smile into the kiss, a reaction matched eagerly by Satoru. His lips are addictive and you find yourself melting into him.

Whether it’s something you’ll learn to regret, you don’t know. This new side of Satoru is fascinating, and as your arms slide over his shoulders and your fingers slide through his undercut, soft strands of white hair tangling in your grip, you want to keep exploring it. You want to keep exploring him. Tugging on the snowy locks, a low wanton groan escapes him, igniting a fire in your lower abdomen.

It scares you. It excites you. 

He pulls back, pupils blown as he chuckles. His voice is an octave deeper than you’re used to. “If we don’t leave now, you’re not getting me out of this cabin,” he warns with a coy smirk.

With flushed cheeks and swollen lips, you nod slowly, untangling your fingers from his hair and falling back onto the ball of your foot. His arm doesn’t leave your waist as though he can’t bear to not feel your touch as he leads the way out the door and towards the meadow tucked within the trees.

He moves his blindfold back over his eyes and slides his hand up your body as the treeline comes into view, resting it on your shoulder in a more characteristic manner.

“y/n!” Yuji calls your name excitedly at the sight of you on your own two feet with no support. You hadn’t seen him since you’d fully recovered so as he bounds over to give you a hug, you smile. 

Gojo’s hand parts from your shoulder, watching from beside you with a warm smile. Yuji bounds back over to the table, excitedly telling you about movies he’d watched with his brother, and things he’d gotten up to with the second-years in the way you would tell a parent. It’s endearing and you wear that fact like a badge of honor.

It’s apparent he misses Fushiguro, but you know if you have any chance at defeating Sukuna and saving Yuji, it’s best that they stay apart.

As you settle down at the table to begin your lesson, Gojo finds his place at your side, his knee brushing yours lightly.

Your plan for the lesson had originally been to work with Yuji to draw out Sukuna’s technique as you’d barely scratched the surface of that lesson when you’d been hospitalized, but Miriko is quick to speak up before you have the chance to begin.

“I have a proposal.” Her toothy frown sits on the back of your hand as usual, eye flickering between the three of you.

“You wanna marry me, Miriko? How cute,” Gojo teases with a grin.

“You test my patience, Six Eyes.”

“Downgraded already…” he mutters, pouting as he rests his chin on the palm of his hand.

You giggle, letting Miriko continue.

“Yuji, please block Sukuna out to the best of your ability,” she pauses as he nods, “I believe I may have a way to kill the King of Curses.”

All of you sit starkly straight, every ounce of attention trained on Miriko now.

“Gojo, when you used your domain with y/n and I, I was unable to move.”

“You used your domain on them?” Yuji inquires, but Miriko moves on, not willing to touch on that subject. It’s an issue for another time, and an issue she wants no part in explaining.

“I am considerably weaker now than I was when we first met. y/n transforming did a number on my technique. I believe if we are able to weaken Sukuna to the point I am at, I would be able to kill him.”

The words hang in the air like static as each of you processes what’s been said. Along with it, a new hope. A solution, maybe.

“How weak are we talkin’?” Gojo tilts his head, leaning closer to you in the process.

Miriko ponders the question for a moment. “My technique relies on souls in my domain and my river is at approximately half of its original capacity.”

“So chip him down to half? That’s do-able,” Yuji looks to Gojo for reassurance, the two nodding at one another.

“As much as I would like to agree with you both, Sukuna outclasses me. I do not believe it will be so easy.”

“I can do it,” Gojo says confidently, setting his large palm over your thigh reassuringly as you cast him a worried glance. His touch still sends electricity through you, a feeling so unfamiliar and yet comforting.

The idea of taking on Sukuna is an uptaking, and it certainly won’t be easy. You know it, Yuji knows it, and Gojo knows it, even in spite of his confidence. But it’s a sliver of hope, and you have time to prepare, to train. To flesh out a plan.

Better yet, you have someone alongside you who's not only on your side, but rooting for you. Someone who cares for you. In fact, as you glance between Miriko’s appearance on your palm, Satoru at your side and Yuji across from you, you realize you have some sort of semblance of a family.

A family you’d give your life to protect, and it warms your heart in ways you hadn’t thought possible anymore. Finally, your life feels fulfilling again and-

Gojo stands suddenly, whipping around to face the treeline on the far side of the meadow behind you.

“Satoru?” You ask quietly, unable to see what had caught his attention as you follow his gaze. You turn your attention back to the sorcerer, confusion turning to concern as his hand reaches out to grip your shoulder steadily. What really strikes fear into you is the way it feels like he’s doing so to hold you back.

“Pardon my intrusion.”

You freeze, every blood cell in your body running cold as dread twists in your stomach. Satoru’s grip on your shoulder tightens further as you twist your head to get a view of the newcomer.

Your whimper could stop a force of nature with the gravity of your pain as your lips part to speak.

“Kento?”

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

a/n || thank you for staying with me through all these chapters! this was such a fun chapter to write and went through many iterations but i'm pretty happy with the outcome ♡ god i love gojo

[traintrainingmontage]

Edward Appreciation Essay: The Choice to Be Kind

I was hoping to have this done as a 50-follower (and birthday!) milestone, but as always, life's chaos has gotten in the way. However, it IS here just in time for the Thomas TV series' 40th anniversary!! Happy Birthday, Thomas!! With that milestone in mind, let's get to it.

In much the same vein as my Skarloey Appreciation Essay, I'd like to point out something that I genuinely love about Edward, and that is his conscious choice to be kind, even when he's been mistreated by others. There's plenty of kind characters--Percy immediately comes to mind, as well as Henry (although his kindness varies depending on the depiction), Toby (to an extent), Duck, the Scottish Twins, and others. However, for Edward, kindness is one of his defining traits, especially a kindness that not only bolsters him in the face of adversity from outsiders and "friends" alike, but is a quality that he chooses to feed and fall back on, even when so many others would give in to their less generous inclinations. Please note that although I'm celebrating the anniversary of the TV series, this analysis is primarily based off of the Railway Series, since it's what I'm most familiar with. I'm also not going to focus on famous stories, such as Old Iron and Edward's Exploit, for this particular analysis.

I think there's a lot to be said for Edward's forbearance in terms of dealing with people being rude to him. He's not interested in getting even with other engines or rubbing their misfortune in their faces. He doesn't even ignore them! Instead, he continues to be kind and to be friendly, greeting everyone he sees and helping out those who need help, and in the end, continues to come out on top by choosing to not hold a grudge the way so many others on the railway do.

What motivates this particular choice, though? I'm hardly the first to speculate on why Edward is the way he is, and others have done and will do far deeper analyses on this point than me, but nonetheless, I'll offer a few ideas. In the context of the TTTE universe, I think that part of Edward's kindness simply stems from being old, wise, and experienced. He's seen engines come and go, and his class replaced and was replaced by another. The engines that are so proud of themselves now will find themselves in his wheels eventually. Plus, it's quite likely that Edward knew of engines who were replaced and eventually scrapped; back then, it wasn't the terrifying thing that it became later in the series because it followed the idea of engines simply living out their full and natural lives. Scrapping and modernization became such threats because even engines who hadn't lived out their service lives were being withdrawn and scrapped, and an early death is much more terrifying to engines than death itself.

But Edward's experience aside, he's well-versed in yard politics. If he causes trouble, then that won't make him friends with either other engines or the management. Edward has, in a sense, been abandoned for being a shy steamer, and unlike the others who are here on trial, this is his home now. They may be being rude to him in his own home, but whining and whinging will get him nowhere, and he's learned that lesson well from watching countless upstart engines be put in their place or live long enough as kings to eventually lose their crowns. He knows he's older, that he's almost lived up to the end of his expected service life, so all he can do is put on a brave face and do his best to prove that he's Useful still.

Outside of the book's context, Edward's character feels very much like an ideal of the upstanding Christian, which makes sense given Awdry's profession. Edward consistently turns the other cheek when people are cruel or rude to him. He stands up for himself through his deeds rather than giving in to anger. And that's a very important lesson to teach young children; being good and kind individuals leads to much better outcomes down the line. Edward feels like an intentional role model by which Awdry could deliver these stories to his son, and keep him as an interesting protagonist who taught important lessons about the importance of being kind and persevering through and despite adversity from both one's friends and family and outsiders. Many of us see Edward as a role model, as someone to aspire to, for this very reason.

The first example of Edward's kindness comes up in the very first story of the Railway Series. The coaches ask Edward to "not bump and bang [them] like the other engines do" (Edward's Day Out). And Edward obliges! He comes up to them "very, very gently" and takes them along. They're so grateful that they say they're glad he's the one who took them out. At the end of the story, he does have a moment where he tells the other engines: "I'm going out again tomorrow[;] what do you think of that?" (Edward's Day Out). Admittedly, this could be seen as slightly snarky, but I think it's moreso coming from a place of genuine excitement and wonder, like "Wow! Finally! Finally, I got to go out, and tomorrow, I get to do it again!" It doesn't feel malicious so much as wanting to share his joy with the others, mostly because he falls asleep right after. If he actually cared about their opinions or being right, he likely would have stayed up to hear them.

In the next story, Edward helps Gordon up the hill, and naturally, is not thanked by Gordon himself, but rather, his driver decides he'll ensure that Edward gets a nice new coat of paint in thanks for his hard work. It's quite clear though that Edward didn't help Gordon out of any expectation of a reward, or even a thank you. He did it because it was the right thing to do, and the driver noticed that. But an even better example of Edward's kindness being notable is in the next book.

After Henry is shut up in the tunnel for being vain, Gordon teases Henry about it, and Edward does not. This is pretty significant because it's rather likely that Henry was one of the engines teasing Edward in the first story:

It's quite likely that that's Henry on the left, there, with Gordon being on the second to right, next to Edward. Plus, looking at all of their smiles compared to Edward's distress, it's clear that Edward is the butt of the joke and everybody's laughing. Thus, it makes it all the more satisfying when Henry and Edward work together to pull the express, and Henry is rewarded with a new coat of paint. He wants a blue and red one, as then, he says, "I'll be like Edward" (Edward, Gordon and Henry). It's just delightful to see how Henry, who had also been unkind to Edward, now strives to be more like him due to acknowledging and seeing the kindness and grace that Edward has shown him even when Edward truly didn't have to. Edward, I think, is much more interested in making friends than remembering faults, and seeing this happen is just proof that his efforts are starting to bear fruit. What he's been doing matters. His kindness has begun paying off. And I think that this is more than enough to prove to him that his efforts AREN'T in vain. That choosing kindness will work. Edward has never been one to shy away from hard work, and this proves that it's both working and worth it.

Now, there's also times when Edward's kindness doesn't particularly help the recipient, and such an example comes in the form of the tale Thomas and the Trucks. Thomas wants to do something other than shunt, so Edward offers to let him take some trucks. However, Thomas doesn't know anything about trucks, and disregards Edward's advice about managing them. Perhaps it was irresponsible of Edward to allow Thomas to take the trucks--it could very well be a lapse in judgement that came about from wanting to do a favor for a younger colleague. However, I would also argue that Edward may not have known that Thomas had never dealt with trucks. When Edward offers, Thomas gives an enthusiastic yes. Plus, Edward clearly takes trucks to and from Barrow (he mentions that he's "got some trucks to take home tomorrow" in Thomas and the Trucks) and in the context of the story, it sounds like Edward isn't always at the same sheds that Thomas is at. Thus, he likely just didn't know that Thomas had no experience with trucks, and did indeed think that he was doing Thomas a solid. The Fat Director not being mad at Edward for his role in the mess also supports this; if he really felt Edward was at fault in any way, he wouldn't have given him compliments.

I think that a lot of the fandom also sleeps on James and the Top-Hat and Troublesome Trucks as great James and Edward stories. While it's true that James the Red Engine is often considered one of W. Awdry's worst, there's still some good moments to be gleaned from it. In the first story, James and Edward double-head a train as James has to get used to working on the railway. He gets steam all over the Fat Director's new hat and immediately wants to run away from his problems, urging Edward and his coaches on so that he can outrace consequences. He gets so overzealous that he accidentally overshoots the station, and he and Edward have to back up. Despite this, and his worsening mood, Edward is encouraging, getting them both up Gordon's Hill, and even tells him a story that causes him to laugh so hard he gets hiccups. Of course, James has to deal with the Fat Director's anger in the end, but it's clear that working with Edward, at least for a little while, brought him some comfort and relief. In Troublesome Trucks, when the coupling snaps on some of James's trucks and he has to figure out how to proceed, Edward offers help, but James refuses, wanting to do it himself. Edward then offers him encouragement throughout it all, and when James finally succeeds, is rewarded for his efforts by the Fat Director. This is an excellent start to James and Edward's friendship, which continues to deepen with time and makes their relationship in future stories such as Old Iron feel that much more organic. James comes onto the NWR as having messed up, by having a fiery debut that lands him in a field, and as seen in other stories, suffers from Gordon and Henry's derision as a result. It's my opinion that with this foundation, Edward's kindness is keenly felt and appreciated, even subconsciously, and pays off in dividends as the series progresses.

From the earliest point in their relationship, Edward is encouraging and kind, seeing James's attitude as a deep, genuine desire to do well and fear of being unable to live up to expectations. Edward knows those feelings! He's felt them keenly himself! And this is another reason why he chooses kindness: Edward has developed a keen eye for people (and engines). He has a good sense of how they're feeling, and why they may be acting the way they do. He can empathize with a lot of what everyone's going through, and that also makes it easier to choose kindness. After all, none of these engines are truly bad people. They can be arrogant and stubborn, but that comes with youth and prestige more than anything, and Edward has seen plenty of that smoothed away with time.

The last example I'll give is that of Edward and Skarloey in Skarloey Remembers. Edward knows Skarloey well, from bringing him passengers way back when, and seeing him looking worse for wear in an open-sided shed, stops to talk to him. He invites Skarloey to talk about his line and just reminisce for a while, because he knows that's what the other needs. Not to mention that he and Skarloey are on the same page about a lot of things; it's nice talking to a fellow older engine who just gets it. It's also very telling that Edward was chosen to introduce Skarloey and the Skarloey Railway; he's the best listener and it makes sense that he would have history with Skarloey. Just by listening and being invested in other engines' lives and things that they care about is he able to make genuine and meaningful connections with other engines, because Edward has learned that by listening to people, people will generally start also listening to you. It's another subtle expression of kindness that helps him connect with others and be part of their lives, and I get the sense that's really what Edward wants.

Part of Edward's idea of feeling Useful is not being lonely. He knows what loneliness is. He felt it when the Furness abandoned him on Sodor by selling him for cheap and essentially telling him to not bother coming home. He knows the shape of loneliness from staring at the other engines coming and going, never being chosen, his boiler cold. And so, when he sees other engines at their lowest, at their loneliest, when they feel foolish and without any support, he extends his kindness. He extends his empathy and support. He has been there, and wouldn't wish the same on any other engine. And he has seen how kindness pays off--perhaps not in the short term, but always in the long run. Edward's wisdom comes from one who has seen and experienced too much, and has worked hard to receive the love that he has. The world may be cruel to humans and engines alike, but that's what makes Edward's choice to be kind all the more meaningful--his kindness is given freely and rewarded handsomely, in ways both big and small.

Edward reminds us of what it means to be at our best. And it is that which makes Edward stand out for so many of us, 40 years on, as the kind of person we want to be some day.

Happy birthday, Thomas the Tank Engine and Friends, and a very, very happy birthday to you, Edward <3 Dry rails, and good running!!

[crazy-ache]

Jane Austen's most romantic letter, if it had been written by Lucien Vanserra (Persuasion x Elucien)

Or what would happen if Lucien overheard Elain have a conversation about the bond? And what if he wrote a gut-wrenching love confession in said letter? Inspired by literature's most infamously romantic letter ever written.

Some text is directly taken from Chapter 23 of Persuasion by Jane Austen.

"We will write the letter to Helion we were talking of, Rhysand, now, if you will give me materials."

Materials were at hand, on a separate table; Lucien went to it, and nearly turning his back to the rest of the Inner Circle, was engrossed by writing.

Elain eyed him carefully, studying the leather strap that held back his long, molten red hair. Clearing her throat, she found Nesta across the room by the open window of the parlor as they were both on the outskirts of the Inner Circle’s political discussions. It was a respectable distance from where Lucien was writing at the desk, although still somewhat nearby. 

“I have a question for you,” Nesta turned to her younger sister, face like stone. “One that I have been thinking about for some time. What do you think our parents would have thought about the mating bond?” 

With wide, brown eyes Elain sucked in her breath. It was an unexpected question, but also a familiar one. For her thoughts had circled the very same doubts and insecurities that plagued her sister. “Well,” Elain wrung her hands nervously. “Mother would have adored Feyre’s, being mated to a High Lord after all. But if she didn’t like the outcome, she would have demanded a way to break it or alter it for her own advantage.” 

Nesta’s wicked grin revealed an agreement, knowing full well their mother would have been furious at her marriage and bond with an Illyrian general, and her matching status as a Valkyrie now. 

“As for father, well, I suppose, based on what he discussed with me in the past—there is a small chance he would have been disappointed.” Her voice dropped in both volume and confidence, barely escaping as a whisper passed her lips. As if she was instinctually afraid someone would hear, perhaps someone sitting across the room. 

Elain felt compelled to explain further. “He always told me the most important thing to find in a husband was true love. That I should not settle for anyone less than a kind, loyal heart who loves every part of me, because that kind of love will never leave you.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta regarded her with furrowed eyebrows. “And you do not believe that a mating bond can also encompass those very same feelings? That same love?” 

She considered her question carefully, chewing on her bottom lip. “Perhaps it can, but how can you know it is true? That it is not just the manifestation of desire in its place?” It was always that doubt, that fear, that crept into the darkest crevices of her heart. For as long as those shadows existed, she could not bring herself closer to her own mate, afraid she would be unable to determine the answer. In return, she was afraid of what she could possibly want or feel for him.

“I wish I could make you comprehend, Elain.” Nesta frowned, “I wish I could properly convey the feeling of how your soul glows when your mate loves you—”

Before Nesta could continue, Elain found herself apologizing with a hand on her elbow. “Gods forbid that I should undervalue the love and bond you share with Cassian, or Feyre’s either for that matter. It is a reminder that bonds can be true and constant attachments.”

She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.

“You’re a good sister,” Nesta replied affectionately and Elain wonder if her sister could see past her tenderness, if anyone could witness the mask of kindness that Elain could so easily put on for the sake of others to hide her own feelings. The conversation faded as Feyre now joined them with Nyx on her hip, a welcome distraction for Elain as the three of them turned to him. 

“Ready to go?” Cassian’s voice eventually broke through the hum of the room, an echo across the parlor. “We need to meet with Vassa and Jurian.” Lucien was folding up a letter in great haste, and either could not or would not answer fully.

“Yes,” he said. “I will winnow us. I will be ready in half a minute.” 

Cassian left to wait for him at the front door, and Lucien, having sealed his letter with great rapidity, was indeed ready, with a hurried and agitated air, as if he was greatly impatient to leave. Elain could not understand it. Cassian had given her a smile and shoulder a warm squeeze as he left the room, but from Lucien himself, not a single word. He had passed out of the room without a look.  

Elain moved closer to the table where he had been writing, when suddenly she heard footsteps returning; the door opened and it was Lucien. He gave her a polite nod and gestured to where he had forgotten his gloves, instantly crossing the room to the desk. He drew out a letter from under the scattered papers, placed it before Elain with eyes glowing in longing fixed on her, and hastily collected his gloves, once again out of the room before anyone could even be aware he had been in it at all. 

The interaction was almost beyond expression. The letter, with strokes of pen that were hardly legibly, as if rushed, read “Elain Archeron,” was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily. While he had supposedly been writing to Helion, he had also been addressing her. On the contents of that letter depended all which this world could do for her. Anything was possible. Sinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following words:

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when this bond first snapped, two and a half years ago. Dare not say that a mate’s love cannot be true, that his love is influenced by our tether. I have loved another, but none like you. Unjust I may have been, distant and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Velaris. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these past few days after Solstice, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine, I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish your true thoughts through the bond when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent female! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among males. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in your mate,  L.V. I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow the court, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter the Night Court this evening or never again.” 

Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from.