#[[ my Morty can barely understand what's going on ]]

[countlessrealities]

Send me ‡ for my character's reaction to yours climbing into bed with mine || Accepting !

@advnterccs sent: ‡ { To your Morty from my Morty ! }

It took Morty a moment to realise that something had shifted, and quite literally too. He was already half asleep when it happened, his consciousness heavy with exhaustion and with the desire to pass out and forget about having to exist for a few hours.

That day had been brutal, even more than hard adventures usually got. Morty had known that he would have been in for a rough time, but as it too often happened, things had gotten out of hand. By the time the whole mess was trudging towards it longed-for conclusion, the boy had been moving automatically, his mind too drenched in exhaustion to register what was happening, and muscle memory taking over completely.

The fact that Rick had been almost as knackered by the time he had driven them back home spoke in volumes of what a shitty time they had had. Hopefully the stuff they had gotten would prove to be worth the trouble.

Once he finally registered that he was no longer alone on the mattress, his first reaction was to groan in displeasure. The assumption he made was that the other person had to be Rick, probably drunk off his ass. If that had been true, it would have meant no sleep at all. It didn't matter if the man tried to pull him out of bed or just started to ramble in his ear, both things would have prevented the boy from getting his much needed rest.

Before he could let out a verbal protest, however, he realised that the form that was snuggling next to him didn't fit the scientist. It was too short, didn't stink of alcohol or chemicals, its skin was much warmer. Not to mention that it was much more familiar.

Bleary hazel eyes blinked, trying to put into focus his unexpected bed companion. The room was too dark for him to see the details, but the shape was unmistakable. After all, it was his own body.

"H-Hey," he spoke up in a quiet, hoarse whisper.

There was more that he wanted to say, but he was too tired put it into words. He didn't know why his counterpart was there and he didn't really cared. He was just happy to have his boyfriend there, and even moree to have the chance to cuddle against him.

With a low hum, he rubbed his cheek against the other's shoulder, making himself comfortable against his side. Sleep came even more easily than it would have without his current company, And not just that. He felt cozy, warm, safe.

Perhaps, he thought as his consciousness faded away, this one night would have been one completely free from nightmares.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,  The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

_

edit: the full fic xx

[scoobydoodean]

Amara: I can feel the love you feel except

It's cloaked in shame

I would like to know what your interpretation of this dialogue, as your more neutral,

I personally ship destiel so my interpretation was it was leaning to dean feeling ashamed for his feelings for Cas and possible internalised homophobia. Amara: I can feel the love you feel except

It's cloaked in shame

I would like to know what your interpretation of this dialogue, as your more neutral,

I personally ship destiel so my interpretation was it was leaning to dean feeling ashamed for his feelings for Cas, not having Cas return his feelings (that reminded me of J. A saying that he didn't think Cas/angels would feel that way, I'm summarizing) and possible internalised homophobia.

There's discourse as wincest shippers think is about Dean's feelings for Sam romantically.  And that's why its cloaked in shame etc

Or is it about the life that dean wants via retirement and wanting to do something else? Like the only qualm I have over this is Amara saying all the love which for me at least indicates a romantic undertone

Okay—so this took me a while to chew on (and I still am tbqh) and I want to preface this by saying nothing I'm saying here is meant to say this is the only way to interpret the dialogue or that dialogue can't represent more than one thing. But I do have a more neutral interpretation for you, anon.

Relevant passage from 11.13 "Love Hurts", where Dean is attacked by a Qareen—an entity that takes on the shape of your "deepest, darkest, desire" in order to get close enough to rip out your heart.

Dean: Find anything? (He turns to see Amara) Qareen!Amara: I understand Dean. Dean: Is that right? Qareen!Amara: the longing in your heart, I feel it too. Dean: (inching towards the knife) Well that’s touching. Consider that you don’t have a heart. Qareen. [...] Qareen!Amara: Who I am doesn’t matter. The real question is who are you? Dean: What do you mean who am I? Qareen!Amara: You’re a mystery. I can see inside your heart. Feel the love you feel. Except it’s cloaked in shame. When it comes to this, you can’t help yourself, so why fight it. Just give in.

The very first thing I want to point out here, is that the Qareen clearly perceives Amara to be Dean's "deepest darkest desire"—because it takes on her shape—not Cas's shape, or Sam's shape, or hell—Crowley's shape. If it was concerned with the love Dean was feeling for Cas or Sam or someone else deep down, I think it makes sense to say it would have taken one of their shapes—but it doesn't. It presents itself as Amara. And it presents itself as Amara because the Qareen doesn't represent love at all. It represents dark—often fleeting—desire that is mistaken for love. We see this in a few ways.

First, the episode opens with a wife (Melissa) and husband (Dan) going out for an apparent romantic Valentine's Day dinner. They appear deeply in love at first... but then we find out Dan is schtupping the babysitter, Stacy.

Second, while Melissa is out of the room, Stacy and Dan kiss, and Stacy says, "Ew I can taste her mom lipstick…" only to compliment Melissa's lipstick and act like she loves Melissa when Melissa comes back into the room. Stacy also urges Dan to tell Melissa tonight that he's with her now. Dan calls it heartless to do that on Valentine's day, and says he needs time.

Third, while it isn't caught in the transcript, I noticed when I was watching the episode, in the scene where Stacy is at the house alone, flipping through channels on the TV, we catch a snippet of "Rick and Morty" just as the Qareen, in Dan's shape, comes inside the house to kill Stacy.

Rick: You say it is is how it is, but I think a blind man could see that Beth is looking for the door. I barely have a reason to care and even I noticed. Morty: Come on, Rick! Don't talk about my parents like that! Rick: Listen, Morty, I hate to break it to you, but what people call "love" is just a chemical reaction that compels animals to breed. It hits hard, Morty, then it slow fades, leaving you stranded in a failing marriage. I did it. Your parents are gonna do it. Break the cycle, Morty.

Fourth, there's the question of who Dan even actually loves. Does he love Melissa, or Stacy, or neither of them? The Qareen takes Stacy's shape to kill him, which suggests he loves the babysitter, but he's also giving the babysitter the runaround and doesn't necessarily seem willing to commit to her. It seems more like he wants to have his cake in eat it too—get the benefits of his long-term relationship and life together with Melissa, while embroiling himself in a sex-filled affair with someone young and attractive, but who really doesn't come off as long-term partner material (thus our indications of his attempts to stall breaking up with Melissa). He also just... doesn't seem that broken up about Stacy's death.

Fifth, there's Melissa herself, who actually knows about Dan's affair but has kept quiet about it. The Qareen takes the shape of Dan to kill her, because her deepest darkest desire is for Dan to love her back. The Qareen itself is only appearing to all of them because, in a lovesick state, Melissa took a "love spell" from a witch that turned sour (the witch despises women who won't simply leave their cheating husbands, and devised the spell to punish the cheaters and the women who run back to them only for them to cheat again). Melissa wanted to make Dan love her again. But that also... makes me question if she actually loves Dan, or whether she just wants him. If you truly love someone, would you be willing to violate their consent like that—by forcing them to love you back when you believe they've fallen out of love with you?

What I'm saying is... I'm not sure anyone is actually seeing who they truly love. I don't think the Qareen can actually see who people really truly love. It only shows them their "deepest, darkest, desire". It shows them what they want at that exact moment in time—a fall into an illicit affair, a desire to force someone to love you back, or in the case of Amara, escape from captivity—from the prison your loved ones have trapped you inside. The Quareen captures—as Rick tells us—something fleeting and primal—just enough to lower the victim's defenses so it can rip out their heart.

Further, Dean himself vehemently rejects the idea that he loves Amara at the end of the episode, and there's a couple of things I'd like to touch on in this dialogue:

Dean: Honestly? You seriously think the sister of God is my deepest darkest desire? Sam: She isn’t? Dean: No! She can’t be! Sam: Why not? Dean: Why? Because if she is that means that I’m… Sam: Means you’re what? Complicit? Weak? Evil? Dean: For starters, yeah. Sam: Dean. Do you honestly think you ever had a choice in the matter? She’s the sister of God, and for some reason she picked you and that sucks, but if you think I’m gonna blame you or judge you…I’m not. Dean: You know that I want her ass dead. Sam: Yes. Of course. And I know you’ve also probably beaten yourself up a hundred times over it, but where has that gotten us? (Long silence) Just how bad is it? Dean: Standing here right now, every bone in my body wants to run her through. Send her back to that hole she crawled out of. But when I’m near her, I don’t know. Something happens and I can’t explain it, but to call it desire or love…it’s not that. I’m screwed man. We wanna kill the darkness. We need to kill the darkness. And I don’t think I can. I’m sorry to do that to you, ya know, but when it comes right down to it…

First, note the sign blinking "Non-Consensual" through this conversation. What Dean wants to do and his actions when he's actually in Amara's proximity are two very different things. This scares Dean, and it invokes the the memory of Melissa's love spell—her trying to force Dan to love her. Sam points to a severe power imbalance existing between Dean and Amara—implies that anything Amara wants Dean to do, she can likely make him do, and emphasizes that this isn't Dean'a fault or his choice. We get other nods toward the non-consensual element of Dean's connection to Amara in 11.06—how Amara seems able to resist how enthralled she is with Dean and still blast him into walls, but Dean can't lay a hand on her. In 11.13, I think we also get a subtle nod to the non-con angle with Dean going out looking to hook up the first day they're in town for the case, even though he just got lucky the night before and it was clearly a rough night. Sam points out this is unusual for Dean. Imo, this points to Dean trying to reassert control over who he is attracted to and who he shows desire toward.

So consider: "When it comes to this [your attraction to me], you can’t help yourself, so why fight it. Just give in."

Second, notice that Dean is ashamed. This also isn't the first time we've seen this. Dean tried to kill Amara in 11.06 and couldn't. He deflected then hid it when Cas pressed him on Amara getting away. He reiterates the shame he feels here by insisting it can't be true that he desires Amara because that would make him complicit, weak, and evil just for starters. I'm reminded of Dan hiding the nanny cam, only to show Dean the footage of him punching a hole through Stacy's chest, pleading with Dean to believe that it wasn't him when it's someone who looks exactly like him. Dean can't control what happens around Amara, but he feels implicated anyway—he hides in shame.

For these reasons, I think the most direct reading here is that Dean is ashamed of Amara being his "deepest, darkest, desire," and I think it's also possible that talk of "love" by Qareen!Amara is misdirection—false love for Amara (fleeting desire for what she represents) mispresented as real love. Of course, something can mean more than one thing, and I think there's many ways to play in the sandbox with this episode and this dialogue, but I do think the chief thing they wanted to emphasize in this episode was that Dean is scared of his connection to Amara, and that it isn't his choice, but Dean feels shame anyway (so much so that he hides it until this episode). Amara wants him to give into his desire, and the Qareen also wants him to (so it can kill him) and mischaracterizes what Dean feels as love just as it mischaracterizes what Stacy and Dan and Melissa all feel as love.

[fandomwe1rd0]

Rewrote a scene from Solaricks from Rick's first person pov because this scene makes me go insaneeeeeeee

I went into my spaceship, I heard that fucking voice that sounded like Diane again. That thing I built to haunt me. It was the least I could do. Diane's death was all my fault. I wasn't fast enough. If I didn't fucking stand there, frozen in shock like a pussy, she'd still be alive today. I'm sure of it. But then again, I'm sure if Prime wanted someone dead, there's not a lot anyone can do to stop him. "Is that symbolic? Are you letting go? I understand baby!" She..I mean it laughed a little. Ignore her…ignore it…igno- "I forgive you!" What? Fuck no. I couldn't let myself hear this. This wasn't her! I snapped "You don't get to say! You're not her! You're a thing I built to torture myself! This whole fucking timeline is cursed! I gotta get out of here!" She spoke with mock sympathy, "Because you wanna move on." "BECAUSE I DON'T!" I held back to urge to hit myself for letting myself say that. I thought of Beth, Summer…Morty. "A-burp-nd I have to." I looked over in the direction of the voice…it was almost like talking to her again. "I came back on accident…the guy I'm looking for…he's not findable Diane…" I closed my eyes and recollected myself. "I live with a version of Beth now…" Diane exclaimed, "Sounds like a version of nice!" Heh, I'm sure she'd love to hear about our grandkids. I could talk to her about them all day, I know that she'd love Morty. I'm sure the kid would love her too. I continued "We have grandkids, that's who Summer is. She's going to get me out of here." I thought about Summer, her determination…her spirit…"She reminds me of you." Diane spoke, and you could basically hear the smile in her voice (if she wasn't a disembodied voice) "Oh really?" I almost smiled, until her voice stopped me in my tracks "Is she dead too?" I looked down. "Goodbye Diane."

I prepared to fly into the rift, the voice stopped my train of thought "You're not honestly going to fly into the rift without coordinates, are you?" I felt my stomach churn with her next words "Don't give up on us, Rick!" The voice continued "I don't make the rules! Haunters gonna haunt!" My unibrow furrowed. Ignore, ignore, ignore. I began flying, seeing the rifts, I could still hear the fucking voice "Baby?" Fuck. Hearing Diane's voice say that again…..no. It wasn't her. IT WASN'T HER! "Are you killing yourself?" Heh. I wish. "I'm more embracing the win-win of risking my life." I took a deep breath in. I flew through the rift. The colors swirled and meshed. Changing every second. I couldn't even pin one color. This was no time to admire it. I had to remember what I was here for. "C'mon! C'mon! C'mon!" It fucking spoke again "Baby? Something to keep in mind…if you were pulled home by whatever happened, it's likely our target was as well." Fuck. It had a point. "It's also likely that he's having as much trouble leaving as you are. I wiped off the spittle from my bottom lip with my hand "He's trapped…"

Finally, finally! I heard Summer's voice "Grandpa?" I saw the coordinates. "Oh fuck yes!" I was able to detect Morty thanks to the tracking chip I had in his spine. Summer continued "Grand-" Her voice cut out "Grandpa!" I praised "Summer! Gold star! Always believed in you! Now the hard part." Summer spoke "Hard part?" I instructed "Way worse things than me can see that becaon too, hunker down and protect it while I grab Morty. Rick out. Try to survive!"

I crashed down, I should be in Morty's dimension, hopefully he's close by. I barely got out of my spaceship before I saw him. "Morty!" He ran to me with his arms outstretched like a fucking idiot. "Rick!" I kneeled down to his eyelevel, he was so fucking short. I held onto to his shoulder and he continued to speak "I knew it! I knew you wouldn't leave me!" I plucked out a strand of his hair "Ow!" I held back a wince, maybeeee I should've explained why I pulled it out beforehand, oh well, too late now. Not the weirdest thing I've done for sure. "What the fuck?" I couldn't be bothered to explain, not right now. I should be able to use his DNA to track Prime. "Morty, did you see another Rick here? Non-descript haircut, sci-fi jacket…eh, of course you didn't see him you'd be dead…" Another idea popped into my head "Or you'd be a bomb! Do you feel bomb-y?" I waited, he seemed fine. Thank god. "Nah, you probably would've blown up by now." Morty spoke "W-wasn't the Rick here dead? That's why you picked places, right?" Classic Morty, incapable of seeing the bigger picture "O- uhh your Rick uh…not dead…more like…not around, when I met you I was sorta hoping he might turn up one day." FUCK YEAH! I was finally able to track Prime! "You son of a bitch! I got you!" I ran into the spaceship, and Morty, like the dutiful partner he was, followed after me. "Wh-Where where are we going?" I answered in a matter-of-faculty manner "To kill your grandpa, little buddy." "Wait, what?" I sighed and explained "Your original Rick was Rick Prime, the Rick that killed my family, I came to this dimenson because I was hoping he'd come back one day, y'know, before it got corenberged, he was pulled back here, and now I can track him." I explained on the fly there. Morty blinked "I don't understand…my original Rick killed your family? And you were just waiting for him to come back?" Gee, thanks captain obvious. It's not like that's what I just said. "Seems like you understand fine, Morty. That was A+ retyping."

The spaceship serched to a stop "We're here." Morty couldn't see the building, so he assumed we were just in the vacuum of space. I opened up the spaceship and he covered his mouth, as if that would help, idiot. It wouldn't matter either way, I modified his body to be able to breath in space for a reason. "This guy Morty, he hates being found but loves building elaborate shit." I decided to put it in a way he'd understand "Like-like playing a bunch of Minecraft but on a private server." Morty uncovered his mouth "Am I in a fucking K-hole right now, what's going on!?" I threw something that would make the building visable.

I saw Prime's fucking face. I heard his annoying ass voice and laugh. "Woahhh ho-ho you found me!" I shot the moniter. It just reappeared in a different spot "Yeah, I'd shoot the first monitor too, listen I'm not here…or am I?" A tube appeared, Prime was in there. I wanted so badly to shoot it, but the glass was probably bullet-proof. "There's the clone you found!" Fuck. "Or maybe it's me all naked…" My eyes perked "Just a lil' Kysher Soscye. I mean, why would I admit it's not?" It started dancing "Ohhh look at him go, look at him dancing! O-or me! Again it might be me, but like a Saw thing! I'm veryyy sneaky, he's a bunch of killbots to deal with while you wrestle with that. Fuck.

I instinctively jumped to shield Morty, a blue shield surrounded us and the spaceship. Morty went in the spaceship while I shot the killbots. "Obviously I don't know who I'm talking to here, it's all prerecorded" I shot the mointer again, but it just reappeared, of course, what was I thinking? "Buttt if you got this far you probably think you're real special, tell ya what." The tube disapeared. FUCK! Why can't things just go right for once?! "Oo there he goes! Maybe that actually was me!" I got laser whips from my arms thanks to my implants, Prime contined "And if you follow him down there we can have a big fight! 50% chance I'm not lying!"

I heard Space Beth's voice, her voice occasionally getting cut out due to the static "We're in troubl- asshole! I shouldn- have to beg!" Morty whined "Rick, my moms are in trouble!" Ugh, what a planetary mindset." Those versions of them are." I reminded him. Morty continued with his squeaky voice "We gotta save them!" He flew the spaceship up slightly "Rick, this is an obvious trap!" I held back a scoff, as if he knew anything about traps. "If you go down there, he's just going to kill you!" I spoke without thinking "Good!" Morty blinked "What?"

He flew the spaceship down and started walking toward where the tube dropped. "Now what?" Morty replied "If you don't care if you die, why do you care if I die?" This little turd. He tried going down, but I pulled him back by his shirt "Knock it off! Get outta here! You did this last season! You're like a suicide bomber!" Morty replied "Takes one to know one!" Sharp tongue, must've got it from his grandpa. "Yeah? Well you get it from him, not me!"

Morty gestured over to him "I don't know him." He looked at me with those big doe eyes, how the fuck he could look at me with such trust, I have no clue. "You're my grandpa Rick." What? I felt my expression soften without my permission. This fucking kid…what did he think he was saying? There was no way he knew what he was saying or else he's just even fucking stupider than I thought, and that's saying something. I'm a fucking asshole to him, I know that! I insult him on the daily! I'm the worst fucking kind of person! A grandpa is someone who's supposed to be fucking decent, not some kind of fucked up manipulative person who's irrationally attached to you! So how the hell…his voice, which seemed a lot less annoying now, broke through my haze "Rick and Morty, 100 years." Jesus fucking Chirst. This kid was too pure for this world. He deserved a better grandpa.

Prime's voice, which was a lot more annoying, brokes my train of thought "This place totalllyyy might blow up by the way! Here'sssss a buncha countdowns!" A bunch of numbers appeared "One of them is probably accurate…"

Morty's eyebrows furrowed, I couldn't take him seriously when he was angry, he made this little face! "Well, I'm leaving!" He went in the spaceship. Well fuck, what kind of grandpa would I be if I let him save them on his own? I went in the driver's seat "If you're going to do it at least do it right!" I chastised. Morty smiled "You'll help me save my moms!?" I scoffed "Whatever." I felt something wrap around me. I tensed up and saw Morty hugging me "Thanks Rick." I scoffed "It's nothing, okay?" He let me go and I flew over to help Space Beth.

[acourtofthought]

(Contains spoilers for all SJM books)

Confirmed SJM Endgame Couple:

And then she said one of the foulest things she’d ever uttered in her life, bathing in the pure hate of it. “Fae like you make me understand the King of Adarlan’s actions a bit more, I think.”

His features remained impassive, turning vicious, even, as he said, “There is nothing that I can give you. Nothing I want to give you. You are not owed an explanation for what I do outside of training. I don’t care what you have been through or what you want to do with your life. The sooner you can sort out your whining and self-pity, the sooner I can be rid of you. You are nothing to me, and I do not care.”

Confirmed SJM Endgame Couple:

“Stop following me. Stop trying to haul me into your happy little circle. Stop doing all of it.”

“Good. He hates you, too,” Cassian shot back. “Everyone fucking hates you. Is that what you want? Because congratulations, it’s happened.”

But she sliced into Cassian before he could go on. “Does that mean you’re done panting after me as well? Because what a relief that will be, to know you’ve finally taken the hint.”

Confirmed SJM Endgame Couple:

“Get your hand off me.”

“No one told me.” I didn’t particularly care. No doubt she had better things to do, anyway. “You didn’t ask. And why bother? Better to be miserable and alone.”

Confirmed SJM Endgame Couple:

“Did she pick Dorian, then? The queen. I’m surprised she could stomach either of you, given your history. What your kingdom did to hers.”. Roaring filled his ears as he began shifting his weight onto his feet, willing his spine to hold while he spat at her, “You didn’t seem to mind it one bit, that night at the party. I had you practically begging me.” He didn’t know what the hell was coming out of his mouth. Her nails dug into his back. “You’d be surprised the people that opiate makes you consider. Who you’ll find yourself willing to sully yourself with.”

“I knew another woman who lost as much as you. And do you know what she did with it—that loss?” He could barely stop the words from pouring out, could barely think over the roar in his head. “She hunted down the people responsible for it and obliterated them. What the hell have you bothered to do these years?”

Confirmed SJM Endgame Couple:

She made to stomp past him, but Lorcan stepped into her path. She craned back her neck to see his face, yet he’d never felt smaller. Shorter. “I didn’t push for Akkadia to spite you,” he managed to say. “I don’t care.” She tried to edge around him, Lorcan easily keeping ahead of her. “I didn’t …” The words strangled him. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Elide let out a soft, vicious laugh. “Of course you didn’t. Why would you have intended for your wondrous queen to sever the blood oath?” “I don’t care about that.” He didn’t. He’d never spoken truer words. “I only wish to make things right.” Her lip curled. “I would be inclined to believe that if I hadn’t seen you crawling after Maeve on the beach.”

Pretty Much Confirmed SJM Endgame Couple:

“Seems like she’s your standard spoiled party girl,” he said, turning the pages.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “And you were going to tell me when?” “After you’d spent a whole day assuming I was a dumb, vapid female more interested in getting my nails done than solving this case.”

Hunt’s eyes darkened. “Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re the Umbra Mortis.” His teeth flashed. “I don’t care what you call me, Quinlan, so long as you do what you’re told.” Fucking alphahole. “Immortality is a long time to have a giant stick up your ass.” Bryce put her hands on her hips. Never mind that she was completely undermined by Syrinx dancing at her feet, prancing in place.

Some readers get so fixated on what they think is healthy in a fictional relationship or what they want to read about in a fictional relationship.

But it's not about what we want, is it? It's about what the author wants and what sort of romance she writes about.

No, you can't necessarily claim her Fae relationships are "healthy" in terms of the aggression they show toward one another but what you can say is the Male and Female tend to go toe to toe and give as good as they get. It's not just the male behaving in a way that's more dominant than the female and neither holds back when they speak their minds. They're raw and real in their communications and she loves starting them out with a bad first impression of one another.

I realize Elain is a lot different than most SJM heroines but SJM isn't going to completely abandon her usual style, even for her. So, based on the authors preference and not the readers, what pairing seems to demonstrate the first hints of having that sort of relationship? The anger, the boldness?

E/riel:

Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?”

Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea, but I sent him a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness

"where she'd leave her gift amongst his other unopened presents, subtle and unnoticed"

"She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking"

"She had no idea he had done unspeakable things"

"This was a mistake." "She opened her eyes, hurt and confusion warring there before she whispered," I'm sorry. "

Elucien:

“You betrayed us.”

Her eyes went frank and cold. “I was to be married in a few days.”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings

Some readers act as if the way Elain and Lucien behave towards one another right now is a point in favor of E/riel but based on the authors style, Elucien is way more in line with her endgame couples than E/riel. Again, no they won't be as aggressive as we've seen in the past because Elain and Lucien are different people. But the tension, the willingness to express anger, the lack of tiptoeing politeness (which is something we see with Elain and Az not to mention the fact Az and Elain started out just oh so gentle with one another 😴) is her formula through and through.

[cartoonsithinkr4adults]

Harvey Street Kids/Girls Forever! as vines

AUDREY EXPLAINS LOTTA WHAT LOVE REALLY IS

Dot: My marriage is fine, thank you.

Audrey: Dot, it's our HQ, so whatever you say it is how it is. But i think a blind man could see that Pinkeye's looking for the door. I barely have a reason to care and even i noticed.

Lotta: Come on, Audrey, don't talk about relationships like that.

Audrey: Listen, Lotta. I hate to break it to you but, what people call "love", it's just a chemical reactionnthat compels animals to breed. It hits hard, Lotta, then it slowly fades, leaving you stranded in a failing marriage. I did it, your parents are gonna do it. Break the cycle, Lotta. Rise above, focus on yourself.

(Source: RICK AND MORTY)

STU FINALLY LOSES HIS VIRGINITY

Stu: Hahaha, YEAH! I'll have you know that my self-centered ass just scored woth the hottest, sexiest woman, in the whole world. (Of course it's Melvin's sister, Maria)

Pinkeye: I don't believe it.

(cut to Melvin, Zoe and Maria)

Maria: And, he only wanted to talk about me, he didn't waste my time talking about him. OH YEAH, and we had the wildest sex you could imagine! It wasn't until it was all over when i finally asked for something for myself!

Melvin: What the fuck was that?

(Cut back to Stu, Pinkeye and Audrey)

Stu: $200, i'm assuming it was for cab fair, and i'm assuming the cab had to take her to a different state, i'm assuming...mexico. ¿Why do you ask?

Audrey: Stu, i think that woman was, uh... ¿How should i put this?

Pinkeye: That bitch was a HOE!

(Cut again to Melvin, Zoe and Maria)

Maria: Don't you dare talk about Lord Stuart from Harvard Avenue like that! Besides, if he paid me with money, why was Fredo behind that sex tape? And if Fredo was behind that sex tape, why didn't Stu wear a condom?

Melvin: WTF?!

Stu and Maria (at the same time): RIGHT?

(Source: BRICKLEBERRY)

FREDO TRIES TO DIRECT A MOVIE

Maria: I'm having a real problem understanding my character.

Fredo: She wants to have sex.

Maria: What's her motivation?

Fredo: To have sex.

Stu: Well, did my character have a happy childhood?

Fredo: Just take off your clothes and F**K her in her F**KING C**T!

Stu: What? I couldn't hear you during all the beeps.

Melvin: Sorry, i was ordering some sushi in my phone.

(Source: BRICKLEBERRY)

JUANITA AND SUPERTODD MEET AND JOIN THE BLOOGEY BOYS

Pinkeye: Wow you guys, what a great Mulisha meeting, right? Just look at all these two new members.

Juanita: Yeah yeah yeah, shut your mouths up and eat the Mulishian Mac and Cheese.

Melvin: Who the fuck invited this chick? We are definitely anti-feminine!

Fredo: It's alright, she's mexican.

SuperTodd: This is awesome, guys. Our membership is at an all time high.

Juanita: And isn't having a multicultural Mulisha so much nicer?

Melvin: I'd say so, i would, uh, say so...but don't we need to make some sort of statement?

Fredo: Yes we do.

(later...)

Juanita: Okay guys, great news, the enemy has apologized, put down your guns, the assasination is a no go!

Melvin: Oh hell no, she can't get away with her wrongdoings! It's time to bust a nut in her tits, and by tits, i mean head.

Fredo: WE CAN DO BOTH, YOU KNOW!!!!

(Source: BRICKLEBERRY)

[abed-with-a-knife]

"Level Ten" ~ Birdrick and R&M oneshot!!

summary: When Morty and Rick-bot arrive on level ten of the underground lair, they find something more unexpected than just Rick. 5858 words!!

Most visitors to the subterranean lair would expect the hastily installed elevator to be creaky and slow, but contrary to those assumptions it moves swiftly and silently through the vertical passageway. According to the buttons available, a rough three dozen floors exist, labeled negative one through thirty-seven, and a single option just marked by a disco ball. Rick seems generally anxious about the lightsaber situation and does not care to answer Morty’s question about the mysterious disco button.

“C’mon, l-level fifteen, let's go,” he urges as the doors slide open a sliver and he presses through, Morty following close behind.

They enter an ambient, quaint sushi restaurant, the bar attended by an elderly Japanese man who greets Rick formally. Rick replies with something Morty can’t understand, though he’s not paying much attention anyway, amazedly studying the underground restaurant.

“What is this even for?” he asks, laughing. “We live above this?”

Rick waves him off. “We overshot it a bit, but that’s a good problem to have!” he remarks with a grin.

They both stare expectantly at the ceiling until Morty’s impatience makes an appearance. “I told you, level ten, Rick!” Morty groans, rushing back into the elevator.

“N-no, Morty!” Rick rushes behind him, too late to prevent Morty from pressing the button.

The elevator speeds up five floors and opens on a curious sight.

“...R-Rick?” Morty asks tentatively, backing away from the ‘Rick’ beside him and gaping at the new one in front of him. Or… ‘new’ is a generous term, this version of his grandfather looks far from mint. Tangled, greasy hair lies in wild puffs on his head, his face is unshaven, eyes bloodshot. Morty feels almost tempted to laugh seeing his grandpa in boxers and an undershirt, but the glare he’s receiving waves that urge off.

“You dumb fucking robot, you had one job!” curses the disheveled Rick. 

Morty glances anxiously between the two Ricks. “Uh- um. What is this? Grandpa?” he asks the nicer version tentatively. 

“S-sorry kid,” he responds, attempting to place a reassuring hand on Morty’s shoulder. “Not that I’m not really your grandpa or anything-”

Morty shoves him off, glaring.

“-Shut up. Morty, that’s a robot,” explains Rick.

“I fucking knew it was too good to be true! So what… what the fuck are you doing down here, why are you-” He stops mid-sentence as a tiny blaze of light hits the ceiling and descends in an instant. He’s barely able to recognize it as the missing lightsaber and stares in a frozen stupor as it falls.

Out of view, a strange hand grabs the hilt of the saber with lightning reflexes. Birdperson. He holds it cautiously, eyeing Rick. “Is this… yours? Or an assassination attempt?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed with suspicion.

Rick smiles, for seemingly no reason, and BP flicks the lightsaber off and tosses it to him. Rick then gruffly says, “It’s his-” gesturing rudely to Robot Rick like he’s an object that clashes with the feng shui. “Wait, you gave him a fucking lightsaber ?” he asks after finally processing it.

Robot Rick sweats nervously, which shows how much effort Rick must have put into his construction to give him realistic sweat glands. “It’s what he wanted for Christmas according to your algorithm!” he defends. “Not that I use algorithms, I’m not a machine or anything,” he adds to Morty with a nervous chuckle.

Morty pays him no attention, staring at the real Rick with bitter anger. “You… Rick, what’s going on?”

Surprisingly, Rick looks actually regretful, at least for the moment. He swallows nervously. “Kid, it’s not what it looks like. I’m doing this to protect you, okay? I’m down here sweating my balls off so the family can be safe.”

“I-I-I. I d-don’t understand,” Morty stutters, his speech problem becoming more and more noticeable as his thoughts spiral and his breath quickens.

Rick looks over to Birdperson, who purses his lips and approaches Morty. “Do not worry, he will explain,” he says quietly, a hand on Morty’s shoulder, while Rick retreats into the darkness of the room. “Can you send the android upstairs to entertain the family and we can grab some lunch?”

The bar stools of level fifteen’s sushi buffet are ornate antiques, fitted with plush velvet cushions and golden tassels. Morty doesn’t think much of them besides that they can spin, which he does playfully a few times before Birdperson sends him a serious look.

“Morty, I understand you may be… upset by finding your real grandfather hiding out underground, and you may feel inclined to jump to certain conclusions about this revelation - I advise you to hear him out,” Birdperson begins, choosing his words carefully. 

The sushi chef approaches from a backroom and bows to BP, beginning to attempt to converse with him in Japanese with such a tone Morty can tell they’re very familiar with each other. Birdperson reciprocates the bow and orders a few rolls, surprising Morty with his fluency in the language. When the chef turns expectantly towards the younger boy, Morty isn’t sure what to do.

“U-um,” he examines a menu in front of him but is disappointed by the Kanji script. “C-can I have a cream cheese roll please?”

The chef appears to smirk but nods, says “Of course,” in English with a thick accent, and begins preparing the food.

Morty turns back to BP. “What excuse does he have for getting rid of me with a decoy and abandoning the family for you and some stupid project?” he asks bitterly. “You gonna try and tell me he did it for my own good?”

Birdperson frowns. “Well- yes.”

Morty glares at him. “You guys are both so full of shit- I thought he was, was actually valuing me, l-like as a teammate instead of camouflage.” He balls his hands into fists. “W-we made so much progress since he f-first came, what, did he get tired of me?”

Birdperson does not seem adequately prepared for these accusations, but he does his best to soothe Morty. “I do not believe he ‘got tired’ of you, Morty. Rick is a man who loves very few. I have it on good authority that you are included in that small sample. I recognize it may be difficult to trust but please consider that his intentions were pure here.”

Morty shakes his head. “W-what, what were you guys even doing? You still haven’t told me,” he complains with arms crossed.

Birdperson sighs. “What do you think?”

Morty is silent.

“Seriously. I know you are a smart child, he speaks of it often. You know what would cause a disappearance like this.”

Morty stares at the tassels of his stool before suddenly blurting, “Why can’t I be part of that? I hate Rick Prime too!”

A soft-toned beep is heard as the elevator doors slide open, and Rick steps onto the shaggy carpet, now dressed in his usual attire and freshly showered, although his clothes seem more wrinkled than usual and his eyes still wear heavy bags. “H-hey Pers, Morty,” he addresses them quietly, walking over and taking a seat beside BP. “You already order?”

Birdperson nods. “Do not worry, I requested a roll of your favorite,” he says sweetly, resting a reassuring warm hand on Rick’s shaking one on the counter.

Rick smiles sheepishly. “Th-thanks.” He watches Morty carefully but does not acknowledge the tenderness in the interaction. He adopts an apologetic expression so convincing Morty is almost sure it’s real. “Look, kid. I’m sorry, you weren’t really- weren’t supposed to find out I was down there… I just. I didn’t want to corrupt you with this poisonous quest for revenge.”

Morty rolls his eyes. “Bullshit.”

Birdperson does not take this lightly, furrowing his brow immediately and opening his mouth to deliver a returning insult for Rick’s honor. Rick prevents this with a soft squeeze of his hand.

The sushi chef passes each individual a mouth-watering roll of sushi on fine china with medieval-esque illustrations of griffins and pegasi. He gestures to each one of them and names the dishes in incomprehensible Japanese, save for Morty’s, where he sounds ashamed to say the English words “cream cheese roll” out loud. Morty’s embarrassment does little to distract his anger.

Rick uses his fingers to place a piece in his mouth, smiling immediately and muttering something that roughly translates to, “Delicious as always, sir,” to the chef. Birdperson grimaces at him chewing with his mouth open so Rick does it intentionally more obnoxiously.

“Are- are you two on a date?” Morty stammers, blushing once he realizes he really asked the question, despite being half-joking.

Rick closes his mouth and swallows, his face stern, while BP playfully raises his eyebrows as if to ask “are we?” Rick clears his throat. “That’s n-none of your concern,” he replies curtly, to which Morty narrows his eyes. “Anyway. Morty. I- I didn’t, didn’t want you to find out I was still searching for Rick Prime. Don’t you see how it’s fucked me up?”

Morty shrugs noncommittally. 

“Why would I want that for you?”

“W-well, why would you want it for Birdperson?” he stammers.

Rick opens his mouth to answer, but Birdperson speaks instead. “That is different. Forgive me for sounding patronizing, but you must realize the extent of my loyalty and past with Rick goes far beyond your understanding. My presence here for Rick is a given.”

Morty isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. He mumbles something unintelligible and then turns to his food, clumsily fumbling with chopsticks and finally using his hands like Rick.

Rick smiles awkwardly at both of them. “Morty, I know what you’re thinking, and it isn’t true. You haven’t been replaced. Pers is here because…” he trails off momentarily. “Well, he’s like my safety net. It wouldn’t be fair for me to dump all this shit on you, look at me! I’m not… I’m not well, kid.” He admits the last part somewhat reluctantly, encouraged by Birdperson gently squeezing his hand. 

Morty sighs and picks at a piece of sushi, letting the rice stick to his finger. His shoulders deflate. The initial anger has died down and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s not like Rick hasn’t done worse. What was he thinking, that his grandfather had actually changed? Forget about being the smartest man in the universe, Rick is the biggest asshole in the universe, Morty should have realized something was up the moment he started treating his grandson like a real person. Morty’s stomach twists in a knot. How stupid did he have to be to not get it? Why was he never suspicious? Sure, he wanted to believe it was real but seriously, maybe he deserved being left behind if he couldn’t even tell his dickhead grandpa apart from an artificial replica built under the garage.

“Morty?” Rick reaches across the table for his hand and Morty flinches away, reflexes built from extensive experience with hostile entities. “H-hey, chill out,” Rick snaps.

“Sorry,” Morty murmurs, feeling a little spacey. He glances around the room to remind himself where he is; it’s difficult in such an unfamiliar place, with no windows. The general architecture and decor are out of the ordinary and do not help calm his nerves. He chooses to concentrate on a flickering candle with a sweet, subtly vanilla spice scent. Morty inhales deeply, focusing on the candle’s aroma, ignoring how Rick and Birdperson exchange worried glances.

Tentatively, Birdperson breaks the silence. “Are you okay?” he asks gently.

Morty forces a smile. “Y-yeah, I am. Just… pr-processing things,” he manages to say.

Rick’s face sours slightly and he looks down, clenching his hands into fists, jagged fingernails digging into tender skin. Birdperson notices out of the corner of his eye, and he frowns, about to say something, before a strange eerie chirping sound is heard.

“Uh… Rick, do you have a monster contained on the same level as your sushi restaurant?” Morty asks nervously.

Birdperson chuckles and reaches for his belt, where he removes a device attached. “No, no, do not worry Mortimer.” Morty stifles a laugh at his unabbreviated first name, which Birdperson doesn’t appear to notice. “It is only my baby monitor,” he explains.

“Eh,” Rick remarks with a high tone. “‘ Baby ’ is a strong word. It’s his teensy beastie monitor,” Rick corrects. While his words seem sharply rude, Rick’s tone takes on an uncharacteristic inflection like a baby talking voice. Very endearing. It’s weird. 

“I will be back soon,” says Birdperson, rising from his stool. He nods respectfully to the sushi chef dozing in a chair behind the bar, shoves his last few pieces of sushi in his mouth and sets the chopsticks down, then leans down close to Rick’s face. “Er-” he awkwardly glances back at Morty, then Rick again. In a split second, he decides fuck it and kisses Rick briefly.

Rick blushes slightly, which does wonders for his pallor, helping him to look less like a corpse. He flashes BP a goofy grin before watching him depart through the elevator shaft - instead of riding in the elevator itself, Birdperson opens the doors manually and dives down the empty tunnel.

Morty dares eye contact with Rick, who hides his face behind thin fingers, before giving up. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he mutters bitterly.

Morty giggles. “S-so by ‘safety net’, y-you meant fuck buddy?” 

“Oh, fuck you!” Rick yells, perhaps a little too angrily. “S-sorry,” he whispers to the sushi chef regretfully. “What Pers and I have is more than that,” he growls to Morty. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Profound words coming from you, Dick Sanchez,” Morty spits.

Rick huffs, tempted to remark how much he wishes BP were there to prevent him from strangling his grandson. “And you wonder why I wanted to fucking get away from you,” he growls under his breath, evidently crossing a line.

Morty gasps slightly. “Oh.” He rests his head in his hand. “Really?” His voice is quiet, suddenly drained and subdued.

“Fuck,” Rick whispers. “Of course not.”

Morty’s whole body feels like it’s shaking, like the world is collapsing. Rick got rid of him because he didn’t want him around anymore. Because he wasn’t good enough. Because he was replaceable. He chokes back a sob, sniffling somewhat.

Rick seems uneasy, conflicted about if he should offer physical comfort or space. He settles on sliding a seat closer to Morty. “Sorry. I went t-too far, okay?” he admits quietly. “That was mean, I shouldn’t have said it. You don’t- you don’t deserve to be treated like garbage, kid. That’s what I’ve been trying to spare you from.”

Morty wipes his face. “S-sorry.”

“What?” Rick nervously laughs. “N-no kid, you don’t need to apologize to me. Just know I shouldn’t have said that because it’s, it’s not true.” His body language broadcasts how uncomfortable he is with this level of honesty. “An-anyway,” he grabs a piece of Morty’s sushi. “I’m a little relieved you know now. I felt bad hiding it from you.”

Morty looks skeptical but nods. “I’m, I’m still mad at you, y’know.”

Rick shrugs. 

“You don’t care?”

He laughs. “I deserve it, why protest?” He takes another bite of his sushi. 

“S-so, will you include me in your search now?” Morty asks eagerly. 

Rick stops mid-chew, then swallows. “Er- M-Morty, I don’t think you really get it. Um… I’ll show you later.”

Morty remains unsatisfied by this answer but finds his thoughts distracted by the return of Birdperson, who pries open the elevator doors with a force that makes Rick cringe.

“Dear, please, use the button instead of opening it manually,” he urges. Based on the pre-existing dents and scratches of an otherwise new machine, Morty can tell this is an ongoing problem.

“I cannot. It is too dark in the shaft to find the internal button,” Birdperson explains.

Rick sighs and pulls out a notepad to scribble down yet another thing he needs to fix. He glares at BP for a second before the facade breaks and he laughs. “I’ll g-get the droid to fix the door once you stop breaking it,” he mutters.

Morty remains unused to the dynamic between his grandfather and this strange avian alien. Rick seems to take himself less seriously around BP, which is probably good for him mentally but certainly disconcerting to observers accustomed to seeing Rick as pretentious and spiteful. Morty watches Birdperson carefully, attempting to glean what he may have been attending to while he was gone, and is shocked to witness the second pair of wings pop out from BP’s back. Although they’re remarkably smaller, they bear the same speckled markings as Birdperson’s original pair.

Morty laughs. “S-so, your wings just retract?” he asks uncertainly.

Birdperson frowns in confusion and moves forward, where Morty is able to see the real cause of this anatomical anomaly - a young child of similar species, something of a bird/human hybrid, clinging to Birdperson’s back. When their eyes meet, the little girl puffs up like a startled cat and jumps off of her father’s back, spreading her wings with an adorably tiny but menacingly sharp dagger in hand and going in for the kill.

This impulsive murder attempt is stopped by Rick, who grabs the girl’s ankle while she’s gliding over before Morty’s even processed what’s happening. The mysterious birdchild seems to lack experience using her wings for flight, and once restrained she struggles in the air quite awkwardly before having to accept her failure and grab onto Rick so she doesn’t plummet to the floor.

Rick clicks his tongue and with considerable effort confiscates the dagger. “There there, beastie, I can make you a killable grandson,” Rick coos affectionately, as the little girl climbs from him to her father in a manner similar to a gecko.

Birdperson accepts her return without surprise and lets her take cover under a wing, where just her face peeks out to stick her tongue out at Morty. “I apologize for the assassination attempt, Morty,” BP says lightheartedly, in the way someone might say ‘sorry for butt-dialing you’ or apologize for bumping into you in line. 

“She’s just grumpy from her nap, aren’t you beastie!” Rick baby-talks, approaching the hiding fluffy birdchild and trying to coax her out. “C’mon, c’mon out, come see papa Rick!”

In an instant, the girl extends her hand with talon-like fingers and delivers a wicked scratch to Rick’s face. 

“Ah, Jesus, okay!” Rick puts up his hands in defeat, backing away again. “You win,” he mutters, eyes tearing up from the sting, he winces as the four distinct red lines pulse in pain. While Rick rifles through his pocket for a first aid salve that will heal the injury easily, Birdperson turns to Morty.

“It is… mm- how she says greets strangers,” he explains.

Morty raises his eyebrows. “But um- who even is she? What is she?” he asks. “And why is Rick talking to her like that ?” he adds, gesturing to his grandfather who’s now elbow-deep into Birdperson’s mass of feathers and offering the girl candy.

Birdperson hums slightly. “I thought he might have told you, but- Rick, stop digging in my feathers and finish your food, we have things to do,” Birdperson cuts himself off and orders Rick around casually.

Rick and the birdchild stick their tongues out at BP in perfect unison, but Rick at least does listen and goes back to his food, while the birdchild retreats into soft downy darkness.

Birdperson exhales and forces a smile, evidently displeased that after returning to Rick with his estranged daughter he was left raising two children. “As I was saying. Morty, this is my daughter. Product of my unfortunate pairing with the human girl you knew as Tammy. I was not aware of her existence until after Rick brought me back from the dead-”

“-He can do that?!”

“-Sometimes. Please, do not interrupt, I get enough of that from Rick,” BP laughs and Rick gives a murmur of affirmation. “After a relapse in your grandfather’s Prime hunt, I was called for assistance. I would not abandon her.”

Morty crosses his arms. “Oh, so he’s, he’s f-fine with a feral bird girl interfering with his work, but not his actually capable grandson? Sure, that makes me feel so much better.”

Birdperson smiles. “I am glad you understand.”

“That was sarcasm!”

“Ah.”

Rick laughs. “C’mon Pers, I’m done with brunch. Some date this was!” He stacks their respective plates, Morty’s leftovers on top, and sets them in a bin, bowing to the chef before turning away. 

“Ah, lovely,” responds BP. “Back to the search? I believe we were really onto something before the interruption.”

Rick looks awkward, chewing on his lip nervously. “Uh- Morty, the robot’s upstairs?”

Morty’s bitterness takes this as an opportunity to reignite, reminded what he’s mad about in the first place. “Y-yeah, your stupid robot’s entertaining your real family while you hide under the garage.”

Rick ignores this slight. “G-good, good good. Pers, er- do you mind if Morty tags along?”

Birdperson shrugs and the movement prompts birdchild to crawl out from her enclosure and hop onto Rick.

“Cool. Aw, hey beastie.” Rick does not protest the girl stretching his lab coat and puncturing the fabric with her razor-sharp talons. “C’mon Morty. Level ten.”

Upon entering the elevator, the party of four finds it a little too cramped for comfort, which is certainly at least partially the fault of half of them being over six feet tall. Rick did not build this passage with more than just himself in mind, and the close quarters prompt awkward feelings given the tenseness of Rick and Morty’s fight, while Birdperson is oblivious and enjoys the intimacy.

The nestling girl slides down Rick to stumble over to the buttons and eagerly presses the disco ball button. A seemingly hovering sphere drops from the ceiling and projects twisting constellations around the room as the advanced disco ball rotates to the sound of alien pop music. Morty stares at Rick like he’s a stranger.

“Sh-shut up. I had to add some features when they moved in,” he mutters defensively.

Morty wants to say something rude about this but finds himself too heart-warmed at the gesture to bring himself to it. He laughs and joins Birdchild in her impromptu dance.

The elevator dings and opens onto level ten, and as Rick steps foot onto the floor, lights automatically turn on, illuminating what initially looked like a cyber man cave into… a much larger cyber man cave. One wall is comprised entirely of various monitors, computers running algorithms, and video recordings of the elusive Prime. Another station 3D prints flesh takes samples off of it and then incinerates the original sample. Morty does not see how that could be helpful at all.

Birdchild launches herself off of Morty and out of the elevator to half fly-half glide into the room into a cute playpen, upon landing she begins playing with some Rick plushes scattered around, notable by the hue of their hair being a much deeper blue. 

“Oh, she is cute. Sweetie, try not to tear their heads off this time!” Birdperson calls, his voice beaming with pride. “Rick. How do we include Morty in this?”

Morty hates being talked about like this - like he’s not actually right there. Would it really kill them to directly include him in the conversation? He’s no longer the lame incompetent sidekick.

Once he returned to the dark space surrounded by his mortal enemy, Rick’s eyes reclaimed that exhausted depression that had haunted Morty when he first found him here. His voice holds that solid hollowness, “self-assured desolation” is what Beth calls it in sessions with Dr. Wong. He does not seem to process BP’s question until Pers brushes his hand gently. “-Oh, y-yeah. Um. Morty, you don’t really wanna help with all this, right?”

Morty’s expression sours. “Why wouldn’t I? I can help, I can make a difference here, you- you gotta value my contri- contributions, Rick.”

Birdperson glances warily from Morty to Rick before putting comically large headphones on and directing his attention to a computer desk.

“Are you sure?” Rick asks quietly. “This is the most- the most painful thing I’ve ever had to deal with. I dunno if it would be fair to bring you into it, even if you’re asking for it.” He pushes Morty away.

Morty grabs his hand off his chest and clutches it tightly. “You knew I would want to be part of this, I can handle it. I promise.”

Rick groans and approaches a counter, shaking his bony hand out of Morty’s. “I didn’t hide this for my sake, it’s for yours. Think about it, kid, you were happy with Robot Rick. Why can’t you go back to that?” He uses a peculiarly shaped screwdriver to open the hull of a death-bot Morty vaguely recalls encountering last they saw Rick Prime.

“I was- I was happy because I thought it was real!” Morty shouts. Birdchild hisses in his direction. 

The split death-bot begins beeping at a high frequency, and Rick grabs Morty by the back of his shirt to pull him into a safe tube. The robot explodes after an automated fan disperses the smoke, and the tube lifts again.

Returning to his work, Rick bites his tongue, the sharp incisors cutting deep enough to draw blood. “What does that mean?” he murmurs softly. “You want me t-to, to abandon this? With all the progress I’ve made? I have a purpose, Morty!” his voice shakes with every word, unsteady anger tied together by desperation. “This matters! M-maybe not to you, but to me.” He removes a data chip embedded in the scorched remains and then moves away when it too beeps ominously. This explosion is smaller and contained by a shield coming out of the table.

“It matters more than me?” Morty asks in response. “More than your daughters upstairs, stuck believing a lie?”

“Don’t do that. Th-that’s not fair.”

“I’m not, I’m not stupid, R-Rick,” Morty reminds him.

“I didn’t say you were.” Rick grinds his teeth, finally removing a tiny USB-like disk. He marches over to the wall of monitors, Morty following close behind.

“You think I don’t know why you’re so bonded to BP’s kid?” Morty dares to ask.

“Fuck,” Rick breathes, seconds from plugging in the disk, and he pulls away. “Don’t go there.”

“Trying to keep her safe while you avenge your own little girl?”

Rick winces.

Morty sighs. “You don’t need to replace her, Rick. Your daughter’s memory is honored enough by you actually spending time with the Beth upstairs. You even have two of them! Stop blowing your family off to live out a fantasy.”

“It’s not a fantasy,” Rick growls. “If I can do this, it’ll- it’ll mean something.”

“Then let us help. Not just me, and not just Birdperson. Be a team player. Summer, Mom, Space Mom, they’re all here for you. And Dad can provide snacks, I-I guess.”

Rick glares at him. “That’s not- that’s not a good idea,” he murmurs, losing motivation in this fight. He longs for the flask hidden in a drawer across the room but knows he’s not allowed to drink around Birdchild.

“Why not?” Morty asks, his voice lit with fury and skepticism he shouldn’t be capable of. Too much emotion stuffed into measly words. His hand curls into a fist almost reflexively.

Rick plugs the disk into a specific outlet in a row of many. The wall of monitors, displaying the vast cosmos, changes on one tiny screen. A red dot. Rick’s breath hitches in his throat. “I…” His excitement is short-lived. Another dot, on the other side of the galaxy. And then another. Hundreds flicker onto the screens until the light cast shifts from cool blue to an angry red. “That’s why,” Rick mutters, wearing a look of utter defeat.

Morty frowns. “Is that- is that where he is? Which one is him?”

“Fuck, kid, they’re all him.” There’s the breaking point. Morty’s not sure where he’s aiming when he delivers the punch, a swinging fist with fury nearly too fast for Rick to recognize in time. Rick backsteps out of the way and Morty’s hand meets the screen that declared the first dot.

“Why must I always play medic for you humans?” murmurs Birdperson, plucking the glass from Morty’s bruised and bleeding hand. “You simply must learn to take better care of yourselves.”

Rick watches with his arms crossed, standing a few feet across from Birdperson. He bites his lip sympathetically when Morty winces as a larger shard is removed. “You- you don’t fuckin’ break stuff in my lab, kid,” he chides. “That’s like rule one.”

“I was mad.”

Birdperson smirks at Rick, always entertained by the similarities in the pair, he’s witnessed many a tantrum in this very lab. 

Rick sighs. “Eh, no harm done. Besides the monitor and your hand there - you think your mom will believe you scraped it bad while playing with the lightsaber?”

Morty rolls his eyes. “You just don’t wanna get the healing salve. It’s fine, BP can bandage it.”

Birdperson scoffs. “And I suppose I will have to fetch your tea and dry cleaning as well?” he remarks dryly, but obediently fitting Morty’s bleeding fingers with bandaids. 

Morty pulls away at the sharp stinging sensation of an alcohol wipe and Birdperson pulls his hand back.

“Hold still.” 

Rick stifles a laugh. He won’t lie to himself - it’s nice seeing his favorite people interact. They’ve never been too close and he enjoys witnessing these dutifully compartmentalized worlds overlap. Despite his frustration with this reveal of Prime’s whereabouts, he allows himself to enjoy Morty giggling while Birdperson tells him stupid puns.

There’s a firm tugging at his lab coat, and Rick looks down. His little beastie had silently snuck up on him, and she bares her teeth when her presence is acknowledged. Rick offers his arms to pick her up and she shakes her head vigorously - with so much enthusiasm her curly hair ends up wildly in her face. Evidently, she has not mastered the art of this sort of nonverbal communication.

“What’s up, kid?” Rick asks the child. 

Birdperson peers over. “What is the little junebug doing now?”

Morty frowns. “Wait, what did you call her?”

Birdperson blushes. “Junebug, it is a candy-like delicacy on my world. My favorite nickname for her - better than Rick calling her a beast.”

“Beast ie ,” Rick corrects lightheartedly, ruffling the girl’s hair with such affection Morty wishes he had been young enough to experience this sort of paternal love when they met.

“That.” BP nods. “Why?”

Morty glances from Rick to the birdchild and then to Pers. “That’s what Rick- or, not Rick, but the Rickbot called me,” he mutters.

Birdperson’s vision swivels hesitantly to Rick, a knowing gleam in his eyes. Rick responds with a glare that fades when Morty notices it, and Birdperson inexplicably makes urging motions with his eyebrows.

Rick groans, wrinkling his nose at Pers in a jokingly resentful expression. He pockets clenched fists into his labcoat and gingerly shakes Birdchild off of his leg, before sighing and meeting Morty’s eyes. “Look, okay - the um. The Rickbot situation might seem a little less dickish if I let you in on the fact that it - well, it wasn’t always a machine pulling the strings.”

Morty furrows his brow. “What does th-that even mean?”

Birdchild scurries over to her father and crawls up his leg after the rejection from Rick, and he accepts her curling up in his lap, lightly petting her hair and shaking his head at Rick like he’s going about this the wrong way.

Rick groans aloud and sits down on a storage box. “I was sometimes behind the wheel. Telling it what to say. When I-” he swallows. “ Missed you or whatever- ugh. Pers, I don’t really need to say this, do I?”

BP offers a sympathetic smile. “I think the boy deserves to know you were not entirely isolated from him… Morty, the kindness of Rickbot was not artificial. Most of it was this Rick, taking advantage of the distance between you two to treat you well.” Morty shakes his head in disbelief like a lame prank’s been pulled on him. It’s much easier to see his grandfather as a selfish asshole than a three-dimensional person. “Wh-whatever.”

Rick opens his mouth to say something condescending but catches BP’s disapproving eye. Another time. He sighs. “Yeah, whatever. We’re not getting anywhere with this Prime hunt, kid. I guess I can put it on the back burner for a bit, maybe. It’s hard to search the galaxy with a party of three and a child, and er- I can maybe do some of it remotely.”

Morty shrugs. This compromise is clearly not good enough for him but even the slightest effort on Rick’s part is evident of major change. He shoves his hands inside his pockets, wincing when the bandaged one stings at the force, and makes his way to the elevator, only to be stopped by its doors sliding open.

“I told you he’d be down here! I fuckin’ called it!” cheers Summer, emerging from the elevator with her mothers behind her. “Ugh, Morty you knew he was down here? And what’s Tammy’s ex doing here, he’s alive?”

Birdperson eyes the visitors warily, his daughter rushing to him to hide in his feathers. Rick exchanges a few nervous glances and a hesitant smile. “I-it’s okay Pers, beastie, these are friends,” he mutters.

Birdperson nods but remains unconvinced, a stoic posture and uneasy glare broadcasting his uncomfortableness to the room.

Domestic Beth takes a few moments to process the cyber man cave, before rolling her eyes. In an attitude Morty might never expect in season one, she laughs. “We found your Rick-bot, merry Christmas dad,” she remarks. “Wanna come up to dinner or should we leave you to… whatever this is?”

Rick bites his lip and stares intently at the floor, swallowing. 

Beth’s indifferent expression wavers for barely a millisecond. “Fine, leftovers will be in the fridge if you wanna send a droid or whatever.”

Space Beth, who hadn’t even left the elevator, arms crossed and frown pasted on, accepts the return of her companion with a momentary sympathetic smile. 

Rick’s heart pangs at how instantly they accept this betrayal, this newest chapter of deceit in a long book of him disappointing them. Of course, Morty was surprised, that kid never gives up on him. The rest of the family, though? Fuck, they’re not so delusional.

“Summer, you coming?” Space Beth asks, calling the teenager from her snooping.

“-Wait.” Rick grabs Summer’s arm as she sprints by, then immediately lets her go when she flinches. “Sorry. Reflexive. Um- yeah, Beth, Beth. Sum-Sum. We’ll come up for dinner.”

Morty grins and laughs a little to himself, and that slight expression of joy is enough to coax Birdchild out of her hiding place. She jumps onto Morty’s back and they head to the elevator.

In the cramped space, as the compartment shoots upwards to the surface, Rick’s muffled voice shouts, “You did WHAT to Rick-bot?!”

[northwest-by-a-train]

Does that comic imply no meaningful difference between a trans man and butch lesbian?

Not the only anon I've gotten on the topic (this being only one I'll lower myself to reply to)

The artistry and poetry of Morty C. Pictures' comics will forever be lost on you if you're only willing to see it as discourse that's harming your "side" in a conflict you just made up. A person sat on a chair with a pen for hours on end, to bring a vision that's visually engaging, with a voice that sounds like nothing else that's floating out there, to try and capture the rythm of a mind fascinated by mysticism, epistemology, cruelty, being in the world and yeah, gender. And you ask its readers (you lack the balls &/or ovaries to go to the source) to explain it to you in terms a 24yo with a picrew profile picture who's on twitter 3 hours a day can understand.

Well I'm not gonna. You're gonna sit there with the weird feelings this comic evoked in you and you're going to sift through them by yourself and you're going to work out why you feel strangers on the internet owed you an explanation for your discomfort. You (and the people who have clogged my askbox over it) are going to have to look at the art of someone who's not giving you a Cliffsnotes explainer to everything they ever made.

THEN you'll do what I did and go to

And buy Morty's excellent comic as your atonement. Maybe lash yourself and wear a crown of thorns as well, it's good for what you have.

[latenightmeteorite]

07/26/24

Just went to new student orientation. I had sooo much information thrown at me at once man I don’t even know. Barely any of it is going to be retained man I don’t even remember most of the names I learned. I made some friends tho! And I feel a bit less nervous about it than I did before. Don’t get me wrong i’m still fucking terrified but now I know a bit more about what to expect. At least now I can be excited and terrified at the same time.

I really wish my parents would get their shit together so I could get through this. She promised me I would have a car to get to college but now it’s less than three weeks away and here we are. My dad keeps changing his story and just straight up lying and not communicating and just generally being a pain in the ass to everyone around him. I don’t think they understand how much this is stressing me out. I don’t think he really cares.

I visited my band camp for a couple hours this week. God I miss them so much. I never imagined it would hurt like this. I’m still in denial a little bit tbh. My last shift is on Sunday! Yay! It’s 8 hours straight. Not yay. But seriously I’m ready to get out of there. I’m gonna miss all my girlies but will not be missing the work. I seriously don’t know what they’re going to do once I leave because there’s not really anyone to take my shifts. But that’s not my fault and not my problem. He’s known when I’m leaving for months. Bro is in more denial than I am.

I got invited to go to the casting call for Arx Mortis! I’ve wanted to be a scare actor for years man I’m so mf excited. I’m a bit worried about how it’s going to play out since yk I don’t really know what I’m doing but fingers crossed I guess. At least I finally have the time to do it without games and stuff. Ouch.

I’ve cried twice today about leaving Chloe. I can’t fucking do it man. Sure I made some new friends the past couple of days but I looked for her in every one of them. I can’t imagine my life without her I don’t know what I’m going to do I don’t know how I’m going to survive. She’s worried I’m going to find someone to replace her like that’s even possible. That bitch is my soulmate. There is no one like her. I don’t think I could live if we start drifting apart. I’m so scared to lose her I love her more than she’ll ever know.

Less than three weeks until I leave everything I’ve ever known. That’s not enough time. I’ll try to make the most of it. I’ll try not to worry as much about the future. I’ll try and inevitably fail at not crying about it every other day too. I’m actively crying as I write this post btw.

[parasocial12]

Clubs, my Past, and more Whining

[transcribed from memo book as is] McD is expensive! I can't really think of what to write for today's entry. I had to speak to my professor last class. Very scary! No friends made in any course. Sad! They say to join clubs to make friends, but the Anime Club is the only club that is truly applicable to me. Unfortunately, those are not my People. They are simply too cringe? I don't mean that in the sense that I don't understand wh the jokes, but they're simply all too unfunny. Their tastes are too Reddit. I'm in the most vexing position. I'm too strange for normal people, but too normal for the weirdos. I suppose in one-on-one interactions I fare decently, but in a club setting I feel locked out. Band kids is what they feel like! The type to think Rick and Morty an is the funniest show ever. In a way, I am also too radical for them too. My years spent on 4chan as a Youth have a left permanent mark on my psyche. Not on /pol/ or /b/ or any of those places where the Election Tourists. /r9k/ was such a nice place to vent to older anons. Sure, I was underage ban, but ain't nobody knew that. I miss that comradery, as toxic as they were. The Youths of today are so lucky to have Tiktok. I admire TT as a space where the Youth can experiment and be themselves while using the algorithm to find communities to connect with. I missed out on that train. That's not to say I don't use TT or have my own spaces, but TT as a youth must be a hell of a fun place. Oh well! I had the experience of being underage on anonymous imageboards at least (wow!). Let me finish my fries now ~~~~ On the walk back to the SC, I passed by some sort of Christian group- a club? I know not, for I avoided eye contact- and as I did, they spoke to a duo of girls walking next to me. The usual invitation for a Bible study. They kept walking of course, and while doing so joked about how one of them was the target lol. Very funny duo- almost chuckled before remembering that I was merely walking alongside them, not with them! On that walk as well, I passed many cute girls. Idk what it is about college, but so many ppl are beautiful. It doesn't help that they are all serving- I didn't know uni was a fashion show! Now, I sit at the usual spot of my writing and jot down in my little memo book. Makes for such unworthy penmanship. Ahhhh! It's so frustrating seeing all the cute gals. I'm not terrible looking monster w/ a horrible personality, but I can't muster up the nerve to act upon my romantic delusions! How I wish I was less of an overthinker! Oh well. Since I am too passive to pursue, I must accept the fact that I will end up alone. Tragic! The best and easiest years to make friends and lovers and I cannot. What a failure I am! It is concerning that the majority of the ppl I have cordial relations with are women- and of them all are either taken or lesbian. I've nothing really against it. I'm proud that so many ppl can confide in me. Yet, I feel lonely. I realize I'm too emotionally immature to date, but I've fallen so far behind the curve that I feel that I will never catch up. I'm just a fool. Dreaming the best years of my Life away! I don't blame anyone, really. If I was a woman, I wouldn't date myself either. I'm a nice guy, but that's such a low bar- the bare minimum. What do I have to offer? I'm not rich. I'm mildly funny at times, but no comedian. I'm not some attractive guy. I don't like going out. I'm insecure. My Future is bleak. I have Nothing! Oh well. Always an oh well. I apologize to my future self for having wasted our Time, and I damn my younger self for the same Crime. [end of entry] Author's Note: It appears that no matter what, I will always end up writing about being lonely and cute girls I see. What a creep! I'm not an incel or nothing, but damn if my writings don't make me seem like I am

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Heart’s Choice - Chapter 37

*Warning Adult Content*

John

'Hello, John. We've been waiting for you.'

I take a step forward but Freya Hunter bars my way with her outstretched arm, like a mom slamming on the brakes.

"John, wait. That's not Carlos up there."

"No shit."

I push her arm aside and mount the wooden steps to the stage, where the thing possessing Carlos waits, still holding Rafael's head by the curls.

He wears a once white T-shirt, now tie-dyed with dark blood and black denims with a belt.

The simple ensemble shows off his trim figure and his silky brown hair hangs loose.

I address him with raised hands, hoping to show that I mean no harm.

"What are you? Where is Carlos?"

The demon smiles, head tilted to the side.

"I am a nightmare," it says in its familiar-yet-strange voice and laughs.

"But not yours. As for the Carlos, he is here. He will help."

At my side, Becky hugs herself and shivers, eyes wide as she stares at Carlos and the bloody mess at his feet.

She leans closer and speaks in a whisper.

"John? What the fuck is going on? What's wrong with him?"

Keeping my eyes on Carlos, I wince.

Whether she buys it or not, I don't know what to say except the truth.

"He's possessed. By a demon of some kind."

"A demon? Are you kidding me?"

"Does it look like I'm kidding you? Does he look like the kind of guy who could tear a man's head off with his bare hands? He's five-foot-eight and a-hundred-thirty pounds soaking wet."

"Five-foot-nine."

I shouldn't be surprised that the demon heard me in a place designed to carry sound but it does and it takes me a moment to find my voice again.

"What?"

Carlos' warm brown eyes glint with strange, cold light as the demon stares through them.

"The Carlos wishes for you to know that this body stands at five feet and nine inches tall. I do not know why this is important but he wishes it known."

"Carlos... is here?"

The demon nods once.

"He is here. He will help me and you will help him and I will help you both."

"Help us... with what?"

"Surviving the change."

"The... change?"

My blood goes cold as I understand his meaning and I swear under my breath.

"This body is not designed to hold a being like myself. Already, it fails and with its death, I will be free... a willing sacrifice is the surest exorcism."

"No."

I take a step closer, the dusty boards of the stage creaking beneath my feet, hands still raised, though the gesture is one of pleading now.

"Don't hurt him. Please, just let him go."

The demon stares, unblinking.

"It is already done. The rest is yours to do, and you must do it soon."

Fear grips me and I shake my head.

"I can't. I'd have to... I'd have to turn and there's no guarantee..."

"I am your guarantee," the demon says, interrupting me.

"My power permeates this body. Even as it dies, some of that power will pass into you. And once I am gone, some will remain. If your will is strong, you may wield it."

"John? What the hell is he talking about?"

Becky has followed me, sticking close, while Freya hangs back a pace, gun in a low ready position, prepared to fire if needed.

The dogs have followed as well,and picked up on more than the rest of us can see.

Ignoring demon-Carlos, they've both fixated on an apparently empty area of the stage, tails wagging and ears lowered, as if greeting someone they know and love.

"Is he there?" I ask, directing this question at the demon and he nods.

"Yes. He is and the one called Kyle."

A chill goes up my spine. I stare at the empty air but if the man I love is staring back at me... I can't see him.

I speak anyway, hoping he can see and understand from his side.

"Carlos... you know what he's asking, don't you? Is this what you want?"

Morty barks once, ears perked forward. It's the chirpy bark she only does when told to 'speak.'

Struck by an idea, I point at Rick, who stands at attention, as if waiting for the next command.

"Alright 'down' is no 'speak' is yes. Are you absolutely sure about this? Because there's no going back."

Rick promptly barks twice.

I take a deep breath.

Looks like we can add 'communicating with ghosts' to the many useful skills of the canine officer but it's not one I want to employ often.

It's certainly not my method of choice for speaking to Carlos.

I'd much rather do that to his living, breathing face, which something else now wears like a mask.

"John," Becky grips my arm, impatient with a conversation she doesn't understand.

"What is he talking about?"

I shake her off.

"Becks, I need you to go with Freya. Go and wait for me outside. I don't have time to explain right now."

Meeting Freya's eyes, I nod towards the side door.

"Take care of Becky and hold off anyone else who comes as long as you can. The other team will have figured out their lead is a dead end by now and are likely on their way. Do whatever it takes."

She nods and takes Becky by the hand, attempting to lead her away but Becky isn't having it.

"John... I am not leaving you with that... that thing."

"Becky, please go. I don't want you to see this."

She blinks dark eyes at me.

"See what? There's a headless corpse on the floor. What could be worse that I haven't seen already?"

I turn and take hold of her shoulders.

"Me, Becks. You haven't seen me."

She shakes her head.

"John... I..."

"Rebecca. Don't make me beg."

I can count the number of times I've used her full name on one hand... the day I proposed... the day we got married and the day we agreed on a divorce.

I was deadly serious each of those three times and I hope that using it again will convince her of how deadly serious I am now.

Unfortunately, the stubborn set of her jaw tells me she's digging in for the fight instead.

Sirens wail in the distance and Freya hisses an expletive and takes over... shouldering her way between us and taking Becky in hand.

"Look, y'all... we don't got no time for this. Becks, I like you. I got a feeling you can handle the truth. So here it is."

She points at Carlos.

"Our boy is possessed by a demon and your man here's a vampire, more or less. The demon will be exorcized with the host body's death and to keep 'death' from sticking too hard, your man's gonna bite his man and vampify him, too. Only catch is, John's got to go full vamp to do it and the worry is he might lose his mind and turn into a rabid killing machine. Captain Howdy, here, says he can keep that from happening... leastways, if I followed right."

Becky blinks and shakes her head.

"You expect me to believe that? A demon I can sort of accept but vampires? John..."

Reluctantly, I let my eyes adjust fully to the semi-darkness, so they shine like an animal's at night.

Becky gasps.

"Sink or swim, now, honey," Freya says, taking her by the arm.

"Come on. Let's go. The others are almost here and we need a better cover story than vamps and demons."

With one last half-fearful glance at me, Becky finally allows Freya to lead her from the theater and out into the cool, clean night air.

Alone and yet not alone, I give my full attention to the demon once more.

He watches me through Carlos's expressive dark eyes and lets the severed head fall from his grasp to hit the stage with a dull thunk.

"Are you ready now?"

I nod and approach him, my heart beating hard and fast as a war-drum in my chest.

He steps forward and we meet in the center of the seal.

This close, the scent of his blood hits me hard.

I shouldn't be able to distinguish it from Rafael's but I can.

There's less of it but still plenty and most of the blood soaking his shirt is his own.

It trickles from the bullet wound below his left collarbone in a steady stream and by his deathly pallor... I can tell he can't afford to lose much more.

If he wasn't possessed, he'd probably be unconscious by now.

Carlos' voice but not Carlos speaks, his familiar eyes shining with that unfamiliar light.

"Once you begin, you must not stop," he says and tilts his head to the side, exposing the bare skin of his throat.

"Do not hesitate."

I take him in my arms.

His body fits perfectly against mine and despite the incongruous circumstances, my arousal stirs.

Still, there's something missing.

As attractive as it is, his body isn't what I'm in love with and it's nothing without his soul.

"Carlos..." I whisper, my breath catches.

We're out of time and I don't know if I'm about to make him mine forever or lose him forever and if he can forgive me either way.

Pulling him close, I kiss the side of his throat.

"I love you," I say and then I bite down hard, sinking my short, half-formed fangs into his flesh.

He cries out... blood floods my mouth... pure bliss burns like fire in my veins.

I feel the change take hold, the catalyst igniting, again like fire... a smoldering spark that bursts into flame... burning away what's left of my humanity.

It hurts like fire, too but the pain is indistinguishable from pleasure as every cell in my body dies and is reborn.

A ravenous hunger awakens like a monstrous beast stirred from slumber.

My fangs lengthen, pierce deeper, draw a faster flow of blood.

I sink to my knees as Carlos convulses, his hands catching at my shirt.

His heart beats fast and weak as I drain him, the flutters of a dying bird.

We're both past the point of no return and there's no stopping now.

With a final gasp and shiver, the body in my arms goes still.

Praying I'm not too late... I lay him down... slice my wrist on a long, sharp fang and support his head as I hold the wound to his mouth... forcing blood down his throat... just as David had done to me, long ago.

When I think he's had enough, I sit back, wiping blood from his lips with my sleeve and watching for signs of life with bated breath.

The cut on my wrist is already half healed and the fire in my veins still blazes hot but the demon hadn't lied and my mind remains my own.

As for the other half of the promise...

"Carlos?" I shake him gently as fear takes hold.

He remains utterly still, his light brown skin turned ashen and pale.

"Come on, damn it. Wake up."

Leaning over, I set my ear to his chest but if he has a heartbeat, it's too faint for even a vampire to hear.

I pull him into my lap and cradle him against my chest as a sob chokes off my breath.

"Come on, you bastard. You promised. You promised," I yell these last words to the air but somehow I can tell the demon is long gone and no amount of shouting will wake the dead.

"Carlos... Oh God. No..."

"I'm here."

Still in the grip of fear... I pull back to look at him and gasp with relief.

There's warmth in his expression... haggard though it is and life in his dark eyes.

"Yo también te amo," he whispers... not with a demon's voice but with his own and he smiles.

I laugh with a joy that hurts and then, as other voices echo through the hall... I scoop him up in my arms and flee like the creature of darkness that I have become.

[ratofthemedievalsewers]

Heart of Steel - Part I

DBH Connor x Male Reader

Word Count: 2.5K+

Content warning: Minor injury detail, PTSD, language

Original game dialogue I got from this video:

https://youtu.be/32Np9LKI1Vg

We were attacked in the night.

After returning from a mission back to an outpost several miles from the red zone, we removed our gear save for a few pouches on our belts we could bother with later. Our team leader set up a fire while the SQ800s, CyberLife commissioned combat androids, began loading up the trucks with extra artillery and resources. A job that could have waited until morning, but Alpha always gave the androids something to do. He said that they creeped him out when they would just stand there in a dormant state, waiting for their next mission to be given to them.

"You know what I'm going to do when I get home?"

"Here we go again."

"I'm going to get me a WR400," Foxtrot; not everyone's favourite but he certainly kept us entertained when there was nothing to do.

"Uh-huh and with what money are you going to be using to pay for this WR400? A military salary definitely ain't gonna cut it." Echo always called out Foxtrot's bullshit, he was the only one that had the patience to deal with him.

"Fine, my birthday is comin' up, if you put towards two-thirds of what it costs we can share. How does that sound?"

"I am not sharing anything with you, I don't know what diseases you carry." Their constant back forth sent chuckles through the group.

"Alright, that's enough you two. It's getting late and past everyone's bedtime, I want you all awake by O-five-hundred at the latest," Alpha would often stop them before Foxtrot would take it too far, but he could never hide the twitching smile on his face.

"Yes sir," Foxtrot mock saluted as he stood from his seat around the campfire. "Hey Echo, that offer is still-"

One moment Foxtrot had a wide grin on his face, the next there was a hole in his head between his eyes, the sound of gunshot ringing in everyone's ears.

"SHOTS FIRED! GET TO COVER NOW!"

"FOXTROT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, FOXTROT IS DOWN!"

It was dark, we couldn't see where they were firing from. The android was the only one still standing, firing off in random directions as they were gunned down. The next was Delta, shot in the left shoulder, then the throat. My gun was back in my tent and there was no chance of me getting it. Stupid.

"MEDIC! GET TO DELTA! NOW!"

"GRENADE!"

I heard the thump by my feet before I saw it. You would think it would be terrifying, to know you're staring death in the face, but for a second it was peaceful. My body was cold and I already felt like a corpse, the Rigour Mortis freezing me in place, just softly gazing at what would kill me.

Something grabbed me before the grenade exploded, saving my life but destroying the android.

The bedsheets were crumpled and soaked in sweat again when my eyes shot open. It was hard to breathe, the panic was still running through me and closing up my throat at the memory.

In; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four. Out; one, two, three, four. Hold; one, two, three, four.

It took a few minutes for me to remember where I was. That I was home and that I was safe. Out of nervous habit, I gripped my dog tags, they were wet from the sweat that had soaked through my shirt in the night.

"Shit." It was four in the morning, there was no chance of getting any more sleep and the station wouldn't be open for another two more hours at the least. Saying that; Fowler wanted to speak to me first thing, which never meant anything good for anyone.

It was aching again at the joint. The biomechanical component always felt itchy where it joined at the elbow. Anytime I would have that dream I would scratch at it in my sleep, it was like my subconscious knew it didn't belong. It knew my rotting left arm was still in the desert somewhere being picked apart by vultures.

It's almost ironic; to be saved by an android and then to have part of one attached to me. I hated it.

*****

"Morning Cyborg, you look like shit." Gavin was forever pleasant to talk to.

"Fuck off, Reed." He constantly hovered around the coffee machine, hogging it like it was his newborn baby. "Is Fowler in yet?"

"Not yet, you in trouble?" He took his time making his coffee, exceeding in being the department's resident asshat. "Did he catch you looking at porn on your work terminal again?"

"I'm pretty sure that's only ever happened to you." Not wanting to be reminded of his previous escapades I got no response. Gavin let out a small huff before moving to the side with his fresh cup of coffee, freeing up the machine.

"Officer (L/N)." Oh for fuck's sake.

"Sir?" Captain Fowler stood outside his office, his coat half soaked from the rain.

"My office, I need to speak to you." He didn't give a second glance to me before turning and letting the glass door shut behind him.

"Ha, good luck cyborg." Shooting Gavin the middle finger, I followed Captian Fowler into his office.

"What was it you wished to talk about, sir?" Feet shoulder-width apart, back straight and hands behind my back; habits from the army were destined to die hard. Often I would find myself moving my hand up to salute before leaving the presence of a superior, something else for Gavin to make fun of.

"You're aware of the deviant cases I've assigned to Lieutenant Anderson, correct?" Fowler sat at his desk, wet coat now hung on its rack, but there was slight dampness to his suit blazer where his coat had been left open.

"Yes sir. I believe he's being accompanied by a prototype RK800 from Cyberlife."

"That's correct. I'm sure you're aware that these deviancy cases are on the more..."

"Dangerous?"

"...Unpredictable side. Now, I can't exactly issue a gun to a prototype android if it's going to be in the field and, while I value Hank as a police officer, his record is on the rougher side."

"Captain Fowler, with all due respect, I don't believe-"

"Office (L/N), with all due respect, you don't have an opinion in this matter. I want you to accompany Lieutenant Anderson in these assignments just in case a deviant becomes too much for him or this android to handle. You've certainly got the skillset for it and you're not unfamiliar with working alongside androids, unlike quite a few officers in this department."

"I understand that, but-"

"Whatever you're gonna say I don't want to hear it." Captain Fowler didn't give me a chance to argue as he stood and walked to his office door, the annoyed look on his face worsening. "Hank, in my office!"

I let out a sigh before Captain Fowler turned back to his desk. Through the office wall made of glass Hank reluctantly made his way towards us grumbling something under his breath at the request, the RK800 model obediently following behind him like a little, lost puppy. Hank sat in the chair opposite Fowler while the android stood next to me, giving a small smile as a greeting.

Captain Fowler was the first to talk, "I've got ten new cases involving androids on my desk every day. We've always had isolated incidents, old ladies losing their android maids and that kind of crap... But now, we're getting reports of assaults and even homicides, like that guy last night. This isn't just cyberlife's problem anymore, it's now a criminal investigation and we've gotta deal with it before the shit hits the fan. I want you to investigate these cases, alongside officer (L/N) and see if there's any link."

"Why me? And why do I need a god damned partner? A stupid android is already too much. Why do I gotta be the one to deal with this shit?" Props to Hank for trying, but arguing with Fowler was like talking to a brick wall. "I am the least qualified cop in the country to handle this case! I know jack shit about androids, Jeffery. I can barely change the settings on my own phone."

"Everybody's overloaded. I think you're perfectly qualified for this type of investigation," They were already starting to blow up at each other.

"Bullshit! The truth is nobody wants to investigate these fuckin' androids and you left me holdin' the bag!"

"CyberLife sent over this android to help with this investigation and I've given you (L/N) as well. You've got a state of the art prototype and a leading police officer to act as your partners."

"No fuckin' way! I don't need partners, and certainly not this plastic prick and some action hero fucker."

"Nice working with you too, Lieutenant Anderson," I said under my breath, not intending for the others to hear. Connor turned his head slightly in my direction, I could see his LED blink yellow for a moment before going back to its bright blue.

"Hank, you are seriously starting to piss me off! You are a police lieutenant, you are supposed to do what I say and shut your goddamn mouth!"

"You know what my goddamn mouth has to say to you, huh?"

"I'll pretend like I didn't hear that, so I don't have to add any more pages to your disciplinary folder 'cause it already looks like a fuckin' novel! This conversation is over."

"Jeffrey, Jesus Christ! Why are you doin' this to me? You know how much I hate these fuckin' things. Why are you doin' this to me?" Most of the department knew why he had such a distaste towards androids, no one could necessarily blame him. Ever since losing his son Hank had become completely different as both a person and an officer. Admittedly, Fowler was harsh on him, but if he wasn't then Hank would drift.

"I've had just enough of your bitching. Either you do your job or you hand in your badge. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." Hank left in a strop, letting out his frustration on Fowler's office door.

"Well then..." Connor was quick to break the tense silence. His voice caught me off guard, it was smoother, more human than any android's I had heard before. The SQ800's voices had always been more robotic than other models so it had been a shock when the androids back home had sounded so normal, it felt like that all over again. It was jarring. "I won't keep you any longer. Have a nice day captain."

Connor left and I followed behind, giving a small nod of dismissal to Fowler despite him still looking at his terminal screen.

The android went straight to Hank either oblivious or ignoring the lieutenant's current bad mood, granted there was never a time the bastard was in a good mood. Heaven itself could rain down on Detroit and he'd huff at it like a hair in his food.

"I got the impression my presence causes you some inconvenience, Lieutenant. I'd like you to know I'm very sorry about that. In any case, I'd like you to know I'm very to be working with you." Ever the enthusiast.

"I'd give in now. You're talking to a toddler in a fifty-year old's body and the toddler is having a hissy fit." I half sat and half leant against Hank's desk, using my arms to support my weight.

"Apologies, I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Connor, I am the android sent by CyberLife." He turned to me, a gentle and manufactured smile on his face. "It's a pleasure to be working with you too, officer (L/N). I'm sure we'll make a great team."

"Er... (Y/N) is just fine."

"Is there a desk anywhere I could use?"

"No one's using that one." Hank points to the desk opposite him, while still sulking like a child.

"Gasp, it speaks," I said in a sarcastic tone while turning to Hank.

"Fuck off. I've already got an android on my ass, I don't need you on it too."

I grabbed a terminal pad before perching myself back at the edge of Hank's desk while Connor got comfortable at the empty one. The light at the side of his head flashing yellow for a moment like he was hesitant to speak."You have a dog, right?"

"How do you know that?"

"The dog hairs on your chair. I like dogs. What's your dog's name?"

"What's it to you?" Hank shifted in his seat, "...Sumo... I call him Sumo."

"Under all those shitty shirts and questionable stains there's a warm, beating heart," I say more to myself than the other two, skimming over the recent case files sent in by Fowler.

"Officer (L/N)... (Y/N), knowing that we'd be working together I read your academy and field records. You have quite an interesting background."

"Oh yeah, then you understand that I may be a little driven to get these cases over with. I can't say I'm a fan of you terminators."

"I understand you have a... warped view of androids due to what you've experienced, but I hope you understand that I am your partner and not your enemy."

"Connor, you're not my partner, you're cyberlife's latest gizmo for us kick around." I sigh, turning to sit at my desk adjacent to hanks, taking the terminal pad with me. "Just look through the deviant case files. Terminals on your desk, knock yourself out."

They're nothing but machines. They are not your friends.

"Two-hundred and forty-three files, the first date back nine months. It all started in Detroit... And quickly spread across the country." Connor had only connected the terminal moments before.

"Don't work your CPU too hard," I mutter under my breath, catching a quick huff of amusement from Hank.

"An AX400 is reported to have murdered a man last night. That could be a good starting point for our investigation." Hank was doing his best to pretend Connor didn't exist, but the android was persistent. Connor stood from his chair and made his way into Hank's personal space.

"Uh, Jesus..." Hank turned his chair away.

"I understand you're facing personal issues, Lieutenant, but you need to move past them and-" For an android, Connor has some balls on him.

"Hey! Don't talk to me like you know me. I'm not your friend and I don't need your advice, okay?" Hank's mood had soured like milk, it wouldn't be long until Fowler was adding another page to Hank's disciplinary folder.

"I've been assigned this mission Lieutenant, I didn't come here to wait until you feel like working."

"Connor, you're just gonna-" I had wasted my breath, Hank had already stood and was grabbing onto Connor by the collar of his Cyberlife jacket and slamming against the screen next to his desk. "Hank!"

"Listen asshole. If it were up to me, I'd rather throw the lot of you in a dumpster and set a match to it. So, stop pissing me off... or things are gonna get nasty."

"Hank," I placed a hand on his shoulder to try and lightly pull him away from Connor but only earned a nasty side-eye. "Leave off him, you don't get paid enough to replace him."

"Lieutenant... Officer (L/N), uh... sorry to disturb you," Looks like the tin can was saved before Hank could knock the light out of him, "I have some information on the AX400 that killed that guy last night. It's been sighted in the Ravendale district."

"I'm on it." Hank didn't glance back when he dropped Connor's collar. The puppy dog look on his face almost made me feel bad for him... almost.

"Come on, WALL-E. Don't want to keep the old man waiting."

[sanzoumon]

FREE RICKORTY+ PROMPTS!:

Seriously, if you wanna write any of these just go for it and then let me know. Spoilers for S5E10. Some are more gen but could also be shippy, smut encouraged but optional. All of these are definitely bottom!Morty btw. Others are straight up smut.

Non-rickorty prompts (really just Morty x Summer) are are the bottom.

PROMPTS:

Trapped on what remains of the Citadel, Rick confesses that he recently realized he’s in love with Morty and that he wants to be by Morty’s side forever - in whatever way Morty wants (as in be it romantic, familial, platonic, whatever, it’s Morty’s choice). How does Morty feel and what will he decide?

After the whole Planetina thing Morty gets much needed comfort from Beth. Tho he feels better after that, Morty feels the overwhelming need to be with Rick. As it happens, after that whole ordeal with Daphne, Rick feels an overwhelming need to be with Morty. Bedsharing and comfort ensue.

Morty notices that ever since the Citadel was destroyed, Rick’s been way more physically affectionate. Little touches, petting his hair, hugging, casually rubbing soothing circles on him when they relax, wanting to cuddle, affectionate kisses, handholding, even nuzzling him. Morty likes it. A LOT.

In a rare moment of relaxation, Rick and Morty snuggling up together, they share a kiss. Both are shocked but then immediately begin an intense make-out session.

Rick wants to make up for his prior mistreatment of Morty. Morty asks for something be never expected: A kiss. And Morty means a full on kiss - tongue included. Who is Rick to deny him?

Rick and Morty have a rather intense incest kink. Lots of dirty talk.

Morty finds out that Rick has feelings for him. Rick freaks out, feels like a piece of shit, and tries to run away. Morty stops him, clings to him, begs Rick to calm down and to not leave him. Rick is practically hysterical, Morty gets him to shut up and calm down the only way he can - a kiss.

Morty preys on Rick’s guilt for having mistreated Morty in the past by guilting him into having sex. Morty knows Rick doesn’t want it, but he’ll do anything Morty wants. Morty feels like shit doing this but he can’t get about of how good Rick feels inside him.

Morty royally screws up on an adventure, almost getting himself killed, and Rick opts for a good ol fashioned punishment - a bare bottom spanking. Aftercare happens because Rick was terrified for Morty and needs him to understand this is why he spanked him.

Rick suffers from Domdrop after a really emotionally intense session with Morty. Morty provides Rick with the aftercare he needs.

The family finds out about Rick and Morty’s relationship. Shocking everyone, it’s Beth who attacks Rick square in a blind rage. The whole time Morty is begging her to stop hurting Rick, who doesn’t even try to defend himself, and it’s Jerry and Summer who have to hold her back so she’ll actually listen to Morty.

Rick and Morty get married at the alien equivalent of Las Vegas. Summer was a witness and recorded the whole thing.

In another dimension it’s considered a rite of passage for a boy to have sex with the household patriarch when he turns 14. Morty never felt the need to do that but then Rick comes along and says that’s because Jerry wasn’t man enough to do it, so Rick takes it upon himself to do so.

Morty is attracted to Rick specifically because Rick is a dirty old man.

On the Citadel, some Morty’s are bred purely to be sex slaves for Rick’s. Bred to be more compliant, submissive, and who love Rick’s unconditionally no matter how badly they mistreat them.

Rick and Morty have an emotionally incestuous relationship. Basically: “when a parent or caregiver relies on a child for the support that an adult partner would usually provide. They may also treat the child like a romantic partner.”

Morty deliberately gets himself into trouble on adventures because Rick will, out of worry and adrenaline pumping through him, fuck Morty afterward like an animal. Like a twisted version of “glad to be alive sex”.

Rick and Morty have to hide in a tight fitting enclosed space while facing each other. Awkward boners and grinding / dry humping ensue.

Omegavese. Morty goes into heat and Rick knocks him up. It wouldn’t be so bad if Rick wasn’t seriously turned on by Morty being pregnant with his baby.

Omegaverse. Unclaimed Omega’s have it rough and are constant targets for harassment. One day Morty gets assaulted by some Alpha’s at school and before they’re able to violate and claim him, Rick shows up and makes them wish they were never born. Morty knew right then that Rick was his Alpha and begs for Rick to claim him.

Rookie Cop Rick x Cop Morty. Rick likes how chubby Morty is.

Toxic Rick x Toxic Morty. They’re both made up of the irrational attachments they have for each other. Without their healthier selves to reign them in they can’t keep their hands off each other. Basically, in between all the science, Toxic Rick fucks Toxic Morty and Toxic Morty can’t get enough of just how much Rick loves him.

Evil Rick x Evil Morty. Sometimes Morty lets Rick have control of himself again just so Rick will rape him like he used to before Morty took control.

Morty’s fantasy is for Rick to fuck him against his will while Morty cries and begs Rick to stop. Rick can’t deny Morty his perverted fantasy.

Rick goes on a rampage to save Morty and, by the time all is said and done, Rick is mildly wounded and is practically drenched in the blood of his enemy. And it’s the hottest thing Morty has ever seen in his life. Morty wants Rick to fuck him right then and there, raw and primal, using the blood as lube.

Morty’s just so small and cute. Rick loves it a little too much.

Rick loves to degrade and humiliate Morty in bed. Morty loves it too.

Breeding kink. They like to pretend Morty can actually get pregnant when they have sex.

OTHER:

Summer asks Rick to shrink her giant space incest baby down to normal baby size. Everyone tries to talk her out of it because she’s young and not ready to raise a baby, but she knows she can’t live without him and that she wants this.

Morty x Summer. It may have been under very weird circumstances but fact is they have a baby together. Summer says she doesn’t expect anything from Morty and is cool with it, but Morty wants to be involved. Raising a kid together can make you feel things you never expected to feel.

Morty x Summer. Morty liked attractive redheads and Summer is no exception.

Morty x Summer. After everything they’ve seen and done, sex with each other to relieve stress isn’t that noteworthy.

Morty x Summer. Summer is humiliated that she actually enjoys being fucked by her little brother. Worse yet, Morty knows it and taunts her with it while fucking her. Worst of all, him doing that makes it even better for her.

Morty x Summer. Set during the time Rick was in prison. They’re always fighting lately, sometimes to the point of physical aggression. One thing leads to another.

Morty & Summer. After the whole Morty Jr. thing, Morty isn’t sure he wants to be a dad again. But Summer is worn ragged with school, taking care of their recently-shrunk-to-normal-size space baby, and their family giving her crap for raising him instead of leaving him in space. And, well, he is responsible for the kid existing in the first place. Basically they raise their baby together.

Summer sees Morty getting picked on at school and she ends up beating up his bully half to death.

Morty x Summer. Something happens and they end up bound together face to face with Morty’s head buried in Summer’s boobs. They’re so big and soft that he gets aroused in spite of himself. Summer feels it, insults him like expected, but tells him just to hurry up and get rid of it by grinding against her thigh so they can start pretending this whole thing never happened sooner.

————

And that’s all I got for now, folks! I know it’s a long list and it’s all over the place but I have so many ideas in my head and the S5 finale just sent my imagination into overdrive.

So please, if you’re a writer, I hope these prompts inspire you. Let me know if you write anything, please!

[lokitvsource]

You came into the show with the idea of Loki clashing with the TVA already in place. How exactly does this kind of arrangement work at Marvel? Michael Waldron: There was a creative brief that was 20 pages or so that basically said: “We want to do something about Loki running up against the TVA. Here’s some different avenues that might be cool to explore.” It was really serving it up for writers as a jumping off point for us to put together our pitches. Then I went off and really worked on the idea of Loki being brought in to hunt another Loki, and that becoming the heart of the show, and the Loki/Sylvie relationship. The big thing that I did in my pitch — even as early as pitching it to Kevin [Feige] — I really walked through the six episodes, kind of similar to what they were. I knew I wanted Episode 3, for instance, to be a little bit of a Before Sunrise, with Loki and this character walking across this apocalyptic moon. But Marvel had the initial, probably the most important spark of genius, which was just Loki and the TVA.

Where did the idea of the variant being a female Loki come from? That was one of my ideas, that we then confirmed in the writers room. Yeah, we knew from the get-go that it was going to be Loki falling for another version of himself.

Why was that appealing to you? I love writing any romance; it’s fun. Especially, it hasn’t been done a ton in the MCU. There’s an obviously self-reflective quality to it. And a show that’s quite literally about self-love; it is Loki getting to see parts of himself. At the start of the show, he kind of hates himself. He assesses himself to Mobius as a villain. And then he meets Sylvie, and he sees her as someone on a heroic crusade. He sees the good in her, and is able to see the good in himself.

Mobius suggests that, of course, Loki fell in love with his own variant, because he’s a narcissist. Do you think he’d be capable of falling in love with someone who is not a version of himself? [Laughs] I don’t know if he didn’t fall in love with himself first. Maybe after that, but the first time he falls, maybe this is what it had to be.

What’s the key to telling a time travel story that takes advantage of the concept without confusing the audience? I think it’s doing a lot of work that the audience never sees. It’s really understanding the logic of this thing, building out the TVA as a real organization that actually exists in our minds. Our writers room, we had a TVA handbook, encyclopedia, what they do and why they do it, a glossary of terms. And then you want to only give the audience the absolute bare minimum to understand the story, and to just get swept up in the emotional stakes of everything. If the sci-fi of it all, if the time travel logic of this show did not hold up week to week, then that would have distracted from the emotional journeys of the characters. So I’m glad that even though everyone had to take their medicine a little bit, along with Loki, in episode one, I’m glad it didn’t distract from the story we were telling. And we had the benefit of Loki being the audience’s eyes in. The audience is learning as he is.

There’s a funny scene in Avengers: Endgame where the Avengers start arguing about exactly how time travel works in the MCU. How much did you have to study what other Marvel movies had done with the idea to make sure your rules were consistent? Fortunately, Endgame was the main one, and that’s how they understand it. The TVA is an organization that understands time travel on a deeper level, probably more comprehensively than the Avengers do in Endgame. We wanted to make sure we were staying true to any rules that they laid out, but sort of establishing our own rules. It’s a time travel show. What was I thinking? A movie’s one thing, but a show is hard.

How many Loki variants did you have on the writers room whiteboard at various points? Hundreds. So many different Lokis. There was one Loki, actually maybe it was a version of Mobius that took off his glasses, and he just had really tiny eagle eyes, like he could see everything. There was stuff like that all over the white board. Tom Kauffman, who wrote that fifth episode, he’s an amazing comedy writer, and was on the first three seasons of Rick and Morty. His first draft of that episode was just bananas.

Was there a variant, or a crazy idea in general, that you really loved but couldn’t ultimately do? There was so much different stuff that we wanted to do in the Void. But the truth is, I don’t want to say any of it, because you never know. The ideas that I want to do the most may pop up elsewhere.

Okay, so let’s stick with a variant we did see. Was Alligator Loki actually a Loki, or just an alligator that happened to be wearing a Loki’s crown? A magician can’t reveal his tricks, man. That’s the great debate. Let it rage.

What was Alligator Loki‘s origin story on your side of things? Who pitched him and how was that initially received? That was maybe my very first meeting with the producers at Marvel, Kevin Wright and Stephen Broussard, talking about the show, and me saying, “When we’re doing this, you can encounter lots of different Lokis. You could have an alligator Loki. Why? Cause he’s green.” And us all laughing about how stupid that was. I think I made the point that it’s that energy of what we can do with the show. We can have something like that, but let’s play it straight. Alligator Loki, you get a laugh out of it, but by and large you try and play it straight. That was the fun tonal balance that we tried to strike in the show.

There’s been some conflicting information out there about whether the big bad was originally just going to be He Who Remains, who’s a different comics character altogether from Kang, and whether the casting of Jonathan Majors changed the plan. From your point of view, what happened? The character was always written as a version of Kang, as early as the first draft of the script, we knew in the writers room, relatively early on. He Who Remains, that’s the guy behind the curtain with the TVA, and we saw an opportunity to fuse that mythology with the Immortus mythology. And that was just really compelling. It was a way to elevate, it just felt right for Loki, because Loki was there in the first Avengers, he’s the one who brought the Avengers together, and here is directly related to the exploding of the multiverse, this event that will drive the events of Phase Four. Certainly, when Jonathan came in, it allowed us to step on the gas of just how eccentric and charismatic this character could be. I was inspired in the writing of He Who Remains by Tom Cruise’s character in Magnolia, trying to give it that Frank TJ Mackey energy a little bit. He captures that and then elevates it to something else that’s different and weird.

You just said how important the multiverse is going to be to Phase Four of the MCU. How challenging is it to have to set up this big thing for the larger Marvel endeavor while also serving the needs of the particular story you’re telling on this show? It’s a challenge in the sense that it’s all a relay race, and you’ve got the baton on this thing, and you want to do a great job. The name of the game over at Marvel is with each movie or TV show, make it the best it can possibly be. And they’re really supportive of that, and trust that it will organically fit into the larger blueprint of everything. We were excited about introducing a version of Kang, because yeah, to introduce this new big bad was cool for our show. I was aware, and cautious, of the thing I read in your review, that it might not be the most sound storytelling to introduce a new character at the very end that we’ve never seen before as the big bad of this thing. Obviously, we had the benefit that people know who Kang is, and there’s a meta thing where a portion of the audience knows Jonathan Majors is going to be playing Kang in Phase Four. But the finale was only ever going to work if He Who Remains, in a compelling way, serviced the Loki and Sylvie emotional story. That was the most important job that that character did in the finale: he laid out a very compelling conflict that ultimately drove the two of them apart.

There has also been some confusion as to exactly when you knew that there would be a second season, as opposed to you just making a limited series. Initially, in the writers room, we were not operating as though there would be a second season. And the whole way through was, this should be a story that should stand on its own. I referenced The Leftovers and Mad Men all the time. I think about those seasons, they pushed the overall stories forward, but you can pull any one of those seasons and look at it on its own as an individual story. I wanted that to be the case here, whether we did a second season or not. I think we always felt that we would want to propel Loki forward into the MCU after the conclusion of our season. The only question was, would that be in an appearance in a movie, or would that be in a second season. And it was only over the course of development that the stars aligned to make a second season.

But that end scene, where Mobius no longer recognizes Loki and the TVA is filled with Kang statues, wouldn’t have been a satisfying conclusion to a limited series. That is an ending that only works if there’s going to be a second season. So there is another conclusion to the story that I wrote that exists out there, that I guess is just for me. My own little play, that I perform with my action figures.

What was Sylvie’s original plan, before Loki hijacked her to that dying moon? It was to empty out the TVA. The entire bombing of the Sacred Timeline was to create a diversion. She’s not going to be able to create a multiverse from doing that. Ultimately, the TVA has the manpower to get out and take care of these events, but they’re going to have to scramble a lot of their minutemen teams, and it leaves the Time-Keepers significantly less guarded than they would have been otherwise. That was her plan.

You didn’t come into this as a big comic book nerd. So was there someone on staff who could tell you, “Well, there’s this giant cloud called Alioth that eats time,” or, “Well, one time Thanos had a helicopter,” or maybe someone assigned to you by Marvel? I’m constantly reading the comics but trying to not be so beholden to the and do our own thing. I charged our writers assistant, Ryan Kohler, with, “You’ve got to become the authority on all things TVA, all things Kang, and all that.” So he and my assistant, Sophie Miller, became a support staff who read a ton of these comics and became a wealth of knowledge for the writers to turn to. And then the Marvel producers, obviously are very well versed in the comics. It was Kevin Wright who came in one day and was like somebody throwing down a blueprint in an asteroid movie, going, “Alioth! Look at this!” And we were like, “Ohmigod, this is perfect!” The best thing about working on these comic book shows is that if it’s from the comics, it doesn’t matter how much of a deus ex machina it is, it’s just cool, like, “I can’t believe you pulled that from the comics.” Alioth, that was a big breakthrough that unlocked the last two episodes for us.

That is not a famous comic book that introduces Alioth. It’s an obscure Nineties miniseries, with really ugly art. But you look at it and see what it could be. You say, “If we do this, and it feels like Twister, it’s going to be really cool.”

Was Mobius’ love of jet skis there simply to illustrate his character, or did you have a grander idea in mind? I will come clean: I’m a jet ski guy. I’ve spent a good amount of time on jet skis in my day. I used to tow a jet ski to a lake and ride it in college. So it probably was me. Loki, I was just becoming a steward of that character. Mobius was a character I really felt I got to create from nothing. There’s not really anything to that character in the comics. So bits and pieces of me found their way in. I just think there’s something so poignant — here Mobius is, a guy who is literally fighting to preserve all of time in the multiverse, and yet his interests are maybe the most humble, human, terrestrial, unremarkable thing you can think of. Just a jet ski. And when you’ve got Owen Wilson playing him and it’s just that much better.

Will you be back in some capacity for Season Two? [long pause] Time will tell.

‘Loki’ Head Writer Michael Waldron — and ‘Rick and Morty’ Alum — on MCU, ‘Heels’ and More

[previousloversandmuses]

Slow Burn - Prologue

Part I | masterlist

A/N: This is a “must read” precursor to the whole series. Please read it to know what the origin story is. 

Pairing: Y/N x Obi Wan Kenobi

Words: 2048

Warnings: None. Brief mentions of violence. Low self esteem.

I am always one to experience emotions at a heightened frequency. Dangerous for a Jedi in training I know, but the council never took it as a sign of caution, just a minor set back. Happiness is bright, and beaming, even painful. My cheeks hurt for days after, smile lines sculpting my skin too early in life. Anger is powerful, my skin becoming vicious, and hot. Ripping through me like a silver bullet, and tearing my already unrelenting gut apart. I am loud, I am violent, and most of all, passionate. I would later become grateful of this curse, turning it into a blessing. Sadness is so deep. Tears crash like an ocean, and my heart would ache in my chest. The physical symptoms of my despair become overwhelming, and make me sick.

A fresh eighteen myself, my graduation is only a year or so away. Compared to other padawans, ones that don’t deal with the same struggles as myself, have already been graced with knighthood. They make their masters proud, and have already completed more missions at sixteen than I think I ever will in my entire career. 

I had the choice to become independent, to take my morals by the throat, and shove them deep down inside me, never to be seen again- but it really just isn’t that easy. See, I’m taking this time for meditation, or even a “behavioral therapy” of sorts. I have meetings with other council members, more powerful, and more prominent than my own master, who is often off tending to matters elsewhere. A mighty general he is, but they see me as someone who would cause more of a distraction, so I stay here at the temple left to my own devices. Sometimes I think it may be because I’m a woman, and other times I just take a good look in the mirror and recall the outburst that has stained my face only minutes before. 

Today was like any other; wake up, meditate, exercise, study, combat training, study, try and find time to eat something, and study. I walked down the main hallway with Master Yoda. He spoke to me about how he once struggled with his emotions as well, but with enough meditation, learned how to keep them at bay. Looking down at him and his vacant expression, I was surprised he had ever even felt an emotion a day in his life. That was until seconds later…

Stopping in my tracks, my hand flew over my heart. I recalled feeling out of breath, like my heart had physically stopped beating in my chest, or at least was trying to catch up with the rest of my body. I was shaky, yet somehow managed to take a knee. Something was off, that feeling in my chest grew and grew until I was faced with the blackest black I had ever felt. The darkest emotion to ever run through my body, as cold as ice, and heart stopping. It was deep, I felt it within the darkest abyss in my soul. It wrapped around my insides and nestled itself a home deep within the most shielded corners of my subconscious. That’s when Master Yoda felt it too. His hand flying over his heart, and steadying himself on my own shoulder. His face morphed into a snarl, gasping at the sudden pain that now infected his unwavering calm aura. 

...

After a painstakingly slow recovery, I sat on the edge of my bed. My quarters were neat and tidy. My bed, usually made up in the morning, because I have always been one for a routine. My walls weren’t bare, in fact they were almost completely covered in photographs I have taken from my travels as a Padawan. I'd go to the library, and butcher borrowed books, clipping photos of different words, and alien fauna. But today, those bright colors capable of producing fantasies for hours and hours, seemed black and white. 

I had been staring at the floor for sometime, desperate in trying to heal the ache in my chest. It felt as if I had a cold, like the burn after a deep cough. I felt so tight, so tense, an actual living embodiment of rigor mortis. Yet, at the same time, I hardly felt all there. It was as if my existence was floating all around me, and my shell was sitting vacant on an uncomfortable mattress. The knock on my door was enough for me to engulf myself again. 

“Y/N, are you decent?” The voice asks. 

“Yes,” I reply, rolling my shoulders back. 

“The council has requested an audience. Please report downstairs within the next few minutes.”

I nod my head, as if whoever was behind the door could see me. 

“An audience,”  I think. “Let’s add another year to that training plan, shall we?”

...

Walking downstairs to the council room, I can’t help but feel that all eyes are on me. They cut through me like a hot knife, slicing me thin. I feel so vulnerable. Like everyone around me can feel what I feel, and if I’m being honest, they probably do. A good Jedi who is in tune with the force, and especially in tune with others, can sense an intense emotion from a mile away. I’m sure at this moment I pretty much equate to an open book. No reason to try and hide it, force knows I struggle with concealing even an inkling of agitation. 

Seeing the council room in sight, I take a deep breath. This is it. I’m done for. This reaction was way too over the top. I’ve scared people, I’ve scared Master Yoda. Might as well just turn in my saber now and call it a day.

I walk into the door. Only a few masters sit scattered around. Master Yoda of course perched dead center, Master Windu waiting patiently to his right. But my master was nowhere in sight. You’d think if they were going to terminate me, that maybe my own mentor would be among them? Shaking his head, sending me glares that one could only compare to fucking daggers. He was tough on me for sure, maybe he was too ashamed of what I’d done to even bear to see me in this moment. 

“Coming here so quickly you did,” Starts Master Yoda. “Grateful we all are.”

I smile and bow my head. 

“Y/N,” Master Windu starts. “We’re here to discuss the events that happened earlier.” 

Oh god here it comes. This is it. I’m totally done for. I can’t even keep myself calm now. My face, getting hotter and more red by the second, is going to be the biggest tell. At least let me go out with some dignity. 

“Your reaction, what you felt at least, was not just brought on out of the blue. Master Yoda had the same experience, as did all of us on the council, and most Jedi and padawans in the temple.”

“I don’t understand.” I say. 

“At around 1 Coruscant time, an enemy bomb was detonated on Nal Hutta.”

Then it hit me. My heart sinking, I began to shake my head. 

“Unfortunately, Unit 505, and Master Cato were all killed on impact.”

My ears ring. Slowly, I move over to a chair, bracing myself. 

“That’s,” I start, trying to find the words to say. “He would’ve felt it, all of them would, I don’t understand.”

“We have a feeling it was planted by a Sith. That’s the only way it would’ve clouded any judgement.”

I slump into it, my vision going black, my head spinning. 

Master Cato has been with me since I was a very little girl. Although rough, tough, and brutally honest, he has done nothing but be a father to me time and time again. Everything I do is a reflection of him. He had been so busy at war, fighting day in and day out, I caught myself missing the commands, and demands I once so passionately despised. I took our whole relationship for granted, and now, is this the price I have to pay? The last time we spoke he told me how disappointed he was in my outburst in my Alien Fauna lab. I was being stubborn, I was bratty, and rolled my eyes. We had argued that entire call. He didn’t even attempt to say goodbye. Now, for an eternity, I will have to face the catastrophic guilt of my actions. Live with the fact that I never, ever told him how much I appreciated him. And even, how much I loved him so. The closest thing to family in my life, gone, in the snap of a finger. 

Both Master Yoda and Master Windu continued to talk but it all felt like empty words. I couldn’t hear them anyway. 

“Although this situation isn't ideal, we and the rest of the council applaud you for being able to feel something most of us haven’t been able to experience yet.” Claimed Master Windu.

I don’t listen. I stand up again. 

“What am I going to do? I don’t feel comfortable with being knighted yet. I had- we were working on so many things I-,” I stumbled on my words. 

“You’ll get placed with a new master.”

“There are no new masters. And even if I had been trained a certain way, I don’t know how to learn otherwise.” 

There is silence. 

“The force works in mysterious ways. Meant to happen, I feel.” 

I scoff. “Meant to happen,” what an evil thing to say.

I begin to walk off, stopping of course, only to get in the last word. 

“Not only have you told me that my master has been killed, but you lack any empathy. There is no emotion in your eyes. Nothing.”

“We mourn your master y/n, just as much as you do. You know what we stand for. You know our view on attachments.”

“He's like-,” I choke. “He was like my father.”

I can’t even begin to explain the pain I feel. Disgust in myself, I should’ve been better. I could’ve been better. The last few years of our relationship I’ve just been behaving poorly and rebelling, and then getting angry at him when he made me face the consequences. Like I wasn’t aware of the job I was made to do. I should’ve been nicer, I could’ve been nicer. It’s all going in a circle, all the things I should’ve done just morphed into things I couldn’t do. Maybe I was too emotional. Maybe my tears that fell leading up to this moment was all part of the plan, the final kicker to show that I wasn’t apathetic enough for this job. My empathy, my burning passion will always be my biggest flaw. This hole that gapes inside of me will never be filled, and now it grows bigger. It’s like a disease. Am I enough? Will I ever be enough?

“Put you with Master Kenobi, we will.” States Master Yoda. 

Master Windu is quick in turning his head. He glares at him. 

“Master Yoda, General Kenobi has just finished his training with Anakin. It is far too early to give him a new Padawan, if at all.”

Yoda nods, almost giggling. 

“Yet so freshly knighted, a Padawan Anakin already has. Obi Wan will have no problem with taking on a student. Graduates soon, she will.”

“But General Kenobi and I have two completely different methods of combat, let alone ideals.” I scoff. 

“All Jedi have the same ideals.” Adds Windu. 

“He is a Jedi guardian, I am a Jedi sentinel-“

“Train with General Kenobi you will. Not long ago he also lost his master too soon.”

Master Yoda nods to me. He stands up and walks over to the large windows behind him. Looking out over Coruscant, he takes a deep sigh of relief. 

“Master Windu,” says Yoda. “Get in contact with the 212th battalion.” 

I watch on as my fate now rests in a stranger's hands.

[gffa]

Here’s the thing about Qui-Gon:  His view of Anakin is very much influenced by how he sees him as the Chosen One.  That this doesn’t negate that Qui-Gon is genuinely warm and kind towards Anakin, but that when push comes to shove, when Qui-Gon feels the need to object or ask a promise of someone, it’s not, “This boy needs our help.” but instead, “He is the Chosen One, you must see it.” and “Promise me you’ll train the boy.  He is the Chosen One.” It’s even how he broaches the topic with the Council--he tries to demure about how he doesn’t presume to assume that Anakin actually is the Chosen One, but Yoda calls his bluff, oh, you totally do think that, and even Qui-Gon has to simmer down because, yeah, Yoda’s got him.  He does think that and that is why he’s pushing for Anakin to be trained as a Jedi, despite he knows it’s going to be a hard sell. One thing I think gets overlooked a lot is that Qui-Gon is reasonably emphatic that Anakin be trained as a Jedi, I think it’s easy to assume that, because he argues with the Council, that he’s ready to turn his back on them, but honestly Qui-Gon seems to really, really love the Jedi. His friendship with Yoda in The Clone Wars and the Revenge of the Sith novelization (Legends, but I’m willing to allow it because George line-edited it) and From a Certain Point of View and the Age of Republic comics are all wonderfully touching.  Qui-Gon loves the Jedi and he wants to help them.  He wants Anakin to be trained as a Jedi.  Qui-Gon may have disagreements with his family, but he is absolutely loyal to them, that’s why he works so hard to reach out to Yoda and Obi-Wan after his death, that’s why he works so hard to get Anakin to be a Jedi when we see that he could have just said, “Fine, I’ll take him and train him on my own then.” because that’s what Obi-Wan said he would do. But that also comes with how Qui-Gon very much saw Anakin as the Chosen One and that was his argument.  That’s what it came down to for Qui-Gon, when everything else was peeled away.  “He is the Chosen One, you must see it.” It’s particularly interesting because the narrative of the prequels movies and even The Clone Wars, aside from the Mortis arc, seem incredibly unconcerned with Anakin as the Chosen One, that none of the other Jedi ever say it to his face (until after he turns to the dark side) and express a lot of doubt.  Their concern about him is wrapped up in who he is as Anakin Skywalker, not as the Chosen One.  It’s barely even brought up the other movies and never to Anakin’s face.  Qui-Gon, on the other hand, has many scenes that revolve around his belief that Anakin is the Chosen One and that’s pretty much the heart of why he’s so gung-ho about this. If you get into supplementary material, Qui-Gon is borderline obsessed with prophecies, they legitimately haunt him from the time he was 12 to even when he’s adult, he lets them go, but they always come back, which fits with his 100mph belief that Anakin must be the Chosen One.  And it’s not that he’s wrong, because Anakin absolutely is the Chosen One, but that I feel like Qui-Gon was destined to find Anakin, but not necessarily the one who was best to train him.  Because of Qui-Gon seeing him as the Chosen One rather than a kid who needed help and because their personalities were not great at meshing together. Even George Lucas says:   “So here we’re having Qui-Gon wanting to skip the early training and jump right to taking him on as his Padawan learner, which is controversial, and ultimately, the source of much of the problems that develop later on.”  –George Lucas, The Phantom Menace commentary Not “the Jedi didn’t want to help him” or “the Jedi didn’t love him enough”, etc.  But “Qui-Gon wanted to skip the early training and jump ahead, which is ultimately the source of much of the problems that develop later on”, which fits with what George has said in other commentary: “If he’d have been taken in his first year and started to study to be a Jedi, he wouldn’t have this particular connection as strong as it is and he’d have been trained to love people but not to become attached to them.”  --George Lucas, Attack of the Clones commentary The problem is that Anakin needed to go through the proper Jedi training, not skip through it on fast forward--which is why I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Anakin wanting to be made a Master is in Revenge of the Sith, every movie somehow connects to how Anakin needed more time to devote himself to the Jedi Path, not that it was doing him dirty. Qui-Gon got wrapped up in the prophecy of the Chosen One and pushed things too fast, which left everyone else scrambling in his wake.  And I can believe that this is entirely understandable, that Qui-Gon felt some great push for this and, honestly, I’m not sure he thought that he himself should be the one to train Anakin at first, because it’s not until the Jedi say no that he says, well, then I’ll train him, like he initially expected that someone else would. So, why did the Jedi make Anakin a Padawan so early, even after Qui-Gon died?  We don’t know that, we never see that part of the story, we can make some guesses and we know that Obi-Wan was doing his best and that he had support from the community around him, but the specific details we aren’t sure of, only that George sources the problem back to Qui-Gon trying to push Anakin forward too quickly.  (Which I maintain can be taken in a sympathetic light!) And that ties together with Qui-Gon’s view of him being the Chosen One, and he does try to balance it with Anakin being a young kid who is being thrown into these wild circumstances, he’s very warm with him, but we see so many Jedi being warm with younglings--look at Plo when he first picks up Ahsoka, look at Mace with the little Twi’lek girl who needed help, look at Yoda with the younglings in AOTC and “The Gathering”, so it’s not like Qui-Gon was the only one.  And he does look at Anakin and see The Chosen One more than anyone else because, when everything else falls away, when he only has a few moments left to live, that’s what he says for his final words.  He touches Obi-Wan’s face gently and says, “Train the boy.  He is the Chosen One, he will bring balance.” And when he’s being denied training Anakin, it’s not about Anakin himself or what Anakin as a person needs.  It’s about, “He is the Chosen One!  You must see it!”  Which isn’t at all what Anakin needed, imo. Rather, I think Qui-Gon would have been a much better grand-master to Anakin, the one who could spoil him when he came around, the one Anakin could commiserate with when he was mad at Obi-Wan, who would be able to temper Anakin’s need for someone to crab with versus that Qui-Gon would care about being kind to Obi-Wan at the same time.  And it’d be nice for Anakin to feel like he could “gang up on” Obi-Wan with someone, since other Jedi were available, but I’m not sure Anakin would have had that kind of relationship with them. Ultimately, Anakin’s choices were his own more than they were anyone else’s, it can’t be about “if this or this had happened around him, he would have chosen differently!” because that strips Anakin of agency as a character.  But this is why I don’t think Qui-Gon was some magic answer because, honestly, if it had been that easy to prevent Anakin from going dark side, of course Obi-Wan would have stepped into whatever role he felt Anakin needed.  But the truth was that Anakin needed more self-reflection, not some external force that was missing in his life.  Anakin’s choices were his own, based on his own inability to confront the fears within himself because he never really wanted to, and I don’t see the evidence where Qui-Gon would have succeeded in that, versus where others couldn’t convince Anakin to do it.