#at least that was blatant. at least he didn't try holding hands with the people he was actively pushing off the site. do you get what im

[rotshop]

no sorry i do have more to say on this actually. this layout is so indistinguishable from twitter that i genuinely cannot see the appeal in using this site anymore because. erm. well. i have twitter right there. i can just use that if i want to. in fact i would probably like it MORE there because at least thats familiar and not some massive frankensteined overhaul of a layout that's stayed relatively the same for years upon years. yes obviously there are differences in management, but i dont like staff here either. like you all fucking remember that massive wave of bots. mobile has been a warzone. the desktop version is held together with tape and twigs.

also the excuse that this is 'to help twitter users adjust !!' is ummm bullshit and also a lie an also bullshit. like first of all that is the most condescending shit ever. every single site you use is going to take some time to learn and grow familiar with, that's just how your brain works, that makes sense. so now just totally cutting that step out is a little bit 'oh i know this is so so so so so hard for you so im going to make it unbearably easy'. do you get what im saying. also if it was just to help twitter users adjust you wouldn't make it a mandatory change for people who didn't use twitter to adapt to as well. you're literally just shifting your audience. you cant have your cake and eat it too.

[mondaymelon]

when they first fell in love with you. ♡

(sumeru genshin impact males x gn!reader)

written headcanon style! enjoy ✩

(a/n) might be writing a part two of this with tighnari and some other male genshin characters so please comment which characters you would like to see! thank you for reading ♡

˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚

cyno ♡

he was never the emotional man, at least not around other people. but to you, he was just the hobby-chasing mahamatra who liked to play card games religiously.

the two of you met a long time ago, years before, during his time at the academia. The two of you had the same biology class. over the course of half a semester and more than a few group projects, you could say the two of you had grown relatively close.

close enough that cyno, being cyno, was comfortable enough to tell always tell you his most terrible jokes.

"hey. why did the biologist break up with the physicist?"

you had stared at him quizzically, not sure if this was a test or an actual question about the work, but replied anyway. "what?"

"they... had no chemistry."

"..."

"do you get it - because like chemistry is a subject of science and biologists study the science of life and we're in science class and-"

he'll never forget the way you laughed that day. the way your serious expression faded into one trying to hold back laughter, and the way your lips curved upwards instantly... he felt his heart skip a beat as you let out a quiet giggle under your breath. he didn't know why or what, but a wave of affection swept over him, almost engulfing him completely before he reeled it back, face tinted red.

"hehe, you're funny, cyno." you had told him, smiling sweetly, still struggling to mute your laughs.

"am i?" cynos crimson eyes were wide as he looked at you with a look of surprise.

"mhm!" you nodded at him, beaming. "oh, are you free after school today? we should meet up to do the homework."

cyno hid his face from you then, face burning and flushed red as he mumbled out a response. "i'm free."

"great!" you slid him a slip of paper, torn off of your biology worksheet. "i figured you should have my number. don't forget to text me, okay?"

"i won't."

and he kept his word.

al haitham ♡

it all happened after the school announced an academia-wide field trip to the desert, quite the far trek in hindsight. you were surprised the school even agreed to it. that aside, the entire school was excited about it, especially to people who had moved from the sandy dunes to the lively rainforest in order to study at the academia.

however, al haitham, your literature class partner, had stayed silent. you glanced at him several times throughout the entire day, but his expression didn't change one bit, nor did he even look from his book.

"al haitham." you called out his name, eyes sparkling curiously. "what are you reading?"

"a comprehensive look at sumeru's last 300 years." his answer was short and quick. you whistled, impressed that he was willingly reading such a text.

"are you going on the field trip?" you questioned, wanting to ask but not wanting to annoy him.

"i see no reason not to." yet another blatant answer. he turned the page absent-mindingly, eyes trailing from sentence to sentence. you decided to let him read, not wanting to bother him more than you already had.

just then, a group of students walked into the room, bustling about loudly and chatting amongst themselves not too quietly at all. if they noticed the two of you, they certainly didn't care. they laughed and shouted some more before taking the tables next to where the two of you sat and continued to squawk about.

you caught al haitham wincing at the noise, mutely noting the fact that he had taken off his headphones. you never realized the ashen-haired man had sensitive hearing, but now a lot more things made sense- especially the fact that haitham never ate lunch, like the other students, in the cafeteria.

hesitantly, you reached up and cupped your hands over al haitham's exposed ears. "is it too loud?" you whispered as quietly as you could, hoping that al haitham wouldn't be bothered by your question.

as you glanced down at his expression, his look of astoundment startled you. his emerald eyes sparkled with a look of tenderness that you would've expected as he gazed up at you, his diamond shaped pupils staring up at you and you only.

then, so subtle you almost missed it, he whispered, face flushed:

"thank you."

kaveh ♡

kaveh was always a friendly person, and that was certainly not an exception when it came to you. after a class, he would always burst into the room and come to walk you to your next one.

it come to a point where you would wait for him to show up after the lecture ended, purposely packing up your things slower as you scanned the door for any signs of the blonde man. and he always showed up.

always.

except, then he didn't. you waited until the students of the next hour began to come in, and then waited more until you were sure you were already late. yet, he still didn't show up. worry began gnawing at your stomach as you fidgeted through all of your classes that day, mind cloudy.

and he wasn't there the day after that, either. you missed his presence, his sunny demeanor, and his blushing reaction whenever you decided to tease him.

after about a week of the constant torture, he showed up again, grinning and raising his hand as if he was expecting a wave after your design class.

and you didn't just give him a wave. you dropped all your things instantly, eyes wide and teary, and leaped onto the man, sending both of you tumbling to the ground as you gave him the tightest hug you could manage.

underneath you, kaveh let out a shout of surprise, trying to get you off of him so he could get up, but he wouldn't budge. and he glanced down at you, confused at what had gotten you so worked up, he spotted glistening tears spilling down your face.

"wh-what's happened?" he questioned with a worried expression as he helped you up, tears still running down from your eyes. "did someone hurt you? who was it??"

"idiot..." you leaned against his figure, burying your face into his chest, not caring if you were to be late or not. "you left without a word...!"

"i-i'm sorry-!" kaveh glanced down at your figure clinging onto him, face flushed as his heart pounded so loud that he was sure you would be able to hear it. "i caught a cold..."

"don't leave me again like that, okay??"

"o-okay."

wanderer ♡

you had known him for a long time now, you would've admitted if you had no other choice but to be truthful. but it was a hopeless thing, since never once did he ever seem to notice you - much less care about you or your wellbeing.

at least he had never outright told you that he disliked your presence. it was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

so it was a surprise when he showed up at your doorstep, clothes and hair drenched from the relentless rain outside. he stared at the ground sheepishly, expression embarrassed as he spoke. "i... i didn't have anywhere else to go."

"oh." you had stood there for quite a bit, mouth rounded and eyes wide before returning to your senses. "you can come inside. i'll get you a towel."

the dark-haired man nodded silently, stepping outside as drops of water fell from the sides of his hat. you halted, whipping around. "leave that on the porch."

"but-"

"it's wet. it's going to be no help when we try to get you dry." seeing scaramouche's face fall, you cleared your throat. "but if you must, you can leave it in the mudroom."

"...alright."

you weren't even sure why he was sitting in your living room, a towel around him and sitting on your couch by the fireside, slowly sipping a hot mug of tea. he didn't seem to be thinking of speaking anytime soon, so you did it in his place.

"did you need something?" you questioned him after taking a long sip from your own mug.

"no, i just..." he shook his head. "can i stay here? just for a little while longer?"

the softness in his voice startled you, but you managed to give him an answer without stuttering either way. "you can stay for however long you want." at your response, you saw the male's eyes light up, along with his face flushing a bit too, an action that was not gone unnoticed.

"...i appreciate it. i want you to know that i really do. thank you."

masterlist ✩ next

[clownakai]

Shuuichi is revising the latest material from his Physics class when his cellphone starts ringing.

He doesn't react immediately, mostly because for a handful of seconds he's absolutely sure that he's just hallucinating the noise. It takes him a bit longer yet to connect the dots: yes, his phone is actually ringing and yes, he really should answer it before it goes to voicemail.

"Hello?" He says in English as soon as he flips the phone open. Shuuichi can count on two hands the people who have his number, and on a single one those who use it at least semi-regularly. Statistically speaking—

"Nii-san?" Nevermind.

"Shuukichi." Glancing at the clock above his desk, Shuuichi quickly does a bit of mental math and proceeds to frown at the wall. "Why aren't you in bed?" He asks, this time in Japanese.

"I am!" His brother replies vehemently, loud enough that Shuuichi yanks the phone away from his ear on instinct. "Sorry," comes immediately afterwards, much more subdued, "I didn't mean to yell.

"I am in bed." Shuukichi repeats. "But... I can't sleep." A tiny little noise— almost inaudible, really— reaches Shuuichi's ears. Sniffling, he realizes after a beat. His brother is trying to hold it back and only partly succeeding.

Shuuichi presses the receiver against his ear again and stands up, coursework forgotten as he begins to pace around the room. "Have you been crying? Why?"

"'M not crying." His brother denies, another sniffle crackling through the receiver. Shuuichi very nearly calls him out on the blatant lie, but reconsiders at the last moment.

"Alright," he concedes. A change in his line of questioning is probably the best call right now. "Why can't you sleep, then? Is it storming over there?"

Shuukichi has never liked storms, truth be told. He's gotten leagues better about them compared to when he was in primary school, but Shuuichi has lived through his fair share of impromptu sleepovers whenever the bone-rattling noise and flashing lights got to be too much for his brother to bear.

Mum used to let them hang out on the couch on those nights, bundled up in blankets regardless of the season, usually with something playing on TV as little more than background noise; it's not like Shuukichi would manage to stay awake for long anyway. As long as he got some company, the storm seemed to become rather innocuous in his little brother's eyes.

"It did for a while." Shuukichi's voice snaps him out of his daze. "Thunder and all. It's just rain now. But I still..."

Shuuichi waits for a continuation that he knows won't come. Glancing outside, he admires the rivulets of water streaming down the window, and then the sky up above, cold and gray. On the other end of the receiver, his brother sniffles again.

It rains because you're sad, Shuuichi thinks irrationally, the way a child would swear up and down that the moon chases their parent's moving car.

"It's raining over here, too." Is what he actually says.

"Really?"

"Mhm."

"Unlucky..." Shuukichi sounds genuinely put out by the notion, for reasons Shuuichi can't even imagine. "What are you studying?"

Shuuichi rolls his eyes. "What makes you think I'm studying?"

"You're always studying, nii-san." Touché. But who would ever want to admit their little brother is right?

"Piss off," he lets slip, momentarily switching back to English. Then he sighs, knowing that resistance is futile. "Physics."

Shuukichi giggles triumphantly in his ear. "I knew it." A brief pause. Then, "Which topic? Is it interesting?"

It's at this point that Shuuichi finally catches on to what his brother isn't saying. The knowledge sits heavy in his gut, something dangerously close to guilt rearing its head in the back of his mind.

He doesn't... God, it sounds horrible to even acknowledge, but Shuuichi has yet to find himself forlornly thinking about his family the way he sometimes catches his fellow foreign students doing. He's not even sure he can say for certain that he doesn't miss them, is the thing, because in moments like this his chest feels like it's going to break open and swallow everything in its vicinity— Shuuichi's personal little black hole, futilely trying to fill a void he wasn't even aware had been left behind when he first boarded that States-bound plane.

But he still— he doesn't think about his family as much as he probably should. Case in point: he has a sister now. Masumi is only a few months old, but she's there, on the other side of the world. Shuukichi would know how she's faring, and yet Shuuichi didn't even think of asking after her until now. He just... forgot.

What kind of person does that make him?

"Nii-san?" Shit.

"Sorry," he replies, scrambling for an explanation that isn't 'I just realized I might not even miss you all most of the time', "I was looking for a topic you'd be able to understand. Wouldn't want to overload your brain."

Shuukichi makes an indignant noise. "Hey! I'll have you know—"

"Do you have your blanket?" Shuuichi continues as if his brother hadn't said anything. "The mouse one."

Shuukichi huffs upon being cut off, but answers affirmatively. "I laid it out on top of the sheets. Helps cover the glow of my phone screen, just in case." Clever kid. Shuuichi is sure that's not the only reason the old blanket isn't stuffed in the back of his brother's closet, but he magnanimously lets the topic slide.

"Good. How does electromagnetism sound?"

Shuuichi talks for almost half an hour. Unused to it as he is, his voice gets rougher and weaker the longer he goes on, but he presses on until Shuukichi stops asking questions altogether and doesn't reply when prompted.

The receiver picks up the feeble— though regular— sound of the boy's breathing, and if Shuuichi falls completely silent to listen to it for a few minutes before hanging up, well... Nobody needs to know that.

(Outside, the rain stops falling.)

[wishful-thinking64]

One Hell of an Unpopular Opinion #08

Two out of the three Hispanic characters in Hazbin Hotel are deeply rooted damaging stereotypes within Spanish & Latin American cultures and the one that isn't a blatant stereotype is misused. ___________

With Spanish Heritage Month right around the corner and being a Latina myself, I think it's more than fair for me to give my thoughts on the Latinos (in Spanish, it doesn't matter if there's only one guy in a primarily female group, you have to put Latinos) in HH. Let's start off with the least offensive out of the group, Carmilla Carmine.

We're introduced to her in Scrambled Eggs which is Episode #03 of HH. She invited each of the Overlords to a meeting to speak about how brutal this year's Extermination was and what they could do going forward. During said meeting, Velvette throws the head of a decapitated Exorcist on the table for her to try and take control of the conversation. Things before and during the song Respectless (why this song wasn't called Disrespect or Diss-respect is something I'll never understand) escalate as Velvette figures out that Carmilla is the one behind the dead Exorcist based on her body language and when she asks, "You know why this angel's headless? Do you have a disclosure?" Carmilla immediately ends the meeting thereafter, confirming her suspicions were correct. People have already criticized the mystery of the dead Exorcist being solved way too soon, though I haven't seen as many people criticize why the other Overlords didn't look or immediately question Carmilla the SECOND that Exorcist's head rolled on the table? Like, you guys know that she's Hell's top ANGELIC arms dealer, why wouldn't any of you suspect her from the start? Even if she had ended up being a red herring, I would've seen it as the Overlords using the process of elimination and common sense cause why wouldn't the ANGELIC arms dealer kill an Exorcist??? In any case, the reason behind Carmilla killing the Exorcist was to protect her daughters and thus someone we should sympathize with. Except that, we don't know anything about her daughters and we still don't know her. So why should I care? I have no attachment and therefore no proper reason to care for a character I JUST met. And don't get me started on her daughters as they're nothing more than minor plot devices who could've been replaced by Vaggie. Speaking of which...

Vaggie is based on two harmful Latina tropes and one harmful LGBTQ+ trope with these being the "Feisty" Latina, the Crazed Latina, and the Man Hating Lesbian. Whenever the "feisty" Latina is done in media, she's almost never actually feisty but rather plain bitchy. The word feisty is used because the show runners tend to want the audience to like this character as, to them, she's (somehow), "a woman who knows what she wants and how to take charge." We see this several times when Vaggie isn't interacting with Charlie though I would say the times that this backfired the most was in Episode #01 and Episode #04. Back in Episode #01 when Vaggie was working on the hotel's commercial she wants Alastor to help out with it. Mind you, she previously slandered the advertisement he had originally made for the hotel so I don't know why she wants his help with making a new one in the first place but nonetheless Alastor basically says, "Yeah. No. I'm not gonna help you cause you already know I hate modern media and you clearly didn't like what I had planned so figure it out." Now, instead of ending the conversation and leaving the man who wants no part in this alone, she holds up the camera that she has in her hands and not only films him but actively mocks him too. This isn't a "bold move" like I've seen people claim it to be, it was simply moronic since she already knew he was an Overlord that's killed and fought people over MINOR INCONVENIENCES. After this the two strike a deal which is another plain stupid move on Vaggie's part as that's only going to come back and bite her in the ass later on in the series. Meanwhile, in Episode #04, she told Husk to go after Angel Dust even though... A.) Going after the residents isn't in his job description. B.) If ANYONE is going after the residents it should probably be THE MANAGER since it's their job to make sure that everything between the staff AND customers is good. C.) She KNOWS that Husk has been sexually and physically harassed by Angel in the past as not only has she SEEN it but she's TOLD Angel to stop harassing the staff. I guess the safety of your co-workers doesn't matter though if Charlie's sad. D.) Lastly, I swear that there was a rule that was established early on about NOT FORCING RESIDENTS TO STAY AT THE HOTEL. Like, am I tripping or did the series retcon that super fast??? Anyway, the point is that the series has Vaggie acting like a snide bitch when she's interacting with anyone other than Charlie. This "feisty" Latina stereotype goes hand in hand with the crazed Latina. The crazed Latina trope is when a Latina will throw hands for the dumbest of reasons or for little to no reason at all. It makes it seem that Latina's are overly aggressive which is how the series portrays Vaggie. She's always seen wielding an angelic spear 24/7 knowing that she can kill any resident or staff member who steps out of line with her, constantly seen threatening to hurt others with it. Out of the two racial stereotypes this one has been called out the most as it's paired with the man hating Lesbian trope because every time Vaggie's threatened to kill someone with said angelic spear, it has ALWAYS been a MALE character. Okay, now it's time to end this off by addressing the elephant in the room that is Valentino.

Oh, God. Where do I start with this failure of a character? I suppose, I'll start with the Casanova aka the Enticing Latin Lover archetype. This involves a strong suave man who's tall, dark (or I guess light purple in Val's case), and handsome (I wouldn't call him that but that's how he's portrayed in the series) as well as being full of ulterior motives! He's the sultry hypersexual Hispanic seducer that everybody can't seem to get enough of. I wouldn't have nearly as much of an issue with this as he's the Overlord of Lust but with how the stans either absolve him of or make LIGHT of his crimes solely because they think how he looks, sounds, and acts is hot (brother eugh), with the show runners encouraging stuff like that on social media (yes, I'm referring to when people were comparing Val's personality to Karen Smith from Mean Girls with Viv agreeing with it cause he's so dumb), his sole purpose is being a plot device for Angel Dust and being fetish fuel. Which really bothers me considering that a good chunk of Hazbin Hotel stans are LITERAL CHILDREN! Continuing on, we have ill tempered and idiotic Machismo/Macho Man. The show can't seem to make up its mind whether or not they want us to take Valentino seriously or not. I get what they're trying to do by making Val intimidating and cunning at one point and a "charming" himbo the next but it's done in such a jarring way that could've been easily fixed had they shown him being more creepy towards lower class demons and Sinners but have him be "charming" towards Overlords and other members of Hell's high society. Like in the show, he's openly verbally violent towards Angel Dust while Charlie is in his presence (I also hate the fact that show Charlie didn't actually do anything when she noticed that Val had hit Angel cause pilot Charlie would've thrown hands regardless of what Angel told her) and doesn't give a flying fuck when she's turning into her demon form RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIM! Then there's the fact that the Hellaverse doesn't take violence seriously until it HAS to and then these moments can come across as unintentionally comedic. Case and point, when I initially saw Valentino backhand Angel Dust in Episode #04, I AUDIBLY LAUGHED. That shit SHOULD NOT have been nearly as funny as it was! It was meant to be a serious moment where the show segues into how Angel is abused at his job but there I was laughing my ass off in my room for a solid thirty seconds before I was able to regain my composure. Next up is point three about the Cholo or gangster archetype in which a Latino will wear stylish street wear clothes (similar to the outfit Val wears in Episode #04) and commit violent crimes. My previous points indirectly had me go into depth about the violent crimes part so let's move onto point four which is Val being a drug addict and drug maker. Latin characters (specifically men) have been depicted as drug dealers and druggies since AT LEAST the 1970s (it only makes it worse that Valentino supposedly died in this time period.) It's been heavily implied that the smoke from his cigarettes acts as an aphrodisiac which is why he blows it in other peoples faces so much. We see him smoking cigarettes (which contain so much God damn chemicals in them but especially nicotine) throughout the show like its nothing meaning he's gotta have a high nicotine intake (logically, he would've gotten lung cancer by now.) The last racial stereotype that they gave him is the raging alcoholic and I know that anyone can become a raging alcoholic however alcoholism is actually a very common problem among Latinos as more than 33% of them suffer from issues related to an alcohol dependency. It's an ongoing problem that many Hispanics face and seeing how Val is already shown to be a violent individual WITHOUT alcohol in his system, that's only going to make him worse and we saw that in Episode #02 when Val got more irritable and threw his drink in Vox's direction upon knowing Angel Dust was staying at the HH.

___________ People of the jury, I rest my case and I hope you all liked reading my thoughts and I'll see you later!

[asha-mage]

Assorted Thoughts From Forcing My Friends to Watch all of WoT as a birthday gift, Season 2 Edition-

When taken as a whole unit, the show actually completely conveys what's happening with Lan's bond from the jump, it's just that several characters are incorrect or working with incorrect information- as was often the case in the books. Lan thinks he's just been blocked out, but in reality Moiraine has released his bond entirely (as she floated she might do to Alanna back in season 1) and you can see the moment he realizes this in episode 2, when saddling the horses- he realizes that he didn't sense the Fade and what that means, and then Moiriane realizes he has realized.

The show in general is a lot more subtle, and a lot more willing to delve into the idea that often characters are just...wrong, or uninformed, or lying, without holding the audience's hand to explain that fact then I think people give it credit for- which is very in line with Jordan's ethos. For example, Ishamael's telling of Perrin 'the more wolf you become the more you are mine' is a blatant manipulation attempt to scare him into being afraid of his Wolfbrother powers and Perrin, who is going through hell, just buys it- and that makes sense he's already wrestling his own anger issues and fear. He doesn't question why Ishamael would tell him this, or what the effect would be (i.e not trusting the wolves, and thus maybe making himself more vulnerable to the Shadow) he just accepts it because it plays into his existing fears and biases about himself.

Anvare also raises this point really well when she gives her 'ask yourself- is it true?' speech to Moiraine. Moiraine is operating at that point under a lot of assumptions that aren't true- not just that Lanfear is going to hurt or capture Rand, but also that she really was stilled, that she can't trust Lan with her fears and doubts, that her presence is a threat to Barthanes and Anvare (when really Barthanes's presence is a threat to her)- and this moment, is meant to cast doubt not just on that, but on a lot of the assumptions the audience has likely been making too, which characters their taking at face value and which characters their thinking off through the lens of their own biases.

Continuing the trend of Moiraine displaying many of the bad coping mechanisms that will later dog Rand/Rand will internalize from her- @ofthebrownajah pointed out recently Rand's consistent issues with food and eating, which made it stick out to me how frequently in the show Moiraine has a similar problem. People repeatedly try to reach out to Moiraine via food/encouraging her to take care of herself, and she repeatedly rejects them. Lan's attempt to get her to come down for dinner, then to bring dinner to her in her rooms, Barthanes's sandwich, tea with Anvare- Moiraine has her walls raised so high she rejects this basic form of self-care and attempt to reach out hand in hand. This is especially notably because their is a repeated emphasis on food this season. Every major character gets at least one scene eating or drinking this season (Egwene and Elayne doing bootleg, Rand grabbing flatbread on his way to work, Mat with Liandrin's honey cakes, Nynaeve preparing dinner in the arches world, Lan sharing dinner with Alanna's family at her farm) but even Moiraine's eventual forced tea with Anvare goes deliberately unshown.

On rewatch I think that, while I really really love the moment where Renna and Seta are left to the mercy of their own culture by Nynaeve and Egwene in the books, the moment of Egwene killing Renna just makes the most narrative sense for the show- and I think will be a change that they are going to walk out through it's consequences.

The point of that sequence in the book is that Nynaeve understands that Egwene's bloodlust and anger are valid- but that the fact of killing will not help her in the long run. "It's okay to hate them. They deserve it. It's not okay to let them make you like them." I suspect, especially given how thoughtful the show has been about violence and death (and how clearly hollow the experience of actually killing Renna is for Egwene) that the show will take the plank of 'she deserved to die- but killing her did not undo everything you went through or heal you'. Which, again makes sense both Egwene's oncoming Aiel arc, and the fact that the books do spend a lot of time focusing on Egwene working through the trauma of her captivity.

The arches are another thing I've come around on after initial trepidation about their changes. I think each manages to still cut at the heart of Nynaeve's character arc and her struggles. The last one was my biggest concern, the shift from Nynaeve deliberately rejecting a perfect life with Lan for the sake of going back for the other Emond's Fielders to Nynaeve going back after realizing that such a life lived with Lan, as much as it might give her joy for a time, would still be hollow in the end. She can't turn her back on the struggles of the world and her friends without consequence- she can't just go back to life in the Two Rivers. She has to keep fighting for what she loves.

I think the choice itself also works when put in the context of the steady removal of Nynaeve's charges one by one. She thinks Rand is dead (and is probably blaming herself for his death as pops up in her interaction with Tam), Mat ran off, and Perrin is safe with the Shinearans. Her main charge left is Egwene- and hering that she's not helping Egwene but hurting her, overshadowing her- removes the final reason she really had for being at the White Tower, staying on the adventure. If the people she left home to save don't need her- then why is she there?

I continue to really think people are over hyping how bad the show supposedly makes Siuan look- my friends despite being largely uninitiated in the book series immediately groked that Siuan and Moiraine where just doing what they felt was right, in a complicated situation. They both are trying to save the world, and they love each other- but the world is more important.

Moiraine also brings a lot of the trouble on herself by not telling Siuan she was stilled and damaging the trust between them- leaving that detail out is the first crack in Siuan's ability to trust Moiraine still be honest with her, her partner in all this, and then her seeming to have either lied or regained that power, right at the moment she's allied with Lanfear, is the final blow any hope they where still standing together.

Despite stopping frequently to talk at even minor moments, we ran through almost the entire finale without pausing and then collectively all just sat there speechless. Man is the battle of Falme and everything around it so good.

Quote one of my friends re: Moghiden "Oh she's a little freak."

Also shout out to Lanfear for making one of my MLM friends doubt his sexuality with her 'short hair pirate t shirt look'.

That entire scene in the dream world bedroom cased a collective meltdown and one of my other friends to say 'oh I see why you where insane about this'

The effects continue to be killer throughout the season and god I can't wait to see season 3.

[sha-n-dowbannedlol]

K. Ayato — "Who are you to make such decisions for me?"

CW: slight angst, comfort, mentions of arranged marriage, insecure reader

"At this very moment, I am not speaking with you as your lover, Ayato, but as the Head of the Kamisato Clan and as the Yashiro Commissioner," Despite the seriousness in his words, Ayato still spoke to you with a gentle tone, as if it would lessen the blow of his words, "But who are you to make such decisions for me? For me to listen to your ridiculous advice?"

A gasp left you in surprise at his words, not once had Ayato ever belittled you with his words—the tears that you tried so hard to hold back started streaming down your cheeks.

But how did it all come to this?

It all started a few days ago when a prestigious clan head visited the Kamisato Estate.

As always, Ayato welcomed his esteemed guests with a smile, even if his stomach churned at the sight of these pompous freaks. The Head of the Household had his retainers serve only the best of the best to such people, if only to remain on their good side; publicity is essential to the Yashiro Commission, after all.

And as Ayato had expected, it was another clan who was hoping to arrange a marriage with him, and he had to sit there with a polite smile on his face as he listened to them ramble on and on about their heir's good qualities and how this will make the already powerful Kamisato Clan even more potent by combining the wealth and power that both clans possess.

At least marrying their heir would be a hundred times better than Ayato marrying his current partner—a nobody.

The smile on Ayato's face still hadn't dropped, but he wasn't able to stop the words from his mouth after the bastard spoke about you in such a degrading way.

"I went through rigorous training as a child in preparation to become the Head of the Kamisato Clan. Similarly, I would only choose whom I deem is best to be a part of it." Ayato gave his guest a close-eyed smile, "So what makes you think I'd let a clan who holds no respect for others to be a part of my family?"

"Wh-"

"This meeting had been eventful," The blue-haired young man finally stands up, still with a closed-lipped smile plastered across his features, "Unfortunately, I still have a lot of work to do. I'd see to it that my retainers show you the way out."

He hears the old man scramble to stand up as he slides the shoji open, he stopped in his tracks and turns his head to the side to speak one last time.

"That's a no, by the way. Just in case you didn't get it."

The old junk still had the gall to try and convince Ayato to change his mind—outside of the tri-commission, we're one of the most powerful clans in Inazuma! you're going to regret this, Kamisato!—while the Kamisato Head simply exits the room, not even wanting to hear it.

A sigh escapes his lips, bringing his fingers to massage his temples as he feels a headache coming up. As entertaining as it was to see these old fools turn red in their faces as they get rejected for probably the first time in their lives, these arranged marriages are starting to annoy him—especially the blatant disrespect that these clan heads seem to hold towards you, the love of his life.

Maybe he should marry you just to get these old bastards to shut up. A genuine smile makes its way to his face at the thought. He'd even invite all the clans who tried to set up a marriage with him just to see their reactions; he gets to marry you and see these old men fuming all in one occasion—what a fine idea, indeed.

Meanwhile, your own eyes pop out of your head and your jaw dropped to the floor as you heard just who it was that asked for Ayato's hand this time—such a prestigious clan that you were sure that even Ayato's great grandchildren will be set to have a prestigious life had Ayato agreed to their proposition. The surprise easily faded away as you frown at the thought of another clan wanting your lover's hand which was quick to worry Thoma who swiftly boasted to you about how Ayato turned the offer down and how Waka talks about you all the time! Your name is the only thing I hear from his lips, he's seriously whipped!

You only smiled at Thoma's words, waving his concern away, trying to will your thoughts and insecurities out of your mind as you changed the topic to speak with the retainer about much more mundane topics instead of your boyfriend's suitors.

Maybe you'll stop thinking this way once you see Ayato again. Yeah, he'd reassure you over and over again, even if it meant forever. He will.

Unfortunately, Ayato had grown busier in the next few days.

And while the thoughts of finally deciding to take the next step of your relationship festered in Ayato's mind, your own insecurities continued to fester in yours.

There are much better options than yourself. It would be better for the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner alike if Ayato marries someone with power as well. Can you even handle being a Kamisato? Being in the Yashiro Commission? And all the responsibilities that come with it?

No matter how much you look at it, it really would be much better if he engages in a romantic relationship with someone of the same status as him.

These thoughts continue to fester even as you stand in front of Ayato after days of not seeing each other, with him apologizing for being so busy that he wasn't able to see you.

"I don't think this is working anymore, Ayato." Your eyes were hazy as you look into his lilac ones, you watch as all emotions were suddenly drained from his face at your words.

"Excuse me?" He responds, almost blankly

"I think we should end things." You repeat, now bowing slightly out of respect, but mostly to hide the tears building up in your eyes. "Thank you for everything. I'll see you around, Mr. Yashiro Commissioner."

"At least tell me why," you suddenly freeze at your position at his words, "I deserve that much at the very least, don't you think?"

"I thought it was obvious?" you clench your fists at your sides, "You're a man of status, I am but a normal citizen. It would do you and your clan well if you were to marry someone as esteemed as yourself."

Ayato remains silent, watching your bowed head whip up to face him, the features he loves so much giving him a gentle, close-eyed smile as you continue to speak.

"You should marry her, Ayato." You didn't mention any names, but he already knew you were talking about the girl from that last clan that asked for his hand, "It's what I want, I wouldn't want to get in the way of the growth of your clan."

That was it. You were sure Ayato would see things from your perspective, that he would understand where you're coming from. His family is his utmost priority, he would do anything for them, you knew that much—that's how you knew he would also let you go.

"...And why should I listen to you?"

Your eyes suddenly open, wide as saucers at his response while he looks at you with as much seriousness as he could muster, but beneath his facade laid an underlying hurt from your words.

"Aya-"

"You have no political experience, you know nothing when it comes to power and anything about the clans in Inazuma." He continues, now raising a brow at you. "What makes you think you're qualified to make such a major decision for me?"

You were stunned into silence now, your mind not even conjuring up words to throw back at him,

"At this very moment, I am not speaking with you as your lover, Ayato, but as the Head of the Kamisato Clan and as the Yashiro Commissioner," Despite the seriousness in his words, Ayato still spoke to you with a gentle tone, as if it would lessen the blow of his words, "But who are you to make such decisions for me? For me to listen to your ridiculous advice?"

A gasp left you in surprise at his words, not once had Ayato ever belittled you with his words—the tears that you tried so hard to hold back started streaming down your cheeks. But it wasn't one out of sadness and hurt, they were of joy.

A faint smile made its way on Ayato's face as he takes a step forward, cupping your face with his hands and using his thumbs to wipe your tears away from your face, your hands shoot up to hold his, clutching onto his wrists.

"It pains me to know that you're willing to give me up so easily," You open your mouth to refute his words, but he was swift to shut you up by pecking your lips with his, "But I need you to trust me when I tell you that marrying you is a decision made not only by Ayato, but by the Head of the Kamisato Clan and the Yashiro Commissioner as well,"

"But you already said it yourself—I know next to nothing about these things."

"But you're willing to learn, are you not?" He gives you a much more genuine smile this time as he watches you nod, "And that already makes you better than most of the spoiled heirs they keep throwing at me."

His hands slide down from your cheeks to your lower back, pushing your front to him and pulling you into a tight embrace. Holding you as close as possible, his heart finally calms down when he feels you melt into his arms, the possibility of you slipping away from him now finally gone.

"Don't scare me like that again..."

Kamisato Ayato would do anything for his family—and in your insecurities, you had failed to realize that his family includes you too.

[ike-bana]

Fragments (Dabi x reader)

Pairing : Dabi x fem! reader

words: 1.9K

Genre: Angst

Content warning : Toxic relationships/unhealthy relationships, arguments, alcohol use, smoking,angst,mentions of abuse, swearing, mentions of violence,pregnancy,mature/adult themes,no clear spoliers except you squint really hard,manupilation(if you squint). Minors DNI

Summary: All that's left of your relationship were tiny fragments, tiny little fragments you were trying to put back together yet even you were reaching your limit.

Songs to set the mood: Been like this by Doja cat / I hate everything about you by three days grace. If you have your own playlist,it's fine as well!

A/N: I was in a angsty mood and this came up so suffer or enjoy whichever. I also used the British past tense of burn cause that's what I use. I view the reader as female but I don't think gender was stated here so do with that what you wish

You sat there on the cold tiled floor as your back was leaning on the kitchen wall. You covered your face with your trembling tear stained hands. Your eyes were red and puffy and your head was throbbing. Your body was worn and weary from all the crying that you could no longer let out a proper sob. You let out a shaky sigh as you were terribly exhausted. This wasn't new to you, you were used to situations like this, often times you'd lock yourself in the bathroom hugging yourself and sobbing uncontrollably until he calmed down. It wasn't like it was an uncommon occurrence .All couples fought at some point in their relationships,it was always bound to happen

but damn, this was the fifth time this week.

You folded your legs under your thighs in a cross-legged fashion kicking a ceramic shard in the process. That was your brand new plate you got for 20% off at the store

or at least what was left of it.

You scanned the kitchen carefully, taking in the blatant state of complete disarray. Broken plates and cups flooded the room ,chairs toppled over and one of the table's legs had come off, knocking it off balance. you had to replace the good as damaged piece of furniture the next time you went shopping. As saddened as you were,a small part of you was grateful he didn't burn the place down with his quirk.You knew very well what he was capable of and you wouldn't stand a chance with your subpar quirk. You could turn small items into powder. It couldn't be used against people or animals and it wouldn't work on anything larger than small notepad.You wouldn't want to call it useless as it has helped you quit the number of times but you knew it couldn't hold a candle to your boyfriend's flame quirk.

You grimaced as you heard a blunt being lit in the next room followed by the clanging of bottles from the cabinet. His usual routine after a fight like this, you could count the number of times you had told him to stop but he'd always snap at you so you gave up trying. It helped him keep calm since he couldn't burn the place down. He had never raised his hand against you,something you were once again grateful for but he almost burnt you with his quirk.Almost. It was just that one time and he apologized. That was what you kept telling yourself. Dabi did indeed apologize and he went above and beyond to make it up to you both physically and emotionally,in more ways than one.

"Y/N"

your train of thought was disrupted as you heard him call your name,you were so deep in thought that you didn't even notice him come in. You stood up from the kitchen floor abruptly and dusted your skirt. He stood there towering over you with a cigarette between his middle and pointer finger and a rocks glass on the same hand.

"Y-yes" you stuttered trying so hard to fix your composure but failing woefully.

"Get out" He said plainly and clearly

"what?"

You stared on in disbelief ,your lips parting slightly gripping the hem of your shirt tightly , tears long and forgotten threatened to repeat their cycle.

"Don't make me repeat myself"

"B- But Dabi I live here,I paid for this place "

He had moved in with you a couple of months ago after you insisted. Although he wasn't always around due to his work in the league,he did stop by and sleep over. He deemed it unnecessary seeing as he already stayed a couple of nights and slept in your bed. You said you just wanted to feel closer to him so you urged him to move all his belongings here

"Fine , guess I'll leave" He stormed out of the small building, slamming the door in the process.

The sobs came out naturally and the salty tears like the gushing waters of Niagara falls. where did it all go wrong?.Oh you wanted to fix this so badly but what more could you do?.

You used to be so happy together,so,so normal. But now everything was all in shambles. All you had done was call him out on his secrecy and urged him to be more open and honest with you. you knew he was hiding something about himself. Instead of being calm and understanding he snapped at you and this led to a full on world war 2 in your kitchen

You leaned your back against the wall and slid down to the floor. You let yourself cry once more but now with less restraint. You sobbed,sniffiled and whimpered until nothing came out. You don't know how long you sat there but you were sure hours had past. You couldn't properly tell as it had already been dark out long ago. You couldn't do this anymore,you loved Dabi with all your heart as strange as it was. You don't know what exactly attracted you to the raven haired villain.Whether it was his bad boy persona or the undeniable urge you had to "fix" him, you could never tell. But love works in strange ways. That's why it was hard for you to do this but you had to end this. For your sake and theirs

Gathering the last ounces of strength, you had left in you,you stood up from the floor,stumbling slightly. You walked into your shared bedroom and pulled out a black duffel bag from the closet drawer by the door. You took every item of clothing he owned and hurriedly folded them into the bag. Knowing him,he probably wouldn't be back till the next day or week,it was impossible to predict. But either way it gave you enough time to prepare yourself. You didn't know how he was going to take this but you had to stand your ground,you weren't going to take this lying down.

And just like that as if fate was trying to play some cruel sick joke on you,the door flung open and Dabi came sauntering into the bedroom.

"Listen Y/N I-"

You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face him looking like a deer caught in headlights , clinging desperately to the black t-shirt you held in your hands. He looked you over,carefully processing what was going on. He narrowed his sapphire eyes and clenched his fists tightly

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked surprisingly calm

"Dabi,I'm tired. I can't do this anymore. I'm done" you managed to let out

Just as that was said,he let out a warped hysterical laugh. A look of fear in accordance with pure confusion was evident on your face.You always knew your boyfriend was off his rocker but you weren't expecting him to react this way. Your lips were quivering and a chill ran up your spine.He calmed down and wiped the non-existent tears from his stapled eyes.

"You know what's funny? I came back all the way here to apologize and this is how you repay me"

"Dabi,I'm serious,we can't do this with you anymore" You finally found your voice once more although it didn't come out as assertive as you wanted it to.

" Wait,we? The fuck are ya talking about"

"I-" you paused.

You had managed to hide this for a span of two weeks now. He'd been going in and out lately so it made it a lot less tasking to conceal it. But now it seemed futile to keep this up any longer especially since he was putting you on the spot like this

" Dabi I" you exhaled

"Dabi I'm pregnant"

His face visibly softened when you told him that. He stared blankly at you as if you had grown a second head. You glanced at him when he hadn't said anything,his silence made you apprehensive. It wasn't something that was planned so it wouldn't surprise you if he was upset. You could have sworn you had used protection but alas these things do fail.

"Wait,are you serious?" He asked,forehead creased

"Yes,I am" you avoided his questioning gaze

What he had done next after had shocked you. He pulled you into a warm embrace. His charred hands combed through your strands of hair.

"I'm so happy,this is good news" His voice was muffled as he had buried his face on your shoulder

"Wait,what?"

"I said I'm happy Y/n,this is good news"

"No,I heard what you said,I'm just surprised that you're not upset"

"Why would I be upset?,you're carrying my kid in you"

You broke out of his embrace and stared at him with your eyebrows furrowed. You were confused as to who this man was and what he had done to your rather abrasive boyfriend

"Hey earth to Y/n" he waved his hand in front of your face

You gave him a hard look before glancing around the room like a patient with amnesia. Your eyes caught the half-open duffel bag that lay long forgotten on the floor. It was then that you recalled what had brought you to the bedroom in the first place .If he thinks you'd sweep that under the carpet then he had another thing coming.

"Babe,are you OK?. You look tense" he spoke up when you hadn't said anything casting you a worried look.

"Dabi,I'm glad that you're happy about this whole pregnancy and all but that doesn't erase what's going on. Having a baby doesn't make this situation suddenly resolved,we still need to end this"

The look he had given you was one you had never seen before. It was a perfect blend of remorse,anxiety,sadness and you could could have sworn you saw fear in the mix.Nothing like the scowls he had given you that night

"I know I haven't been the best boyfriend lately and I know I've done nothing but fuck things up but please give me a chance" he had reached out a hand to you and placed it on your shoulder but you shrugged it off

" Dabi,shit isn't that easy,I've given you more chances then I could conceivably count. You've gotten even more aggressive than usual lately and it's concerning. I can't keep placing myself in this kind of toxic environment,it's not healthy for me or the baby"

Your back was turned away from him now.If he kept staring at you like that, you might change your mind. His broken expression made you want to run into his warm embrace and break down right there but you knew better than that.

"Y/N, come-come on let me fix this"

"No Dabi,you've done more than enough" You said bitterly looking down in regret

" OK Y/N,i know this is probably a joke and you got me good,I won't lie. Now stop playing around,I get it"

His forced chuckle made you grimace,he was being persistent and this was making it harder for you.

"Dabi,look if you don't leave then I'm afraid I have to"

You made your way over to the closed closet to pick out your clothes, passing over the discarded duffle bag on the floor. Before,you could fling the closet doors open,you felt a tight hug on your waist from behind. You wanted to protest,to shove him away from you but you knew he was stronger than you,so you just stood there. Dabi was never the clingy type so his actions made you perplexed but not as perplexed as the words that left his mouth not long after

"Please don't leave me,Don't take everything away from me,just like-just like they did"

what exactly did he mean by that?. His words made you further realize how little you truly knew about your villain boyfriend. He had never spoken of anything like this .But then again,he never spoke about himself or his past. That was part of the various reasons why you were even in this situation in the first place.This was definitely out of character for him so you wanted to press further

"Dabi, who is they? what are you talking about?"

"They took it all away from me,my life,my childhood. It was "his"fault,he did it to me. Please don't treat me like he did. Please you're all I have,you're the only person who could ever love me" He kept pleading keeping whoever he was talking about in question anonymous.

You had never seen him like this,it broke you to say the least. And just as if a fragile cord had snapped inside your brain,you let tears flow out once more that night,returning the villain's embrace. He sounded so distressed and you couldn't take this any longer. You weren't sure whether it was the hormones or a genuine sympathetic response that made you lose your resilience,but all you knew was you wanted to hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright.

"No Dabi I won't" *sniff*" I won't leave you" what were you thinking?,he needed you,you couldn't just leave him.

"Really?" He broke apart and gave you a crestfallen look.

"Yes Dabi.Really. We can work something out this time" you stroked his cheeks, devoid of skin and replaced by open flesh and staples.

His little rants had deeply concerned you but you knew you would have to pry about it some other time.

He dove back into your arms and squeezed you tightly,not enough to hurt you but it was still a tight grip. You returned his embrace and leftover tears fell from your eyes as you smiled.

" I promise you,you won't regret it" The staples near his cheeks rose as his lips formed a malevolent smirk

" You won't regret it at all"

[tonguetiedraven]

hello, I've never written a request before and idk of you are still taking them but if yes bon x rin but the class is oblivious to them dating or thinks it's a prank something along those lines. Thank you

I got terribly behind on these and entirely distracted with longer Blue Exorcist requests, but I am finally trying to respond to all of these, lol.

Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoy this silly fic ^^

Yukio’s class was full of idiots.

While that might not quite be fair, it certainly felt that way as he watched his students and friends all just… just not notice. They were all attempting to become licensed exorcists and that meant they’d need to notice things other people didn’t, but at the moment, they all seemed to have lost their observation skills.

This was at least the fifth time Rin had come in with Ryuuji’s sweater. It was obviously Ryuuji’s because the thing was much too big and practically a dress on Rin. 

Ryuuji had even blushed at the sight of it. While Ryuuji blushing wasn’t exactly unusual, the tall and buff punk was an easily embarrassed punk, it was unusual to see that blush accompanied by a small smile. 

Ryuuji had a resting glare. There was no getting around that. He was rather a good natured punk, but he certainly looked like a murderous one. To see him purposefully smile over a sweater was all the information that Yukio had needed.

It seemed nowhere near enough for the rest. The next blatant piece of evidence was the new earring. It was a lot like his other spiral, but it was white this time, and flared out more. It was unmistakably similar to Rin's tail, which meant Ryuuji had one for both halves of Rin. 

It was hilariously sappy for such a grumpy looking punk and no one noticed. 

There were the shared lunches, the whispered conversations, the note passing, the fact that Rin stuck around to the end of class to leave with Ryuuji, the stolen glances—hardly new, but far more blatant now—and Yukio had even caught them coming into class holding hands.

There was an insurmountable amount of evidence. A glutton of it really, and none of his students seem to notice a damned thing.

It would be depressing, if it wasn't so damn funny. Yukio had always been a fan of slapstick, and this felt like at least a variation of that. He had watched the two be oblivious to their feelings, watch them come to a realization of them, and to his relief, do something about them.

He seemed to be the only one who had watched any of it. It would make him question his own over interest in the subject, but really, it had been impossible to miss. Even if he didn't live with half of the couple.

It was the sweater today, and he decided to do a bit of his own test. He wanted to see if he could make the others notice. He was certain his twin and Ryuuji weren't actually trying to hide anything. He was certain they thought everyone was aware. They would have at least been mildly subtle if they hadn't wanted the information out there. They were, despite their loud personalities, occasionally capable of subtlety. If not exactly talented liars. (Which neither of them were at all.)

"No need to sit down, Rin. Sit with Ryuuji. We're doing group assignments today."

The swish of Rin's wagging tail was immediately audible. And once again, Ryuuji blushed.

No one seemed to take any notice of that. Yukio mentally added another homework assignment for them. He'd get with Light on finding them a few cursed objects to fight. They'd force his students to observe.

Ryuuji shifted his arm so his hand could be along the edge of Rin's desk. Rin didn't waste a second before hooking their pinkies together.

Yukio could forgive them not noticing that, if Konekomaru didn't sit next to Ryuuji.

It was baffling to him. Rin’s tail had even looped itself around to rest on Ryuuji’s knee! They were obvious. 

Yukio, staring for a moment, decided to mentally wave goodbye to his lesson plan for the day. He was going to make them notice by the end of this class. Somehow.

Smiling a bit, Yukio pulled open his desk drawer and drew out his set of keys.

“Everyone line up at the front in  your groups. We’re going to be doing some active training today. It’ll get a bit hot.”

It would as soon as Yukio figured out a plan. He just needed Rin to take that sweater off and draw attention to it.

Sure enough, his words had Rin standing up with a flirty grin at Ryuuji before he was taking off the sweater and setting it on his borrowed desk.

Renzou and Izumo watched the motion, but neither seemed to notice. 

That was fine, Yukio could up the ante.

— — ლ(ಠ益ಠლ) — —

Yukio, as always, underestimated his class.  They often exceeded his expectations in astounding ways, but just as often…

They did not. 

The couple held hands on the way to the gym, but they were always shoulder to shoulder and had been before they got together, so he could probably excuse that. He wouldn’t, but he could. 

Ryuuji shed his own sweater at the gym, and Rin stared hard and long enough that Yukio was pretty sure he was going to find his twin had drooled. He would not blame Rin for that because Ryuuji did make an impressive sight, but it was a sight that had been hanging around their dorm a lot.

Besides, no one else noticed the additional and blatant staring, or the fact that Ryuuji was purposefully flexing and stretching and making an entire show of it. 

Shiemi was staring with wide-eyes at him like she wanted to know how he’d done it, and that was hilarious, but no one else was noticing that either. 

Yukio decided to start with trust falls, something they’d never done and felt a little heavy handed to him, but it led to way too many looks and lingering touches and blatant gropes. They spent way too much time on the fall part and the staying fallen, and it was all blatant and obvious and downright brazen. 

There was also a lack of noticing, so Yukio called them to the front to perform.

Ryuuji fell back towards Rin with less hesitation than even Yukio would have, and Rin caught him with one arm before swooping around in a move that looked entirely like he intended to plant one on Ryuuji. He stopped at the last moment before he could, but it was enough to have Ryuuji blushing and Yukio looking at his audience, only to once again find none of them the wiser.

Fine. To the garden they went. 

The bai suzhen was hiding somewhere among the flowers, and if her beeline to Ryuuji and Rin did not prove to the others that something was happening, he was going to quit. 

He turned his attention from them for a few moments, picking through the chrysanthemums, peonies, and sunflowers, until he found evidence of her nest, and then he shooed her out and hurried towards the others, only to find Ryuuji tucking a flower behind Rin’s ear with a murmur of words that had Rin entirely pink and his tail wagging in a dangerous way for anyone who stepped into the smacking zone. He was going to give himself Happy Tail Syndrome at this rate.

“Over here!” He called, and got their attentions. Rin snagged Ryuuji’s hand and pulled him forward, and didn’t let go.

“We are going up against a bai suzhen,” he explained. “They are drawn to romantic love, lust, and displays of romantic or sexual affection—”

“Rip Shima,” Izumo huffed, not seeming to notice Rin and Ryuuji both glance at each other and step a bit closer.

“Their bite is poisonous and they’ll go after half the pair or a member of the group to try and distract/dismay the lover.”

Ryuuji’s hand shot up. The one that wasn’t holding Rin’s.

“Suguro?” Yukio politely asked.

“Is there a way to keep their attention so they don’t?”

Rin growled a little at the implication in that question that Ryuuji would be drawing the attention. They were both ridiculous and Ryuuji wondered how they didn’t drive eachother crazy. 

“Be the more obviously in love party? They’re susceptible to trapping circles and stilling spells, if you’re quick.”

Ryuuji nodded determinedly. 

A hiss let him know the demon had arrived, and he stepped back to watch the chaos.

To his surprise, Rin turned around, grabbed Ryuuji’s tie, hauled the tall teen down by it, and planted a hard kiss to his lips that had Konekomaru squeaking in shock and Ryuuji’s hands spasming at his sides. The demoness shrieked, and lunged for Rin.

Yukio gave a small cheer, only to realize Konekomaru had been squeaking at the demon.

None of them had noticed the kiss.

Ryuuji shoved Rin out of the way, getting himself tackled for the motion, and the two of them started to wrestle in the grass as Konekomaru hastily erected a shield to cover all three of them.

Izumo shrieked, apparently not a fan of snakes, and Shiemi had Nee spring forward, growing a bushel worth of lovage to try and attract the demon. 

It didn’t. Rin and Ryuuji were making a valiant display of love, even if no one recognized it. She didn’t have to attack anyone to be feeding. 

“Shima!” Konekomaru barked, “khakkhara!”

Shima yelped and brought out his khakkhara, never seeming to remember to have it at the ready, and took a swipe at the white snake with the staff. Yamantaka’s black smoke began to pour out, clashing against the brightness of her scaly skin.

Rin and Ryuuji seemed to both realize that they were missing their chance to exorcise or stop the demon, and shoved at each other to get up, still fighting to get in front of the other.

It seemed like Rin had forgotten that he didn’t have to move at all with his flames. Yukio would be making him do drills later.

Yamantaka knocked her out, and she transformed back to her humanoid form as she lost consciousness, making Shima squeak and promptly drool in delight. Yukio clapped his hands again to draw their attention before he had to catch the teen for being a pervert.

“Was that it?” Izumo asked, crossing her arms over her chest and tossing her hair like she hadn’t spent the entire fight terrified of the snake.

Yukio’s eye twitched. 

“No! That was not it. All of you fail. Not one of you notices anything and I cannot believe it and frankly, I am out of ideas and patience.”

Everyone looked confused, which seemed to be their default because they were all clearly incapable of noticing details.

“What?!” Izumo demanded while Ryuuji made an entirely worried noise and Rin looked baffled. 

“You fail all observation skills. Rin, Suguro, why did it go after the two of you?”

Ryuuji looked to Rin and raised an eyebrow. “Because he kissed me?”

All heads turned towards them with obvious and frustrating surprise. 

“What?” Izumo asked again while Shima added a, “for real? You finally did it, Rin?”

Yukio valiantly resisted the urge to shriek. “Finally?! They’ve been dating for months!” 

They were all looking at him now, but he could see Rin and Ryuuji starting to realize the obvious.

“You’re kidding, right?” Shima asked, earning a surprised sort of choke from Rin. 

“Of course he’s not!” Ryuuji looked entirely indignant. Yukio hadn’t even noticed him grabbing Rin’s hand again. “We’ve been together for almost three months.”

“Since when?!”

Rin gaped at Izumo. “Since Ryuuji asked me out after the golem.” 

“That long?” Shiemi asked, looking floored. Nee clapped and sent a few flower petals through the air like confetti. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Konekomaru demanded.

“How did you get a boyfriend before I did?!” Shima whined.

“Didn’t—we did!” Rin huffed and jabbed his finger forward. “The day after it happened!”

“We hold hounds!”

“We go on dates!”

“He makes me bentos almost every day!”

“We flirt—”

“All the time.” Yukio interjected, feeling vindicated and tired. 

“—All the time,” Rin agreed before scowling. “We do not!”

“So fail,” Yukio reiterated to the rest of them. “Class dismissed and for god's sake, stop flirting in my classes.” 

 With that, he strode (stomped) away, leaving the others spluttering and asking questions, and feeling like he hadn’t proven much other than that his class was fantastically dense.

He wondered how long it would be before they noticed the other bai suzhen slowly slithering closer. 

He wasn’t going to point it out. They had to eventually learn to spot the obvious.

[blackjack-15]

this 80s romcom lighting outside is hysterical oh my land

"wanna see the restaurant?"

"there are about 10 things in here that could kill you" 11, counting Syd

and among all this chaos he has one pertinent question:

"why didn't you call me?!" "i should have called you!"

this is going age like milk when syd sees who else is here!

syd was right last episode that carmy should have called her; carmy's right this episode that syd should have called him they're great at knowing they're a partnership. right now, they're not sure what that actually means, however, and it's causing massive friction, miscommunication, and stress

wow claire great time to introduce yourself there. like a bucket of cold water. she didn't really need to is the weird thing? nat was already talking to her, already greeted her? most people would have been like mm let me take a step back, maybe even come back later. but not claire! no she strides in like the elephant in the room and does a dance

oh ho. syd's face when claire says her name. that's a whole look

"this is my friend, claire" most honest he's been about this whole arrested development situationship

"sorry to interrupt, you all seem really busy" mm. no kidding.

"i'm sydney, it's really nice to meet you, i'm also sorry that you're here" SYD I LOVE YOU

she explains what she means and all but like. what a choice of dialogue, huh? and carmy's face. holy eff this is amazing

"interesting" oh richie. and nat's face when he says that -- the Wheels are Turning. direct comparison to his "ooooh" from last ep.

also i do love carmy's noticeably softer with Richie here. he knows richie really is just trying to help, and -- more than that -- knows that nothing else is gonna get done tonight

OH. INCHRESTING.

he tells everyone great job and to go home -- syd's rolled eyes here are a Pleasure -- and then when syd does that? carmy's reaction?

"what?" "i'm saying good night!"

very reminiscent of carmy's "what are you doing" when syd's quitting in S1E7. hmm i wonder why there's a bit of betrayal there.

this. this is beautiful. and he watches her go, too. beautiful direction, dialogue, etc etc

richie and nat are having similar problems to syd and richie last season. looking like we're gonna have a similar blow up. nat please keep the knives away from richie's ass, he's already a cheek down

the camera pan and hold on "carm/syd menu review" and then back to carmy and claire? i think that's the least subtle thing in the show, and we've seen richie's behavior + syd's temper almost literally bite him in the ass

"we're very fast" the subtlety is just...any more subtle and we'd have neon lights going. this is enjoyable because holy crap the telegraphing is Blatant

also this is some of the worst flirting i've ever seen. we're back to the total lack of chemistry and the two of them talking like 8th graders.

"i did that." "i know you did, and now you have to go" i'm still amazed that this is all text? none of this is implied? the writers are normally a little more subtle, so like...this is on purpose.

and the predictable kiss! you knew it was gonna happen, and they don't care. carmy going in with the same hand thing claire did earlier? either i can see the future or they're flashing the cliche, high-school nature of relationship with big flashing signs

and i can't see the future.

as a final note? i'm just gonna say. carmy is inexperienced, etc etc, yaddah yaddah. his actor on the other hand, is very much not. well done there sir.

[shadovan]

❰❰ HURT ❱❱ sender is hurt protecting receiver

@lcftyambiticns Instead gets a drabble, apparently.

It was hard for Tareque to allow himself to feel anger when the insults prattled off at him. He knew what he was. Most people knew what he was. Outside of the circle of peers he kept in Neverwinter's city, he was essentially a monster in the eyes of most.

He couldn't hold their fear against him. That fear was justified, whether he ever wanted to admit it or not.

It was only when they actively hunted him that he lashed out. Sometimes they came to his tower. Other times they stalked him in the streets. Whether it be by holy devotion or some underlying vengeance, there always seemed to be someone with a blade trying to end him.

He heard them before he saw them, this time. Eyes closed, he listened to their footsteps along the cobble. Boots? Yes, definitely boots. Two pair, it seemed. Three, possibly, but -- ah, no, just two.

They certainly weren't making much of an attempt at being discreet. Had someone perhaps alerted the guard to the undead horror roaming about Baldur's Gate? He wouldn't have been surprised.

Fools, he thought. These ones were moving quickly. With a quiet sigh, Tareque took a few steps away from Razzlebabble Tower, which had been his initial destination. Unfortunately, it seemed he had some unexpected company to deal with first. Fine, he had some energy to burn off anyhow.

These ones were even more oblivious than the lich had expected. They swung their swords at him, the blades shifting through him like mist, it was easy to predict their motions. What did they think he was? A zombie? A vampire? No, the sun was still setting. Did they even know what they were trying to fell?

"Fucking hell, get off me you pest," he hissed, grabbing the wrist of one before kicking them away from him.

While he could assume their moves, what Tareque hadn't factored into the struggle was the sudden familiar presence that had leapt into the chaos in attempt to halt the guards from their unnecessary commands. "Lorri, what--?!"

-- The shout of pain told that his surprise was a few seconds too late. The close proximity had resulted in a rather deep cut along Lorroakan's arm.

He scowled, teeth gritting as Tareque lunged on the guard, pummeling them to the ground as he wrapped his hands around their neck-- growling as he strangled the life out of them. The breath froze from their body with a deathly chill.

"WHY? I didn't fucking touch anyone!!" He yelled at the dying guard in blatant frustration. "Why the hell did you have to attack first?!" He never started the episodes so angry, but the unfolding events drew it out of him in a way he couldn't resist! Not entirely, at least.

"Damnit!" He scowled, letting go of the dead guard and scrambling to his feet, more strings of curses passing his lips. In truth, he was more angry with himself than his attackers.

Lorroakan --

Anger shifted to concern as Tareque's attention focused back on the wizard. He hesitated, hearing the approach of more guards. The second one had vanished, apparently to gather others on nearby patrol.

"I... I'll be back... Go inside, put pressure on that," he demanded, reluctantly, before darting the opposite direction, just in the line of vision for the guards to see. He couldn't exactly allow Lorroakan's precious reputation to be besmirched from the clear sight of a lich who had just slain a guard in his willing company.

[deerydear]

Sometimes, I feel like some people would assume that B had achieved his goal of being 'freakier' than L.

Only then would the competition begin. Only then would the real game start. "…L." The competition between L and B. L and B's puzzle. "If L's a genius then B's an extreme genius. If L's a freak, then B's an extreme freak. Now it's time to get ready. There are things I must do before B can surpass L. Henh henh henh henh." This thought was the only thing that made him laugh without needing to think about it. And those that know will recognize the laugh of the shinigami.

I don't think so...

spoilers for the end of the case.

If you tally up the points like an obsessive freak, it seems like L actually wins the contest in a subtle way. At least, in how Mello phrases things:

"Excuse me, Ryuzaki!" Still holding the coffee tray, Misora stepped... no, vaulted over Ryuzaki. At least, she meant to, but she was so distracted she missed her landing, and stomped on his stomach. In boots. And she reflexively tried to keep her balance, and avoid dropping the tray, which left her putting her entire weight on Ryuzaki’s abdomen. "Gah!" said the corpse. Naturally. "S-sorry!" If she had spilled the coffee on him as well, Naomi Misora's reputation as a klutz would have been cemented forever, but in actual fact, the matter did not go that far. Her martial arts experience had honed her sense of balance. She put the tray down on the desk and picked up the police file. She checked to see if she had remembered correctly. "What is it, Misora?"

Ryuzaki may have been an impossibly weird freak of a man, but even he did not go so far as to rejoice at the pain of a woman stepping on him. He stopped pretending to be a corpse, rolled over, and crawled toward her.

A few minutes later, their conversation returns to this point:

"Sorry. I was wasting valuable time." "I would rather you apologize for stepping on me, Misora." "Oh, right, of course." "You mean it? Then as a token of your contrition, would you do something for me?” “…Okay…” Could he be more blatant? But she had stepped on him. Very hard, with her full body weight. “What?” “Would you pretend to be dead, Misora? Like I was a moment ago. The victim, Backyard Bottomslash, was a woman, so you might provide more inspiration than I did.” Apparently this private detective was unaware that most people possess something called self-respect. But this was not the time to point this out to him. If she did, Naomi Misora felt she would be well on her way to earning a reputation as a tsundere —prickly to hide her inner drippiness. And the matter was urgent—she was willing to try anything that might help. She wasn't sure if this was one of those things, but by this point she was even willing to try crawling. Feeling oddly resigned, she lay down on the floor. The room looked really different from down there. “…So? Anything?” “No, not at all.” “Oh. Yeah, I thought not.” Futile. Ryuzaki sat on the chair with his knees against his chest, pointed out that the coffee Misora had made was getting cold, and drank his. Misora had put sugar in the way she liked it, and half-expected him to complain, but he didn't say anything. Apparently he was capable of consuming non-sweet things too. It seemed she could get up now, but it felt more awkward to do so than to stay down here, so she didn't move. “Whew... hot coffee helps the pain in my belly,” Ryuzaki said. He seemed so nonchalant, but he just wouldn't let that go.

On the other hand...

The station entrance had just come into view, and standing in front of it was an awkward, uncomfortable-looking man. A young man, with an intense expression. There were lines under his eyes so dark she wondered if they were actually done with makeup. Like he hadn’t slept in days—no, like he had never slept in his life. Like his sense of justice would not allow him time to sleep, since he had so many difficult cases to think about, battling unfathomable pressure on a daily basis. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt and blue jeans. His bare feet were crammed directly into beaten sneakers.

"?!" She had a strange sense of deja vu. Like she'd seen him or met him once before. There was something about him that reminded her of Rue Ryuzaki—or Beyond Birthday. But the resemblance was backward, like this was the original, and the other had been a copy. “Um, have we…?", she asked, even though he was hardly blocking the entrance bodily, and she could have simply ignored him and walked on inside. The young man instantly leapt at her. Leapt at her? No, that's not right. He actually tried to throw his arms around her. “Huh?! No!" Misora instantly bent backward, brushing off the man's embrace, and moved smoothly on to the offensive. She lowered her upper body backward, spinning once in the air and raising her back legs like a scorpion, slamming both heels down onto the man's shoulders. Both blows hit hard, and the impact knocked him off balance. With a thunderous crash, he tumbled down the subway stairs. Whoops. A little overboard. Certainly, he had assaulted her, but Misora quickly righted herself and ran down after him. 'Are you okay?" she asked. He was lying on his stomach like a crushed frog. “I see," he muttered, seemingly talking to himself. “Watching videos and seeing it for real is quite different, but now I think I understand." “Hunh?" What was he talking about? Had he hit his head on something? Her first day back at work, and already in trouble… “Um… can you stand?" Misora said, reaching out toward him. The man looked up at her, his eyes in shadow, as if two holes were staring at her.

"Thank you," he said, and took her hand. Misora pulled him upright. "Are you injured? Does it hurt anywhere?” "I'm fine, thank you,” the man said, not letting go of her hand. Even on his feet, he did not attempt to move away. They appeared to be shaking hands. Like warriors on a battle-field, exchanging a firm handshake after surviving yet another bloody fight. "You are very kind,” he said, with something like a smile, and at last let go of her hand. Then he tottered away as if nothing at all had happened, slowly climbing the stairs again. "Ah…w-wait! Just a second!” Misora had almost let him go, but a moment later she ran after him, circling around in front of him again. She was an FBI agent and could not let an assault crime go unpunished. The young man was sucking his thumb. He did not appear to be at all nervous. "If you aren't hurt, then you'll have to come with me. Sexual assault is a serious crime. You can't go around throwing your arms around women. What were you thinking?” “Don't just stand there. Say something. This attitude won't make things easier for you. What's your name?” Naomi Misora had asked his name. The young man nodded. And answered. "Please call me Ryuzaki,” he said, unperturbed. Just like someone else had.

In conclusion, B...

[aluckiicoin-a]

It seemed like this little gemstone had become disappointed in his kisses. It wasn't Sampo's fault. He was a romantic at heart, and the way he kissed the blond was what he felt was romantic. Alas, not everyone shares the same ideas of romance or aesthetics (elation). So he'll rectify this problem.

He catches his little Jalokivi as he always does. A possessive hand keeps the blond close, planted right on his waist. Using this arm he pulls their bodies together, making their chests bump against each other. Though with Aventurine's small stature, his face could bump into his shoulder. An apology would've been muttered but Sampo has a better way of showing it.

The Sigonian's chin is captured by the other gloved hand. It forces the blond to look up at him. Straight into Sampo's own unusual green eyes. Green eyes weren't strange, many folks had them. But not a lot of people had them with iris in the shape of diamonds. They stare deep into the man's eyes, his soul, before his face comes down to kiss the other.

Unlike the other kiss, this one is less polite in a manner of speaking. The thief wasted no time in pushing Aventurine's lips to enter the warm, wet cavern. His tongue finds the other's quickly, and pulls it into a passionate, possessive kiss. If he was to pull away, Sampo would simply hold him tighter against his body.

It was like he has to prove something towards the other.

He growled when the thief grabbed at him yet again. They should have a serious conversation about manhandling him. And the dangers of doing it. He followed the pull given the other options would be equal to starting a fight - but he clearly wasn't happy about it. Almost crashing into the other caused him to place his hands on the thief's chest. The way he clawed at Sampo couldn't possibly be comfortable.

It wasn't like he disliked the former kisses, the thief got him completely wrong. But Aventurine didn't understand them. Couldn't make sense of the softness or the purpose. The weak barely there desire. The idea of sentiment over lust. The potential feelings made him deeply uncomfortable, unsure and nervous. Fished him out of his depth and left him stranded. He didn't know how to deal with emotions – at least not ones that might be positive. But passion and desire was easy to manipulate. Use and abuse, that's what he was used to, knew how to handle. Being unable to make sense of the situation, or control it as he was used to made him feel terribly vulnerable - maybe even scared.

He was guided to stare up at the other's eyes, noticing again how much they looked like diamonds you'd find on a set of cards. Ah, they really were just missing the red colour. It's a connection his mind made quite some time ago. The familiarity of the shape made it so he couldn't forget about them. Maybe it was part of what kept the blonde in the other's net. The thief's stare was met with a glare of his own, not wavering a second. Whatever the other was trying to find in Aventurine's eyes, he'd probably end up disappointed. The man himself was just as dead and empty on the inside as his eyes seemed to be. Though, to be fair, he did show a spark of life every now and then. At the thrill of death or a gamble looking like he was on the loosing side. Or now, when the other leaned closer, but the expression was gone in the blink of an eye. He met the kiss once he caught up on the other's intention.

Ah, well, this was different. What happened to soft, romantic and the weird carefulness the other displayed before? A wave of disappointment left Aventurine stunned, was he truly upset at the change of pace? This should feel a lot more familiar to him, the possessiveness of it, as well as the blatant disregard toward his own personal space – it should be a comfort to be met with a familiar game. Regardless, Aventurine could wonder about what gotten into the thief and what he wanted to prove later. For now? Aventurine needed the control back in his grasp (not like he ever had much of it to begin with). His hands wandered onto the other's cheeks to try and direct him to his heart's desire. The blonde was trying to enjoy this, genuinely wanted to, but if he couldn't get the lead he'd likely space out quickly. Fall into the same repetitive learned movements, follow the usual script and let his mind wander far far away as a safety measure. But until then he might as well take full advantage of the extra sensations his split tongue could provide, to either of them. There was a good chance Sampo wouldn't enjoy the surprise but whatever the result, it was an advantage he could use.

[littlcfreaks]

he smiles so wide that you'd think he won the lottery, "okay, good! perfect." and it really is. the warmth in his chest from just knowing travis would be there was unbelievable; it was affecting him so much that he was already confident that they would win. maybe if he was a more logical person, he would second guess all of this, but he couldn't even begin to - not when it just felt so easy. "there's a box you can sit in, like player's guests? but you should sit at the glass - its way more fun." he doesn't mention a second ticket - maybe its selfish, but he doesn't want to have to travis to have to split his attention, even if it means sitting through the game alone. once he starts thinking about it, though - he feels guilty, selfish. "i can get you two tickets, if you don't want to have to come alone." his lips pull into a wry smile, holding back a laugh, because really - they should both be more concerned. should be more wary of whatever this was, but neither of them seemed to be capable of it. he wasn't sure if that should worry him more, that he met someone equally as willing to take risks. for now, he wasn't thinking too much into it. the alternative was that he never got this and that didn't seem like an option now. maybe this was what people meant by love at first sight - declan knew he wasn't in love with travis, but he could already see their future together. one that was happy, one that he was already sure he'd put everything into achieving. "oh, fuck yeah. preference on genre? i'll put on something good," even as he said it - he knew there was no chance he was paying attention to whatever was on. travis' hand on his leg, holding him in place, was distracting enough without the burning curiosity he had. he laughs, surprising even himself at how easy and relaxed he sounded, "no, not really. i try at least sometimes. meditation does not work, but i take a vacation during off season every year and i still like, hike and stuff. but i like, also just chill by the beach." the curiosity prickles his neck, practically forcing the words from his mouth, "what do you like to do?" he expected this. well, really, he expected an outright denial so this was better. declan places his hand on top of travis', shaking his head, "no, i know that's not why you came. you didn't even know." he sighs. he knows his explanation really might cross over into the too weird territory, but he's already started, "i just like, want to make sure you're okay? you shouldn't stress about your bills because you got hurt. like that's just a fucked up part of the world we live in and i have the money. i would do it for anyone i cared about," he chuckles, trying to diffuse how awkward he feels at his blatant show of emotion, "and i don't know why, but i already care about you so much. like, its crazy, but i just don't want you to leave."

"okay then, you can get me a lift." he's not about to argue, not when he really doesn't want to. it's sweet how declan cares about him, completely unexpected...but it still means so much regardless. "can't distract you from the game by getting injured again, that would not do..." he adds on for good measure, as if it further cements the decision, which he supposes it does. the touches are heavenly and he doesn't want to go without them. not just in the seconds of separation, but...generally. always. he doesn't know what to think about it, perhaps he should feel insane but he doesn't, because declan makes him feel okay...better than okay. "no, it's not weird. i'm glad, too." he chuckles, because it's...absolutely absurd really, but he likes it. it's as if fate had somehow intervened here. if he hadn't got the shit kicked out of him, him and travis wouldn't have become acquainted and his life would be a whole lot emptier for it. ridiculous way of viewing it, but it was exactly how he felt. giddy as he's led to the couch, he is more than eager to follow his lead. travis can't recall the last time he's felt so much for another person, let alone in so many different ways. he doesn't think he ever has, is absolutely fascinated by the feelings and by the man who'd managed to fill him with them. "i love movies," this man seemed full to the brim of personality and interests and travis was so excited to uncover every last thing about him. his hand grasps at his leg, keeping him close and firm in his lap. "that's so fucking cool. i take it you don't like to...stop and do nothing then?" he snorts, the question that fills his ears next the most surprising part of the entire circumstance. he doesn't even know what to say, he's far from offended but he's...wary about saying yes. "i don't want you thinking i came here to get your money, dec." he murmurs, thumb grazing absentmindedly against clothed skin. "that...definitely shouldn't be your problem."

[stevewhoreington]

give it right back to you (twice as hard)

[nsfw] an oldie i originally posted on ao3

Billy crashes into Hawkins like thunder and lightning rolled into one. Rattles the bones of the town's high school and shakes the dust off. He's new and he's shiny, and if there's one thing that can be said about Hawkins, it's that the place is so grey, so drab, that Billy's dirty-blonde curls shine like golden thread against its backdrop. His tanned skin is lustrous and his jeans are tight, and people flit towards him just for a taste of the sun. In those first few weeks, he downs a load of beer, a load of girls, and plucks the crown off the pretty head of Hawkins' finest.

This small-town shit is a blast. Feels like fucking worship, but. Billy knows, better than most, that good things never last, because that's the thing about small-town folk: they're suspicious of what they don't know, and loyal to what they do know. Princess breaks Harrington's heart and Tommy and Carol flock right back to him to kneel and pick up the pieces. Might as well suck his cock, too, while they're down there. 

Thing is, they don't just drop Billy on his ass - they drag him along with them. Keeping him, probably, for the next time King Steve betrays them. There's a sudden shift, and Billy knows his place. There's nothing dignified in being Harrington's fourth-in-command, but there's nothing worse than being a fucking has-been, so. Billy has no other option but to float along with them and try to keep his head above the water. He's still entitled to privileges, this way. Still has invites to the better parties; still handed the better weed; still sought after by the better chicks. It's just the way things fall. It's the natural order of things. The food chain. It's fucking brutal, but Billy would rather kick his feet up somewhere towards the top of the pyramid than drop to his knees, bow, and hold the back-breaking weight of it.

He still has privileges. It just means dealing with Harrington, which, truthfully, is not as difficult as it could be. They seem to have signed some silent pact to ignore each other as much as possible. They'll be in the same room, participating in the same conversation and sharing the same joint, but it doesn't mean that they actually have to interact. And, so what if he feels like he's sitting on the side-lines every time the four of them are together? Harrington, Hagan and Carol have history. Billy's just been dumped in the middle of their circle. Knows that his association with Hawkins' royalty is tenuous, fickle, and so he watches and listens respectfully. Joins in, sometimes, but only when prompted, and he never looks at Harrington for too long. 

It's about showing respect. That's what he does. Gives Harrington the bare minimum: doesn't hound or harass him during practice; doesn't taunt him about Nancy Wheeler in the locker room; doesn't stand too close when they're showering. Doesn't lay a fucking hand on him. Billy gives Harrington all of that. The bare minimum. It's basic respect - without licking the guy's ass. 

The respect isn't exactly mutual, because Harrington has the audacity to stare at Billy whenever he pleases. Does it a lot, actually. Is doing it right now. Billy's sat at the edge of the pool, jeans rolled up, boots off and feet in the water. He lights up another cigarette and ignores Harrington's blatant staring. He inhales nice and deep, tastes toxic smoke on his tongue, heating up the back of his throat, and he watches the gentle ripples of the water. It's dark out, but by the pool, everything is blue. 

"Chain-smoking tonight, Hargrove?" 

It's the first time that Harrington's addressed Billy directly since arriving here with Hagan and Carol several hours ago. He's breaking their pact, just by asking that dumb question. Billy's teeth nick the filter. "Guess so." 

"Could at least share." 

"Didn't think this was your brand." 

"I'm not fussy," Harrington lies, because of course he is. Billy knows he is. The first time he'd brought beer over, Harrington had mumbled his disapproval to Hagan.

Not drinking this shit. I'd rather drink the pool water. 

Billy still doesn't know if Harrington had wanted him to hear, or if he's just no good at whispering. He'd soothed the burn by silently playing out a delightful scenario in his head - something that involved knocking Harrington into the pool, holding his head under and telling him, drink up. Stuck it on repeat until he was too drunk to remember why he was pissed off in the first place. 

"If you want one," Billy says, "come get one." It isn't a challenge, nor is it a request. It just is what it is. 

"Hey, Tommy. Could you -" Harrington starts, shifting in his seat. 

Billy's eyes snap up because he can't quite believe it. Can't believe it, either, when Hagan actually fucking obliges and saunters over, fingers open and waiting. Billy doesn't say anything; doesn't pull Harrington up on his high-and-mighty bullshit, purely because nobody else does. Instead, he just wiggles a stick from the packet and slots it between Hagan's expectant fingers. Watches as Hagan trails back to Harrington and delivers the fucking thing. Billy's amazed that it isn't brought to him on a shiny, silver platter; that Hagan isn't hiding one up his ass, ready to be yanked out on demand. 

From where he sits, Billy hears the snick of Harrington's lighter; the fizz of the cherry as he inhales, and the slow, steady exhale that follows. He risks a look over his shoulder because there's a filthy, grey cloud around Harrington, and it isn't really looking if Billy can't make out the dark honey of his eyes, the sharp edge of his jaw, or the plush, pink bow of his lips. 

It isn't really looking if Harrington doesn't catch him looking. 

"Not bad," Harrington comments, but the smoke has cleared and Billy's no longer watching. 

*

It's Friday night. 

Billy's late, but time is relative. 

It's better, he thinks, to show up after the others. To arrive when Harrington's already high and Hagan's already wasted and Carol's a bit of both. It means eliminating the small talk, and getting to business. Getting to the good shit; to the reason why he ever shows up in the first place. 

The front door is open when Billy slides out from behind the steering wheel. The walk towards the house is made more awkward - made longer - because Harrington has settled himself in the doorway and is watching him approach. This isn't how it usually goes. Harrington's breaking their pact. 

"Heard your engine," he explains, words falling slowly out of his mouth and Billy would bet his left nut that Harrington's breath already smells like his dad's whiskey. 

"And you decided to come to the door," Billy states. "This the royal treatment?" 

Harrington shrugs. "Nobody else around to open it for you." 

Billy freezes. Remembers who he is and where he is, and who he's standing in front of, and picks his feet up again. Walks until he's by the door, but keeps himself at an appropriate distance. "Hagan didn't show?" 

"Nope." Harrington pops the 'p'. Doesn't bother to offer any kind of explanation. Asshole. 

It feels like giving Harrington what he wants when Billy asks, "Why not?" 

"Date night." Harrington seals the two words with a smirk. Looks vaguely amused. 

"Date night?" Billy repeats, outraged. 

"Uh-huh. Tommy told me at school. Carol's pissed because he hasn't taken her out in a while." Slowly, his smirk stretches into a grin. "Threatened to dump his ass." 

Billy scoffs. "Thought that was, like, something she does on the daily?" 

"Uh-huh." 

Harrington's watching him, eyes steady, like he's never put invisible-pen to invisible-paper and signed their invisible-contract. Billy, at least, holds up his end of the bargain, and keeps his eyes on anything but Harrington. 

When it becomes clear that Harrington has nothing more to say, Billy reluctantly opens his mouth and asks, "Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Tell you what?" 

"That Hagan isn't coming." 

"Huh," Harrington says, somehow throwing amusement, sarcasm and condescension into the one fucking syllable. "Can't smoke a joint without holding Tommy's hand, Hargrove?" 

"Fuck you," Billy shoots back. It rolls off his tongue, no hesitation. When he chances a glance at Harrington, he's looking back. Looking back and smiling, teeth glinting in the moonlight. 

The smile is still on his face when he says, more sincerely, "Nah. We had plans, so. Figured we didn't have to ditch them just because Tommy and Carol decided to." 

Billy thinks, oh. Thinks, shit. And Harrington just goes on, asks him, "Wanna come in?", and Billy has no good excuse to turn around and drive away. 

"Yeah, sure. Whatever." 

"Cool. Bring any beer?" 

"No."

"Shame."

*

Billy's on his second beer and his feet are in the pool. Harrington, as usual, has taken one of the loungers off to the side. Too good, even for his own pool water. 

He doesn't miss Hagan, doesn't miss Carol, but he does miss the noise. It's quiet without them. For some reason, Harrington's now deciding to follow their rules; isn't speaking. Isn't offering anything besides the cold beer from his refrigerator. It's more expensive than the shit Billy buys, but it isn't as strong. Isn't getting Billy where he wants to be as quickly as he'd like, but. He's still fuzzy around the edges. 

Just not fuzzy enough to shrug off the silence that sits with them around the swimming pool like an unwanted guest. 

"This is kinda dumb," Harrington says, abruptly cutting into the quiet as though he's just read Billy's mind. 

"What is?" 

"Getting drunk next to the pool." 

Billy huffs. "We always get drunk next to the pool."

"Yeah," Harrington mumbles from somewhere behind him, "but it's still dumb. And there's only two of us." 

"And?" 

"And, Hargrove. Two is less than four." 

"Really, Isaac Newton? How'd you figure that one out?" 

Harrington's probably flipping him off behind his back. He scoffs. "More risky with just the two of us." 

Billy hums and chugs on his beer. Couldn't give a shit, really, about what's risky or what's safe. He's a good swimmer, and he's not wasted. He doesn't bother saying so. 

"Let's go inside," Harrington says, and there's a tell-tale scrape of plastic against concrete, and Billy knows that he's dragged himself up and off the lounger without even having to turn around. 

"I'll follow in a minute." Billy would rather sit out here, watching the blue pool in the dark, feet warmed by the heated water. Fancy fuckers.

"Now, Hargrove." 

Billy nearly chokes on his beer. It slips down his throat, fast, and he shoots a glare at Harrington - no longer caring about some bullshit pact that tells him where to put his eyes. 

But. Harrington isn't looking back at him. His eyes are pointed towards the tree line beyond his yard. He's distracted. Looks oblivious to the fact that Billy's offended by his bossy-bitch attitude. 

"Fine." Billy downs the rest of his beer, crushes the can, and - just to be an asshole - tosses it into the pool. Harrington only tuts, but it's satisfying enough. 

*

His feet are wet. They squelch on the carpet. He's got his boots in his hand, like some drunk chick who's stumbling home and can't handle her heels. 

Harrington is walking ahead, locking doors and closing windows as though he's calling it a night. Maybe he is. Maybe this is Billy's hint. Except. 

Except, Harrington turns around and says, "Let's take this party upstairs." 

"Not the best party you've hosted, Harrington." Billy replies, tone dry. Making a point of sounding bored. 

"There's time yet." Harrington's retort is delivered smoothly and with the kind of smile that holds a lot of promise. The beer's suddenly kicking in, turning Billy's legs weak. "Grab you a towel for your feet while we're up there." 

He isn't drunk - knows he isn't - but he feels tipsy as he follows Harrington up the stairs. It's one of those fancy staircases with the gaps between each step, and Billy has to focus on where he's putting his feet to avoid losing a leg down one of the holes. He isn't drunk. He's only had two fucking cans and he can hold his damn drink. Probably, it's just tiredness, or something. 

Billy's feet are dry by the time they're upstairs, and nobody mentions a towel. Pact thoroughly fucking out of the window, he's invited into Harrington's bedroom, and he accepts. Walks right in, boots still in the one hand, bare feet on Harrington's plush carpet. He whistles as he looks around. "Take it you don't like plaid?" 

"Screw off." Harrington's drawing the curtains. Two lamps light the room. 

"Preppy," Billy comments, taking in the wallpaper and the curtains and how they very nearly - but don't quite - match. Holy shit. "Don't you get a headache being in here?" 

"Usually have better things to focus on when I'm in here." 

Billy scoffs. "Like you can get anybody in here." 

"You're in here," Harrington points out, and when Billy shoots him a look, he's wearing a smug fucking smirk and eyes that say, gotcha. 

Billy frowns and looks away. 

"You know what's funny?" Harrington asks. 

There are several responses on the tip of Billy's tongue - all fucking golden, and sharp, and hilarious. But he doesn't say a single word. 

Harrington sits on his bed. Billy only knows because he can hear the familiar creak of bedsprings. 

He waits for a handful of seconds, before figuring that Billy has nothing smart to give back. Says, "You never look at me. You used to always hang around my neck, and now you don't look at me." Harrington sounds almost disappointed. "What's with that?" 

Billy isn't prepared for a question like that. He's by Harrington's desk, staring down at unfinished school papers and blotchy, blue ink stains, and he falters. Freezes right up, shoulders rigid. What kind of question is that? Billy isn't sure he has an answer for it. Wouldn't have an answer, even if he could pause time, bring everything to a standstill, and have a good think about it. 

He doesn't have an answer, but he has to say something, because Harrington isn't helping him out. He's letting the silence stretch on; letting his question remain unanswered. Seems like he won't be changing the subject any time soon.

His mouth is dry when he finally speaks. "I didn't hang around your neck." 

Harrington scoffs. "Don't give me that shit. The parties. The locker room. On the fucking court?" 

Billy mirrors his scoff. Puts more enthusiasm into it. "Was only giving you shit. Teasing you. Thought it got your panties in a bunch, anyway." 

"Giving me shit," Harrington repeats, pushing each word out slowly. "That's what that was?" 

"That's what I said." Billy's over this conversation. Utterly fucking done with it. 

"I thought it was something else," Harrington tells him, and there's another creak from the bed. Harrington's standing. Billy knows without looking. "Even now," he goes on, "you're not looking at me, man." 

The clever part of Billy knows he needs to spin around, stare Harrington down, just to prove a point. Tell him, only because you're fucking ugly, and make a joke out of it. Needs to find his balls and lift his fucking head up before Harrington can spin this web. But. But. The dumb part of Billy is reigning; is keeping him speechless, making him stall. Making him forget how to locate his damn balls. There's a shift in atmosphere - that's why - and Billy's swiftly losing his footing. 

Loses it completely, in fact, by the time Harrington's standing behind him, breath tickling the back of his neck when he says, "Look at me." 

There's no way he can't, now. He has to, so he does. 

Billy turns, and Harrington's close. Ridiculously close. Close enough that Billy's staring at the tiny moles dotted across his cheek and down his neck. Close enough that Harrington's whiskey breath might just give him a second-hand buzz. 

"There," Harrington whispers.

Billy's going to die. Harrington's molten-honey eyes are setting him on fire. Mouth dry, Billy's speechless. Couldn't say shit, anyway, because his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth; feels like some kind of intruder. Something that doesn't belong to him. Something that's fighting against him instead of working with him. 

"See," Harrington begins, still watching, "I don't think you were just giving me shit. I think you were flirting." 

Billy laughs. 

Or. 

He's supposed to. 

It's more of a choked-out noise. Something unintelligible and pathetic. 

Harrington smiles. "Bet you didn't think I'd call you out on that, huh?" His gaze dips to Billy's mouth. Back up again, to his eyes. "Or did you just think I was too dumb to know what you were really doing?" 

The initial panic is very much there still, but Billy's also growing agitated. Pissed because he feels hot all over. "You're way off, Harrington. What's in your dad's whiskey, anyway?" 

Harrington continues to smile, and Billy thinks about knocking that dizzy look off his face. ”Way off? Really?”

Billy matches Harrington's smile, but there's something mean to it. Sardonic. "Did you really drag me up here just so I can beat your face in?" 

He laughs. Harrington fucking laughs like Billy's told him the funniest joke of the year. "No. That's not why I brought you up here." 

The smile on Billy's face twists into something more frustrated. Impatient. "Then enlighten me, asshole." 

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Harrington's stepping in, sneaker closing over Billy's boot and making him wince. Billy's dazed. There's an abrupt sting and it isn't a result of his trodden-on toes. It's something else. Something that only clicks once he's tasting whiskey. 

Harrington's fingertips are digging into Billy's jaw. He's cupping Billy's face, a hand on each side of his jaw, and he's giving Billy a taste of his dad's whiskey. Harrington's mouth is on his, tongue slipping between Billy's lips easily because he's pliant and stunned and his brain isn't working fast enough to tell his body what to do. Before Billy can react, Harrington's curling his tongue behind his teeth and they're swapping spit. 

This isn't what Billy does. It shouldn't be what Harrington does. It's not what they do. But. But. 

A fire is being stoked in Billy's belly, shooting heat up the length of his spine and into his brain and that's probably why it short-circuits. Probably the reason why Billy closes his eyes and lets Harrington kiss him; invites his tongue into his mouth and it's funny, really, because this is the most their tongues have ever interacted. He doesn't have the time to question what he's doing. There's no room for thoughts when Harrington's tongue is halfway down his throat. 

They're breathless. Harrington draws back first, and Billy pulls in lungful after lungful of sweet oxygen. It feels like drowning; feels like a reminder not to take air for fucking granted. Harrington's catching his breath too, but he's cool about it - is taking his time sipping down air. Drinking it down slower than he drinks Mr Harrington's expensive liquor. Taking his time, like it isn't essential to his existence. He smiles with teeth, and his lips are wet, coated with a shine as glossy as chap-stick. Harrington's pretty and this is why Billy has a million and one problems with the guy. 

"Knew it," Harrington says. He looks satisfied, smug. Like he's managed to prove a point.

Billy's heart drops to his stomach. He wants to plunge his fist into Harrington's pretty face, but not nearly as much as he wants to turn his fist around on himself. "Fuck you," he spits, and he's never been good at hiding his feelings. His fingers flex by his sides, wanting to curl into his palms, but one hand's taken up by the burden of his boots anyway, and there's just no point. That stupid smile would probably stick to Harrington's mouth no matter how hard Billy hit him. 

There's no point. Billy's fingers dig into his boots, and he can actually feel how flushed his goddamn face is. The fire's still burning. Humiliated, he turns to stalk out of the room, defeated, because Harrington is King Steve again and he's at the top of the food chain and Billy suddenly feels like he's dropped right down, like he's kicking around with the plants, except he's dried up and too small, too hidden, to get a lick of sunlight. 

He doesn't get far before Harrington's wrapping a firm hand around his wrist, tugging. "What? Wait," he says, and Billy isn't looking at him but it sounds like that complacent smile is thoroughly gone. "Where are you going?"

Harrington sounds genuinely confused. That's the only reason Billy turns around. He's just as confused, though. Bites out, "What?" 

"Where are you going?" Harrington asks, voice softening right up in a way that Billy's never heard before. His grip around Billy's wrist loosens, but he makes up for it by stepping in. "I didn't say you have to go." Harrington's eyes are wide. "Do you want to go?" 

"The fuck do you think?" 

"I don't think you do. I think you wanna stay," Harrington tells him, simple as that. "I want you to stay." 

Harrington's hand comes up to brush Billy's hair out of his face. It's an oddly tender gesture, and Billy gapes, staring at Harrington like he's just been handed a single-coloured Rubik's Cube. "What?" 

"I want you to stay." Harrington presses in until their hips are meeting and there's no such thing as personal space. He reaches out, pries Billy's boots out of his grip until he can knock them to the floor. They land with a dull thud. "Stay," Steve says. Billy thinks it's supposed to be a question, but it sounds more like a statement. 

"Why?" 

"Because I think we both liked that kiss, and I think you've been trying to get in my pants since the night we first met." Harrington's smiling again, but it's less obnoxious, more fond. He brings his palms to Billy's hips, keeping him close, and he's hard. Billy thinks he is, at least. Everybody knows King Steve's well-endowed, but the solid pressure, the heat, is unmistakable. Harrington's hard and Billy's still humiliated but less so, because it doesn't necessarily feel like a trick anymore - not when Harrington's rocking into him unashamedly, wanting him to know just how worked up sticking his tongue in Billy's mouth has gotten him. 

Billy sighs. Licks his lips. Lets his shoulders droop. Harrington takes it for what it is - a surrender. 

"Good," Harrington mutters. "Glad you're staying." He bows his head and sets his mouth against the side of Billy's neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses. Murmurs there, "What do you want, huh? Because I know you've been wanting something from me." He drops a kiss to the hinge of Billy's jaw before shifting to speak into his ear. "You wanna get your hands on me, Hargrove? Want my hands on you? What do you want?" 

The voice in Billy's ear awakens goosebumps on his skin. He shivers. "I don't know." He sounds faraway, lost. He supposes he is. 

"Bet you wanna taste me," Harrington says next, finding the dangerous red button inside Billy's body and pressing. The universe crumbles. Billy makes a low noise. "Oh. Is that it? You wanna taste me?" He's grinning against Billy's ear. "Got such pretty lips, Hargrove, I'd let you put them anywhere." He straightens up and Billy slumps. He tells him, "Come on. Come here." Takes Billy by the hand and walks him towards the bed. 

It's all a blur. Billy isn't sure how he's commanding his feet to move. He thinks Harrington might be dragging him. He just doesn't know. It's a small, unimportant detail, and one which quickly loses his attention because Harrington's sinking down on the edge of the mattress, feet on the carpet. He's holding Billy's fingers in one hand and stretching out to snag a pillow from the bed with the other. He throws it down to the floor; to the space between his sneakers. It's a hint, or a demand, or a kind gesture, or maybe all three, but Harrington still needs to tell Billy, "Get down, baby?" He frames it as a suggestion, but he's already waiting, wearing an explicitly expectant expression. 

"Don't call me that," Billy shoots back, but he's dropping to his knees like he's easy. Like he's some easy-to-fucking-please prom date who'll put out at the gentle coaxing of soft words and sugar-coated pet names.

Baby.

"You don't like that?" Harrington asks, and there's an edge to his voice that tells Billy he knows that he does. "Sweetheart? Sugar? Honey?"

"None. I'm not your fucking wife, Harrington." 

Harrington stares down at him, pleased, before changing the subject entirely and asking Billy, "You done this before?"

It's such a startling contrast to the bullshit they've just been discussing. Billy blinks. "No?" 

"Really?" Harrington actually sounds surprised. Billy shoots him a warning look. "But you've had your cock sucked before, right?" 

"Duh." 

"Then I'm sure you can improvise."  

Unsurprisingly, there's a huge difference between being blown and blowing. Harrington's jeans and underwear come down to his knees, giving him just enough leeway to keep his thighs properly parted. He's already stiff, like just the anticipation of getting Billy's mouth around him has sent all of his blood rushing south. It'd be flattering if this was anything else, but this is Billy, on his knees, wrapping a fist around Steve Harrington's cock, pretending that he knows what he's doing. It isn't anything to be proud of. 

He can't stroke Harrington's cock forever. They both want more before he fucking loses it - even if Billy doesn't know where to start. His mouth is too dry and Harrington's dick is too big. 

He's hesitating, and Harrington knows it. 

"You good?" He asks, voice not quite as put together as it had been. He reaches out and threads his fingers through Billy's hair.

Billy nods. He's fine. It's just a dick. It's just a blowjob. If Nancy fucking Wheeler could get her mouth around this, then Billy will have no problem. "Yeah," he says, wetting his lips with his tongue. 

"Come on, baby," Harrington coaxes, tone gentle and fingers even gentler where they're tucked into Billy's curls. "You've thought about doing this, right?" 

He has. He actually, genuinely has. But fantasy and reality are very different, and in his fantasies, Billy's good at everything and it's Harrington who's at a loss for fucking words. "Guess so," he lies, just to be difficult because he can't be completely easy. 

Harrington ignores Billy's attitude, and just tells him, "It's okay. Doesn't have to perfect. Come here. Just do what you wanna do." His fingers flex in Billy's hair, gently tugging. "Do what feels right." 

Billy rolls his eyes. Makes a good show of it. Nothing about this feels right, but he doesn't point that out. He shouldn't have to. It isn't right, and that's a renowned fact; as certain as the pain in Billy's knees and as certain as the whiskey on Harrington's breath. Even so, he follows the guidance of Harrington's persistent fingers and starts by licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock; from base to just below the head. It earns Billy a long, slow groan in response, starting from the second his tongue meets hot, sweet skin, to the moment it breaks contact. 

"Baby," Harrington breathes, "That's good." He pets his fingers through Billy's hair, making knots. "Keep going." 

Harrington's praise doesn't mean shit. It's whatever. But Billy bows his head again, anyway. Brings his tongue out to lap at the tip of Harrington's cock. Spits on his hand and starts to jerk him off at the same time. 

Billy can taste salt on his tongue. Harrington's leaking already, and his own cock is rubbing uncomfortably against too-tight denim. He wants to dip a hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, but blowing Harrington requires all of his focus because he has no fucking idea what he's doing. He's overwhelmed, and working at his own hard-on will only make the job more difficult. He figures his own needs are secondary in this arrangement, and - what was he saying about not being Harrington's fucking wife? 

"Hey, hey," Harrington coos out of nowhere, and Billy tips his eyes up to look at him, trying to gauge what it is he wants. He doesn't need to, because Harrington goes on, mumbling softly, fingers fully lost in Billy's curls now. He says, "Put your mouth around me, Billy." 

Billy's hand pauses mid-stroke, fist curled around Harrington's cock. He blinks, tears his gaze away from Harrington's blissed-out face and he thinks it might be the first time Harrington's used his name like that. Like, really used his name. It's distracting, and it's heavy, and it sort of feels like Harrington's found that red button again, hit it, and pieced the universe back together. Billy closes his eyes, opens his mouth, and wraps his lips around the swollen head. It's - strange. He has barely taken Harrington in, but it's one hell of an intrusive sensation. Harrington's heavy on his tongue; he's thick. It's nothing like how Billy had imagined. It's exactly like how Billy had imagined.

"Fuck," Harrington moans, and when Billy forces his eyes open, he glances up and the guy has his head tipped back, throat exposed. Pretty boy. "Good. Like that."  

He'd never admit it, but it's encouraging; has him thinking that he isn't completely fucking this whole thing up, but. At the same time, it's just getting somebody off, and how hard is that? Clearly, he's put too much thought into whether he'd be able to do it or not. He knows what it's like to be on the receiving end of a blowjob. Only needs a few hard sucks and vivid imagery that plays on-loop behind his eyelids, and he's done for. No big deal. 

That's what he thinks, until he's trying to suck Harrington down and it proves a mammoth fucking task. Harrington's doing all he can to keep Billy encouraged. He massages Billy's scalp with blunt fingernails and tells him, "Take it slow, baby. You're doing good." 

Good is probably an overstatement, but he must be doing something right because Harrington's thighs are trembling, knees twitching, like it's taking effort to keep still. 

Billy works at Harrington's cock slowly, just like Harrington had suggested. He takes it slow; tries to relax his throat as he takes Harrington deeper, weight heavier on his tongue, senses utterly invaded. Taste, touch, smell. Everything is just Steve Harrington. From a mutual pact of silence, to this. From nothing, to everything. Billy's drowning. Can't breathe. Can't swallow without feeling like he's going to gag. Everything comes to a stand-still with Harrington stuffed in his mouth. 

The choked-out noise Billy makes is, thankfully, lost beneath the sounds that are erupting from Harrington. He's fucking noisy, is the thing. It's something he shouldn't know about King Steve, but he does now, and he adds it to the very long list of things that he shouldn't know about a boy who shouldn't be as pretty as he is; a boy who shouldn't command Billy's attention the way that he does, or soften him up enough that he drops to his knees when he hears that word - baby. 

He holds Harrington on his tongue, cheeks hollowed out, and he tries to swallow past the building saliva and the salty precum that's sliding towards the back of his throat. Billy's hand is busy massaging Harrington's balls, and he isn't sure why he's giving the guy the full fucking treatment. It should be half-hearted, at best. Billy just convinces himself that this particular technique will have Harrington spilling his load much faster, and that means this whole thing will be over with; he can get to his feet, rub his aching knees and bolt, so. Yeah. That's probably why. 

He's building a rhythm, here. Starting to feel more comfortable and more confident, even though he knows that Harrington's eyes are glued to him. Billy likes the spotlight - loves it - but this is a new kind of performance he's giving, and he's still just an amateur. But, he's falling into something steady and easy, throat relaxing and becoming more pliant, making room for Harrington's cock as he bobs his head and sucks him off. 

He has a slice of control until Harrington takes it away from him. 

Harrington's fingers are still caught up in Billy's hair and he uses the grip, now, to pick up the pace, speed things up. He tells Billy, "Shit. That's fucking good. Keep sucking, baby." Tells Billy, breathlessly, "Gonna make me come like this." 

That's good for him, but Billy's eyes are watering, tears threatening to form and spill, and his throat is closing back up because Harrington's thrusting into his mouth like Billy's some kind of porn star. He chokes, gags, and then he's drawing back, pushing back against the surprising strength of Harrington's palm until his cock falls out of Billy's mouth with a slick pop. "Jesus fuck," he growls, throat sounding banged up. "You do this to the girls you screw around with?" 

Harrington huffs out a laugh. His face is pink and his eyes are dark. "No." He loosens his grip in Billy's hair, strokes the area with restless fingers. "Are you a girl?" 

Billy slips his hand from under Harrington's balls just to flip him off. It earns him another breathy laugh, but Billy's half-distracted, wondering if Harrington does this shit often. Does it with guys. He's knocked out of those thoughts by Harrington's voice, low and steady and edging on impatient, when he says, "I'm close, Billy. Are you gonna finish me off?" 

Billy nods. 

Harrington says, "Thought so. So good for me." 

Something clicks inside of Billy. It's divine and it's nice and it hurts. He brings his hands and his mouth back to Harrington, and lets the grip in his hair show him how to move. How fast to go; how slow. It's Harrington who's controlling it, and Billy's just the puppet. He swallows around a particularly rough thrust, eyes squeezing shut, tears spilling. He thinks he doesn't mind the strings. 

Harrington's knee jerks, fingers growing tight in Billy's curls. "Baby," he groans out. "Baby, I'm gonna -" 

It's Billy's warning, but it comes as Harrington's already spilling. 

It's fast. Happens in a flash. Hot come shooting out onto his tongue and slipping, easily, down his throat. He has to swallow, and swallow, and swallow, just to keep from choking on the stuff. He tips his wet eyes up at Harrington, and he's already watching; looking down at Billy, eyes heavy, mouth parted around a low, breathless moan. That pact of theirs has been screwed up and tossed out of the window. Has been shredded into thousands of tiny pieces and then burned on a huge fucking bonfire. It's dust. 

Billy isn't sure how it all happens next, but it's fast. 

Harrington's on his knees next to him. Billy's dazed, salt on his tongue and throat on fire, and Harrington's guiding him back. He's being tipped until he's on his back, and Harrington's stuffing the pillow beneath his head. A fucking gentleman. He's peppering Billy's face and throat with fast, chaste kisses that only serve to make his head spin. It's a good job that he's lying down. 

There's an easing of pressure and it's Harrington's hands unzipping his jeans and tugging them down to his thighs, underwear not far behind. He doesn't even ask, but he doesn't have to. In fact, it's a surprise that he's bothering at all, because there's no obligation. This isn't part of any kind of fair agreement. Harrington's known all along what Billy's been wanting, and it's true - Billy has been wanting to taste Harrington on his tongue. Has been wanting to get his mouth around him and be played like a puppet. Used. It doesn't mean that Harrington needs to give back. 

But he does. 

He spits into his palm and takes Billy into his hand and strokes until Billy's seeing stars. Tells him, "Relax, baby." Tells him, "Did so good, Billy." Stupid, silly words of praise and encouragement that shouldn't mean shit but absolutely do. That only serve to stoke the fire in Billy's belly and strengthen the strings that are attaching him to Harrington's wrists.

Billy comes under a shower of praise and Harrington doesn't stop stroking until he gets every last drop - like it's for him. Like it's all his. Earned it, owns it. He strokes until Billy's spent, breath knocked out of his lungs. Harrington's panting, sweat beading at his temples and when he falls to the ground beside Billy, he lands close.

Billy stares up at the ceiling, suddenly stripped of an old agreement and left to navigate a new world. Harrington closes his eyes and reaches for Billy's hand. It's the drawing up of a new pact. Billy laces their fingers together, and it feels like inking their names - sealing the deal.

[notlycheesden]

Rearview Mirror

Heyyo ✌🏻 this is my first written piece for Endeavor , as a gift for my friend @kogo for the evil exchange. so I hope you like it my dude 👍🏻. A piece I will def be coming back to write more for sure.

⤍ Endeavour x reader

⤍ 3.6k

⤍ TW.incest, TW.dubcon, TW.father/daughter

⤍ Summary:

Enji was trying to be a better father, a better man.

And you never lied to him.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

Everything was always red between the both of you.

It's past four when his phone rings.

He was awake. even on his day off -those becoming more frequent now- years of routine were still strong. His body alert and aware way before the break of dawn for hours of training before patrol, and later to go to his own agency, the literal empire that wouldn't run itself.

He was pretending to be asleep, unmovable laying on his stomach, face buried on his pillow. Deep breaths in and out in a rhythmic pattern. His massive frame takes most of his king-size bed that for more than a decade he slept right in the middle, no reason to let the right side of it unoccupied.

It was almost meditation-like. There in the quiet and calm of his bedroom between his sheets, he could organize -or at least try- his thoughts. A time in his day where he gets lost in self-reflection. The things he would have to do that day, what work in his agency he would have to supervise, and even stubbornly he would do a little steaming out, analyzing his “actions and emotions”, passing commentary from the resident agency therapist threw his way.

“A strict but good man, if not for some, mishaps, from your intense and fiery nature.” was his professional opinion about Endeavor. The man really lived to throw things his way.

It used to help calm his turbulent mind. But lately there was nothing in his head but turmoil.

It was something he would do until 6 AM, when he couldn't take any longer and had to get up, body and muscles aching from staying in bed for too long, the sun already rising on the horizon, painting the sky with yellows, pinks, and reds.

The silence of his room is broken by the ring of his phone. Instead of the familiar tone of the morning alarm, it was his normal ringtone. When he opens his eyes, the room was not bright as he expects, still shrouded by darkness. Endeavor sits on his bed at once, alert.

Getting it from the bedside table quickly, his posture falls when he catches the time and the already saved contact of who was calling him: Natsuo.

Enji picks up, but before he could question the call, the time, or even say hello, Natsuo speaks, voice grave and serious.

“You need to pick up your daughter right now.”

It’s a punch to the gut. One that makes all the air from his lungs escape at once. In a second, he feels like he is thrown into a rollercoaster.

The only thing he can muster in his shock is a guttural and deep bark of incredulity “What?”

Natsuo cuts Enji off immediately. His tone triggering him into snapping, memories hushing in -not the time for this- “She just called. She was a crying mess, begged me to come for her but I live two hours away-Shouto is on patrol and not picking up and Fuyumi is with her fiance's family at the onsen-”

Enji inhales sharply. Dread takes hold of him while he can't even see straight with the sudden rush of adrenaline, sirens blasting off in his head.

“She was supposed to be with fuyumi at the onsen.” His voice echoes back at him in his bedroom walls, he doesn't realize he is shouting.

“Look, this is really not the time. She has no money and her phone’s dead. I was able to get her to tell me an address before the call dropped. she's all alone there. Are you gonna pick her up?”

Natsuo calms his own breaths now after snapping and shouting back, and he can hear shuffling noises on his father’s side of the line. The older man was up in a second, not really seeing anything, rushing through his stuff picking his keys and wallet. He hates the way his father could make him snap so easily.

Enji was completely distraught.“She said she was going to be with fuyumi…” He mutters under his breath while running through the corridors, even forgetting the phone by his ear, his son still on the line.

But Natsuo hates even more the blatant difference in the way his father treated all of them and you in comparison. Always. Like he could fix his mistakes. Hide his sins.

“Well. Think your little princess lied to you old man.”

Enji didn't even register the venom in his son's words, nor when he hangs up on him.

He’s out of the house in a blink. He tries not to rip the door out of its hinges on his way out.

——

He drives fast, almost no other car in the streets making it easier to speed up in his nervous state. The GPS voice droning about the directions, a forty-minute drive that he would make in twenty.

you said you were going to spend the weekend with your sister.

You lied to him.

Enji’s heart hammers in his chest and his flames burst multiple times on his face out of control. His grip on the wheel tightens to ground his shaking hands, his jaw set with such force that he could feel a headache already forming.

Thoughts were flying through his mind a mile a second. Where are you? What happened to you? Who were you with? Were you safe? Why were you crying?

Why did you lie to him?

It was like his heart was being squeezed by dread and being broken at the same time.

You were his youngest. After he realized what he did to his children as a father, he tried his best to do better; connect, communicate, but he was emotionally and socially stunted -Thanks doc.- and by the time he tried to reach out, it was just a little too late.

Fuyumi was the pillar of the household, replacing their mother too much young and having to fit in a mould not meant to be hers, barely holding the treads of the family and house together. Natsuo was out of the front door as soon as he finished high school and got into med school, choosing to live in the dorms and work part-time rather than stay at the manor. Shoto was another history in itself.

And there was you, a couple of years younger than your now up-in-the-ranks pro hero brother, at the time just a pipsqueak. Too young to remember Rei, remember the worst of Endeavor.

And when he tried to connect, you were there. As if just waiting. Wanting your father to look at you. Frail and innocent and just in want of care, of attention, of love. You welcomed him into your life with open arms and heart.

Enji did try to make it right by you. And for some time things were progressing, even his other children were starting to turn their heads around his direction.

Until Touya’s incident.

The media cracked down on him and his family with a vengeance, almost nothing was left unturned or whole.

Natsuo was the first to cut ties. Shouto threw himself into his hero work, completely closing himself off. Even Fuyumi decided that she was done, took the next step, and went to live with her now fiance, completely ignoring whatever Enji tried to shout about costumes or honor.

Then it was just the two of you.

He tried to be a good father.

He was a quiet man in his private life, strict and with a violent nature, but he reached out for outside help to make it right. An older and trustworthy housekeeper to not chain his daughter down at the manor, guidance from therapist to help him become a better father, a better man, anything to do right this time.

Call it atonement, call it his redemption, call it hypocrisy, he didn't care.

He only cares that at the end of the day, you were there at his side, happy.

This morning he saw the note on the fridge.

Going to onee-san family trip,

Be back on Sunday.

You never had lied to him before.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

——-

The music blasting through the night tipped him off even before his car's GPS tells him he arrived at the destined location.

He parks way down the street and assesses the place inside the darkness of his car.

Enji’s way out of the city now and inside the industrial district, the building seems old and falling to pieces, people are lingering all around the street, but it’s thicker there. At surface level the building was empty, but the music was definitely coming from there.

He dreads the worst.

Getting out of the car still in his sleeping sweatpants and tee, he throws the hood of his workout jacket over his hair to conceal himself. He’s going for discretion, get you and get out, no need to make this a public affair. Not with this, not with you, not right now.

He searches around but still can't find you. Half an hour has passed since Natsuo called. He's in a frenzy. Endeavor forces himself to calm down and think.

His son didn't mention music. He looks far into the street and he can see the entrance of an alleyway, he hushes there.

His stomach tied in knots when he sees in the dark your small figure crouched down beside a dumpster. your shoulders ate shaking with silent sobs holding your dead phone for dear life, trying to make yourself smaller than you already were, head down.

Enji barks your name and your head snaps to the entrance of the alleyway in shock, your body trembling and fat tears running down your smudged makeup.

“Daddy!”

In a second you were up and running, throwing your body against him and hugging his middle. He doesn't know what to do first, but he opts for following his instincts. Enji hugs your shaking form, shushing you lightly while petting your head. He doesn't know if it's him or you who's shaking more.

He doesn't remember how, but he manages to walk both of you to his car without being seen, his hulking form covering your smaller one.

He's shaking. When Enji puts you in the passenger seat and the car lights momentarily shine everything in an amber glow, rage fills his chest. You are in a dress he has never seen before, he knows it was not yours. He would never allow a thing like that or let you use it in public. Your makeup that before being ruined by your smudging and crying, was heavy and meant to seduce.

He closes your door and gets in the car.

He's shaking.

——

Enji can only control himself enough to not rip the wheel or step on the gas right through the flooring for only three blocks. and thank the gods again for the hour, because he could not quite see the streets in front of him. If they weren't deserted while he drives double the velocity permitted, it would be likely that the fears of his family being again under the cruel and ravenous judgment of the public eye would become reality, although for a completely different reason from the ones he has been dreading until this point.

When he reaches the fourth block, he makes a sudden stop, turning and parking harshly with the front of the car almost all the way over the curb, the tires skidding loudly into the quiet of the night and scaring you out of your still shell shock state. your small sniffles stop when you let out a muted yelp of surprise.

Enji quickly pries his hands that have a death grip on the wheel and smash the roof of the car to turn the lights on in such a way that later he’s impressed he didn't send the entire ceiling flying. As fast as he did that and the darkness of the car is now cast in warm gold, his hands are on your small frame like a striking snake, a big calloused one gripping your face between meaty fingers, squeezing your wet cheeks and the other one in your far shoulder, turning you in his direction with a barely controlled yank. Enji wasn't sure if the shaking was coming from your body or his.

He's frantic, hectic, eyes going up and down your body trying to find anything, something. “Are you hurt? tell me,” His voice is harsh, too loud into the small space. You jump startled, but his grip locks you in place, he doesn't notice.

Why did you come to a party? Why are you dressed like this? Why did you do this?

“Are you?? Someone did something? Gave you something, touched you?” He barks again louder, bending and twisting to be in your face now, eyes scanning all over your body. But again and again, they would be drawn to the too short hem of your dress, from your ruined tearstained makeup and down again to your soft and creamy thighs, trying to find a mark, a scratch, a stain. Anything, something.

“Fucking answer me!”

“Dad please!”

Enji lets you go as if you just slap him in the face. He blinks.

You are shaking. Looking at him in fear, silent tears running down your cheeks. Your jaw is set as you try to hold your whimpers back, his fingers make red marks bloom on your face and arm under his digits.

Memories come back rushing. Phantoms scourging in blue flames.

He releases you as if you burn him.

His hands hover in place, and he doesn't dare to move, still crowding you. Both of you staring at each other in fear and confusion as if something would break.

He slowly backs away, and you keep still. He turns the light off and stares at the road.

Enji couldn't take more things between both of you breaking.

He takes a deep breath. Starts the car again to drive back home.

——

Friday nights are your nights.

Enji doesn't really remember when it started. But he knows it wasn't something that was spoken of or agreed beforehand. It happened once, then twice, then his job got in the way, then thrice, and when he noticed, it was a routine between him and his daughter.

Like most things between both of you, it just… fell into place. And it just felt right.

Endeavor would arrange his schedule in a way so that his Fridays would be empty, any emergency at the agency could be easily solved that way, patrols and hero work set on the weekends so he could come home at a sensible hour, just by dinnertime.

He would be just taking his blazer and shoes off at the entrance when Enji would hear your running steps from the kitchen, your pinky apron-clad figure hushing to meet him with a bright smile, eyes shining.

you would get a hold of his tie and gently tug down for him to bend at the waist to your level, your arms were thrown in a warm hug on his neck and a sweet and lengthy kiss on his cheek after he steps through the threshold. you would giggle against his face from the tickles you got from his stubble while warmly welcoming him, the food still hot on the table.

It was one of your multiple habits together, just the two of you. And it felt right.

It was routine. And it felt so domestic, warm and right.

Friday nights are your nights. After he gets home, you guys have dinner, something you cooked by yourself, sending the older housemaid away earlier.

Sometimes it is a new recipe, sometimes something you already tried before. But it's always good, and when Enji compliments your cooking skills and how much he enjoys it, your cheeks blush red. You daintly try to hide your smile as you thank him, bashful behavior so alluring even when he knows is just a little act, playing coy. There's warmth in his chest.

The lights in the dining room cast everything in this whimsical warm glow and maybe it's the beer, but Enji thinks it reflects lovely on you and the color of your blouse today. He says so.

“Looking so pretty tonight, princess.”

The red on your cheeks grow stronger. From across the table, he hides his smirk behind his can at seeing how you fidget in place, trying to contain your coquettish smile while biting your plush bottom lip. The warmth spreads lower.

Only later it dawns on him. Enji was flirting with his own daughter. And it was a habit.

It was routine.

Enji is sprawled on the big sofa comfortably, already showered and in his sleeping clothes after dinner, the second movie of the night halfway through.

It was a period drama and he tries to pay attention to the main points for your quiz about it the next day, but he was mostly checked out, lulled by the comfy dark of the living room, the buzz of the beers he drank, sleep and your warm body draped over his.

He doesn't really remember when it started, but he knows it was gradually. One day in your Friday movie nights, he notices you were glued on his side, and on the next one you had an arm draped over his torso while both of you were laying on the reclining couch, and since then, you were always over him, arms and thighs and breasts glued to his body, but most of the time cutely laying on his chest.

That night was no different. You are laying on his broad chest, using your arm as leverage to look down and back at the tv in front of the sofa, and for you to not slip he has one big palm over your waist and the other in a secure hook on the slope of your knee, propping your bent leg higher across his stomach. Your breathing matches his, and if not by your little grunts and noises of surprise, the redhead would have thought you had fallen asleep on him. It would not be the first time.

The clothes you are using are small and had hiked up a long time ago, a loose tank top and booty shorts, both of them old and worn out, sleep clothes.

From where he was, he could see all your body over his. From the crown of your head to the slope of your waist as it dipped under his scarred hand. His gaze follows the curve of your thigh draped over his waist to the fat of your ass pointing high. He muses in a daze that he could see the inside of your tank top, the soft swell of a breast making an appearance. He leers.

You move a little, and this time, he can make out the shade of a nipple. It’s pert and small and pretty, and blood rushes to his clothed cock, but is late, and he's tired and buzzed out. It doesn’t connect in his mind.

You move. you are getting yourself higher on his chest. Enji feels small hands wandering under his shirt. Presses of lips on his neck. Wet kisses on the stubble on his jaw.

The soft touches pull him deeper. There's a young and wanton body over his. It’s been so long since he truly touched another, let himself be touched. Smooth lips and an uncertain tongue were kissing him, and he wants to devour them. It’s hot and burns and makes his insides coil, his cock hard and heavy inside his pants. A warm slit humping it.

Could have been the tiredness, the beer, the comfort of the situation, anything really.

Enji kisses you like a man starved. Head moving and ravaging your much smaller mouth with his tongue. His hand yanks your tank top down exposing your breasts, and now he’s pulling and pinching the sweet nipples in a way that makes you moan against his tongue with a voice he couldn't recognize.

His other hand was down at your ass, guiding your movements back and forth on his erection with vigor, the friction against your slit makes you weak, but he keeps you moving, his calloused hand encompassing most of your behind. At each needy thrust his fingers would slide down between the cleft of your ass more and more.

His meaty fingers push the bottons of your shorts aside with a flick of his wrist, and now he's touching directly your puffy lips that are messy and wet all over. Enji growls in your mouth as you moan louder when he starts playing with your pussy, a pitched whine as he flicks your clit up and down, a strong hold on your breast.

A loud bang from the TV is what snaps him back to reality.

It was his daughter.

His daughter was over him. It was his daughter that was humping his cock, that he was sucking her small tongue and tweaking her nipples until he made her squeal.

He jumps to his feet and throws you across the couch.

Different from him, you look wide awake. Flushed face and startled eyes stares up at him, exposed breasts still heaving. Nipples rosy and hard. Between your legs, a glistening trail of where his fingers dragged when he ripped them off of you. Your shorts are drenched.

There's a moment of silence.

Enji snaps. He sprints to his bedroom, leaving you alone in the living room.

He locks his door, drops to the floor, and whips his hard and heavy cock out. in three pumps, thick ropes of cum cover his hand and clothed middle.

Taking big gulps of air trying to calm his breathing, his eyes glancing everywhere in a panic state, he looks down, and spot the wet patch on his clothed thigh. Yours juices that leaked on him. Its still in his other hand, fingers wet.

Enji wants to cry.

He tried to be a good father.

He ruined it again.

[ae-neon]

HOLD AWWWWNNNNN... OKAY this was hectic. First of all Nesta ate them up

But also it's literally so tragically clear Feyre knows that she holds less power than someone who's whole purpose in the Court was nullified when they lost their power. Amren cannot scare or protect anymore but she still has wisdom and knowledge to offer. She's still more "valuable" than the supposed High Lady.

(Nesta) turned to Amren. “Did you all vote on that, too? Did you talk about her, judge her, and deem her unworthy of the truth? What was your vote, Amren?To let Feyre die in ignorance?”

Nesta is centering Feyre even if she's talking about them going through similar situations. Like Nesta shows her love continuously but people brush over it because it's not overt and hammered over their heads

Feyre began shaking. “If I die…” Her gaze drifted to one of her tattooed arms. in a blatant contrast, Feyre instantly centres Rhysand when thinking of her own death. Girl YOU ARE THE VICTIM FUCK THAT GUY

And Nesta knew then that she had not once in her life been loved by her mother as much as Feyre already loved the boy growing within her. what if I throw myself off the fucking planet????

Nesta doesn't centre herself so I'll do it:

This woman is so painfully tragic.

Nesta's trauma is rooted in her childhood, her healing needed to retrace those steps.

A lot of Feyre's healing was tied up in her seeing Rhysand as better than Tamlin. She constantly compared them. That's how you tie a healing arc and romance together, at least intent wise - the execution was highly questionable.

But why did SJM try to basically recreate that with Nessian when it doesn't fit them at all????

Cassian and Nesta's relationship with him touches on a wholly separate trauma in everything that happened with Tomas but SJM already fucked that in Wings and Embers where Cassian gets in Nesta's space, she gets triggered and goes into fight or flight and literally has to knee him in the balls to get him to think straight.

Even without that. In acowar and acofas, Cassian showed Nesta she can't rely on him. Nesta was willing to die with him and he couldn't hold her hand.

Then we get Taming of the Shrew 5.0 as a love story as if the original didn't deserve to be shat on and burned

The relationships that would parallel her trauma and show her healing in contrast would be more familial, but even more, they would be parental.

She needed to retrace being abused, conditionally loved and generally groomed by the people who raised her.

Like it's actually an easy cheat to writing shallow but not terrible healing journeys but SJM doesn't care and she can't be bothered to understand her own characters.

That's made all the more clear when she has Nesta change her womb to bear Cassian's children. Like what the fuck?? Not only is that so vile and weird, Nesta has so much unresolved mommy issues - the idea of her wanting to be a mom is kinda alien

Nesta could have had a kind old landlord or some old person she played chess with in the park. It's that simple.

And screw the mating bond.

Cassian is neither her equal nor could she have his kids without magical medical intervention so on both objectives of the magical eugenics programme mating bond they don't qualify, and they don't count

Nesta feels things too keenly. She is being crushed by self hate and loneliness and depression. She needed space.

Not isolation forced by the unnatural breakdown of her relationships with Amren and Elain. Not forced proximity with someone who she can literally tell wants to constantly use her body. Space.

She was willing to train. She'd been willing to work with Azriel since acomaf. She's generally non-confrontational when not provoked. All she needed was to be understood.

oh for fuck’s sake. here’s Nesta telling faerug about all of them lying about the baby killing faerug, and naturally Nesta is supposed to be the one at fault: 

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