#but that still doesn't make it better (or worse) than anybody else's

[corrieguards]

If you write canon x OC and you think your OC character is the only one that fits the canon character - then i'm sorry to break it to you babe, but you're actually delusional.

[acid-ixx]

I’m the anon that sent the Reader Wayne fanbase ramble, and now I have a sinking feeling that reader’s mom is some kind of criminal lord, a real Damian and Talia situation….

Well at least Damian can look at reader and say “been there done that, let’s make matching bracelets,” and brag to the others about how “Reader and I are so alike, you can’t even compare yourselves to the bond we have, I’m the best Robin AND the best sibling, we even share blood, have matching abandonment issues related to our mothers, AND totally cool matching bracelets!” All the while reader is having a crisis bc they now have to come to terms that their mom is a criminal baddie and that Bruce’s type is crime

anon i love how your brain works fr... and yeah the reader's mom is an important component of the series and her disappearance is a key point on just how much their siblings would be protective of you, especially once alfred spills the truth ehe.

damian is so hilarious, he totally was not the reason your self worth had taken a turn for the worse! like, he totally doesn't have a track record of threatening you with a sword on your neck but he's still your favorite, right?! you share more similarities with him than anybody else in the family and he's YOUR biological younger brother. he'll totally not show off his skills in art, ahah, because he totally doesn't want to impress you because you two have a shared interest and passion for the same thing...

you know, matching bracelets are cool and all, but your other siblings would steal the same idea so damian would also settle for... painting with you. like those videos of switching up canvases every ten minutes or so.

ugh, he'll even (unknowingly) brag about you whenever he's with his mother. knowing her, she'll be bound to get interested in you and take a look at you for herself. she may or may not even (kidnap) take you out on a mother-child date with damian in tow to get to know you better so... good luck?

damian as a yandere needs your approval and your praise, so much so that you'd feel inclined to watch him practice or spar. but instead of being ignored or having the opportunity to hide in a corner from your sibling's overbearing nature, damian would constantly look at you after he performs a move he deems impressive, eyeing you for your approval or a look of amazement (similar to how dick once performef acrobatic skills in front of you one day and he couldn't take his focus off of your face— he'll get so jealous of dick after that, proving he needs to be better). with damian, you'll get yourself a clingy yet grumpy cat, who needs your consistent pets and cuddles— so don't you dare even try to let him go the moment you decide to hug him.

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay in writing :(( i was supposed to post the next chapter today but my body kinda wanted to nerf me and acted up so i had to take a break from writing. it's probably due to the lack of sleep or something but i swear i'll try to make up for it tomorrow.

[cressidagrey]

The Witching Hour - Chapter 6 - Azriel (The End)

Summary: 

5 Times members of the Inner Circle get absolutely terrified by Azriel's...whatever she is, and 1 (of many) times Azriel thinks that his witch was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Warnings: 

Mention of Amarantha, Mention of Murder, Mention of torture, Rhys Bashing, Definitely NSFW, Rough but consensual sex, (I literally titled this chapter Morticia and Gomez: Acotar Edition)

(super pretty dividers by @cafekitsune)

"I want you to keep away from her." 

Azriel held back a sigh.

He should have expected something like this probably... but it was still pissing him off.

Azriel kept his expression carefully neutral as he met Rhys' gaze. "Why?" he asked simply, his voice giving nothing away.

Rhys scowled, crossing his arms. "Because I say so," he said firmly. "I don't want you anywhere near her."

Azriel held back a snort. "Out of pure interest," he drawled. "Why exactly are you suddenly this interested in what female I pursue?"

Rhys clenched his jaw, his irritation mounting at Azriel's questioning. "I'm not interested in the specifics," he said gruffly. "I just don't want you anywhere near her, that's all'."

"You don't want me near Elain and you don't want me near Cate," Azriel said drily. “Anybody else?”

Rhys bristled at Azriel's words, his eyes narrowing. "This isn't about Elain," he said hotly. "This is about Cate. And I don't want you anywhere near Cate, understood?"

Azriel raised an eyebrow, his own irritation rising. "And why, pray tell, do you get to dictate who I spend my time with?" he asked, his voice deceptively casual.

Rhys bristled at Azriel's tone, his irritation growing.

"Because I'm the High Lord, and this is my court," he said, his voice taking on a cold, authoritative tone. "And I don't want you involved with her."

Azriel rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "And what's your reason for that?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Afraid she'll give me cooties?"

Rhys visibly bristled, his irritation clear in his eyes.

"Damnit, Azriel, you know it's not about that," he snapped "She's not right for you. She's too powerful, too unpredictable. She'll only cause trouble and chaos."

Azriel let out a scoff, his own irritation rising. "And who are you to say who's right for me?" he shot back. "You don't know a thing about her, or about my own feelings."

Didn't know how sometimes Cate was the only one who understood him...who didn't judge him...who said nothing and just listened. 

"I know enough to say she's trouble," Rhys said firmly. "And that's all I need to know. She doesn't belong here, and she doesn't belong with you."

"Speak for yourself," Azriel answered calmly. "I know her. She knows me. I trust her."

He did know her. He knew her better than anybody else in his life. He trusted her with his life and he trusted her to act in the best interest of Prythian. 

Rhys's eyes widened, his anger replaced by surprise and disbelief. "You...you trust her?" he asked, his voice filled with incredulity. "After everything I've said, after everything I've warned you about, you still trust her? You know some of the things that she has done!"

Azriel didn't flinch.

"She isn't the only person with blood on her hands," he responded evenly.

She really wasn’t. He had done worse than her. At least Cate had always acted on behalf of Fate and the vision that came to her. She did what needed to be done to make the best vision come to life. 

He had just slaughtered people on the orders of Rhys’ father. 

Rhys bristled at Azriel's response, his face tightening with anger. "That's entirely different, and you know it," he snapped. "We may have blood on our hands, but we do what we do for the betterment of this court, of the Night Court. We have a responsibility to protect our people and our land. You cannot compare us to her."

"Can't we?" Azriel asked. As far as he cared…they were much more similar than Rhys would like. "She has her reasons, Rhys, if you believe it or not."

"She could have killed Amarantha and she didn't!" Rhys bit out.

Oh. 

Azriel should have realised that that was going to be the sticking point. 

He knew where Cate had spent these 50 years. Keeping an eye on Hybern. He had thought she was dead. Had thought that maybe Cate had been Amarantha’s first political murder…but Cate had always been smart enough to know when to go underground. When to hide herself away so well that it was impossible to find her, even for him.

Only after the last battle with Hybern had been fought…only then, her information trickle to him. She had been fighting her own, one-woman mission, keeping the human lands as safe as she could. 

And she had also told him what exactly would have happened if she had interfered more obviously. If she hadn’t hidden herself away in the shadows, made sure that nobody knew that she was a piece on the chessboard as well. 

“She had her reason,” Azriel said quietly. 

"Why didn't she?" Rhys shot back, his anger flaring. "She had the power to do it. She has the capability. But instead, she chose to stand by and watch us suffer. She chose to let us endure fifty years of torture and horrors."

Azriel's expression darkened. "There are things you don't know, Rhys," he said quietly. "Things that no one knows, things that she hasn't told anyone."

He knew what he asked her about…but there were some things where Cate just turned silent...just stared emptily in front of her with these green eyes an ocean of pain and suffering…and he left it at that. It was better that way. 

There were things that Cate didn't even tell him...that she never would utter to a single soul. 

Rhys clenched his jaw, his irritation and frustration mounting even more at Azriel's words. "And what exactly would those 'things' be that she hasn't told anyone?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

He could feel the adamantium ripped claws against the shield of his mind, could feel the deep gouges Rhys left and he held his own, clenching his teeth.

Rhys let out a growl of frustration, Azriel's mental shields holding firm against the onslaught of Rhys.

"Damnit, Azriel," he bit out. "I'm trying to protect you, can't you see that?"

"All I am seeing is that you keep trying to control me," Azriel bit out.

"Control you?" Rhys repeated incredulously. "You think that's what this is about? You think I'm just controlling you because I feel like it?"

Azriel shot him a dark glance. "What else do you call trying to dictate who I do and don't spend my time with, hm?"

First Elain, now Cate. Azriel was done. 

What he did with Cat had no political ramifications for Rhys whatsoever…unless one counted easier access to certain kinds of information. 

"I'm trying to look out for you, you stubborn, infuriating, idiot," Rhys gritted out. "I'm trying to keep you safe, to keep you from getting hurt. From getting burned."

Azriel let out a scoff, his irritation mounting. "And do you really think I'm so weak and helpless that I need you to 'keep' me safe?" he shot back. "| can take care of myself, Rhys. I don't need you hovering over me like a mother hen."

"You are the spymaster of this court! And you are colluding with her!"

"Colluding?" Azriel repeated, his tone flat. "We're not planning a coup if that's what you're implying. Actually, if you truly think that I would do something like that...then I think I have no place in this court anymore." 

Rhys froze at Azriel's words, his irritation replaced by surprise and a hint of guilt. "Don't say that," he said, his voice quieter now. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Do I?" Azriel asked him flatly. 

If Rhys truly thought that he and Cate were planning to topple his throat, then Azriel should not be trusted at all. 

Rhys let out a huff, running a hand through his hair.

"Damnit, Azriel," he muttered. "You know me better than that. You know that I would never doubt your loyalty."

"Az..." Cassian piped up.

Azriel's gaze turned to Cassian, who had been watching the exchange silently from the sidelines. "What?" he bit out. "Want to call Cate a whore? Again? Or would you like to go back to implying that she is using me? Again? Do you truly take me for stupid enough that I wouldn't have noticed?" 

Cassian tensed at Azriel's sharp words, his own irritation mounting at being called out so directly. "I'm not calling her a whore," he muttered defensively. "I just think you're being reckless, that's all."

"The one thing Cate did was to help Nesta," Azriel said, his voice even. "I know you didn't like it, but it clearly worked. Nesta made that choice, Cassian. And Nesta had every right to make this fucking choice too."

Cassian clenched his jaw, stung by Azriel's words. "I get that," he bit out. "And thanks to her, I now got a mate that's so fucking furious with me that she doesn't even talk to me anymore."

"I hate to be the one to tell you, but that Nesta is angry at you, has nothing to do with Cate," Azriel snapped. "She's angry because you think you have a right to decide what she does with her own body. We have some people who think they can decide what happens to a female's body in this court. Do you truly wish to put yourself on the same level as them?" Azriel said lowly.

Cassian froze, his expression darkening at the implications of Azriel's words. "I'm not like that," he said tightly, his own anger mounting. "You know damn well I'm not like that."

"Prove it," Azriel bit out. "Cate only cast a Dreamcatcher Spell. She has cast the same on me, numerous times. The only thing it does is to blunt the emotional impact of the nightmares. Nothing else. She did that as a favour to me, Cassian."

Cassian scowled. "So she's your personal magic spell caster now?" he asked, his voice cold. "She's just there to help you get a good night's sleep?"

Azriel's nostrils flared at Cassian's barbed words. "She's my friend, not just some 'spell caster'," he said, his voice tight with anger. "And maybe if you actually bothered to talk to her yourself instead of just listening to rumours, you would see that too."

Cassian shot him a dark glance, his expression closed off.

"I'm not interested in getting to know her," he said coldly.

Azriel let out a scoff, his own anger mounting even more. "Of course, you aren't," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's easier to judge someone without knowing them, isn't it?"

Rhys stepped in, his voice cutting through the tension in the air. "Alright, that's enough," he said firmly. "This arguing is getting us nowhere. We need to figure out a way forward, not keep sniping at each other like children."

Azriel clenched his jaw, his own irritation still simmering beneath the surface.

Cassian grumbled to himself but finally nodded. "Fine," he muttered. "What do you suggest, then?"

Rhys let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Well, for starters, Azriel, maybe you could stop spending so much time with her," he suggested.

Azriel couldn't help but bark out a laugh. "No," he said drily. "I really don't care if you like it or not, Rhys, but Cate's presence in my life is not something that we are going to argue about. Either you accept it or you don't. If you don't, you'll get to find yourself a new spymaster."

Rhys froze at Azriel's words, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Are you...are you actually threatening to quit over this?" he asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"It's not a threat," Azriel said quietly. "I am telling you that my relationship with Cate is not up for debate. I am telling you that her presence in my life is non-negotiable. She's important to me, Rhysand."

Maybe the most important of them all. 

She understood him. Nobody else understood him. She wasn’t scared of him. Everybody was always scared of him. She didn’t once flinch away from the things he had done, because she had done the same or worse. It was so…easy to be with her. 

He didn’t need to pull on a mask and behave like a normal person, because she wasn’t normal either. She would never judge him for some of the horrific dark thoughts that ran around in his head. She had the same.

Rhys clenched his jaw, trying to rein in his anger. "You'd really throw away centuries of loyalty and friendship for her?" Rhys asked tightly.

"If you don't trust me anymore to do my job, then there is nothing to throw away," Azriel said quietly. "You already stopped treating me like your brother by Winter Solstice, Rhysand. I did what you asked. I kept away from Elain. I only tried to help Nesta, but you don't like my methods, so clearly I must be out to destroy my brother's mating bond. Gods, do you even hear yourself?! Cate has done nothing to you, or to Nesta or to Elain. She offered her help, even when she was treated utterly reprehensible by you,” he spat out. 

Rhys bristled at the accusation, his irritation mounting. "I never said I didn't trust you, Azriel," he gritted out. "I just don't trust her"

Azriel let out a scoff, his own annoyance sharpening.

"Why?" he asked, his voice sharp as a knife. "Why is it that you're so desperate to find fault in her that you're questioning my judgement and my own ability to be discerning?"

Rhys clenched his jaw, his irritation warring with a hint of guilt. "I just... just think you're not seeing her clearly," he said, his voice tight. "She's clouding your mind, making you see her in a more... favourable light."

Azriel rolled his eyes, his irritation mounting again. "I'm not some damn swooning schoolboy, Rhys," he said firmly. "I'm not some naive idiot that falls for every pretty face. And you should know me better than to assume that I would let her manipulate me in such a way."

Without a word, he lifted the shirt he wore, lifting the glamour that kept the bargain mark from sight.

Rhys's eyes widened at the sight of the mark on Azriel's shoulder. "You...you made a bargain with her?" he said, disbelief and concern colouring his voice. It was a circle with a star that…not any bigger than a gold coin. 

"The very first time I met her," Azriel bit out. "To tell each other the truth, regardless of anything else."

Centuries ago...the first time he came across his witch...he had been a spy working for Rhys' father. He had been ready to snatch the mantle of spymaster for himself...until Cate had been quicker.

His competition had turned into dust...and he met Hecate The Undying.

They had a bargain. Even still to this day. To tell each other the truth.

Hers wrapped over her shoulder blade...his around his ribs.

Rhys's brow furrowed in confusion and consternation.

"Why?" he asked, his voice tight. "Why would you make such a bargain, with a stranger no less?"

Azriel gritted his teeth, his irritation mounting. He had never enjoyed talking about this particular subject. "She saved my life," he said quietly. "And it was the only way to make sure that we could trust each other."

Cassian's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean, she saved your life?" he asked, his voice betraying his own shock.

Azriel clenched his jaw, his irritation still there, but now a hint of vulnerability as well. "There was a...an incident, long ago," he said quietly. "Before I became spymaster...there was...more than one option for the next holder of that title. Some decided to team up. Take me out of the running. And she...she saved me from certain death. She offered me the bargain as a way to...repay the debt."

Rhys gaped at Azriel's words, shock and surprise registering on his face. Cassian was similarly taken aback, clearly having not expected this revelation. "You never told us," Rhys finally managed to say

Azriel let out a scoff, a hint of bitterness entering his voice. "Would you have believed me, if I did?" he asked, his gaze fixed on Rhys's face.

Rhys had the decency to look guilty at that, his jaw clenching as he tried to find an answer. But before he could say anything, Cassian spoke up. "Azriel, you know we would have listened to you, right?" he asked, his voice tight with suppressed emotion.

Azriel let out a huff, his irritation and defensiveness faltering momentarily in the face of Cassian's genuine concern. "..." he started, but then trailed off, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly, his voice guarded.

"It does matter," Cassian urged, taking a step forward. "You're my brother, Azriel. We have fought together, bled together. We have shared everything. Why would you think we wouldn't believe you about something this important?"

"Because you don't believe me right now," Azriel spat out. 

Cassian reeled back, stung by Azriel's response. "That's not...that's not true," he protested, even as the guilt settled in the pit of his stomach.

Azriel let out a scoff. "Is it? You don't believe me when I say that she's trustworthy. You think she's manipulating me, that she's somehow got me under her spell. We've met 500 years ago. If she had me under her spell it would not be a new thing," he said flippantly. "She came to Velaris on my request. Because I knew that we could use all the help we could get with Koschei and with Elain."

Cassian's eyebrows shot up at Azriel's admission. "Wait, she's here because...you asked her to come?" he asked, surprise and a hint of disbelief colouring his voice.

Azriel let out a scoff, his irritation flaring again. "Yes, Cassian, she's here because I asked her to come," he bit out. "Can you believe that? Incredible that this selfish monster comes just because I say please, right?! That she is willing to help, even when she gets nothing out of it."

There was a hint of bitter sarcasm in his voice that sent a pang through Rhys' chest. "Azriel, that's not..." he started, but trailed off, unsure what to say.

"I don't want to hear it," Azriel said sharply. "Keep out of my private life. Both of you. You can trust me to act in the best interest of this court. But you will not get me to give up Cate. I'll be by her side until she decides she doesn't want me to be."

Rhys and Cassian both froze at Azriel's firm declaration, both taken aback by the fierce protectiveness in his voice.

There was a tense silence in which neither one of them dared to speak.

"General, High Lord," Azriel drawled before he turned on.his heel and walked out.

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. They just stood there, quietly watching as Azriel stormed off, the door clicking shut behind him.

Finally, Rhys let out a heavy sigh. "Well, that could have gone better."

Azriel though... Azriel went home.

Azriel stalked through the streets, his expression thunderous. He was furious with Rhys and Cassian for questioning his judgement, and for not trusting him. But he was also feeling a growing sense of agitation and anxiety over the whole situation.

As he finally approached his house, he paused momentarily, taking a deep breath to try and quell the mix of emotions swirling within him.

Not to a place. No place had ever been home for him. But to a person. A person that he knew he could trust with his life.

They had never put a label on what exactly their relationship was.

Had never bothered with it. They had always just been...them. They came together and then they went apart again, sometimes for weeks, sometimes decades...but every time they came back together it was like no time had passed at all.

But he knew what it was. Knew what it was to meet his other half...his perfect, match, his equal. And he didn't care what anybody else thought about it any longer. He was done trying to hide, done trying to behave in a way that was more socially acceptable. He wanted his witch.

He wanted Cate. 

He wanted her warm laughter, her sharp wit. He wanted her soft body to bury his face as he breathed her in. He wanted those big, green eyes of hers to look at him with affection, not suspicion.

He wanted her in a way he had never wanted anything or anyone before in his existence. And he would be damned if he let anyone come between them.

He finally arrived at Cate's townhouse, his heart thudding in his chest. He didn't hesitate for a moment, not even bothering to knock as he pushed down the handle to the door and stepped into the house.

Azriel gave the jaguar a nod in greeting, his expression softening slightly as he glanced down at the jaguar. "Hey, you," he said quietly. "Where's Cate?"

Belladonna was her familiar, bound to her through an ancient magical ritual. She served as a companion, as a focus for Cate’s magic, as protector…She was a part of Cate just like his shadows were for him.

He didn’t need an actual thought until his shadows went to swarm to her, always having liked the big cat that playfully swiped at them, claws carefully withdrawn, before she looked at Azriel and then in the direction of the bedroom.

Azriel let out a soft breath as he saw the direction of the jaguar's glance. He took that as a cue to head to the bedroom, his heart beating faster with every step he took.

Azriel let out a soft breath as he saw her spread out on the bed, asleep. He moved forward quietly, his gaze trailing over her face, over her unruly red hair, her freckled arms and slender legs. She was so beautiful, so vulnerable without her usual sharp edge.

He could see the signs of exhaustion on her face, the dark circles under her eyes, the slight frown on her forehead. She was tired, no doubt from the day's events. He felt a pang in his chest, an overwhelming urge to protect her, to take care of her in that moment. 

The High Lord went to see her this morning, his shadows whispered. Her magic forced him out of the house.

Azriel grunted, his eyes narrowing as the shadows informed him of Rhys' visit to Cate's house. That meddling bastard, he grumbled, a hint of irritation in his voice. He should've left her alone.

It must have gotten bad if Cate had forced Rhys out of her house.

He didn't hesitate as he undressed. Regardless of Cassian's worry for his manhood, Azriel had never worried about that once.

As he got into the bed behind her, he pulled her close to him, savouring the feeling of her body against his. Azriel tucked his head into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her tightly against him like a lifeline.

For a moment, he just lay there, holding her close, taking comfort in the sound of her slow, steady breathing. But then he couldn't help it, his hand began to wander. It started at her waist, tracing lightly over the curves of her body.

He moved up, his fingers tracing over the delicate skin of her hip, her ribs, the valley between her breasts. He heard her breath hitch as he touched her, her body stirring in response to his touch. He felt her press back against him, her body seeking out the comfort of his touch. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck, his mouth moving lightly over the sensitive skin.

Cate let out a soft sigh, her body responding to him, arching slightly in his arms. He couldn't resist, his hand wandering lower, tracing the line of her hipbone, the softness of her stomach. He felt her shiver as he touched her, her fingers twitching in the sheets.

He didn't stop, his hand continuing its journey down, down to the apex of her thighs. He pressed his fingers gently against her flesh, feeling the heat…the wetness that already coated his fingers. Between one breath and the next, her eyes opened slowly, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She turned her head slightly, her gaze lazily meeting his. "Azriel," she breathed, her voice ragged with sleep and desire.

Azriel moved quickly, his lips capturing hers in a searing kiss. He poured all his desperation, his need for her, into the kiss, his hand still tracing over the soft skin of her thighs.

If Cate was caught off guard by his forwardness, but she quickly recovered and pressed herself against him, responding to his kiss with a soft mewl.

Her tongue met his, dancing against it, and he could taste the familiar hint of apples and spice in her mouth. It sent a shiver down his spine, sparking a blaze of desire within him.

Her. Nothing, nobody had ever been able to compare.

Azriel ran one of his hands down her side, her curves a familiar and comforting sensation. He deepened the kiss, claiming more, pushing her harder into the wall, pressing his body against hers.

The desire, the fierce need to touch, taste, and feel all of her, was mounting rapidly, taking over his senses.

He broke the kiss momentarily, panting as he took her in.

Cate's hair was even more tousled, her lips red and wet. Her eyes had darkened to an almost black hue, the want in them so clear that it made his very blood sing.

He leaned back in, his lips trailing down her neck, nipping and sucking at the soft skin. He could feel her body responding to his touch, the way she pressed herself into him, arching into him in silent invitation.

Her scent, her taste, the feel of her...the noises she made...all of it drove him crazy, made him want more, more...more of her. Azriel pressed himself against her, his body desperate for connection, for the feel of her skin against his.

He couldn't get enough of her, couldn't stop himself from touching her, from tasting her, from making her moan and writhe under his touch.

Azriel moved down, his lips and tongue trailing over her collarbone, her throat, and the top of her chest.

Azriel was drowning in her, his senses overrun by everything that was this glorious, maddening female. He could feel his hands shaking with the need to touch her, to hold her and never let go.

He needed her, needed to make her his, to claim her completely. His hands roamed over her body, caressing, teasing, marking her skin with his touch, marking her as his and only his.

A bite here, a kiss there, adding to the patchwork of bruises and hickeys he had already left. Cate was his.

His fingers traced over her skin, trailing over the marks he had left behind. It was satisfying in a primal way, to see the evidence of his possession of her body. His. She was his.

"Say it," he whispered hoarsely, his voice a rough, needy growl. "Say you're mine."

His hands continued their assault, his fingers trailing over her hips, her stomach, up to her thighs.

He wanted, no, needed to hear the words from her lips, needed her to confirm what he already knew in his heart to be true. And judging by the way she arched into his touch, the way her eyes darkened further at his demand, she wanted it just as badly as he did.

"Cate," he said again, his voice even rougher than before. "Say it. Say you're mine."

He punctuated his demand with a bite to her shoulder, sharp and possessive.

His hands roamed over her body again, more insistent, more desperate. He knew he was being greedy, that he was pushing the boundaries, but he didn't care. He needed her to say those words. He needed her to claim him as much as he was claiming her.

Her breath hitched, her body arching again. He could feel the heat emanating from her, the desire burning in her veins just as strongly as it burned in his.

"I'm...I'm yours," Cate gasped out, her voice ragged with need.

He rewarded her with his cock thrusting inside her, a cry coming from her, just as he bit down again. 

She hadn’t truly been ready for him, but neither of them had ever shied away from a bite of pain. Besides, he trusted her to use her safeword if she needed it. And she would. They may played rough, but they had done this often enough to know each other’s boundaries very well. 

And like this, her body quivering around him, her cunt struggling to stretch around him, her body tightly pressed against him…for once she was utterly at his mercy. 

His body thrummed with a primal satisfaction, as he began to move, his body rocking against hers. His grip on her hips was bruising, the need to lose himself in her overwhelming. His lips found her neck again, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin, drawing out soft gasps from her. The sound of their breathing and the soft wet slapping of skin mingled with the occasional thump against the wall, the only sound in the otherwise silent room. He lost himself in the feeling of her, the way she moved and writhed against him. The desire, the passion, the desperate need to be closer, more was almost a living thing, driving him to move faster, harder, claiming her and being claimed.

He was consumed by her, by the sensations coursing through his body, by the sheer need to be as close to her as physically possible. 

Azriel could feel himself approaching the edge

Her body was shuddering, clenching around him, the soft gasps and mewls becoming whimpers as she too felt the tension building. He could feel her nails biting into his skin, the sting of it feeding him, pushing him further on.

His movements became faster, more frantic. He was close, so close, but he wanted her to go over the edge with him. He nipped at her neck, the sound of her gasps and moans spurring him on. His grip tightened on her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh, desperate to hold on.

 "Mine," he repeated, more to himself than to her. "Mine," he said again, the word a low growl.

He repeated the word again and again, like a mantra, a desperate claim. As he felt her body shuddering against his, the sounds of her climax mingling with his own, he said it again, for good measure, his mouth against the shell of her ear. "Mine," he said again, his voice ragged and raw. "You're mine."

And as Azriel let his body surrender to the climax, the sensation overwhelming and all-consuming, he repeated it once more, his eyes closed, his forehead resting against hers.

"You're mine."

As they both came down, he didn't let go of her. He kept her close, his arms wrapped around her like a lifeline.

"I love you," he murmured in her ear, his voice hoarse but firm. He had never said the words aloud, but now it felt like a dam had burst, a truth that had been there all along finally spilling out into the open.

"I love you," he repeated, his eyes still shut, his face nuzzling against her neck. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest, the rapid thump slowly returning to a more normal pace.

He wasn't even sure why he'd kept the words from her for so long. Fear, maybe, of scaring her off. Or maybe because he was just so used to keeping his emotions tightly leashed.

Maybe because he knew that she thought that every other person would just keep leaving her.

He knew her well enough to be aware of her trust issues. He knew that she had walls built up, as high as the damn sky. He knew that she was terrified of putting her heart on the line and getting it broken.

It was buried deep, hidden behind her prickly exterior, her sharp tongue, and her fiercely independent spirit. But once you broke through all of that, once you earned her trust and got through those walls of hers, her love was fierce, unwavering, and loyal to a fault. 

He took her face in his hands, tilting it up so he could look at her. "Say it," he demanded again, the need to hear her say the words overwhelming. "Please," he added softly, the desperate plea in his voice clear.

He searched her face, his eyes locking with hers, pleading and desperate. He needed to hear those three little words from her more than he needed air to breathe. He cupped her face in his hands, tilting her head up so he could look directly into her eyes.

Her eyes met his, the green depths holding a mixture of love, amusement, and tenderness. She let out a soft huff, gently cupping his face in her hands. "Of course, I love you, you sap," she said, her voice warm and affectionate.

The words washed over him like a balm, soothing and healing, chasing away the doubts that had lingered in his mind. He let out a shaky breath, his eyes still locked with hers. "You love me?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper as if he still couldn't quite believe it.

He felt a rush of emotion, a combination of joy, relief, and disbelief. He pulled her closer, burying his head in the crook of her neck once again. "Again," he whispered. "Say it again. 

Her laughter vibrated through her body, the sound like music to his ears. "I love you," she repeated, the words firm and steady. "I love you, you insufferable, overprotective bat."

He chuckled, the sound muffled against her skin. Her words felt like a balm to his soul, soothing away the last remnants of uncertainty.

"Insufferably overprotective, huh?" he asked, his lips curving into a soft smile against her neck.

She huffed again, the sound amused and affectionate. "You're a 500-year-old warrior with severe control issues," she pointed out. "What else am I supposed to call you?"

He hummed, the sound an imitation of agreement. "Severe control issues," he repeated, lifting his head to look at her again. He brushed a loose strand of hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Is that really how you see me?"

"Yes," she replied without missing a beat. "You are insufferable. You are possessive and territorial, and sometimes I just want to strangle you." A note of laughter crept into her voice.

"Strangle me, huh?" he retorted, lifting his head slightly.

She laughed again, her hands coming up to thread through his hair. "You're lucky I love you," she teased.

"I think I'm the luckiest male alive," he replied, leaning in to press a kiss to her neck.

"Some people will vehemently disagree with you there," Cate said, her voice quiet.

He chuckled his lips still against her skin. "Let them," he murmured. "I'm not here to please everyone, only you."

She hummed, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp. "You're too sappy for your own good," she scolded softly. "I never want to come between you and your family," Cate said quietly.

He lifted his head, his expression turning serious. "You never will," he said firmly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of steel. "You're mine, and I won't let anyone or anything get between us."

She rolled her eyes, but he cupped her cheek. "I am serious. They are not going to like this," she warned him. "They didn't even like it when we were just...having fun."

He stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. "That's their problem," he said, his voice firm. "I don't care what they think. I care about you. And I will fight tooth and nail for us if I have to."

"You're incredible," she murmured, her eyes soft. "And I swear to the Mother, if you get yourself killed out of some misplaced sense of protectiveness, I will resurrect you and kill you myself."

He couldn't help but laugh at that.

He chuckled. "That's fair," he conceded, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on her cheek. "But I don't care what anybody thinks. Let them have their opinions. I don't care what they think. All that matters is that I have you."

She let out a shaky laugh, relief and affection warring in her eyes. "You're insane," she told him, though her voice was filled with affection. "You know that, right?"

"Only when it comes to you," he assured her, his hand moving to cup her chin. "You drive me mad, in the best possible way."

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

There is an intimacy to sharing a body with someone. That's an obvious conclusion to make, but to experience it is something else entirely.

Shadow Milk may be adept at controlling people, but he has never possessed anyone before, not like this. He has never had any need to in the first place, because before his unjust imprisonment, he'd had his own body. Even if there hypothetically could have been a need, he much preferred the detachment his puppet strings allowed him. There was a superiority to having full control of a situation while being completely untouched by it, and that aside, inhabiting some insignificant Cookie's body as a concept was irritating, an insult to his own skill and strength.

Unfortunately, the circumstances have now changed. It is a compromise he is willing to accept though, because he'd take anything over staying sealed, and because he isn't sharing a body with just anyone.

No, it is Pure Vanilla Cookie, who is nowhere near as brilliant as Shadow Milk himself, but nowhere near as insignficant as the rest of Cookiekind either. No, he's special, and he has Shadow Milk's Soul Jam, so it is ultimately a matter of efficiency, to latch onto him.

Still, he had expected it to feel odd. Shadow Milk hasn't had a physical body in a long, long time so on principle, he figured becoming grounded and solid again would already be a strange feeling, let alone in a body that wasn't his original one.

But when he settles into Pure Vanilla's dough for the first time, Shadow Milk is forced to reassess his assumptions, because while it isn't familiar, it feels right. Like it is already his, and was always meant to be.

Thinking on it now, it is obvious that it would. Pure Vanilla isn't just anybody – he is the current holder of his Soul Jam, and no matter how undeserving that may be, that must make them compatible with one another. Even now, Shadow Milk can feel the core of his stolen power, so close yet just far out of reach.

That, of course, is the drawback of this little plan. Pure Vanilla is awfully paranoid – though Shadow Milk will admit, he is flattered with how often he crosses his mind – so he doesn't get many opportunities to seize control, and the ones he does get, he has to achingly hold back from jumping at.

Shadow Milk may be a jester, but he's no fool. He understands dramatic tension and build-up better than anyone else, and something like this is only worthy of being a heartstopping cliffhanger reveal, right on the cusp of the show's climax! To be able to do that, he has to play the waiting game for a little bit. It's aggravating, especially since he had planned to be free as a bird by now, but it isn't the worse. More fun than growing stale in a tree, at least.

And Shadow Milk really is fascinated by the intimacy of sharing this body. The inherent closeness, the blurring of lines and the warmth. Pure Vanilla's thoughts run like a river, sometimes churning furiously and other times meandering slow like honey, and he fishes them up effortlessly to marvel at how soft and ridiculous he is.

Pure Vanilla is not aware of Shadow Milk's presence. Well, that isn't quite true, because he obviously has suspicions, with how he mumbles questions and warnings to his reflection with a wary, anxious tone. How could he not, when Shadow Milk entertains himself with whispers and visions and taunts that are intangible enough to be classed as hallucination?

But he doesn't know about Shadow Milk's presence for certain, which means he can't fish Shadow Milk's thoughts out in return. It doesn't seem like they spill over naturally either. Shadow Milk wishes they did, wishes some of his more fun thoughts seeped into Pure Vanilla's brain like syrup, just to see how he would startle and panic.

Ah well. There were other ways to fluster him. It was easy, actually, as long as you knew what to say, and Shadow Milk is a master with words.

Shadow Milk taps their finger lazily against the staff while Pure Vanilla is busy, focused on his conversation with White Lily and those itty-bitty Cookies – and they really are itty-bitty, barely out the Oven, especially not compared to him. It's an easily overlooked movement, but that is exactly why Shadow Milk does it, finding it exciting to slowly push at those boundaries.

Moving the body without full control makes it feel less like his own hand, and more like his hand is laying on the top of Pure Vanilla's and moving it in tandem. It is almost similar to puppeting, if it wasn't for the added sensation of their hands merging together with the movement, warm and cold and heavy with the presence of another person. It feels thrilling, and it feels like two opposite magnets forced together, and it feels like coming home.

Shadow Milk knows it will feel even better when he is in full control. The freedom is exciting on its own, but Pure Vanilla will probably kick up a little fuss too. To press him into surrender under his presence, to surround and suffocate him so thoroughly that he lives in his very dough, that their minds and spirits have no choice but to intertwine – that is the sort of romanticism lovesick maidens would crumble for, truly, to be possessed in all senses of the word, and Shadow Milk is going to offer it all to Pure Vanilla on a silver platter. He should be thankful, he really should!

As for him, to possess Pure Vanilla in every meaningful way possible just feels natural. Again, Shadow Milk finds himself considering how Pure Vanilla really is his, and it is just as true as before. It has been true since the moment Pure Vanilla recieved his Soul Jam, and the moment Shadow Milk first laid eyes on him, which are incidentally one and the same.

It's so unfair, really. That he has to wait even longer when he could take over completely at the slightest push of effort.

Pure Vanilla, seemingly finished with his little conversation, begins to stroll off on his own. He pauses on a bridge, looking over the edge into the clear waters below, and Shadow Milk takes the opportunity to wink at him, Pure Vanilla's mouth twitching into an echo of a smirk, just to tease.

Pure Vanilla jolts, and blinks furiously back, shaking his head. Shadow Milk retreats from the surface to soak himself in the rushing of Pure Vanilla's thoughts.

I didn't– did I? No, no, no, I must be seeing things. The water's surface is quite far away, and the current must have disrupted my reflection–

Shadow Milk hums, pleased with himself, and it translates to an ominous chill down Pure Vanilla's spine.

Shadow Milk still wants his own body again, eventually. It isn't exactly feasible to share one long-term, because even though he is confident in his own abilities, there will always be a non-zero chance of Pure Vanilla stealing control at a vital moment.

For now, though, it's fun. A novelty he hasn't grown tired of yet.

It's only fair, anyway, since Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam. If anything, it's his right.

[bluesgrxce]

Yandere Trainer Red x Reader

[This is the final chapter of Red's story! No spoilers but I can just see the "Pikachu can't learn that move!!" comments from a mile away...]

Traveling up Mt. Silver has always been worse than traveling down it, but you keep telling yourself that it's not that bad; You've got a boyfriend to return to, and you just got back from a nice visit with his mother, her kind words still warming your heart in this freezing area. 

And yet they make your heart so heavy. Just like the bag weighing down on your back, which his mother had filled to the point that you could barely close it. Her words keep playing in your mind: "I know you'll take care of him. You're the only one who can now, since you're the only one who sees him anymore."

So you hoist the bag further up your back and trek through the pure white snow that crunches underneath your feet. At first, you do a good job of focusing on your surroundings, making sure some wild Pokemon doesn't jump you. Not that there's much of a reason for you to be intimidated of them. You own strong Pokemon, and if something goes wrong, Red will save you. 

...But will Red have calmed down by now? He walked away from you this morning without a single goodbye. What if he's still angry? Even though you start trying to tell yourself that's not possible, your pace slows down, as if trying to prolong this journey back home.. Well, back to the cave. 

'The cave.' Wow. That's your home. That's what Red wants you to think, anyway. Why are you putting up with this? Why are you letting him isolate you and act petty when you don't do exactly as he wants? What's wromg with you?

He needs you. You can't just leave him. He doesn't want anybody else in his life. He refuses to have anybody else in his life. He'll be completely alone without you and it'll be your fault if something happens to him. 

So what? This sucks. Why should you have to climb up a snowy mountain just to see your boyfriend? Why should you have to go through so much for him? You're sick of it. Sick of him.  

Ugh, how could you ever even think that? He adores you. He can make you feel so wanted if he really put effort into it, because you're the only one he's ever wanted. You'll never meet someone more loyal, caring, and protective than him. 

In mere moments, your spiraling thoughts make you lose all sense of your surroundings. 

Until you step into a patch of dark red snow. 

You pause. Then immediately step back.

Blood, your first thought as you examine your shoe. The residue of red snow clings to your sole. An overpowering wave of disgust crashes against you, but you resist the urge to claw the residue off. You examine the patch instead. It's not very big, appearing to be a bunch of drops that combine into a medium-sized puddle. 

But your gaze finds a trail of dots that lead towards a cliff on your right. Without much thought, you follow the trail until reaching the very tip of it. As morbid curiosity overrides your better judgment, you peer over the edge. 

...Well, damn, you can't see anything. You're so high up the mountain and the weather is so cruel, only a flurry of snow and fog can be seen from off this cliff. If you dropped something here, you'd never find it. Never. 

You take a sharp breath of icy air, tearing your gaze away from the cliff and back onto the path. Only to realize that the trail of red spots extends so much further than they first appeared to. As far as your eyes can see, patches of red snow outline the exact route you'll need to take to get home. 

Oh.

The blood's fresh. It's extremely fresh, because otherwise, a new layer of snow would already have covered it up

Oh.

Your heartbeat stops. It's like the cold finally got to you and froze your veins dead. Your heartbeat picks back up as you fight against the urge to hyperventilate. You lose your balance. 

Your foot slips off of the cliff.

But you scamper away from the edge just in time. Adrenaline pumps through your icy veins and makes them burst back to life as your mind tries to rationalize everything you've seen. Maybe it was a battle between wild Pokemon that went wrong. Maybe it got a bit too violent. 

Except that makes no sense. Wild Pokemon rarely fight each other to such injury, at least, not out in the open where trainers could easily interfere. At least that's still the option that's easier to believe, though. It's explainable by nature. The other option is only explainable by human cruelty. 

There's only one other person you know of on Mt. Silver.

You bolt back to the cave.

×××

A low hum rumbles through Red's chest as he breathes in the scent of your blanket. With his eyes shut like this, he can pretend the soft material is your skin, and its warmth is your body heat. Imagining that makes him clutch it against his chest like he's shielding you from the cold, as he often does. He's never been that bothered by it himself, but he couldn't live without the image of you holding onto him. He doesn't need anything else but that to make it through life.

"Red?!"

He flinches. Is that your voice? But you're back home too early. Much too early.

He hears your rapid footsteps echo across the cave walls before he sees you come into view. Your frantic expression makes him forget about everything else and drop the blanket, rushing over before you can say a word. You throw your hands onto his chest and he clutches your wrists. His dark eyes bore into you from under the brim of his hat, trying to predict the problem-- and figure out why you're holding onto his shirt so tightly.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?" You ask with urgency.

He squints his eyes and tilts his head. His silence makes your hands roam around his body. Your gaze scrutinizes him. "Well? Are you okay or not?"

Your stern, impatient question makes him stand him straight. He continues to peer at you through squinted eyes until he spots the palms of your hands. He clenches his jaw. 

You quirk an eyebrow at that and take a look as well. Smudged blood seeps into your skin. 

When you open your mouth, his breath stops in his throat. 

When Blue opens his mouth, Red's breath stops in his throat. Heat rises in his body and affects every bit of him-- Including his hands that grip and clench around nothing, his shoulders that tense to the point that its painful, and his teeth that grind together so much that it's like they're about to shatter. Each word that Blue says carries no value in Red's mind, only igniting one thing within him, an urge that he needs to satisfy. 

"My gramps told me not to get involved, but there's no way I'm gonna let you hold them hostage up here like this, not anymore." Blue releases a cocky laugh. "You seriously think they wanna live like this? Get real. You know they deserve better than this."

Red shoves his fists in his pockets. It's his last attempt to stop himself from doing something that can't be undone.

"I came back up here by myself to be a pal and give it to you straight, since they keep making excuses for you. You gotta move back down to Pallet Town, or at least get off of this mountain! You can't live like this forever!" When Red doesn't give any sort of response, Blue continues, "You know they'll go anywhere you go. You know that and you're taking advantage of that! You're just trying to keep them to yourself!"

Red advances forward and leers at him. He smirks and takes out a Pokeball.  "You wanna do this the hard way?" 

...That's not quite what Red has in mind. But he can work with it. 

Even as his breath hitches, Red's steady gaze never falters. He notes how your eyes dart back and forth between your bloody hands and his shirt with mismatched splotches on it. The color difference was so subtle that anyone could miss it. Your knees start shaking, so he grasps your hands to ensure you won't fall, ignoring how the blood wipes off on his skin too. You flinch like he's hurting you.

The issue and the solution are clear. He needs to clean you off.

He peeks over your shoulder and spots the heavy bag on your back. Though it's a hassle to make your petrified self cooperate, he eventually tugs it off and reaches inside until he finds a water bottle. He drops the bag with a harsh thud against the cave floor. 

You jump at the noise. He grimaces. Only then does it hit him that the bottle is ice cold. He reaches into his own nearby bag so he can use Charizard to heat it up. He does so without looking, so he accidentally pulls out Pikachu's Pokeball instead. His eyebrows furrow together. 

Pikachu hesitates when it sees the look on Red's face, how his eyes twitch and his lips form a scowl. Its eyes become sad as it looks back and forth between Blue and his Blastoise. It keeps trying to settle its gaze on Blastoise, but Red corrects it everytime with the gesture of his head. 

Finally, Pikachu settles its gaze on Blue. Then it gives one last look at its trainer. He nods. After a moment of silence, it does as previously instructed.

Pikachu uses Cut. Over and over and over again. 

Red doesn't even look at Blue as he screams. His mind is far too enamoured with thoughts of you, only you, leaving him completely undeterred as dark red blood crashes against the snow.

Red shakes his head clear. He brings Charizard out and in mere seconds, the bottle's ready. He triple checks to make sure it's not scalding hot, before pushing it into your trembling hands. He goes to retrieve the blanket so he can wrap it around your shoulders and give you the comfort you need. 

But the blanket is damp to the touch. He looks down and sees even more blood staining the otherwise clean fabric. His grimace deepens, but he simple drops it to the ground like he did with your bag. Looks like he'll have to find a way to do laundry again. 

Red's shirt feels damp against his chest as he trudges down the mountain. He ignores it, instead wishing there was a nearby Pokemon Center so he could at least get a Machamp from his Pokemon Box to take on this heavy weight in his arms. But Pikachu had already starting hiding from him in its Pokeball and refused to come out. He rolled his eyes, not wanting to deal with more dumb things like that. 

He comes to a stop. He looks around until he spots a cliff, immediately heading towards it. He hurls Blue's body into the abyss. Then, he reaches into his bag, and drops Blue's items the same way. He doesn't hesitate even when only Blue's Pokeballs are left. With each Pokemon still trapped inside, he drops them one by one and watches them as they disappear into the fog. He never hears them land. 

He turns away and walks back.

"This isn't your blood."

Red's eyes widen momentarily before he looks back at you. Growing realization crosses your face as you gape at him. Disgust takes over your expression, as if you're wondering how you didn't notice just how bloody he is before. How dirty he is. How cruel he is. 

But he chooses not to acknowledge you, like he's done many times before. He takes the water bottle back, flinging the cap behind him, and snatches your wrist. 

"What happened?" You ask as he pours the warm water over your hand. 

Silence. And yet you don't know when to quit.

"Red."

He switches to your other hand to wash it off as well.

"Red."

He starts switching back and forth between your hands. He scrubs the creases of your palms to get out the stubborn spots. Roughly. Like he's trying to scratch your skin off. 

"Red, please!"

He doesn't stop until the bottle is empty and your hands are numb. A puddle of bloody water pools at your shoes now, though neither of you pay much attention to that. He keeps his gaze trained on your hands, which he still holds so tightly. The brim of his hat covers his face so you can only see him frown. 

But then he pulls you into a hug. Except it doesn't feel like one. His arms smother you, his fingers dig into your flesh, and his stature does everything it can to swallow you whole. This isn't a hug. This isn't what it should be like. 

You look around the cave. This isn't what a home should be like. You look at him. This isn't what a relationship should be like. But at this point, it doesn't seem like there's anything you can do about it. He needs you here, after all. 

You start sobbing. Red rubs your back as your tears mix with the blood on his shirt. He stares into the distance, looking out the cave entrance to see the beautiful isolation that is Mt. Silver. It removes all of the meaningless distractions so there's nothing else to rely on except each other. As it should always be. 

His touch grows possessive when he spots the bloody trail outside your home. Tainting the pure snow of this mountain, of your love, of your soul was never on his agenda. But Blue came to ruin everything for him, so it's what he had to do. And if anybody else dares to do the same, he'll do it again without a second thought. He'll paint everything red if that's what it takes to keep you with him alone.  

When he can do things like this to prove his devotion, words are unnecessary. This is all he needs to do in order for him to say 'I love you.' 

× × ×

Lol just killed my problematic fave off, but it's okay, he would've killed Red too in a different universe. He actually did, if you know that one pokepasta... Blue Tears my beloved like yes king go kill more people 😍

[xerith-42]

Techno and Wilbur not being brothers is so important to me you have no idea

Because them being Tommy's older brothers doesn't actually ever overlap. Wilbur acts as Tommy's brother through most of the stuff with L'Manburg, for better and usually for worse. Then once he's gone and Tommy's lost everyone he finds a new older brother in Techno.

Techno and Wilbur aren't brothers though. When they interacted they were friends at best, and tense at worst. Even if their goals do eventually line up, Wilbur still stabs Techno in the back. He promised destruction for Manberg, before setting up Tommy as a potential leader. He said he was down with anarchy but failed to properly condemn the very governments Technoblade's anarchy-based morality is centered around.

He realized that governments were the cause of all of his problems, but failed to see the bigger picture in regards to how L'Manburg had hurt everyone on the server. One of Wilbur's consistent problems is a failure to see how his actions effect those around him, or to act with a blatant disregard for consequences. And at the point that Technoblade came into his life, there wasn't really much hope for them to ever be the family they could've been.

Wilbur never cared about Techno as a person. He just saw him as

The Blade

An Anarchist

The Revolution

Wilbur knew that without Technoblade he didn't have a revolution and yet he was still willing to disregard Techno's fundamental ideals because he was too narrow minded to see anything else. Too focused on how L'Manburg hurt him, his L'Manburg, and the damage it caused his life. He barely thought of how Techno would feel in regards to his decision.

Techno's just another person Wilbur managed to burn before his death. He wasn't the last.

And when Tommy shows up in the floorboards of Techno's house a month later, after L'Manberg has exiled him and Techno has nearly lost everything to tyranny, and he has a hope that maybe this time things will be better. Tommy's young, still learning, and he's been through a lot at the hands of corrupt men wielding power.

Maybe this time Techno can have someone agree with his ideals and actually stick to it.

He humors Tommy, shelters him, but treats him as he'd treat anybody. Tommy's a nuisance, and Techno might yell at him for taking his stuff for the third time this week, but he'll never kick Tommy out. Not after he's been abandoned to this extent. Not after Tommy has suffered the hand he was nearly dealt at his botched execution.

Techno almost lost everything. Tommy did lose everything.

Techno becomes an older brother figure to a scared and grieving and traumatized Tommy, a wounded child grasping onto the last straws of normalcy he has as he watches everything he's ever known slip through his finger tips. Techno is willing to take Wilbur's place, to act as a role model to Tommy during hard times. To stay strong and teach him important values to carry through future hardships in life. Techno wants so badly for Tommy to be a proper younger brother to him.

And then he makes the same mistake his brother made.

Tommy disregards Techno.

In his desperate attempt to hold onto those strands of normalcy Tommy reaches for something he's always known in favor of the potential chaos of Techno. Tommy is trying to stick to what he knows, what he used to have, to Tubbo, to his discs, to anything that reminds him of all he's lost so he can feel like he has it back. He fails to see that Techno could have been a source of that familiarity, that Techno was trying to be the island of stability while he was crashing in the waves.

Instead Tommy takes Tubbo's outstretched hand and climbs into the lifeboat they've always been floating in together, not realizing that in doing so he has awakened a great storm that will leave him with less than he had before.

In the immediate comfort of familiarity Tommy fails to realize the consequences of his own actions, and proves that in spite of all the posturing he's done about changing, about growing, about being a bigger and better man, he's a frightened child with the worst habits of his family.

When Tommy stabs Techno in the back, he reopens an old wound

After all, those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it

[dxxtruction]

Louis' "You're boring!" Could mean so many things, but I think what's most apparent about that line is that Armand takes no initiative just for himself. He's not really anybody, because he never goes out and finds himself or gets attached to anyone but Louis. Without Louis as his guide he's literally just sitting on a couch picking lint! That's the thing.

He orbits constantly around what would make Louis happy, and never really fully going what would make me happy? Ultimately that drive to please Louis is what drives him to torturing Daniel, not so much that he'd care to just do it. Ultimately, not giving proper care to Louis is just a way to make sure Louis knows he has to orbit around him as well, with shoving Lestat onto him just that other nail on the coffin. So, even if he fails to figure out how to make Louis happy with him, he still knows what Armand is good for, and better than.

That dependency is what drives Armand's abuse. It really just comes down to that. Armand doesn't even realize how suffocated he is by his own dependency. This is just how life is to him. (It shouldn't be lost either that dependency is a theme considering this episode also deals with addiction).

Daniel's fascinating because he's just so driven to be somebody. He's largely independent, he seeks things because he wants them. It's his drug to poke and prod at all the things that he shouldn't. Daniel's exciting because he lets Louis in to something different, lets him in to all this potential in another person that he can also do the same with for himself. It's a real connection. A two way street. It's easy to tell how Armand can be smothering then because he's never introducing him to anything really new, and most the ways both of them connect are all painful and traumatic. It's never just fun because there's always that layer of that pain. Fun died with Claudia.

50 years on they've gotten to a lot better place, both of them, but it's still that same shit. No seriously, "How is this any different from last time, Louis?"

Well... Because Armand's going to be, at the very least, making one [1] decision only for himself - and that's to hold power over Daniel's life. Fucking sick foreshadowing.

They aren't driving each other to the brink anymore but "The vampire is bored" STILL. Maybe it's even worse, despite being in better places, because Louis' sort of just been defeated by it. (I mean, can he even really leave this either?). He's accepting the dependancy cause he kind of has to. He'd literally ended up letting all the enjoyment be up where he can't reach [The book shelves]. Armand so desperately wants Louis happiness but what really ends up happening is that Louis ends up having to give Armand all his own. He's got no one or anything else to get it from. But like an iPad and an over the top eating ritual. Two extremes of what's just more lint picking.

This whole relationship is one I find just tragic inside and out. You have to just pity it, really. There's ways in which you can find yourself feeling bad for both of them. But you can only really be mad at Armand for any of it. Armand, who isn't even 'free' in any sense, having so little concept of his own independence, but is at the same time so controlling over other's. It's a tragic cycle. It's an infuriating one.

Louis at least has the mind to know when enough is enough. If just needing that extra push to get there. Armand's too scared of it being over to even try.

[blood-red-ocean]

can I request Mother Miranda next? i have this silly idea where MM's crow(s) has a habit of stashing all kind of shiny things near reader's house. Maybe she has a small porch that's not been used cause reader doesn't have time lounging around, and the sneaky crow is, like, yeah, this is perfect, and so reader goes about her life non the wiser to crow's shenanigans behind her back until one day she hears some sound outside and goes to investigate which ends with her stumbling upon MM rummaging through pile of... something. Awkward silence.

I don't know why I saw reader's house and immediately went 'ah yes, they live with Miranda' but ANYWAY enjoy <3

Small Thief (RL!Miranda x Reader)

Word count: 1.9k Warnings: None Summary: Cornelius is a sneaky lil gremlin.

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“Babe? Have you seen my keys?”

Overturned couch cushions and the contents of upturned cabinet drawers laid in the wake of your frantic rummaging. The very thought of having lost a set of keys to the headmistress’s house scared you enough, but it would be even worse if you had not simply misplaced them and had dropped them somewhere on the Campus. Especially with Mia’s habit of being an absolute gremlin and showing up unexpectedly in places she wasn’t supposed to be.

“Hmm?” Miranda strode into the room, hand fiddling with the button on the other wrist of her shirt.

“My keys, babe, my keys. I need them.”

You knew what was coming immediately. You knew it so well that you could almost quote her word for word. “Now, what did I tell you about carelessly tossing your keys down, little crow?” She and you both knew that if she had spoken those words to anybody else, it would have seen as harsh chastising. But you knew her better than that, and you could easily pick up on the way her mouth quirked up at the corners. The Miranda version of a playful grin.

“Forget about your keys, darling mine,” She said, striding over to you to kiss your cheek. “I will be awake when you return, I’ll let you in.”

“Andy, you know I’ve got class till late tonight.” Miranda smiled a little more visibly at the nickname you had picked for her – Devil Wears Prada had quickly become her favourite movie to watch with you, and she didn’t hide her blush fast enough when you called her it playfully for the first time while playfully testing out different variations of her name. Mir, Mira, Andy… “Professor Dimitrescu is making us recreate a classical piece in our own style.”

“That’s… Out of character.” Miranda frowned a little. “Very well then. I’ll still let you in.”

“But—”

“I’ll be awake.” Miranda gave you a pointed look, and it hit you then. Of course she would be awake – without you around to help with the growing pile of student council paperwork, full of requests and grievances that were above even Bela’s station, she would no doubt spend considerable time poring over them, with Cornelius on her shoulder. She often turned to work when you weren’t around.

“Okay, fine,” You said. You reached up and caressed her cheek, a playful smirk growing on your face. “Just don’t drool on the papers when you fall asleep this time, okay?” This earned you a tut from Miranda.

Hours later, and back aching from spending hours at an easel, you trudged into Miranda’s – you and Miranda’s – house, dropping your bag at your feet. You leaned back against the door and groaned, rolling your shoulders slowly to relieve some of the tension. The smell of pizza wafted down the hallway and into your nostrils, stomach growling angrily. “Oh, fuck yes,” you breathed, following the scent like a cartoon character. There, on the kitchen counter, laid an open box of your favourite pizza, and a note beside it which stated, in Miranda’s elegant cursive, “I am in my office. Come find me when you have eaten, little crow.”

Pizza slice in hand, you navigated the house, making your way to her study. The door was propped slightly open, and a gentle push on it made it swing forward, revealing Miranda bent over her home desk as she pored over some paperwork.

“Pizza?” You asked, holding a piece out.

Miranda crinkled her nose a little and shook her head. “Not tonight, Feather. I don’t think I have the stomach for it right now.” She tapped her fingers on the top of the desk as she sat back, peering at you with concern. “Are you alright? You seem exhausted.”

“Because I am,” You mumbled around a mouthful of cheese, sauce and dough. “Dimitrescu made me restart my piece three times. Three times! All because I mixed the pigment slightly wrong.” Miranda kept tapping her fingers one by one, the familiar sound almost mesmerizing you – almost.

Click, click, thud, click. Click, click, thud, click.

One of her golden finger guards was missing, the soft thud of her bare finger hitting the wooden surface jarring against the clicking you were used to. “Hey,” You spoke up, frowning. “Where’s your guard?”

Miranda shifted uncomfortably, hesitating. “I have no idea,” She eventually admitted. “I removed all of them earlier to take a bath, and when I turned back, one was missing.”

“Ah, so the great Miranda doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head after all.” Miranda shot you a playful glare, affection vaguely hidden beneath. “I’m sure it’ll show up somewhere.”

“It is rather… Concerning, that things keep going missing around here. I’m not usually this… Disorganized.”

“You aren’t disorganized at all,” You reassured her, licking the grease from your fingers. “Maybe we have a ghost.”

Miranda rolled her eyes lightheartedly at that, returning to her work. You grabbed your books and papers, settling in on the couch opposite her desk to study. Yeah, you were exhausted, but you still had other classes to study for, and not even being romantically bound to the headmistress would give you endless exceptions when it came to your studies.

***

Weeks passed, hours and hours of late classes beginning to make you feel burned out. You spent the days counting down to when it was finally done and you could spend your time with Miranda again – and quicker than you thought, it was over. You left Professor Dimitrescu’s class with a heavy wooden frame in hand, a begrudging A+ grade, and a sense of smug accomplishment. You couldn’t wait to get home and tell Miranda all about how Alcina had squirmed, heaving sighs and muttering as she scribbled an A+ onto the piece of paper before her.

Upon arriving at home, however, Miranda was nowhere to be found. Propping the frame up against the wall, you dug your phone from your pocket and checked it – no texts, no missed calls. Venturing deeper into the house, you peered into Miranda’s study to see it empty and dark. Brow furrowed, you ventured even further into the house. It was unlike Miranda to not tell you where she was – or rather, command that you go and be at her side.

“Andy?” You called out. You peered into darkened rooms, intrigue growing as you saw parts of the house you hadn’t seen before. Between the rush of moving you in with her, and exam season, and Alcina’s late classes, you had barely had time to spend sitting quietly with your avian goddess, let alone explore the depths of the house.

Just as you were about to give up and try and call Miranda, a crashing sound came from the very back of the house. Pulse rushing in your ears, you immediately jumped to alertness, searching for something to wield as a makeshift weapon. Eventually settling on a discarded iron poker, you held it aloft as you took slow steps towards the crashing sounds. You eventually came upon a glass door, a faint glow emanating from behind it. With one hand on the doorknob, you took a deep breath and threw the door open, roaring.

“RAAAAAAARGH—Andy??”

Once the frantic flurrying of wings and dark feathers and Miranda’s cursing had died down, you could get a proper look at the small room you had entered. It was covered in screens rather than windows, and it took you a moment to realise it was a porch.

A porch filled with heaping miles of miscellanea, remarkably less organized than the rest of the house. Miranda stood in the midst of it all, her face flushed and scowling… At Cornelius. Eyebrows raised, you glanced between the two of them, taking a step back. Cornelius let out a rather loud, indignant caw, wings lifted at Miranda.

“You! She hissed, pointing her finger accusingly. “I knew it!”

A glint in the corner of your vision caught your eye, and at a single glance you heaved with relief.

“My keys,” You breathed. “Thank the gods—” You reached out to pick them up, and the fluttering of wings signaled Cornelius’s arrival. He stood with one foot on them, staring up at you with one burning yellow eye. It hit you then that this wasn’t some secret that Miranda kept, some uncharacteristic habit – no, Cornelius had been periodically stealing more and more items over the weeks, stashing him where he thought nobody would find them. You reached out again to try and take the keys, but he just cawed softly at you, clicking his beak.

“Hey, what—”

“You have to give him something else,” Miranda grumbled, sifting through the heaps of shiny objects. “I learned that the hard way.” She tapped her earlobe, and you noticed that one of her dangly gold earrings was missing, no doubt wherever Cornelius had stashed it again. On her finger was the golden finger guard, back where it belonged.

“Well, I don’t have anything shiny,” You spoke to the small thief. “But… You want my A+?” You held out the piece of paper with the grade and Alcina’s comments on it, and Cornelius studied it for a moment. With a quick chirp, he grabbed it from your hand and flew off to the back corner of the porch, no doubt to stash it somewhere safe. Miranda watched him with her mouth agape and threw her hands up in exasperation, calling after him, “Seriously? I feed you! I raised you from a baby! And they can give you paper?” Miranda took a breath as if to continue, then stopped, turning to you with raised eyebrows. “Did you say A+?”

Grinning, you nodded quickly. “Yep! Can we get pizza to celebrate?”

“Again, Feather? Aren’t you tired of it yet? I could order you something much nicer—”

“Nope, pizza,” You called out, moving back into the hallway of the house. Miranda followed you, pride in her eyes.

“Very well, then,” She sighed in mock exasperation. “But first, show me your work.”

There was a skip in your step as you led Miranda by the hand back to the entryway, where you had placed the painting. You held it up to her and watched as her eyes conveyed her emotions – surprise, awe, pride and then, as she gazed back up at you, love. “It’s beautiful,” She murmured. “We must display it at once.”

You followed her as she went to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and pulling out a small golden hook, and a nail. She hummed as she roamed the house, trying to figure out where the hang your artwork, and you blushed about it. Eventually, she settled for hanging it above her desk in her study, this simple gesture making your heart skip a beat, reminding you again her how she loved and prioritized you. She reached up, preparing to nail the hook into the wall, when a dark blur rushed by and left her hands empty. She growled a little under her breath and chased after it, leaving you in fits of giggling as she went.

“Cornelius! Get back here with that!”

To nobody’s surprise (but to Miranda’s chagrin), it only took the promise of some head scratches from you to get the hook back from the small thief. You could’ve sworn he gave an approving caw at the sight of your painting, as well.

[nomoreusername]

How Maze Runner Character Would Help If They Found Out You're Bipolar

(I am not trying to stereotype bipolar at all. I have it so when I use terms like mania and episodes I am basing it off of what I know. I know it's a spectrum and different for everyone, but I'm still trying to generalize it as best as I can without being disrespectful)

Doesn't know a lot about it at first so he's a little lost

Secretly looks up stuff about it so he knows and can help better

Catches on to the signs and what helps you very quickly

Never tells anybody and reminds you that you don't owe anyone an explanation for something you can't even control

Will sit in comfortable silence and hold your hand when he can tell things are getting rough

Will journal with you so that you feel connected with him but not pressured to talk

Suggests speaking to him through writing when you physically can't talk

Is very patient when you do

Would drop everything the second you needed him

Basically, he doesn't care whether you need silence or a thousand words as long as you're safe and comfortable

Notices the red flags due to his past experience

Very gently coaxes what's wrong out of you

Opens up back so you know you aren't alone in your mental health

Makes you a list of reasons to live and gives it to you for the next time your low comes

Would have an alarm for when you need to take your medication

Would drive you to and from any psychiatrist and therapists appointment

Doesn't mind when he needs to remind you to eat, sleep, or so basic things when you're going manic

Lets you know when he's worried about you without talking down to or babying you

Would help you schedule a doctor's appointment when your crash or mania is worse than usual or goes on for too long

Would be on the lookout for side effects from any new medications or treatments so he can let you know to bring them up at your appointment

All in all, your most caring and loving supporter

Can tell when you're upset about having it and will try to make jokes to cheer you up

If it doesn't work he'll sit with you in silence and hold you

Would never, ever, ever let anyone talk bad about the mental illness, even if you aren't there

Would sometimes give you too tough love (telling you that you're crashing or having an episode when you're in denial)

When he can tell that it hurt your feelings and just made you defensive he would stop and give you a minute to cool down

After that he would calmly explain why he believes that and would help with whatever you needed if he was right or if something else was going on

Could sometimes be too much when getting you out of the house and doing stuff that's good for you when you're crashing but would realize before it does any harm

Would apologize about it and spend the day laying with and comforting you

To sum it up, his love and concern can be pushy but he will always be there for whatever you need

Would have a little bit of trouble understanding at first

When you had an episode for the first time he made an internal comparison to him lashing out when angry to help with that

Would be good at knowing when you can be calmed down, when you need to be with someone, and when you need to be alone

Would be your first and most intense defender if someone starts stereotyping, being rude, or assuming things about you because of it

Sometimes he would have to catch himself when he's about to lose patience when you're having mania but gets better at it

Knows when it's better for both of you and still safe for you to separate for a little bit (around an hour or two) before helping you work through whatever it was

Would be extremely proud of you when it's very under control and would let you know but also assure you he's aware it's a cycle

Overall, the longer he's with you the better he gets at supporting you

Would sometimes struggle with not taking what you say during episodes to heart but would still understand that you didn't mean and were working on it

Would stay awake and try to soothe you to sleep when your mania causes you to stay up

If you're up for really late he would drive you around and either let you have silence until you fall asleep or talk with you to keep your mind off of it

Would be good at remembering triggers to episodes and help you avoid them

Better at helping you with crashes than mania but isn't in any way bad at either of them

Sometimes would pull away from everyone when he could tell you just needed someone to help you

Sometimes would take your mind off of it and others he would let you talk about it or would hold you when you cried

Generally, very patient and loving while giving you any reassurance you need

Has a basic understanding at first

Researches things about it and keeps what she finds in a journal

Learns and memorizes all the terms and symptoms

Keeps track of patterns she sees with mania and crashes

Has comfort food, movies, and things you'll need near her when she can tell you're going to have an episode

Will watch whatever you want with you while cuddling you until you fall asleep

Gets worried when it happens but doesn't let that blind how you're actually doing

Will eat with with you to make sure you actually are

Tells you she loves you as much as she can so you know you'll never be alone through it

To cut it short, she'll learn everything she can so that she can be everything you need

Listens to what you tell her about it and remembers every last bit of information

Would ask how it went after every psychiatrist/therapists appointment but not pry for details

Knows that even though you need a little extra help from medication or people, you're capable of looking out for yourself

Will bring you your favorite fast food every time she finds out you're not eating because of it

Sits at the table and stares at you while eating her own meal until you finish

Gets you some kind of dessert if you want it when you eat what you can

Will lay on top of you so you can't get up and walk around at night when you aren't sleeping

Sometimes tricks you into thinking her telling you to look out for yourself was actually your idea so you listen

To sum it up, she'll let you be a person while also doing what she has to to make sure you're treating yourself right

Realizes something's wrong during a crash because it reminds her of when Newt was depressed

Tells you she's worried and gets you to open up

Feels a little bad when you do since she didn't expect that answer

When she gets over it she asks if you want to tell her more about it

Listens to every single word

Tells you she loves you and how important you are what when you're finished

Generally better at helping with mania since depression brings back some memories

Will stay up late and read to you when you're manic until you go to sleep

Tells you when you're making a rash decision and suggests you sit down with her and really think it though

Will start adding a "make sure to take your medicine," into her goodmorning/goodnight texts

Notices every change in your behavior and will reassure you she'll be there if you have an episode

Essentially, she makes sure you're being logical when manic and safe when crashing

Asks what she can do to support you when you actually tell her

Makes sure to always know your answer

Would pick up your medicine for you when she sees you're running low

Reminds you when you have to make another psychiatrist or therapist appointment

Has the appointments on her own schedule so she can be ready to drive you to or from there if it ends up being a rough session

Takes you to a quiet place outside if it was to get your mind off of it

Will drive you to her place after that so you still aren't alone

Talks about things that aren't actually important but make you happy until you fall asleep in her arms

Will ask if you want to talk about it in the morning after making breakfast

Respects whatever answer you give her

Overall, she'll make sure you speak for yourself while supporting you when you can't find your voice

[batsplat]

as our resident Casey expert i wonder what do you think would have happened if marc and casey competed against each other? since casey retiring is so important for marc coming into motogp im always thinking abt the what ifs...

my initial instinct with this hypothetical is always 'that sounds horrible', though I do have more thoughts and opinions about it than that! marc obviously would have loved the chance to race casey, and casey has even been one of his picks of 'guys he would've liked to be teammates with' before, so, you know, clearly something there - and he does very much respect casey as a rider. I think it's quite likely that by the time marc entered the premier class, casey had already developed... I don't know if wariness is going too far, but maybe a little bit of unease or caution where marc was concerned. marc already very much had a reputation based on his 125/moto2 track record, and some of these incidents were controversial enough that the motogp riders commented on them. so take the phillip island 2011 incident where marc rode into the back of another rider:

the valentino quote serves as a bit of a benchmark here, given he was generally pretty pro-marc. yes, casey's phrasing is perhaps a little harsher, but unsurprisingly none of the riders were big fans of marc's behaviour in that particular incident

on the other hand, it's not like casey never sided with marc. take catalunya 2012, where marc was slapped with a controversial post-race penalty:

yes, casey's main complaint was about inconsistent stewarding - but still, he believed marc had been unfairly treated here. feels like these incidents were some of the only things casey and valentino actually agreed on in those years, so that's nice

that being said, it's hard to see how casey wouldn't have his issues with marc and marc's whole approach to racing. I did include some thoughts on the teammate question here, but mainly I'm going to pilfer the relevant autobiography passage:

"if a rider doesn't care about his own safety then it stands to reason he doesn't care about anybody else's either"... there's nobody really who embodies the 'doesn't care about his own safety' maxim better than marc. he was the young rider desperate to win, and I can't imagine casey would have enjoyed actually racing him much. casey mostly didn't enjoy racing valentino, after all, who is a generally a lot more selective with his aggression than marc is (though casey did have to experience some of the worst valentino had to offer in that regard). casey talked in his autobiography about getting a sense when he just wasn't really able to trust another rider on the track, how much it bothered him - and that exact lack of respect is something that's been pretty closely associated with marc. that doesn't mean he would immediately declare marc his enemy... he'd just want marc to change, to learn, to grow up, to start treating his competitors with a little more respect. the way casey talks about young riders, there is a sense in which he has more time for them than he does for valentino - whose lack of respect casey views as more integral to who he is as a rider. valentino isn't a bully on track due to the exuberance of youth, he's a bully on track when he thinks he can use it as a tactic of intimidation. then again, marc by this measure is worse... and I think very quickly casey would have grown pretty disenchanted with how marc approaches all his wheel-to-wheel racing, especially when it becomes more and more clear marc does not feel particularly inclined to change

it's always important to remember how recent the trauma of losing simoncelli was for the whole sport, and it coloured both dani and jorge's wariness of marc... but also (in my opinion anyway) their restraint in how they dealt with him. how they tried to stop themselves from actually making an enemy out of him, in part because they'd just had an experience of harshly criticising a rider for a whole year and then having to process his death. both dani and jorge actually had more public and more serious disagreements with simoncelli than casey did, but I reckon there would have been an element of that restraint with casey too... on the other hand, his experiences with marc would have left him feeling even more alienated from the sport than he already was - at times frustrated (like jorge was) less with marc directly but more with the regulatory bodies for not holding marc back, for not giving him a race ban or whatever to teach him a lesson. that being said, marc's shamelessness vs casey's stubbornness means that if they had direct on-track encounters and casey didn't like marc's post-race response... well, I certainly think that'd end up being a pretty tense situation, even if it falls short of active hostilities

worth including irl!casey's take on marc in 2013:

which, you know. it's not just that marc's a hard racer - casey is accusing marc of deliberately wanting to make the defeats extra painful for his opponents, of wanting to not just beat but humiliate them. anyone else that reminds you of? someone who is as motivated in securing his psychological victories as his actual ones? perhaps someone who has a bit of a history himself with casey?

let's bring in valentino. it's not that casey would really have begrudged marc his friendship with valentino, and he generally kept his hatred of valentino quite 'clean' in that he wasn't conducting any proxy wars or anything (for instance, I don't get the sense the vale/sic friendship ever affected his view of simoncelli... though I have very little to go on here either way). also, if nothing else in this timeline changes, we're assuming valentino in 2013 is fairly clearly the... fifth? best rider? kinda depends where dani would have landed I suppose (casey's retirement announcement did save honda from a bit of a headache)... but anyway what this means is that valentino probably wouldn't initially have been much of a competitive threat to casey. mostly he would have been consigned to the sidelines

that being said, I doubt casey would have massively enjoyed the whole laguna seca saga. unfortunately, we don't even really know what real life casey's stance on the copycat move situation was... though if I had to guess, in this timeline I'd say his position would've been, a) marc could and should have carried out that overtake two corners later, there was no need in that race situation to take that risk, b) still, it was valentino's slight error as he attempted to reclaim the position (in what was a pretty aggressive manner, it has to be said) that led to them both ending up off-track and fuck that guy, and c) the problem with 2008 wasn't just or even primarily the corkscrew overtake and it's annoying that that's the only bit everyone talks about. of course, there's also the question of whether casey would have bought marc's explanation that it was totally by coincidence that the overtake happened there... and again, complete guesswork, but my sense of casey is that he would have assumed marc was being at least a little bit dishonest. (which, you know... laguna's not an easy track to overtake at, but marc did prove with the bradl move that he was perfectly capable of overtaking after turn 8 - might not have been planning on the off-track excursion, but he was still attempting to overtake just ahead of a blind crest that happened to feed into the corkscrew lol.) I think casey by his honda days had calmed down a bit (though he still certainly had some conspiratorial tendencies), but I also don't think it's a stretch to imagine that he would've felt like he was a victim of a joke between the pair of them... not ideal

overall though, I reckon casey's main frustrations would have been less with the move itself and more with how it was discussed. in the presser, while joking with marc, valentino does take the opportunity to get in a jibe at casey for old time's sake. there's this clip, where he directly addresses livio suppo (at ducati in 2008, by then at honda) - specifically about how both casey and suppo criticised him for that overtake. in response, suppo says something about how he's grateful to marc because they finally got payback. valentino is later asked directly about casey's complaints in 2008 in this clip, and replies with the following:

would valentino have said this stuff with casey still in the paddock? well, yes! honestly, given valentino did very quickly lay off needling casey once he had retired, there's a good chance he would have said something worse. and marc would have laughed along at the whole thing. I don't know, I just don't see casey taking particularly kindly to that... he can hold a grudge, that man can, and at a certain point he'd probably be increasingly less willing to give marc the benefit of the doubt. interesting situation though, laguna seca '13 + casey is a very juicy scenario that could play out in several different ways

but I'm guilty of burying the lede here - there's a far more obvious reason than anything I've described above for why the casey/marc relationship would have turned sour. it's the simple fact that they would have been teammates which would do the damage all on its lonesome; they have radically different conceptualisations of how that dynamic is supposed to work and would inevitably have clashed as a result. the one commonality they do have is they don't see their teammates as potential friends, which is... also not helpful! I think they'd probably initially be fine on the interpersonal level - and, actually, given how the casey/valentino relationship played out and marc's general approach to his rivalries, I can see marc/casey more or less being able to maintain a minimum standard of politeness towards each other even at their worst. like, I still think they'd be able to smile at each other and do some small talk when face-to-face, but I also think everything else would be a complete disaster. I talked a bit about how marc approaches his teammate relationships in this post - and I'm not going to rehash too much of what irl!marc got up to, but I'll include some bits relevant to casey

from marc:

related to casey:

and dani comparing the two:

we do obviously even have actual real life controversy wherein casey thinks marc felt threatened by him and forced him out of honda... and this in a timeline where they weren't even direct competitors! if this is the level of tension a test rider role can generate, then if they'd actually been teammates...? yeah, no. casey thinks that teammates should cooperate - and he thinks that riders enforcing divisions within the box are essentially doing so because they are "afraid". marc has openly admitted to lying about what parts he likes to make sure his teammate doesn't get any edge over him. this is the thing, right: marc might think casey is a cool rider, would've liked the chance to race him and even be teammates with him... but this is the stuff he did to dani, who was one of his literal idols! this is his understanding of competition - (like valentino) he might love the fight, but simultaneously he'll do pretty much whatever it takes to win, because he considers this stuff fundamentally part of the game. casey does not. to casey, this kind of victory is dishonest. any kind of gamesmanship is a sign of weakness... the victory is worth less if you're accomplishing it like that

now, hey, maybe marc would never have been able to go as far as he did with dani because he wouldn't have the kind of performance edge that allows you to definitively impose your will within the team. I think it's a popular interpretation that marc wouldn't have won the title in 2013 if casey had been there, which... I mean, I think it's true that it would have been less likely - in that in a season with that much volatility, the more plausible championship contenders you have the less likely it is that any single one of them takes the title (same goes for instance if you add in a valentino who had not gone to ducati for two years and would have presumably been more competitive in 2013). but it's not like casey would have been the defending champion and the clear class of the field... partly due to injury, he ended up finishing in third in 2012. jorge and dani didn't win the 2013 title in part as a result of their own injuries, and who knows how casey would have fared... like sometimes it's just luck of the draw really. you can be the better rider and still not win the title, shit happens. I think for as long as a more or less healthy-ish casey stays in the sport, it would have been unlikely that marc establishes quite the same performance edge as he did over dani... but, well, if anything that would have meant he would have fought even harder out of perceived necessity to win the internal honda wars

it's the kind of thing that can make a relationship quickly deteriorate, especially with a prickly character such as casey, and it's entirely plausible that dynamic would have become strained at best and horrendously toxic at worst... sooner rather than later. and the thing is, this environment would affect marc considerably less than it would casey. again, it's the fact that he relishes the fight... he's very good at shrugging off (most) criticism and thrives in that kind of tension. the emotional fatigue that this scenario generates would be painfully lopsided, where casey offers harsh criticisms and means them and is endlessly frustrated with marc's approach, while marc... doesn't really care. at least dani also had a questionable manager who was conducting behind the scenes warfare on his behalf - casey doesn't want to play these games at all. he just wants to ride a bike, and marc is never going to allow him to live in peace as long as he's an internal threat. if casey were exposed directly to all of that from marc, I doubt he'd walk away from the experience with a particularly positive impression of him

does he walk away? I think there's a decent chance that casey would have ended up so disillusioned with the whole thing that this would have been what pushed him into retirement. if he wants to get out of that mess, let's say after two years, his options would have been pretty limited. yamaha is closed off and I'd struggle to think of a scenario in which either jorge or valentino would have been particularly interested in a direct swap (also, if you're sick of being marc's teammate, you're probably not gonna be jumping at the chance to be valentino's instead). I suppose you could go back to ducati (which he did return to as a test rider so it's not like those bridges were permanently burnt), and maybe casey could do something special even with *gestures* that version of the bike. really though... I think enough would have been enough for him. regardless of the actual balance of success between the pair of them, my guess is marc wins that war because he's happier to get nasty and because he wants it more. casey has his two to four titles... he's done. let him go fishing

[kkatastrophic]

Danganronpa Opinions

WELLLLLLLLLLLLLL...

(I mean none of this with offense and I'm not targetting in any way shape or form btw-)

THH:

. Chihiro is VERY overrated.

. Off topic but it's canon Taka can sing, he wants Sayaka to teach him to sing so he can project his voice, and his Japanese VA is amazing at singing, and his English VA is Kinger in TADC (which I don't know much about but heard a song and imagined Taka singing it - which made me laugh -)

. Sayaka is underrated and over hated.

. Some of the executions aren't that good, and Celeste's was good and theatrical, but she (technically) killed 2 people and deserved to suffer a bit more.

. Toko is bad in THH and highly overrated if people like her and haven't seen her in UDG.

. Kiyotaka is annoying and loud even in his FTEs (He's like... my favourite character but I HAVE TO BE HONEST I WOULDN'T BE FRIENDS WITH HIM IRL-)

. Byakuya and Kyoko are EXTREMELY OVERRATED!!!! (If Byakuya has no haters I'm dead-)

. The survivors were so uninteresting, Hiro did almost nothing the whole time, and after Chapter 4 Aoi seemed to outlive her usefulness. She's still cool though, but also overrated.

. TRIAL 3 WAS WORSE THAN TRIAL 5 AND YOU CAN'T CHANGE MY MIND.

. 11037 is still kind of funny, but only in context and not for making fun of Leon as a character.

. Sayaka haters are just mad for no reason... leave her alone gang-

. Junko was a terrible choice for a master-mind, they should've given fake Junko more development before killing her off. I forgot about her after Chapter Two.

. Byakuya x Anybody is a terrible ship, especially Makoto x Byakuya.

. Celesgiri have chemistry, but no interactions that make us ship them.

. LEON, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH AND THE MANGA EXPLAINS IT IS SELF DEFENSE.

SDR2:

. Nagito is actually kind of annoying... he was better in Chapter One, but he did make the game 10x more interesting.

. Nekomaru > Ibuki

. Peko is a cool character but not as loveable as the fans see her to be.

. Hinanami is ONLY platonic, nothing else.

. SDR2 TRIAL 3 IS NOT AS BAD AS EVERYBODY SAYS

. This may be exclusive to me but Trial 4 was stupidly difficult (I knew who the killer was and didn't get it because I'm a fucking moron.)

. Mikan and Hiyoko are both equally as annoying as eachother, but Hiyoko is much more upfront about it.

. MIKAN HAD A TRASH EXECUTION AND THIS OPINION ISN'T GONNA GET ME SHOT IN THE HEAD!!!

. Souda x Gundham is a bad ship... even the Voice Actor of Tanaka says so.

. Chiaki is slightly overrated.

. AI Junko is mid.

. Kamakura should have gotten more development, and is overrated.(I haven't seen the anime)

V3: (Updated version btw)

. I love V3, it's the best game

. Maki>Kyoko

. They shouldn't have killed Kaede off early, for her development as a character, but it was necessary to do so.

. Rantaro's overrated and him and Ryoma NEEDED MORE DEVELOPMENT.

.Tsumugi best mm real???

. Gonta is overrated.

. The Motive-Video for chapter two is a reused from chapter one THH, did they run out of ideas? If so, how did they recreate Danganronpa 53 times without the audience getting bored?

. Traffic Light (HimokoxAngiexTenko) is a bad ship because though Himiko cares for them both, Tenko doesn't like Angie much. (from what I've seen)

. They should've gotten in some new VAs for V3, I love Shuichi but I can only hear Leon in his voice...

[lieutenantism]

i'm currently thinking about how jean loses himself completely to harry. just dissolves entirely. very little sense of identity left outside his partnership with him, which i find so intriguing. i mean, it's the definition of codependency, but that doesn't make it any less interesting (long post, again).

"i won't let my life unravel because of this." is just so insane and melodramatic to me because WHO is that man to you, jean? and why is his alcoholism the reason for your life unraveling? jean takes on harry's drinking problem as a problem of his own, a threat to his life before harry's, even though the drinking doesn't affect harry's ability to do his job, and jean acknowledges that as well as everyone else in the major crimes unit.

but why does he have such a big problem with harry's alcoholism? why's he the only one out of the task force who seems to care obsessively? because the one before him failed to save him, and he feels as though it's his responsibility now. to jean, harry's life is divided to three parts; before him, during him, and tragically, after him.

the fact jean puts himself in the same position as dora, harry's ex, tells you enough. almost as if he considers them to be the same, in terms of responsibility for harry's wellbeing. he's cleaning up her mess, he seems to think. she was way before my time, as though they hold the same significance to harry. of course, this isn't entirely jean's fault. both him and harry share the guilt of their twisted relationship; harry's guilty of getting too personal with anybody within arm's reach.

and jean's guilty for wanting to clean up a mess that he didn't make, and losing sight of himself and his true professional duties in the process. so it goes like this; they partner up, harry's bad at drawing the line between personal and professional relationships and jean's even worse, harry goes on benders every week and jean witnesses them and tries to pull him out of them relentlessly, which then leads to whatever fucked up partnership they had, right before martinaise. the question is why did jean feel the need to save him? because he projected onto him severely.

they're both broken men; mirrors of each other, though jean will never say it out loud. he sees himself in harry, and since he can't save himself and everyone's given up on him, even the professionals, he decides not to give up on harry. in a way, jean's trying to prove to himself that he's not a lost cause through sticking by harry's side through it all, because if even the most lost of causes manages to have at least one person who's there for them at all times, who says he can't have one too? why must he be labelled as the anomaly? if harry du bois could be saved, so can he. he maintains this "i have my shit together, i'm better than you." persona during the entire confrontation, when he isn't. like i said, harry is everything jean works hard in order not to become, yet he still manages to lose his sense of identity while "saving" him and only becomes "harry's partner". that's all he is. nothing but a safety net, there to catch him at all times.

that's why he becomes extremely defensive when you choose the "kim's cooler than you." option, because you're practically robbing him of his identity. throughout the entirety of the game, he keeps repeating: "i'm your partner", to reassure himself more so than anything else, and what the game does here is very clever. you first hear him say that on a call, so distant and away from you; he cannot convince you that he's your partner even if he tried. then, he says it when he's in an idiotic disguise that you didn't recognize, and quite frankly it's making you uncomfortable, it's hard to take him seriously when he looks so stupid so you don't believe him, again. then at last, when he confronts you, and he's himself. then you think it sticks.

but it doesn't, and you dismiss him again to ask about the others. i've always found it perplexing how there's no "how can you be my partner?" option during the confrontation. you can ask about mikael heidelstam for fuck's sake, but not your partner. simply because you don't believe he is, at least not anymore. he's just a very angry man who was in a stupid disguise, and that's all you can ask him about. isn't that so insanely tragic? when you think about how dismissive the "confrontation" is? and jean's lashing out that way because his whole identity is hanging in the balance? no matter what jean tells harry, there's no click, no lightbulb flickering moment, nothing. jean tries everything, it's painful to see, really. the "i didn't lie to you. no one lies to you." and his lines to judit and trant where he's like "i told you, it's typical harry behavior. it's our shitkid." and so on are all attempts to prove that he, jean, knows him, harry, better than anyone else, even himself. he KNOWS him, which is why harry has to need him. he has to keep him. as his partner or whatever the hell it was, because nobody else knows him or will ever get to know him that way.

jean's response to harry telling them "i don't wanna be in your unit." only further proves it. "i'm your partner, i answer for you when you're not there." considering the fact harry and jean had begun to blur ever since their partnership came into being makes the line funnier lol. jean had locked himself up in a prison of his own making, of course with harry giving him all the means necessary to build his own cage beforehand. it was a matter of time and conditioning, and severe loneliness. every crime of harry's feels like one jean is guilty of.

[antianakin]

I've complained before that some of the way Ahsoka is written in Rebels makes very little sense with the character we knew in TCW, in particular the fact that she's suddenly considered a really great spy when one of her primary characteristics in TCW is that she's bad at subtlety (which seems like a necessary trait for a spy).

But there was a chance to help explain it if anyone had ever explored how her experience during the Wrong Jedi arc had allowed her to learn from THOSE mistakes.

Ahsoka acts impatiently and impulsively and even almost arrogantly in the Wrong Jedi arc. She thinks she knows better than anybody else, she thinks she can solve this mystery when no one else can or will, and she FAILS. She doesn't discover anything useful that could clear her name or point her to the true culprit. All she ever does is make choices that make her look more and more guilty and then gets caught anyway and someone ELSE has to go find the evidence on her behalf (something that could've been done earlier had she not kept running off half-cocked and forcing everyone to chase HER instead). By the end of that arc, she's able to recognize (to some degree) that she fucked up. She says that since the Council couldn't trust her, she can't trust herself, either. She chooses to walk away to try to figure out where she went wrong.

These are flaws that have been given to Ahsoka since the START. Many of the earlier episodes that focused on Ahsoka's flaws focused on her impatience and arrogance and how she learned to overcome them when she started facing larger, very real consequences of her mistakes. She obviously does get better and does learn more patience and humility over the course of the show, but she's still young and has only been a padawan for a little over a YEAR by the time the Wrong Jedi arc happens (at MOST it's been two years, which is still a drop in the bucket in comparison to most apprenticeships for Jedi from what we can tell). It's entirely reasonable that she still struggles with these flaws and that it might cause a larger issue if the stakes are high enough sometimes and her emotions run out of control.

And I would've loved to see more of Ahsoka really acknowledging how she'd fucked up, how she'd put the Jedi into a corner, how she'd MADE herself seem untrustworthy, how she'd made it impossible for anyone to truly support her, how her OWN lack of trust had led to her own demise. If she had been less impulsive and not run away, if she'd been less arrogant in thinking she could do this on her own, if she'd been more patient and trusted that the Jedi would find a solution, maybe she never would've ended up in that court room at all, maybe she never would've even been expelled from the Jedi Order in the first place.

And THAT'S what I could see leading to Ahsoka finally learning things like subtlety. If Ahsoka learns humility and patience after that experience, if she realized just how bad the consequences were when she DIDN'T learn that lesson and worked hard to apply it to her choices later, I could see her becoming better at things like spywork.

But unfortunately, her behavior in TCW season 7 just shows she's almost less subtle than ever, and certainly more arrogant and impatient than she was even by season 4 and 5. She's gotten WORSE since that arc, not better. And then we never really see anything between THAT behavior, the bratty teenager, and the wiser spy she's become by Rebels, which just makes the whole thing even more unbelievable.

So yes, sure, time passes in which Ahsoka COULD have learned the skills necessary to be a better spy, but the actual narrative we have for her shows that she DOESN'T learn those skills and in fact leans more into the flaws that would make her a WORSE spy.

[lizhly-writes]

@asha10100101010 @wizisbored @eriquin thank you very much! and now, from the wip doc, directly continuing from this:

"You don't want to be my right-hand man."

"I didn't say that!"

Even if Wei Hua was thinking it, Jiang Cheng should give him credit for not saying it!

"You didn't need to say anything," Jiang Cheng grumbled. His face was scrunched up -- it seemed like he couldn't decide whether or not to be angry or to... cry?

Did Wei Hua just make a kid cry? That sounded super bad. Was it better or worse that Wei Hua was also a kid? Sort of a kid?

Haha. Ah. Shit. He wasn't supposed to be crushing kids' dreams until he was a parent or something!

"I just! I just!!! I just think you should pick someone more qualified!" Wei Hua said.

"What's that supposed to mean."

'What's that supposed to mean'? Wasn't it pretty obvious? Wei Hua didn't seriously think he had to say it out loud -- but if he didn't have to say it out loud, then Jiang Cheng wouldn't have brought up this whole 'right-hand man' business to begin with.

Wei Hua was not the most talented cultivator. He never did anything that stood out among the other Jiang disciples. Frankly, the only thing that stood out was that his surname was 'Wei', and that was not in a good way.

"Your mom hates me," Wei Hua said.

"She doesn't...." Jiang Cheng trailed off, probably because he couldn't say "she doesn't hate you" without feeling like a liar.

"Your mom really hates me," Wei Hua said, encouraged. "Making her hate me is the only thing I do better than anybody else."

This was the sort of thing that happened when your not-mom thought you were your not-dad's bastard child. This didn't faze Wei Hua at all, since he'd never actually gotten out of the habit of gracefully dealing with the fact that his guardians wished he didn't exist, but everyone else was pretty upset about it.

"I really don't have any other qualifications," Wei Hua said. "There's no reason you should pick me over anyone else. Unless you feel like giving your mom an aneurysm, haha. That'd be pretty unfilial of you!"

There was a pause, just long enough for Wei Hua to maybe think this would go away and they would never have to talk about it again, before Jiang Cheng said, "Bullshit."

"Eh?"

"That's not true."

"Have you seen your mom yell at me?" Wei Hua said.

"She's yelled harder at Xiao-shidi," Jiang Cheng said.

This was true. It had to be said while Wei Hua was not a talented cultivator, he was also not terrible. At worst, he was below average, which still put him solidly above dead last. Which mean, yeah, Madame Yu yelled more at Xiao-shidi.

"Are you arguing I have no qualifications, then?" Wei Hua said, feeling strangely delighted.

Jiang Cheng jabbed a finger at his chest. "Shut up. You can't pull that with me. I've seen your coursework."

Ah.

Wei Hua casually looked away, twiddling his thumbs. "Sort of thought you guys didn't really care about that."

If Wei Hua had an advantage anywhere, it was outside of sword class. Literature, calligraphy, mathematics, that kind of thing. He wasn't good, but he was objectively better than his peers. It would've been actively sad if he wasn't, when he'd already learned all this shit a lifetime ago. If you only looked at non-cultivator classes, Wei Hua would be ranked -- well, not number one, because he wasn't actually that great at painting or playing the qin or writing poetry or -- regardless! He would be pretty high up there!

But nobody ever only looked at non-cultivator classes. Why would anyone do that when they were in a cultivation sect? Seriously, who would care about maths instead of magic sword stuff?

[kairiscorner]

i saw your miguel requests are open!! Yay!

Could you write a Miguel x f!reader where reader is a stubborn, confident daughter of a crime lord and Miguel is required to be her bodyguard even though she doesn't want anything to do with her father's work?

HI DEARRRRR OFC OFC !! sorry if the climax seemed so sudden, i just wanted to do something related to the third image on the header bc it looked so cute rgh ... anyway, hoping you like this !!

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

bodyguard!miguel o'hara x fem!reader

the guy your father hired to protect you was... a real piece of work.

first of all, he was worse than your dad; he refused to let you do anything by yourself or go anywhere all alone, even in the most private of places. he sits close by you, or across you, while eating–he stands outside of the comfort room, standing all menacingly by your stall door and glaring down at anybody who walked by, and he'd decline invitations to anywhere fun and exciting for you in fear that you'd 'get all rebellious' on your father. "do you not know how to have fun? i'm starting to think you were, what, synthesized in a lab, never experienced wanting to have some excitement in your life?" you asked him sarcastically as he drove you home, with you at the front seat–your arms folded over your chest as you narrowed your eyes at your stoic-faced bodyguard.

miguel didn't budge and kept his eyes on the road; expertly driving without flinching or looking away one bit from the road ahead of you two. you raised an eyebrow and sighed, slumping further into your seat. "you're like the terminator, like, i don't even know if you kill people, but you're like him–a mindless robot that can only follow orders." you said with a huff. he finally spoke soon enough as you two hit a red light. "your father's paying me to follow orders, not to do anything else, let alone have idle chit-chat with his daughter." he said pretty bluntly and monotonously, making you groan exaggeratedly. "of course he would never pay for me to have a friend. he did when i was seven years old, though, that went to shit after a while, however." you blabbed as miguel looked at you from the corner of his eye.

"wait, of course, you don't wanna hear it." "no, no, keep talking, ma'am." miguel then blurted out himself. "that is... if you wish to keep talking." he added, distancing himself from you while still getting a little closer than ever before. you were surprised at how miguel was taking the initiative to talk to you, and you figured that since you had nothing better to do, why not tell this man your whole life story, thoughts, problems, and... just everything you've been keeping to yourself all this time. "fuck, i wanna leave home." you confessed to him as miguel slowed the car down, coming to a turn. "...and why's that?" he asked you, making you immediately shrug in response. "well, my dad wants to protect me and all, which, i'm grateful for, but... i don't wanna have a part in everything he does, i don't want... i don't want to do what he does, and i'm scared that, one day... i will end up like him." you confessed, tears streaming down your cheeks without you realizing. this has happened multiple times while you were alone, but never with anyone else–you'd sometimes cry without you realizing and mask it up, switch your emotions like flicking a switch on and off.

miguel, for the first time in a long while, turned his head to look at you and away from the road for a bit. he slowed down his driving and just... looked onto your scared, worried eyes that reflected just how fearful you were of becoming like your father. you were always so daring, rebellious, and confident to boot–you never showed fear unless it was a real, tangible fear you felt like it might come true one day if you weren't careful. he cleared his throat and looked up ahead, back on the road. "it's not my place to say anything regarding this matter, i'm not the most well-equipped person to have anything remotely helpful to say about any of this, but, um... you don't know that." he whispered those last few words in a small, creaking voice, not even sure why he's saying what he's saying; gulping back the already spoken words and shirking back in the driver's seat silently.

you sniffled back the tears you didn't realize you were holding in and looked at him quizzically. "...don't know what?" you asked him with a gentle voice, prompting him to finish his thought. miguel sighed and pulled up to the driveway, cutting through the dark evening with the bright lights illuminating from the luxurious car miguel drove you in and shut off the ignition, shifting in his seat as anxiety and nervousness filled his mind. "you... you don't know if you'll really be like him. you're not your father, you might not even become your father; you're... you. and, i like you for who you are, for all your snarkiness, cheekiness, you giving me a hard time all the time, i... i appreciate you as you are now." he finished, feeling his face get all flustered as he saw the way your eyes shone in the dark, how your tears from earlier glistened as the moon shone above and let light pour down upon your twinkling face. he got out of the car and went over to your door as usual to escort you out, but when he got close to your door, you left the window open and—as he got nearer towards you—you grabbed him gently by his tie, pulled him in close, and pressed your plush lips against his. you didn't know what you just did or why you even did what you did—but something about his words stuck to you and compelled you to... do some things you'd keep to yourself.

"i, um... thank you. you're... not as emotionless as i thought you'd be, i-i suppose..." you murmured silently as you pulled away from him and let his tie slip from your hands as you scooched out of the passenger and driver's seat, exiting out the door miguel left through; watching him stare at you with widened eyes and a bashful, surprised look on his face that made him think and ask himself, 'was that... real?' he merely nodded and kept clearing his throat as he stumbled away from the car, but fumbling the keys in his hands to lock the doors once he realized he forgot to do so. you swore you heard him mutter how 'soft your lips felt, how 'if your dad learned about that... there was no telling what'd happen to him', but most of all—you swore that he seemed softer, kinder, and a lot more vulnerable than before you kissed him.

he seemed so much warmer now, somehow...

this wasn't stopping you totally from overthinking all the time, though, it was good to know that he respected you as a person as opposed to some girl he was going to protect at all costs. but the reason why you kissed him... it sent your face to a furious fluster and made your brain short-circuit even remembering it all, made you weak in the knees and stutter a whole lot while thinking about it, looking forward to the next time you'd see him, for once.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | AO3

-----

Around the fourth of July, when Eddie's finally resigned himself to a third senior year at high school - his last one, his last chance, because he knows damn well they're going to stop letting him stubbornly try again at some point - he gets a series of lies that fill him with more dread than even the bit about the hospital.

I don't know, I don't know anything!

There's nobody else out there, swear to God!

My delivery didn't come, and my friend and I, we thought that it was left at the loading dock, so we went in the room.

But I swear to God, nobody knows about us, nobody saw us.

And I'm not gonna tell anybody about this, okay?

Come on, I told you everything I know!

Eddie panics.

He knows what an interrogation looks like, and it's pretty damn clear that his soulmate is lying to protect someone - multiple someones? His organization? Shit, is his soulmate like actually a spy, or is he just a dumb kid who stumbled into the back of a mafia run organization or something?

Whatever it is, Eddie doesn't want to leave him alone to it, but - Uncle Wayne already left for his shift, and he can't call him at work, and on top of that, Eddie's a little afraid that whatever he says will get picked up by the interrogators or throw his soulmate off.

So he waits, tense and on edge and every moment cracking him open wider and wider.

And then, after hours of nothing that leave Eddie checking over and over again to make sure the words on his skin are still stark and bold, that they haven't gone all faded the way they do when your soulmate dies -

I'm fine, they're hurt worse than me, they need it more.

He lets out a shaky, relieved sigh, even though he's beyond furious at his stupid soulmate who keeps getting himself hurt, and there's a pit at the bottom of his stomach that makes him wonder what the hell his soulmate has gotten himself involved with.

This time, he's not going to let him get away with insisting he doesn't need medical attention. Uncle Wayne may still be at work, but he's got other options.

Eddie calls Jeff.

"I think you have to go to the hospital," he says when Jeff answers, slow and deliberate and sincere.

There's a few moments of confused silence, then Jeff asks, "What the fuck, dude?"

Eddie waits for just a little bit longer before saying, "When you see what I've got for this next campaign, I think you're going to have to go to the hospital."

Jeff laughs, and they talk for a little bit about what the campaign's going to be like, what character Jeff's thinking about for it, what he'd like to do with his character and how it can fit with some of the stuff Eddie's working up, how Eddie better not kill this one damn it.

"You know all I care about is you and your safety," Eddie says before they hang up, once again making it as genuine as possible so it'll get picked up as a lie.

Jeff laughs at him again and hangs up on him, leaving Eddie all alone and jittery.

He doesn't know if his soulmate will even see it any time soon, let alone respond, but - at least he did it, at least he said something.

So he's a little surprised when he feels the sting of a new lie getting written on his shoulder later that night, so late that it's already almost morning.

I went to the hospital, but I didn't get medical attention, it says. I'm not safe now.

The last of the panic he'd felt drains out of him, and he's reluctantly but fiercely grateful that his soulmate decided to break their silence to reassure him. He's not expecting anything else, but a few minutes later he feels something else being written on the inside of his thigh.

I don't care about my soulmate, too, and I won't do anything to keep them safe. That isn't why we can't talk again yet.

Oh.

Eddie kind of wants to be stubborn, and insist on talking to him again anyway, but -

But his soulmate said them, not her, like he's open to the possibility that Eddie might be a guy. But his soulmate said yet, not never. But his soulmate said he'd do anything to keep Eddie safe, and Eddie's pretty sure he just got a little glimpse into what anything might be, and he -

Things have changed. His soulmate's probably graduated, Eddie realizes, and he's clearly found at least one person who's a different kind of friend, considering the lies he just said are no longer stilted and obscured, and all that's aside from whatever he's gotten involved with that might mean Eddie isn't safe if they talk again.

So for now, he'll listen.

—

Later that month, Eddie's in the back of Hawkins' one and only comic-slash-games shop, crouched down and hunting through their meager supply of miniatures. He's so focused on his search for one that he a, hasn't used a lot, and b, can modify enough to suit his latest campaign, that he doesn't notice someone's come up and is standing by him until he hears the rustling and clack of merchandise on the shelf above him.

He rocks back on his heels, looking over and up to who's joined him - and nearly falls over when he sees Steve Harrington standing there.

"Seriously?" he demands, because Jesus Christ, they're coming to find him in his own territory now? Then, in almost the same breath as the state of Hawkins High's recently graduated golden boy hits him, "Wait, what the hell happened to you?"

Harrington squints down at him, looking incredibly unimpressed. Eddie's not actually sure how someone can pull off looking that irritated when one eye can only barely open, but somehow, he manages it.

"I was captured by Russians who didn't like my attitude," he responds, dry and sarcastic.

Fuck him then, Eddie decides, turning to glare back at his miniatures. "Right, heaven forbid the peasantry rise above their station and show concern to the royalty."

There's an awkward silence, but Harrington doesn't leave, and when Eddie glances back up, he looks - softer, somehow. It makes his injuries look even worse, and Eddie swallows roughly.

"I was at Starcourt," Harrington says, as if that should explain it all, which -

Actually, yeah, it should. It's not like Eddie's unaware of the fact that the mall kind of spectacularly burned to the ground. It's all that's been in the papers for the last few weeks. He hasn't read many of them himself, but he couldn't avoid remembering some of the headlines - Hero Cop Dies Saving Children and Scoop Slinging Teens Save Lives and Hawkins Mourns Loss of Promising Teen Couple.

He'd been irritated at seeing Harrington and Hargrove's faces everywhere, in a strange, gut clenching way that he doesn't really want to look too closely at, considering one of them is now dead and the other apparently saves lives. In retrospect, he should have put it together, but Harrington's picture had always been him in his varsity jacket, or his tux and crown at prom, or once in the sailor outfit of his summer job. Never of his injuries, and even now, looking at him, it looks so much more like he got in another fight than he was injured in a fire.

"Is it true, then?" Eddie asks, because he can feel the most recent lies from his soulmate burning as though they're being written all over, and he still really doesn't want this asshole to be it. "Little sailor boy saving lives?"

Harrington makes a face that has to hurt, but apparently looking bitchy is more important than physical comfort. Then he shrugs one shoulder. "Yeah, I guess, I helped. But it wasn't just me. I wasn't even the MVP."

Eddie snorts. "False modesty doesn't become you."

Harrington just mutters, "Whatever, man, you asked," and goes back to looking at the shelves like Eddie isn't even there.

Which tracks, really, with how Harrington had treated almost everyone in high school, and Eddie rolls his eyes.

"What are you even doing here?" he asks.

Harrington looks back down at him. "The Hopper-Byers are moving to California."

"Did not know that." Eddie's kind of surprised that Harrington does, actually, unless he's been keeping tabs on his ex's current boyfriend, just waiting to swoop in. Sucks for the Byers, though - baby Byers will be okay, he thinks, but he knows Jonathan's heading into his senior year, and that's a rough time to - "Wait, Hopper-Byers?"

"Yeah." Harrington's expression has gone all closed off, now, like he'd rather be anywhere but here talking to Eddie.

Feeling's fucking mutual, Eddie decides.

"El - Hop's adopted daughter - she's going with the Byers."

Eddie didn't know Hopper had an adopted daughter. But then, with Harrington's parents, he's not surprised the guy's cozy enough with the chief of police to have a dumb little nickname for him and be friends with his adopted daughter.

Former chief of police, and that makes Eddie feel just a little bit guilty. Not enough to stop poking at Harrington, though.

"And that brought you here because…."

"There's a going away party, and I'm not showing up empty handed." Harrington gestures at the shelves. "Will likes all this weird shit."

Goddamn. Even when Harrington is doing something nice for someone, he's still a huge dick about it. Eddie wonders if it's hurting what counts for a brain under all that hair to be this thoughtful about an obligatory going away present for some nerd.

Harrington lets out a frustrated huff of air, pushing his fingers through his hair. "Help a guy out, man? He's leaving his party behind, so I don't want to get him something for, you know, game play or whatever, but maybe something to remember it?"

If Eddie was feeling charitable, he might think it was sweet, how much the guy was thinking about this. But, well.

It's Steve Harrington, and even if Eddie's never really interacted with the guy before, he knows enough to know he's exactly the kind of rich, popular jackass that makes life for people like Eddie miserable.

So Eddie snorts, thinks that of fucking course the guy is trying to outsource gift buying onto him, that he can't even put in the effort to pick it out himself and instead is just trying to find someone else to do it for him.

Still, he doesn't want Byers the younger to end up with a crappy gift. He might not be coming into freshman year at Hawkins High with the rest of his apparently D&D playing friends, but Eddie can still look out for him a little.

"There's some t-shirts and posters next aisle over. Couple of choose your own adventure comic books, some art books towards the back," Eddie offers.

Harrington makes a face. "Yeah, definitely not getting him a t-shirt, hopefully he can at least have a chance at his new high school."

Oh, fuck this guy and his judgemental, holier-than-thou attitude.

"He's an artist, though, his stuff is really good," Harrington continues. "I already got him a sketchbook and some paints, so maybe the art books? I'll take a look."

Harrington is moving before Eddie can get a word in edgewise, pausing only to clasp his shoulder and give it a squeeze.

"Thanks, Munson," he says, easy as anything, and then he's gone.

I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone whose commented/reblogged/liked this - I'm a little bit blown away by the response, and I'm so so glad people are enjoying this!! We'll be heading into season 4 with the next part, and they're probably going to start getting longer because this is turning into such a monster. I'm having so much fun writing these dumb boys!

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Part 6

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