#look. look. it would work so well with his self destructive tendencies. look.

[andie-platonically]

Fantasy High characters as songs by The Mountain Goats

1. Kristen Applebees - Before I Got There

“And the tapestry above / Torn down, trampled then re-hung / Now illegible forever / An oracle with no tongue/ All of this, all of this / All of this before I got there”

I think this song so perfectly mirrors Kristen’s relationship with both Cassandra and Ankarna. Like, both of them had been corrupted and used to further other people’s evil plans with no regard to their original followers’ intent. Until Kristen arrived. Until she lovingly restored them to their original forms with such respect to why they were created, and her compassion is one of my favorite things about her character.

2. Riz Gukgak - Ground Level

“You can light a cigarette / against the cooktop if you need to / feel the heat against your forehead / let it bleed through / you’re never gonna get by / on three hours of sleep a night / unless you absolutely have to / and then you get by alright.”

I almost picked Bones Don’t Rust, which you should also add to your Riz character playlist but I went with this one instead. We see Riz take up smoking in Junior Year, we see him not sleeping and overworking himself throughout the series, and I think a lot of that does come from a place of going beyond his breaking point, steadfastly refusing to break, and thinking that means he’s okay.

3. Fabian Seacaster - Wage Wars Get Rich Die Handsome / Great Pirates

I’m cheating and giving Fabian two songs because he changes so much throughout the series. Here’s the first one:

“Stay independent, make adjustments as needed / it’s losers all the way down, you stay undefeated / wage wars, get rich, die handsome.”

I think this song is peak Fabian from Freshman Year. It references motorcycle riding, the narrator genuinely thinks he’s such hot shit, and I mean like, come on. Wage wars, get rich, die handsome. It’s literally perfect. But Fabian grows. He changes. So here’s the second song I picked for him:

“On the morning when I stop looking back / I’ll be up to see the sunrise in deep, bruise black / And bright, blood red / And pale desert rose / And several other colors like those / great pirates, testing the waves.”

Okay, so obviously it was fun to use a Mountain Goats song with pirates in it, but also, I interpret this song as being about moving on from your past and looking towards an uncertain future. So much of Fabian’s arc has been him figuring out who he is beyond his dad’s legacy, and so I think this song works really well with that. (I probably could have picked any Jenny from Thebes song and it would have a lot of those themes, but come on, pirates!)

4. Fig Faeth - Cry for Judas

“Speed up to the precipice / and then slam on the breaks / some people crash two or three times / And then learn from their mistakes / But we are the ones who don’t slow down at all / and there’s nobody there to catch us when we fall.”

I think Fig’s self destructive tendencies are more evident early on in the series (see: all her affairs with middle-aged men) but honestly, the way she puts herself on the front lines again and again for her friends is just as destructive imo. Also, this song gives such difficult child-energy, and I think sometimes this is how Sandralynn sees her. This kid who didn’t deal with her curse because it didn’t seem important when her friends had other things going on. This kid who skips her classes, is straight-edge except for drugs. This kid who was knocked unconscious in her first combat and wanted everyone to think she spent the whole time fighting.

5. Adaine Abernant - Up the Wolves

“I’m gonna get myself in fighting trim / scope out every angle of unfair advantage / I’m gonna bribe the officials, I’m gonna kill all the judges / It’s gonna take you people years to recover from all of the damage.”

Trigger warning to those who need it: Sunset Tree is about abuse, which is obviously quite prevalent in Adaine’s arc Freshman/Sophomore Year. It was between this and Lion’s Teeth. What I like about this song for Adaine is that it is tragic, of course it’s tragic, but it also shows her rage, not just for herself but for Aelwyn too. This is a girl who took what her parents did to her and said that’s not fair and punched her dad so hard in the face that he died. I also think that given how Adaine’s relationship with her mother is so much more complicated, the other parts of this song work well with that.

6. Gorgug Thistlespring - The Slow Parts on Death Metal Albums

“Drive home alone and listen to the slow parts / In a new universe / trying to find the mask that still fits me / shaking the curse.”

I’m gonna be so real, I really struggled with this one because I just don’t relate to Gorgug as much, but I’m so infatuated with the idea that he listens to the slow parts of death metal albums, and I do think that this song, to me, fits the fact that Gorgug doesn’t really fit the roles anyone expects from him. He’s not just a mindless raging half-orc, he’s also kind and shy and gentle and loving. But he does have a lot of rage and he reacts violently at times and his parents love him but they don’t always know what to do with that.

Bonus song! Jawbone - Midland

“Come and stay with me as long as you like / I live outside of town where the straight highway curves / three years I lived next door to the airport / so nothing you can say to me can get on my nerves.”

Jawbone collects fucked up teens like pokemon cards, so I every time I hear this song I think of him. Also, the way the narrator of this song gives the subject time and space to go through things and assures them that yeah, I’ll still be here, is so very Jawbone-coded imo. Also, later in the song, he says “stay till you can grieve like normal people do / I’ve got room, room in my house for you.” Like, every line of this song is just so Jawbone I need y’all to understand.

Bonus song #2! The Bad Kids - When a Powerful Animal Comes

“Speak in gestures only we can understand / we’ve made mistakes / everyone spots their own mess / when the dawn breaks / we get so exhausted / lost kids, just wasted / sleep in short shifts then rise to our feet / life is short and life is hard and life is sweet.”

This song is the most Bad Kids shit I’ve ever heard in my life. If it’s not in your Bad Kids playlist, you gotta add it now and Weary Adventures by Skull Puppies haha anyway It’s just literally so perfect. It’s just these kids with the weight of the world on their shoulders, so fucking tired of saving the world. It’s literally the overall arc of Junior Year!

[feelo-fick]

taps mic. chilchuck has skin asthma. walks away

[sweatervest-obsessed]

hello !! rn i'm in the mood for some angst with a happy ending so can i request something where reader's got really bad abandonment issues? 🥹 maybe they fight over something which makes r leave ++ spence is confused bc it's so sudden n unlike them but it's all bc theyre scared he'll leave first n then it's just lots n lots of reassurance🥹🥹 thank you!!

Obsessed.

Thank you for the ask!!

So I wrote you this gorgeous 1k fic. I was so fucking proud of it. And then my computer deleted the WHOLE THING (which is why I am so behind on responding to this lmao). But. I rewrote as much of it as possible, and then changed and added a few things. So now it's better than before.

I really enjoy this version ,and I hope you do too!! so please enjoy!!!!!

WC: 1.5k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

TW: Anxiety, depression, intrusive thoughts, self-destructive tendencies, swearing, abandonment issues lmao

“What do you mean….”

You couldn’t look at him. How could you? I mean, leaving the love of your life because you know he could never love you back in the way you love him. He’d just leave anyways.

They all do.

You’re just trying to minimize the pain.

But why did it hurt so fucking much.

Which was why you kept your gaze anywhere but him.

“I-I-I—“ You kept your gaze on the ground. “I can’t do t-this anymore Spencer.”

“Can’t do what. Y/n you aren’t making any sense. What’s going on?”

You should you head. “It’s over. Spencer.”

"Y/n what are you..."

Looking at the ground, you began to fidget, something about his gaze on you was making he whole situation worse. Originally you were going to just send him a text and disappear for the rest of your life, but he came home early. He wasn't supposed to be home for another day.

"Spencer I-I." You flexed your hands, trying to find the right words. "It's done Spence. I can't.."

"You can't what?" His voice was a whisper. You could hear the heartbreak in his voice, but you wouldn't dare look at him. If you looked at him, you would cave and stay and he would take your heart in his hands and crush it to dust.

But why did this hurt so much?

"What is going on Y/n. Talk to me."

You couldn't understand why he was being so caring. Why was he so fucking perfect. It felt like a sick joke that the universe gave you this perfect man, and then put the sinking feeling in your gut when it got too good. Like something was going to go wrong.

And you wanted to be ahead of it. Start the grieving process now before you got too deep.

It's too late for that anyways.

His voice was soft. He didn't move towards you. He didn't want to 'spook' you---he knew you so well.

You know him so well.

Clearly, whatever tactic you had tried to employ when he came home, wasn't working, so you decided to shift. You shifted to the anger resting in your gut. The hot and heavy coals that burned through your skin and made you seeth with anger.

"Y/n, please, look at me."

You couldn't. And he fucking knew that too. You stormed past him and towards the bedroom.

Spencer was speechless, completely unsure as to what was going on.

When he arrived home you had been shoving things into your suitcase, but then when you saw him you froze up and started to try and break up with him.

"Talk to me. What is going on?"

You ignored him and started to pull clothes out of their respective drawers and onto the bed you two shared. It was hectic, and aggressive. You were slamming things, stomping--anything to hide the slight tremor in your hands, and make you seem bigger than you were.

"Y/n!"

His voice made you jump but it didn't stop you. You took the pang of guilt in your stomach and tried to twist it into the anger you so desperately tried to justify.

Spencer slowly moved over to you and tried to take you hand.

"NO." You threw the small pile of clothes you had just taken from the closet on to the ground and pulled away quickly. "No Spencer god. Wh-what don't you fucking get. We're done. It's over."

Spencer rarely heard you raise your voice, let alone yell, and definitely never at him. But you weren't even looking at him.

You fucking hated it when he profiled you. It made your skin crawl when you felt his eyes roaming over you. "Look at me."

His voice wasn't hateful. It wasn't angry. It was soft, understanding.

God why did he have to make this so fucking hard.

"Y/n..."

"Spencer. Stop."

You felt the moment he realized what was happening in your brain., You weren't the easiest to read, but you weren't exactly a closed book either.

"Look at me."

You looked up and made eye contact with him, hoping that the last part of your will would hold strong, and get you through this.

Spencer's eyes were filled with worry and disbelief. You saw the swarm of emotions as he locked eyes with you. But behind all of the disbelief and concern and love and pain was fear. You could see the pain he was so desperately trying to hide from you.

You know him so well.

Spencer could see the straight fire in yours. They were lit with a facade of anger and pain and hatred. But you could never hate Spencer. Never. And he saw right through it. He could see the panic in your eyes. The pure terror and pain.

You hated that he knew you so well.

"Y/n..."

He took one step forward, not trying to corner you, but trying to get closer to you. You took one step back.

"No." You shook your head.

"Please just talk to me."

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid wonderful voice and his kind eyes and his love and the way he knows exactly how you take your tea in the morning and all of your favorite books and why you love the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice so much and what animals you wanted to have one day and why you hated spiders and the ocean so much and which museums and monuments you had on your bucket list. Fuck this man for loving you so hard, and making you want to spend every single moment of your life with him.

"I-I--" and fuck him for making your voice crack. You took another small step backwards.

"Please." Another step forward.

This time, all you could do was shake your head and break eye contact. You were tensing up the closer he got to you.

"Y/n."

"N-No" You chooked on your own voice. A single tear broke through and slide down your cheek.

"Baby please..." Another step. "Just talk to me. What's going on?"

That was the final straw for you.

The dam broke, and tears poured down your face. You let out the most heartbreaking sob that Spencer could have never imagined.

His arms were quickly around you, catching you and bringing you both down to the floor, where he held you against his chest.

You shook your head and tried to escape from his grasp, but he just held on tighter to you, not letting you go. Spencer could never let you go, he just didn't know how to tell you that.

Through your tears, you started to hyper ventilate. Spencer wouldn't let you leave his arms. It felt like a boa constrictor. You couldn't breathe.

You started to panic, not taking in as much air as you should, causing your head to get dizzy. You tugged on Spencer's arms as he tightened his grip on you, determined to keep you safe in his arms while you got whatever it was out of your system.

You screamed at him to let you go. He didn't respond, only holding you against his chest and you angrily slammed your hands against it.

Why was he so fucking perfect. Why couldn't he just let you leave and walk away.

Fuck.

Once your breathing had started to even out a bit, Spencer adjusted the two of you, still on the ground, so that you were straddling his lap with your arms around his neck.

Surrounding you was all of your clothes thrown about, and your suit case barely filled with anything.

He didn't say anything, just continued to rub his thumb against your hip, letting you come down from whatever sort of panic you just went through.

He held you close to his body, deciding in that moment to never let you go, ever.

You felt the world slow down. Time melted beneath you as the sun rose and set, the moon waxed and waned, The leaves browned and fell of the trees, and the earth stopped spinning at the end of time and all of the stars had died out. The world had stopped but you were still in Spencer's arms.

"I don't know..." He whispered in your ear, and the world started to turn again. "What just happened in your head--"

You tried to speak up but he just shushed you gently. "But we don't have to talk about it until you're ready."

You nodded.

What did you do in this world to deserve this man?

"Why don't we make some tea?" He whispered, and you just nodded again, holding onto Spencer as if the floor was going to give out and cause you to fall through the pits of hell and judgment, away from one another.

Neither of you went to move, finding peace in one another's arms.

While Spencer truly had no idea what just occurred, or why it occurred, he was still sitting here with you. And while you owed Spencer an apology and an explanation, he was still sitting here with his arms wrapped around you, kissing your shoulders.

Spencer Reid was going to stay with you for as long as you'd let him, and he would do anything to get you to see that, even if it meant sitting on the floor of your shared bedroom, holding you until the stars burned out and the world stopped spinning.

[strangersatellites]

second installment of the eddie knows tarot-verse

decided to flesh out this post !! enjoy !! xoxo

part two is posted!!

edit: look at this AMAZING art by: @amethyst-crowns !

“What are these?”

Steve is gesturing to Eddie’s deck of tarot cards on top of his dresser.

Today has been just like every other Saturday has been for the past several months.

At the ungodly hour of nine a.m. Steve knocks on the trailer door to summon the boy out for their standing Saturday breakfast at the diner. After several cups of coffee and a rather mediocre stack of pancakes, they find themselves back at Eddie’s where the rest of the day is typically spent with Eddie strumming at his guitar and jotting down song lyrics and melodies while Steve entertains himself by either listening, interjecting with questions, or rummaging through Eddie’s things.

Today, he’s spotted Eddie’s deck.

Shifting in his spot on the floor he props his guitar against his bed and stands to walk to the dresser and retrieve the deck. 

“I knew you were gonna ask that,” Eddie jokes as he pulls Steve to sit on the bed with him and starts shuffling with the cards.

Steve’s eyebrows furrow and he lets out a questioning hum making Eddie huff a laugh.

“They’re tarot cards,” he starts, dropping his voice low for dramatic effect. “Set aside your skepticism and allow the cards to tell you your fortune.”

Steve chuckles, “Don’t think I would call myself a skeptic, ya know, given the circumstances of the last several years of my life. But I’ll bite. What kind of future can they tell me, oh wise one?”

And see, as of late, Eddie has been working on not running away from things that scare him. Has been the reason he has run directly toward danger in situations severe enough to nearly cost his life. 

Point is, one would think that by now he would know which scary things are hills worth dying on.

He doesn’t.

His big, fat crush on Steve Harrington clouds his judgment and drives his own morbid curiosity and self-destructive tendencies to have him saying, “Well, my favorite is the soulmate reading. Let's do that one, yeah?”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “They can tell me that?”

Eddie starts focusing his energy more intentionally on his card shuffling. Furrows his brows in an attempt to convey his seriousness. 

“They can tell you anything, sweetheart.”

Decidedly dragging his eyes from the pretty flush covering Steve’s cheeks at the pet name, Eddie gives Steve a quick lesson in what he’s doing.

“So, basically, I just focus my energy-”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Shush!”

Steve giggles.

“I focus my energy on communicating to the universe what I am asking the cards. So this time, I’m asking them to tell me about the soulmate of the great Steve Harrington.” He catches the card that jumps out of the deck and into his lap and places it face down between them. “And that, Stevie, is how we pull cards.”

Steve looks questioning but not dismissive. “So you pick the ones that fall out?”

Eddie scoffs as he pauses his rapid shuffling and pulls a rogue card from where it’s peeking out from the deck. “Ones that fall out. No, Steve! I pick the ones that speak to me.” He resumes his shuffling and is immediately gifted with another two cards spinning out between them both.

Lifting his hands in a gesture of innocence Steve mutters apologies as Eddie stacks his remaining cards and sets them to the side.

‘Okay, pretty boy. Last chance to back out before all is revealed,” Eddie whispers, lining up the four cards he pulled. 

Its an out for Steve if he was just feigning interest, and it's a copout for Eddie. Eddie who is actively psyching himself up to face disappointment at the task of telling Steve allllll about his dream girl.

Steve shoves his shoulder. “Shut up and tell me about them.”

Before flipping the cards face up, Eddie points at each one and tells what it is going to represent based on the reading format he chose.

“Alright, this first card is going to be representative of how your soulmate views you. The next one tells you who they are and how this person comes into your life, and the last two are descriptors of your soulmate.” 

Steve takes a breath and gives a resolute nod. 

Eddie steels himself and flips the cards.

Freezes.

Instantly his mind is running a mile a minute, both in shock and what the fuck he is going to tell Steve.

Let it be said that Eddie is nothing if not quick on his feet. And Eddie Munson knows for a fact that Steve doesn’t know anything about tarot. What’s he going to do? Correct him?

He claps his hands together and plasters on his most predatory smile. 

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” he tuts. “Now this is no surprise,” he starts.

And you see, the best kinds of lies are ones that are based in truth. That’s the reason that Eddie taps a finger over The Magician and says, “Your soulmate sees you as a person of great power and influence. King Steve, if you will.”

True.

Steve bristles a bit but nods along.

Pointing at the next card, “The King of Cups,” Eddie tells him, “Now this, this is a good one. This one says you’re going to be a great boyfriend-”

Not quite true.

“- and that your soulmate is a new person in your life. You meet a new girl and not tell me, Stevie? I’m hurt.”

Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, I don't think so, no. Haven’t really had much time since the apocalypse, ya know,”

Eddie’s brain short circuits a bit at the idea that he is the newest person Steve knows. Right. 

He opts to press on. “Ah this is interesting. The reverse King of Swords. Well, typically this represents someone abrasive. Brash, even.”

True.

“But since it's reversed, it means the opposite,” he says.

Not true. 

“She’s going to be gentle and kind. Aw. Isn’t that sweet, Stevie.”

Even the thought of it makes Eddie’s heart flip over and twist with discomfort. Despite the fact that he’s lying out of his ass.

Steve is getting really into it and picks up the last card himself. “What’s this one? The Tower.”

Eddie twirls a piece of his hair around his finger and thinks for a split second before responding with the first thing that comes to mind. 

“It’s a landmark. It means you’ll meet her somewhere you’re familiar with. Maybe that farmer’s market you like to go to on Sunday’s! That seems like a good place to meet someone.”

Steve wrings his hands together and then takes Eddie’s notebook from the floor to jot down what he’s learned. 

If Eddie wasn’t already trying valiantly to hold back his own impending panic he might find his enthusiasm cute. As it is, he’s experiencing the heavy feeling of dread settling low in his stomach of the realization of what this reading actually says.

The Magician actually says that Steve’s soulmate had to learn to use their intuition to get to know him. Had to look past his power and influence, his King Steve persona. 

The reverse King of Swords actually says that it's someone abrasive and blunt. Someone who uses words as a weapon and easily finds themselves in harm's way. 

The Tower actually says that this person comes close to chaos, destruction. Has had their life turned upside down. When pulled with the reverse King of Swords it implies that this person nearly fell victim to their own rash decisions. 

If that wasn’t enough, it's the King of Cups that really put Eddie over the edge. Because it tells us that Steve’s soulmate is someone older than him who came into his life with a bang. 

It also says it's a guy.

But Eddie just agrees with Steve’s request to join him on a trip to the farmer’s market tomorrow and puts his cards back on the dresser with a ringing static sound in his ears.

He’s content to join Steve on his quest to find his nice girl at the farmer’s market if it means he never has to tell him the truth.

That the cards said Steve’s soulmate was him.

_________________________________________________

It's Tuesday night and Eddie is nose-deep in some book Gareth recommended to him. Truth be told it's boring, but he’s reading it because his friend liked it. He can never say Eddie never did anything for him. 

A firm knock on his door frame has his eyes shooting up.

Wayne is standing there, hands in his pockets. He nods Eddie’s direction.

“Got a call from that Buckley girl, kid.”

Eddie furrows his eyebrows as he walks to the phone in the living room. 

He answers with a question in his voice. 

“Hey Bird. You okay?”

He is cut off from asking anything else when Robin launches into one of her rambles.

“Well honestly I feel like I might be going crazy because like a year ago- well I guess it was two years ago. Anyway- this one Summer our tv went out and I had to find other ways to entertain myself, and you know I’ve already read every book I own and Steve was working on his house and was busy all the time so no one could drive me to the library-”

“Bird! What’s going on? Why did you call?”

She groans dramatically, “I was getting there Eddie. But fine. I learned how to read tarot and I don’t know what you said to Steve about the soulmate reading you did for him, but I know for a fact that The Tower has nothing to do with the farmer’s market.”

And isn't that just it? All of Eddie’s carefully crafted lies coming back to bite him. 

“I- Robbie. You can’t tell him. Please?”

Her voice drops in a show of sincerity. 

“Of course not Eds. I won’t tell him.”

He heaves out a breath of relief.

“Thank you, Bird. I owe you one.”

She giggles.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” She pauses before she speaks again.

“Not with Steve though. He’s the one who taught me how to read the cards.”

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

It's not Jake.

I'm going to tackle this bit now. It will forever bother me. I think it will forever be a point of argument in the fandom until the word of god (Diab) comes down and explains it all. Even then, there will always be room for argument.

So let's argue.

Marc with Dr. Harrow. I missed it the first time I watched it. (It was on a small screen with poor sound. I should have turned on the subtitles.)

He doesn't know what's going on. He doesn't know where he is but he feels terrible and he's in a situation he's been in before.

Marc knows how to play the game. He might be bad at social situations, but Marc is stubborn and despite his self destructive tendencies, he's a survivor.

From knowing how to please his mother to keep her happy to knowing how to keep the school happy to keeping his father happy.

He also knows how to keep the doctors happy.

You can see the wheels turning as he figures out what Dr. Harrow is looking for and what the right thing to say is. You see him looking around and taking everything in the room in.

Something he learned in the military and then as a mercenary. What is around him? Know the land. Know the space. Know the tools. Know the exits. Know the enemy.

It's so subtle how his eyes move and stare. Every movement of his body is absolutely still and stiff except his eyes. Don't move. Don't draw attention. Don't give yourself away.

He talks about the talking hippo. Corrects him stubbornly. Like a child correcting a parent that gets their drawing or story wrong.

He talks briefly about Steven. He really doesn't want to discuss Steven with Dr. Harrow. Even now, he's trying to protect Steven.

Honestly, Marc is probably unsettled by how Quiet Steven is being. He can't hear him. He can't feel him. He was reaching for him before in his reflection.

Has this happened before? Are the drugs messing him up? Is this even real? You can see it in his eyes as he is trying to work out what has happened. What if it's real? What if Dr. Harrow is right and all of it was in his head?

But he knows things are off. You see him look at the cane and the sandles. He KNOWS something is wrong, but he can't place it.

And then Dr. Harrow asks about the boy.

Now Marc knows this is wrong. He would never have talked about Randall. This is the last thing he'd ever willingly bring up.

You see him instantly shut down and he's made his decision.

I've seen a LOT of arguments that this is Jake. But I don't think so. We, the audience, have not been properly introduced to Jake and his face has been purposfully hidden from us each time he does flicker in. This is not Jake. Jake is still hidden. And Jake would NOT have tolerated Dr. Harrow.

Even if Dr. Harrow was a new alter (persecutor?) created after being killed, Jake would have put him in his place. As protector and possible Gate Keeper, NONE of what's going on would have been tolerated at all. Jake is organized and patient. Jake takes charge when needed and gets the job done.

This is Marc. This is the Marc Spector that you don't see.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Marc cannot mask in the Duat. Every piece of Marc you see is pure and uncensored.

You see Marc play the game but the second Roro comes up, Marc is done.

This is the Marc that is dangerous (Mercinary, special forces, Marines, skilled beyond reason in combat) and also the Marc that is desperate. He's cornered and he will chew his own leg off to get out.

He doesn't know what's out there, but he knows that Steven is being kept away and he needs him.

So why does Marc grab the sharp pointy pyramid? Why does it look like he's trying to first stab them then stab himself?

Well, up to this point, Marc has figured out that he's been shot. He's found Steven outside of his body in a very unlikely situation, and nothing feels real.

He's also jumping scenes. From being with Dr. Harrow to being with Steven.

A part of him is scared it's real. A part of him is scared it isn't.

If it isn't real, how can he get out of it? Perhaps if he takes more damage he'll go somewhere else. Perhaps he'll go back to Steven. Perhaps he thinks it's a dream and he'll wake up next to Layla.

Look at his face. Beaten up. Broken nose. Heavy bags under his eyes. One pupil even looks larger than the other. Severe bodily trauma. (From getting shot? From getting into fights? From some form of brain damage?)

Now, speaking of Jake... I wonder how much of Teenage Marc was really Teenage Jake trying to keep them safe. I can't imagine their teen years being good at all. There's a good chance that their teenage years were utter misery and things probably escalated to terrible depths.

(Anyone else notice that three times we see Baby Marc, it's his birthday? I'm willing to bet every birthday his mother came for him viciously.)

I'm willing to bet that any previous clash he had with a mental hospital deeply involved Jake. One of them started fights and one of them played the game. Marc would get into fights, but Marc also knows how to play the game thanks to his mother. Jake would have wanted them out of there. He may have fought or he may have tried to take control to keep them safe.

So in this situation, Marc has been separated away from Steven, his emotional support and protection. He has been separated away from his physical protection and stabilizer.

And Jake DOES stabilize Marc. When Marc flies off the handle in a rage. When he has flashbacks. When he gets drunk and trashes a hotel room... Who steps in to settle things down? (JAKE'S FUCKING GLOVES WERE IN THAT HOTEL ROOM ON THE NIGHT STAND AS IF THEY HAD BEEN WORN AND TOSSED ASIDE. JAKE WAS THERE.)

So without all of Marc's safe guards, Marc is sitting there in a terrifying situation and his biggest trauma is brought up by a man that he knows he can't trust.

Look at how the episode starts. The cave. The running water. The screaming boy for help. His mother blaming him. It's all right there. Right on the edge of his mind like a bad flashback.

The last thing he wants is to be back in that cave again. Is to see his brother drowning again.

He's going to fight. If he wasn't so disabled by the drugs and injuries he would have burned the whole building to the ground if he could have.

I do have to wonder, though... Marc keeps going back to Dr. Harrow when things get too stressful there. Like a sort of time out. A time for him to try to process and make sense of things. He breaks down when Steven demands to go back to the room. Total melt down. The time out forces him to deal with it. To see it.

Even Steven goes there when he becomes overwhelmed and needs a time out to see what's really going on.

Dr. Harrow was very interested in speaking to Steven. He even mentions that it had been a long time since he had seen Steven. That Steven was the one that brought them there.

It's doubtful that Jake ever made it there. Dr. Harrow (and the real Harrow) had no idea about Jake. And Marc doesn't know about Jake, as this is Marc's processing time.

But what if Jake had made it there? What if Jake had it all figured out? What if Jake had gotten locked up on purpose?

Steven and Jake, literally compartmentalized by Marc.

Perhaps a Meta for another day.

[batsycline69]

Chapter Four: Darker Than Death

Summary: Jason chases the past and sets fire to the future

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 6,274

Content/warnings: angst, descriptions of injuries, Jason's self-destructive tendencies

SERIES MASTERPOST | PREV

Four months pass like lightning streaking the sky. Suddenly, you’re a staple in Jason’s life.

Soft kisses on biceps in the middle of the night. Mornings spent eating breakfast over your small kitchen table. Lunches in his station at the shop. The scowl on your face when Jason pulls out a dictionary to prove the word he played in Scrabble is real.

He didn’t think he could be happy again. After everything—the things he’d seen; the things he’d felt—it didn’t seem possible.

You gave him back something he thought he’d lost forever. You’re hope and future. Something to fuck up. Something to lose.

Jason knows what he looks like to the people on the street. It’s hard not to when he’s jarred by himself in the mirror sometimes. A big, brooding mass of man when once he was just a boy. He didn’t get a say in his dip in the Lazarus Pit, but the skin is still his own, adorned with in he chose and scars that he earned.

But no amount of ink nor callous nor scowling can actually protect him from the wounds that still have never healed. His never ending anger got the better of him today. A close call with Batman and Nightwing left him feeling bolder than ever. He went to visit the Joker.

Beating the Joker bloody with a crowbar didn’t have the cathartic impact he’d been hoping it would. The sight just made his stomach churn. He buried the flurry inside of him as he tied the Joker up, leaving him to sit in a closet for a few days. Until it’s time to bring him into play.

The rising sickness, cold and burning all at once, doesn’t go away. Distance doesn’t help. He still feels trapped there even when he’d been the one in control.

He doesn’t remember going to his apartment and changing. When he comes back to himself at your doorstep, he isn’t Red Hood. Just a boy in a soaked t-shirt shivering in the rain.

The door to your apartment building is inches away from his face. His hand is on the doorknob. It’s locked; he realizes now that’s what pulled him out of his head.

Rain falls down around him. It lands heavily on the shoulders of his jacket. The sound hammers on rooftops, onto the rusted cars parked out in front of your building. It splashes on the already soaked sidewalk, rushing into the sewers Jason knew so well. It’s always fucking raining. He would hate this city if he didn’t love it so much. If this city wasn’t in his blood just as much as Sheila’s.

Tears slick his face. That feeling in his stomach is still there, and he feels like he’s buried beneath earth all over again. The world is pressing down against him. He can hardly breathe.

His feet carry him to the back door of the building. The memory of picking the lock open is shoved into a corner at the very back of his mind. Safe memories fail to see the light of day now, yet he seeks safety just by being here. He needs you, though he hasn’t yet fully put it together yet.

Jason fiddles with the lock with less grace than usual. His hands tremble as he works, but even filled with tears, he’s focused. Maybe a little more so than necessary. He’s overly aware of the weight of his gun. Just as aware as he is he shouldn’t have brought it here. His mind is such a mess. What if he hurt you?

Part of him itches to turn back. The laughter echoing in his ears pushes him forward.

The wood floors creak beneath his feet as he moves through the otherwise silent halls. He pauses in front of your door. His nails bite into the palm of his fisted hands, trying to find the bravery to knock.

Bravery.

Once upon a time ago, he ran across the rooftops of this city fighting goons twice his size, reassured by his mentor, a less than perfect man who demanded perfection. He thought his bravery made him untouchable.

So much for that.

He knocks. You don’t answer.

It’s 3 AM; of course you’re going to be asleep.

He should have never come here. He hasn’t even thought about what he would say when you ask why he’s such a wreck. Just like anything real in his life, it’s not like he can tell you the truth. You wouldn’t know what to do with the truth; he kidnapped the guy who killed him back when he was just a little robin. His mind feels too syrupy to come up with a good lie.

He realizes with sudden clarity he never should have gotten this close to you. Sure, he’s been planning his takeover of Gotham’s underground for years, but plans go sideways. What if the Joker gets out and finds out a connection between Red Hood and you? He can’t even stomach the thought of you with a single scratch on you, let alone in the sort of condition Joker would leave you in.

The lock clicks on your door.

Undoubtedly, you’d spotted him through your peephole standing there. When the door opens, your tired eyes are swimming with concern.

“Jason? Is everything okay?” Your voice is thick with sleep as you blink him into focus.

He feels terrible. He wants to say he’s drunk. Tell you he wasn’t thinking. Free you of his bullshit. Instead, he sniffles pathetically.

The door creaks softly as you hold it open more. You’re a lifeline for him now, the one thing that’s keeping him from sinking back into that bottomless grave, and he pulls you against him. His grip is tighter than it probably should be, but if you have a problem with it, you don’t say.

You hold him like something precious.

He hates himself.

“Come on. Come inside.” Your voice is soft as you gently usher him in. “You’re soaked.”

Streetlight from outside diffuses through the raindrops on your window. It’s the only light offered in your darkened apartment.

He stands in the doorway of your bedroom, watching you rummage around the clothes piled on top of the old floral wingback chair in the corner. You pull out one of Jason’s t-shirts, the material washed and worn until the fabric was soft.

Cotton clings to his skin as he peels his shirt off.

He hears a soft gasp as his vision is obscured.

“What happened to you?” you ask, horror cutting through your exhaustion like a knife.

Bruises—fresh ones—scatter across his skin. He hasn’t seen them yet, but he feels them there. Normally, he’s pretty good. Keeping his clothes on when he knows there’s damning evidence. The less he has to explain, the fewer lies he has to keep track of. Tonight isn’t a normal night. His head is barely on straight.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. He tugs the shirt down, obscuring whatever injuries you see.

“What do you mean, don’t worry about it? Did someone hurt you?”

God, you’re so sweet. You care about him, and you really shouldn’t. Right now, there’s a fire in your voice; you’d go up to bat for him against anyone. All the more reason to keep you out of the line of fire.

“It’s nothing,” he snaps.

“The hell it is. Jason, what is going on?” Your voice is demanding as you take another step closer. Your reach out to touch him, but you stop as if you would hurt him. You are afraid to hurt him.

He huffs and goes out to your living room, his large frame hunching in on itself as he falls into your couch. His head hangs for a minute before he looks around. He’s always found your apartment peaceful. Blankets tossed over the arm of your threadbare secondhand couch. Bookshelves stuffed with crumbling paperbacks. Feels more like a home than his place ever has, but it’s still no home of his.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” he sniffles.

You follow him out, pausing a few feet away from him. “We don’t have to cover everything tonight.”

The certainty in your voice is too brilliant, too forgiving; some things feel like they can never be spoken about. Should never be allowed to see the light of day.

“I dug up a lot of past today.”

He hopes you never understand him because that means you understand how it feels to die. What it means to come back from that. And what worse fate could he curse someone to? He never wants that cold to find you in the middle of the night and shock you awake just to confirm your heart is still beating.

“What do you need?”

The couch dips as you sit beside him. His arm winds over your shoulders, pulling you to his chest so he can feel the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe. “Just this,” he says.

So you stay that way. He cries, and he thinks about how he shouldn’t be doing this to you. He feels better because you’re here. No matter how hard he tries not to, he can’t stop thinking about how fucked up it is that he gets to feel better while making everything worse for you. He’s going to ruin your life, and he hasn’t even given you the opportunity to know that.

A few more minutes pass. Your apartment is silent apart from his sniffles, but those, too, die down eventually. Just the rain remains, pattering against the glass.

“Shouldn’t have woken you up,” he says when he’s finally composed himself. There’s a resolution in his voice that had been lacking before. He hopes you don’t ask how he managed to make it to your door.

You shake of your head pull away from him to look into his eyes. “Don’t say that. You didn’t want to be alone. That’s a good enough reason to wake me up.” Your voice is just as firm.

Doubt crosses Jason’s face. You wouldn’t be saying any of this if he wasn’t selfishly withholding the truth from you. You’d already met Red Hood, and you didn’t want him inside of your apartment. He shouldn’t be here, and he knows it. He has no right to wake you up when you’re safe and asleep in your bed. He doesn’t deserve to seek your comfort just because he can’t face his ghosts.

Your palms are warm as you gently hold his face. The pad of your thumb wipes off his tears. “I care about you,” you say. “You aren’t burdening me by letting me help you.”

For one single second, it crosses his mind to open up. You’d think he would have totally lost it, but he could open up. At this point, it almost feels as if it doesn’t matter; he’s decided this won’t be able to last.

Even now, you know very little about him. Neither of you have put a label on what you have, but there’s a bind between of you. You’ve become a feature in his life, as often as he can allow such a thing. He’s gotten comfortable with your presence, and comfort can always be taken away from him. There’s benefit in staying unattached.

He laughs bitterly. “I don’t wanting you biting off more than you can chew, sweetheart,” he says. His thick fingers wrap around your wrist, keeping your hand against his cheek.

Your lips quirk up into a weak smile, but your visible concern doesn’t wane. “I’m pretty tough,” you reply.

Jason turns his head and presses his lips into the palm of your hand. “I know you are.”

But tough isn’t always enough against the people who come after him. Not even when you sign up for it. And you sure as shit didn’t sign up for this.

Most days, you make him feel like he’s soaring. When he takes you out on the bike—Gotham blurring around both of you as your chest presses into his back—he sometimes feels like he’s too giddy to drive.

That feeling, he thinks it’s love, but he can’t accept that. He’s been telling himself he doesn’t need love. He doesn’t need family. But he can’t convince himself he doesn’t need you right now.

One day, Batman is going to catch up to Red Hood. Jason is planning on as much. But if that plan somehow backfires, he could lead Batman right to you. He can’t curse you to a fate where your path intersects with Bruce Wayne. Jason doesn’t want your life any more tainted than he’s already made it.

He can handle losing you if he’s the one that calls it quits. He can handle losing you if you hate him over whatever lies he has to tell to make you slam the door in his face. But he can’t handle losing you over the truth, especially if it’s Bruce’s version of the truth. The very idea of you siding with Bruce in all of this makes his skin crawl.

“I care about you, too, you know,” he finally says. He looks at you in your pajamas, the softness of sleep still etched onto your features. His voice feels to gruff to be speaking to you. He takes your hand between both of his, lowering it down into his lap. He doesn’t want you to hear the finality in his voice.

You smile, though your face is sad. “I know.”

“Why’re you so nice to me?” he asks. You were supposed to just be some client. He was supposed to tattoo a dead bird onto your arm and say goodbye. He did everything right; he was a detached asshole. And yet, something about you broke him open, like playing the right notes on the piano to get into the Batcave.

Like a soft breeze, your laugh brushes across his lips. You’re close to him now.

“Didn’t we just establish that?” you ask, looking up at him with an even softer expression than before.

“I’m serious,” Jason says. “Why did you even bother giving me a chance?”

What makes me worth saving?

There’s a beat of silence. Your eyes study his. He doesn’t doubt you can see the tears still lingering, threatening to spill at the first kind thing you have to say to him.

“I mean, you were a dick for a little bit, but I could tell you felt bad about it.” You look him over carefully, your lips still tugged into that meager smile. “I don’t think you’re as bad as you think you are.”

He sighs and hangs his head. His grip on your hands loosens, like he’s offering you freedom. “You’re giving me too much credit,” he says. His voice rumbles up from his chest. He has to speak quietly or else he’d be yelling. All he can imagine is the Joker getting his hands on you. The thought alone makes him feel so sick he can’t stand to look at you.

As hard as he tries to stay with the kindness in your eyes, his mind starts to wander.

The floor had been so cold; he remembers it now. He acts like he’s not afraid of dying—maybe he isn’t—but he remembers how it feels to die. He remembers how dark it is. How bitter. Laughter rings in his ears. Blood in his mouth, bile stinging at his throat. There was nothing peaceful about it. Nothing peaceful about choking on his own blood. There was no ‘slipping off’; there was only a flash, the rush of heat, a deafening blast, and the screams of the mother who had sold him out.

“Why would I stick around this long if you weren’t worth it?” you ask.

“It doesn’t count when you’re used to fucked up relationships.” He breathes a bitter laugh like it doesn’t feel like acid. Like it’s effortless to put you down. If you believe it is, maybe you’ll ask him to leave.

He’s good at this, sabotaging relationships. Even though he thinks the world of you, he can summon up the words to make you question everything about the last four months. Doesn’t matter if Jason admires how much cruelty you’ve faced. Doesn’t matter if he finds wonder by the fact you still somehow stayed kind after that. He knows just what to say to plant a seed of doubt that will only continue to fester from here.

There’s a long silence. You’re not looking at him anymore. He wants to take it back, but he knows he can’t. That’s why he said it.

“Why are you trying to push me away right now?” Your voice is soft. He can barely hear it over the rain beating on the pane of glass behind you.

“I’m not pushing you away. That’s just the truth.”

“That’s bullshit,” you say. Your voice is low, but volume does nothing to lessen the severity of the chill. He’s used to your warmth. “You’re not that much of an asshole.”

The deeper he sinks into this character, the more he wants to to run out of the room. He’s ruining the one good thing he’s had since he came back to Gotham. He’s throwing away his one actual shot at happiness.

When he looks at you, he’s looking at a future he’ll never know. Baking cookies just because you mentioned in passing you wanted some. Slipping apology notes underneath your door when he pisses you off so much you won’t respond to his texts. Telling you he loves you; whispering it in your ear when he holds you on bad days. Telling the truth because he could finally fully surrender himself to you.

The truth, Jason likes to imagine, feels like the gentle release everyone likes to describe death as. Peace. A boy blown up isn’t at peace; he’s a poltergeist. But a man who can surrender and accept the death of a life he’d taken up, like a crab molting its shell to find something more comfortable, can rest. If he was brave enough, he could adapt again. Maybe make a life that offered a truce between him and this world.

“Ever consider maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do?” he asks. He buries the thoughts of your warm embrace. So many graves in his mind, all smelling of petrichor and freshly turned earth.

It rained the night he clawed up to the surface of Gotham. He doesn’t remember much about that night—doesn’t remember much before Talia got to him—but he remembers the smell. Dirt was everywhere, until suddenly, he smelled the rain. Drops fell into his parched mouth as he gasped for air.

His eyes squeeze shut, overly aware of the sheets hitting your window. Your silence doesn’t help.

“Please,” you scoff. “Do you think I just conveniently haven’t noticed you dodging topics the past four months? Just because I’m the only one who’s been open about my fucked up past doesn’t mean I’m the only one with it.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know you’ve got more going on then you’re telling me. The fact that you have secrets isn’t a secret to me. You can have things you don’t want to talk about, but don’t show up at my doorstep looking for help and snap at me when I give it to you.”

Jason doesn’t want it to end. He wishes he was just a little bit more selfish so he could will himself to hold onto you. He wishes his path wasn’t paved with blood so he could guarantee your safety.

But he can hold onto you for one more night.

He lays his head down in his hand and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says. It’s not a lie, but tomorrow he’ll tell you it was. His fingers tangle in his hair, and he finally looks up at you. You don’t look happy, that’s for sure, but you don’t hate him.

Tomorrow, he’s going to have to do this for real. Tonight, he just wants you.

Your eyes are fixed on him for a while before you respond. “Thank you for the apology,” you say. “You’re right. You can be a dick sometimes. But I think that shows you how intentionally I choose to be around you,” you say.

If you knew the truth, he imagines you poking fun at him for saying you were the one with fucked up relationships. You’d call him a hypocrite if he ever gave you the chance to.

“Let’s go to bed.” The words are clipped. You don’t look at him. “You’ve had a long day.”

“You’re gonna let me stay?” There’s hope in his voice when there shouldn’t be. You should turn him out, send him back into the rain; he deserves it more than the comfort of your bed.

You give him a look. “People usually say the worst stuff when they need someone the most,” you say. “Something you learn when you’re used to fucked up relationships.” You stand up and offer out your hand for him.

He follows as you lead him into your darkened bedroom. Sheets are rustled and tossed back. His stomach twists at the display of your rush to his aid. There’s so much more out in the world for you, even if he wants to sink into you until there’s no more him left.

Before you, he’d grown comfortable in harshness. The darkness didn’t feel unique because it was everything he had for years. And then there was you.

He’s going to know what life without you is like. But not getting to see you sat at your kitchen table, grinning at him sleepily over a cup of coffee in the morning is better than never seeing you again because someone got their filthy hands on you.

You guide him towards your bed. One last night to lie next to you and share your body heat.

Jason shrugs off his leather jacket. He misses the soft rustling of it hitting the floor; his eyes are fixed to the sight of your skin as you get into bed. The yellowish glow of city light slips in through a crack in your curtains.

The sheets rustle as you climb in. Jason still stands at the bedside for a minute more. You won’t look at him, and he’s glad. Goodbyes he’s not yet ready to say are written all over his face.

After a beat, your eyes do seek him out in the darkness. The sheets are pulled up to your chin, and Jason is trying to remember it all, even if he can tell you’re still upset.

The bed shifts with his weight as he lays down beside you. You face him. He doesn’t look away. He shifts a little closer, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulls you to his chest. If he were a better man, he would apologize right now. A real one. But if he means it too much, you’ll never believe him in the morning. He can’t afford to not be convincing.

Jason holds you. He presses his lips to the crown of your head and shuts his eyes. More than anything, he wishes he could enjoy this moment.

In another life, he wonders if maybe this is how things are all the time with you. He can hold you without worrying about what dangers he’s putting you in. Guilt might not gnaw at him. Jason curses him even if he doesn’t even exist because who else can he blame? Fuck that guy. Fuck his happiness.

You fall asleep in his arms. He feels like he’s taking advantage of your trust by even holding you right now, but he can’t will himself to let you go. He has hours left of this, and he can’t imagine wasting those moments by sleeping on the far side of the bed.

You have a strange dream, the kind that fades from memory the more you try to chase them.

In the shadows of what you remember, you see a red helmet, one like your dangerous friend wears. You found it laying on the ground in an alley. You searched out in the darkness for a face—his face—only to realize you were all alone, standing in a green mist.

Weeks had passed since your masked friend picked the lock to your apartment so you could get inside. Weeks since he’d sat on your fire escape only to never be seen again, but for some reason, he’s visited you in your dreams.

Your dream dissolves, but fresh worry blooms in your chest as you look at the empty spot on the other side of the bed where Jason had been only hours earlier. His words come back to you.

He was grieving something last night. Thinking of the loss in his voice leaves a chalky, bitter taste in your mouth. Instinctively, your hand smooths over the rumpled sheets where he’d been when you fell asleep. They’re cold.

Sunlight spills through the crack in your curtains. A rarity for Gotham. Last night’s downpour has been reduced to puddles in the dips of the sidewalk. You naively choose to believe that maybe this brand new morning has changed things. The finality in the air last night has been swept away like a shadow by the brightness of the day.

Even if it ends up hurting your feelings, you hold onto this hope like a wilting flower. It gets you out of bed.

The smell of something sweet fills the air as you poke your head out of your bedroom. Jason stands at your stove. His broad shoulders curl over a skillet, spatula in hand. Dark curls stick up in every direction. His t-shirt from last night is rumpled with fitful sleep. He looks up from the pan, his eyes straying on you as you approach.

“Smells good,” you say, stepping out.

“I made coffee,” he says, nudging his chin to the percolator on your counter top.

He carries his sleep deprivation well; you’ve heard about the sleepless nights he spent in Europe while he was traveling. You know some nights he stays up late with his friends you’ve never met. They’re a bad influence, he told you once. You asked him if he thought he was a good influence.

You kiss his shoulder as you walk by, your hand ghosting over his tattooed bicep. “Thank you, honey,” you say, still trying to get a handle on the situation. Still clinging to hope that this is a new day.

Except you see Jason tense out of the corner of your eye.

Instantaneously, your mouth goes dry. Today might be a new day, but nothing has changed. There’s still tension in the air. Jason’s mind is elsewhere, and wherever that is, you don’t seem entirely welcome.

Your body feels rigid as you try to pour your coffee, playing pretend like nothing’s wrong.

You like Jason; woozy, youthful joy swells in your chest when he holds you. He keeps you warm from all manner of coldness Gotham offers. Being around him is secure, safe in a way that goes just beyond the fact no one even gives you a second look when you’re next to him.

It feels like the day you met, but far worse. Because being pushed away some tattoo artist is one thing, but that’s not Jason anymore. He’s not just some guy who gave you a tattoo. You’ve spent more nights with him the past month than without him. He came to you sobbing last night because he needed someone, and you answered the call. So what changed?

Cup of coffee in hand, you sit at the small kitchen table pushed up against your wall. You watch him as he cooks; his mossy eyes are always decidedly fixed down.

Your finger traces along the deep divot in the table. Sunlight spills across the scarred wood; you can’t help but feel like you’re being mocked. Miraculous sunlight in Gotham at the moment where the light feels like it’s being sucked out of the room.

A few minutes later, Jason brings a plate of pancakes, a bowl of diced strawberries, and syrup to the table, setting them down in front of you. You’ve always believed Jason makes food in place of the things he’s never told you. You wonder what unspoken words your breakfast is supposed to represent.

“Looks great,” you say. Your forced cheerfulness sounds like exactly that, but Jason doesn’t make any indication that he noticed. He acknowledges you as he takes the seat on the opposite side of your table.

You stare at the plate in front of you, forcing yourself to eat even though your appetite has dissipated. It gives you something to do. Without a task, you’d just sit there, trying to figure out what went wrong.

There’s silence. Sunshine doesn’t fill the void the way Gotham’s rain does. The tension makes the pancakes less sweet. Or at least you imagine it would, but you haven’t actually tasted a single bite.

More than anything, you want to ask about last night.

Jason’s bloodshot eyes, the desperation with which he held you, is stuck to you in a way you don’t know you can brush away. Jason, who keeps himself so well guarded behind the walls he built up, was exposed last night. You saw something in him, something you’d never seen before, and wanted so badly to understand it.

You want to say something, but you don’t know how without maybe making things worse. Don’t want to dig up skeletons any more than he’s admitted he already has.

The truth is you do know so little about Jason’s past. Any number of things could have sent him to your door last night. You’d been so exhausted, you hadn’t even thought to question how he’d gotten inside. You content yourself to thinking he’d followed in after someone.

“I think we should call it,” Jason says. He doesn’t even look up from his untouched food.

You look up from your pancakes, red strawberry juice smeared all along your plate. “Call what?” you ask. You know exactly what he’s saying, but you’re hoping your willful ignorance will maybe somehow change his mind.

“This.”

This. The undefined thing going on between the two of you for the past four months. The thing that has made home feel like home again. Someone who gave a little more sense to the Gotham you’d once known so well that had been destroyed, uprooted, just when your life was.

You feel your jaw muscles tense, your teeth clenching together to try to lessen the emotional blow. It doesn’t work—you knew it wouldn’t—but you figured you would try. “Is this about last night?” you ask.

“No.” His response is quick. If your head wasn’t reeling, you would maybe pick up on how rushed it really was, but you don’t.

You’re silent, waiting for an explanation you know isn’t coming. So you do what you know to do; you grasp at straws, hoping maybe you can fix this. Hoping maybe there’s a problem you can solved that will keep Jason here.

“Okay, then what’s it about?” you ask.

The kitchen chair creaks as Jason leans back. His skin is golden with the light crossing over your table. You see the rosemary and lilies on his arm and think of his work permanently etched into your body.

You will carry a piece of him with you forever, no matter where either of you goes.

“It’s not about anything. This wasn’t supposed to be serious.”

“I deserve more than that.” The words are clipped and harsh. More than you really mean them to be, but you’re still trying to make sense of all of this.

Things had been good. Really good. You laughed with him and relished every time you heard his clandestine laughter in return. He comes over when you’ve had a rough day and are fed up from work. You’ve cried in front of him, and while you’re sure saying he was happy to do it is a stretch, he did it without complaint. There may not have been a label on what you have together, but Jason is right; you don’t feel casual.

You love him.

The realization crawls up your throat like bile, like you might say the words at the absolute wrong time and make everything worse.

“Fine.” He looks up at you, his face hardened in a way you don’t recognize. His eyes are hardened. Not guarded like when he wouldn’t talk to you during your first appointment; they’re cold. He’s never looked at you like that before. “I’m sick of this shit. The monotony. You don’t want to live the same goddamn day over and over again.”

You stiffen. Somewhere a few blocks away, a siren wails. His gaze doesn’t waver. You’ve never wished for him to look away so badly. Under his gaze, you feel trapped. Uneasiness creeps up your spine.

For some reason, your first date comes to mind. You think of Jason at the arcade machine, the way he’d held the plastic gun so steadily.

“So why’d you come here last night then?” You struggle to keep your voice steady, but now feels like the wrong time to show any weakness.

Once, you thought Jason looked at you like a prey animal. In the tattoo shop, when he first came out thirty-five minutes late,he stared you down like he was trying to making sure you weren’t going to run in the direction. But even then, he was studying you more than anything, a habit of his you’d grown to recognize.

This is something else entirely.

“Because I’m a lonely, fucked up guy. Is that what you want to here? The warmth of your bed was better than none at all.”

Anger and agony stir in your chest. Muscles taught, jaw hardened. You can’t even stand to look at him for a minute. “So, what? We’re just done? We’re broken up?”

“We’re not broken up because we were never together,” Jason snaps.

Another silence settles between the two of you, this one charged.

“I guess that makes things more simple,” you reply, your voice low. You feel your face burning. What had you been thinking? You knew from the start he was bad news. You’d known it, and you ignored every sign anyway.

Silence settles between the two of you again. Jason doesn’t look up at you, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

God, you should have seen this coming, and yet it still doesn’t make sense. Things were good. Things were working. Until they weren’t. Until you ended up here. Now you’re at a total loss for words.

“Alright,” you say when he doesn’t speak. “Well, thanks for breakfast.” There’s no point in hiding the bitterness in your voice. What do you have to lose, right? He wants nothing to do with you, and you’ve just wasted months of your life stupidly, childishly believing that this was something that could actually work.

Jason doesn’t move right away. His dark brows are knitted close, but it doesn’t quite look like anger. The scar running through the brow makes him look more severe. You can’t imagine what kind of harsh truths he’s withholding. But you can’t look away. You think about running your fingers through his hair. You think about tracing the ink on his skin. You think about how empty your lunchtime will feel now because you’re not going to be swinging by the shop, a bag of takeout in hand.

This whole time, you’d just been a phase to him. Just another passing name he would forget in a month when he meets someone new. Someone better. Someone less acquainted with fucked up relationships, maybe. The point being, they aren’t going to be you.

And why should it matter so much? What’s four months? You barely know each other, right? Besides all of the times he listened to you spill your guts and probably kept waiting anxiously for you to shut up. All the while, you had managed to convince yourself this was actually going to be anything. You were mortified.

“I think your jacket is still in the bedroom,” you add pointedly as he keeps staring at you. Hopefully he’ll get the hint because you don’t think you have it in you to actually tell him to leave.

He stands, the chair sliding against the wooden floors of your apartment. Silently, he walks to the other room. It takes a few minutes for him to come back out. You’re so busy trying to make sense of all of this, you don’t notice.

When he reemerges, jacket in hand, Jason lingers by the front door. His eyes are fixed to the floor before he finally looks up at you.

“Bye,” he says.

Not see you later because he won’t. He doesn’t plan to. He’s done with you.

His eyes linger on you. He looks sad; you’ve gone and made him feel guilty because you thought you had more of a place in your life than you really did.

“Bye,” you say back, your voice rough.

Not it’s been nice knowing you because you can’t bring yourself to say the words. Not I think meeting you changed my life because you don’t have the right to that claim.

Jason doesn’t look back as he closes the door behind him.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider giving this a reblog 💛

[yuri-is-online]

Masquerade request with number 5 for Jamil (tho not sure he'd be shy, more like reticent, potentially) aand since I can ask for two others I guess I might as well go for Azul and Deuce who kinda seem like suitable sorts for this prompt.

Ty!

-viperwhispered

5. You know it's him and he knows it's you, but you're both a bit too shy to admit you would like to keep holding onto each other when the masks come off, so you'll just stay here together a little longer.

Completely agree that Jamil wouldn't be shy in this scenario, more like a prisoner of his own self destructive tendencies. Also hello! I'm always really happy to see you in my notifications Whisper <(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)> Your comments are always very much appreciated.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, this is mildly angsty and I am uncertain if I have provided any comfort here. Uhh unrequited requited love, everyone here is a pining idiot, Deuce is bro zoning himself. The other event requests can be found on my masterlist.

Jamil

He is unprepared for what it feels like to hold you.

It's one thing to look at someone, another to think of them, but both keep a level of imagination to the interaction. Jamil doesn't have the risk of failure in his imagination; he can comfort himself in his perceived superiority and not actually make the effort. There is no warmth in those thoughts, no weight, no you, nothing resembling the delicate weight in his arms that he finds himself wanting to-

"Are you alright?" You ask softly, bringing some focus back to Jamil's eyes, he smiles at you and you wish you could be certain that he really means it.

"I'm just... unused to this." Jamil chooses his words carefully. He does not expect you to know it's him, but there's always the chance someone else does. It makes him feel sick to think the small sigh of relief you give could be meant for someone else, his mind has a ready supply of suspects, but tonight is supposed to be for strangers to play act at romance. He is... allowed... to want this. "I am not that interesting of a guy, you know?"

"I'm sure you're plenty interesting." You say and Jamil swallows to steady himself, trying to remind the spiraling fractions of his mind that you are saying this to a stranger. You would, you have very likely, said this to anyone who needed the encouragement. "If you let yourself go I am sure you will find there's a person underneath the act." But would it be one you approve of? And why is he worrying over that when everyone should approve of him anyway, especially considering what middling results his classmates are barely capable of?

"Your compliments aren't necessary." His smile says otherwise but you cannot bring yourself to push it least you push Jamil away. "But if you wish to keep them coming I will not stop you." You wind your arms around him to pull Jamil just a bit closer. If only he could read your mind as well as command it, if only he wanted you as much as you wanted him.

"Are you sure you can withstand it?" No he's not. "Because I could go on for quite some time." You are clearly teasing him. Jamil's heart should be used to stress, it's been working overtime since he was first sworn over to Kalim, but he's not. There's something new about this stress, or maybe it isn't stress at all and that's just what he's labeling it because that's what he is used to feeling.

"I can take anything." Jamil certainly projects something like confidence, but even as the other guests begin removing their masks his stays firmly put. In both senses you suppose, unable to keep a bitter sigh from escaping you.

But you say nothing, choosing to simply squeeze his hand and hope that he will somehow inhale the meaning of your movements with the sharp breath he takes.

You can want this, please say you want this, please say you want me and give me a reason to stay.

But he can't in good conscious. He is bound by a duty he wishes upon no one, he refuses to ask properly. Just what it is Jamil wants of you needs to be asked for in freedom. So once again you slip away into the night alone with his hand reaching out towards you just out of sight.

Azul

"You have a strong grip." Your voice is muffled as the gentle, but strong hand at the back of your head keeps you firmly resting on this handsome "stranger's" shoulder.

Azul appears to be under the impression this will be easier on him if he cannot see you, but he seems to have forgotten he still can look down the expanse of your back when he holds you this close. What you're doing can barely be described as dancing, swaying is what people might call it but Azul barely registers that he is moving.

"Of course I do." His voice lacks the usual musical performance you associate with it, he sounds almost... tired. Overwhelmed, you decide is the more accurate term as you exhale into his neck and try not to savor the way he shudders. "To keep precious things close is what any pirate would do, hm?" You smile.

"Fancy yourself a heart thief? I would think that's a more Heartslabyul gig." He stiffens, you know he was just trying to make a jest at the appearance of his costume but you appear to have touched some sort of nerve. Azul pulls you closer, arm wrapping properly around your waist instead of simply sitting on it.

"Is it?" Azul wants to vomit all his feelings up, eject them like a sea cucumber and walk off the embarrassment from showing his guts. Anything has to be less painful than thinking of his-

No you are not his. That's why he is being a coward and not looking you in the eye like any proper gentleman would. Why he had asked for a dance, kissed your hand, and not let go of you all under the flimsy pretense of a mask. Azul dislikes taking solace in your kindness, but he knows he can rely on you to not make him pay for this. Even if you really should.

"Has your heart already been carried off to a maze?" Azul is trying to make a joke, but you are so close to his heart you can hear the nerves hammering away at his typical sense of self.

"I think my heart is drowning." You whisper it, low into his pulse point before your eyes squeeze close in embarrassment. Azul's pulse does not slow, and he cannot squeeze you any closer, a sure sign as if you needed it that he isn't Floyd nor could he ever pretend to be. But he can guide you into a sway that's a little more like a dance.

This is enough for tonight. It will not be enough tomorrow, but it is enough for tonight.

Deuce

This is how friends look at each other. Deuce would know because he has never looked at you any other way. There's a respectful distance between you both, an almost boring decorum to the proper ballroom dance he is happily guiding you in. If it weren't for his continued refusal to call you by your name or meaningless title, it would be like you were talking normally.

"Do they have dances like this where you're from?" Deuce is genuine in his interest, always eager to find a new way to ensure you feel like you belong.

"In books and movies maybe." Your laughter makes him soar, spinning you into the air for a brief second that adds a shriek to it that brings a grin to his face that has you feeling lightheaded. "Honestly I never thought I would get a chance to go to something like this!"

"Why not?" It's a stupid question, even if you have repeatedly reassured him there is no such thing.

"Well a Masquerade is kind of a rich people thing, and I'm not rich." Technically you shouldn't be here either, but you let that thought go unsaid. It never even crosses Deuce's mind, there is something so natural about having you in his arms that the idea of a world without you in it-

A world without you in it. It crystalizes as someone taps on the mic to announce the band will play just one as nice slow song that if everything in Twisted Wonderland had been normal he would be rolling his eyes at as he escapes to the sidelines. But that's not what's happening, he is pulling you closer to him and placing his arm around your waist without so much as a second thought.

"I'm not rich either." Deuce says, no where near as stiff in tone or posture as you would have expected him to be when trying to slow dance. If anything he holds you as if it is the most natural thing in the world to him, lapsing into uncharacteristic silence as he really looks you in the eyes with some strange hidden emotion in them.

It's always been there of course, this is always the way Deuce looks at you, but the mask ironically forces you to really see it.

"I'm lucky to be in this world with you." He means it, and though you hold tightly to his hand he doesn't think you know just how much.

[thankshermin]

About the Scene Where Dazai Tells Akutagawa “You got stronger“

...and some rambling about their relationship, featuring a few lines about Kyouka and Mori at some point.

I think about that scene a lot and the fact that it is not talked about is really bugging me off so I need to get some things out of my chest,, let’s gooo 

CW: mentions of abuse

First of all, it is not equal to an apology. It simply is not. There is a high chance that Dazai probably didn’t even say it as an apology. He merely stated the fact that Akutagawa got stronger. What is more important about this scene is not what he said but rather how he said it.  

Dazai has changed and he is still changing for the better. The way he looks at Akutagawa and praises him in that soft tone is not how would Dazai express his thoughts to Akutagawa in the mafia.  

Now, for another matter about this scene; those words obviously meant a lot to Akutagawa but it doesn’t have to mean much, if anything, to him. 

Dazai doesn’t apologize to him. He doesn’t mention anything about his treatment to Akutagawa and doesn’t acknowledge it. We don’t know for sure if he truly doesn’t regret it or if he does feel ashamed about it and decides against saying something.

Why was Dazai even that awful to Akutagawa, anyway?

Well, obviously not because he takes sadistic pleasure from hurting Akutagawa. He believed that if he didn't, Akutagawa couldn't survive in the mafia. Akutagawa turned out to be the mafias one of the strongest attackers, due to this. Was it necessary? Of course not. He was very abusive towards Akutagawa. Is it an explanation? Yes, it is. That is what Dazai thought he was supposed to do, and since he didn't have any direct subordinates he mentored; we can't really compare but there is this conversation he had with Odasaku;

“Ah, Akutagawa is a sword without a scabbard.” Dazai smiles slightly. “It won’t be long before he becomes the mafia’s most powerful ability user. However, someone needs to teach him how to keep his blade.” I am startled. I have never heard Dazai praise his subordinates so unreservedly. “Is he really that outstanding?” “When I first saw him in the slums, I shuddered. His talent is far above that of others. His ability is extremely destructive, and he is fairly stubborn himself. If left ignored, he would be at the mercy of his ability. It wouldn’t be long until he self-destructs.” Dazai has never taken the initiative to take in a subordinate, much less a starving youth in the slums. But Dazai seems to have his own plans.

This makes me sad because Dazai never disliked Akutagawa or thought he was weak. He always thought Akutagawa would be strong. But the thing is, Akutagawa doesn't know that. Dazai never made it clear to him. Kind of a shame he was a shitty teacher most of the time. Makes me wonder why Mori never said anything about it to Dazai. I am curious about lots of things about Mori and Dazai's relationship, to be honest. Dazai was always messed up but Mori messed him to a further point, whether he meant it or not. Dazai was also really mentally unstable when he was still in the mafia and couldn't bother trying to be gentle. Dazai is still not healed but he is doing a lot better in the ADA.

Back to Dazai never saying anything about it, that behavior itself is very weak on Dazai’s end. He desperately tries to change but there are just some things that he still can not work on. One of them is this. He has unfinished businesses with many people and one of them is Akutagawa. Maybe he can’t bring himself to show that vulnerability towards him, maybe he truly doesn’t think what he did was something he should be apologizing for, maybe he thinks apologizing could make it worse instead of fixing it, etc. etc. I can still count.

But there is one thing and it’s that Dazai doesn’t go out of his comfort zone in his relationships. I am not saying that he would return back to his old tendencies in time since that goes against all of his character trying to find his place in a better world but I’m just saying that Dazai probably finds it more convenient to treat Akutagawa the way he always did and even that little “you’ve gotten stronger” was a milestone for him. 

Akutagawa really had the right to say fuck off to Dazai and his half-assed apology, he really did, but I believe that scene was as equally important on Dazai's end as it is on Akutagawa's side. It means something. It isn't supposed to fly over the viewers' heads.

Progress isn't linear and Dazai shows it in a very slow way. A lot of things get in his way. He sometimes struggles, but that's what makes it realistic. you know what they say; one step forward, two steps back.

What the larger part of the fandom refuses to understand is that Dazai is not on the polar end of something. He is very mixed in that part. He is not a pure angel and probably would be one of the worst people you could have ever met if he were a real person. But he is not the devil's respawn on Earth either. Most of y'all forget that he was a lost child who got guided by the worst possible person ever. (I really like Mori's character too but that's a different topic, he is still a terrible person) If he is trying to change and do better, I'm always going to be rooting for him.

There is this saying, you can't teach an old dog new tricks and I really want Dazai to prove this wrong. His words to Akutagawa were not his destination on this journey, it was more like a milestone.

Akutagawa is also showing development too and that is mostly thanks to Atsushi. I kind of doubt this but maybe Akutagawa understands the meaning of Dazai's words since he was also giving Kyouka a half-assed apology type of thing. Their situations are so similar that I don't need to say much about it.

Akutagawa has grown so much and he probably will continue to do that, but it doesn't erase his trauma, not really. Dazai really messed Akutagawa up. Even though it doesn't count as an apology, this shows that Akutagawa has come to terms with Dazai's abuse and his own treatment of Kyouka and he deserves a kudos for that. acknowledging that your mentor messed you up and also acknowledging that you traumatized someone takes an effort.

Akutagawa may have learned most of the cruel things he did from Dazai, but he has grown enough to realize that he is actually his own person.

Ending;

I like most bsd characters because of how real and how grey they are and the abuse circle/web is really well-written. I really do want to explore it better some other time. As I said, not everyone has the guts to come up to terms with the fact that they were abused, let alone that they were shitty to other people. Akutagawa and Dazai are really different characters on their own but their relationship shows that they truly are influenced by an upper power and even though they both individually have a long way to go, this scene of Dazai telling Akutagawa he got stronger does mean a lot than an interaction between them that lasted two seconds.

[heinzpilsner]

Hmm, while there is a grain of truth in the popular zutarian take on "Southern Raiders" ("Aang is preachy and Zuko cares for Katara's feelings"), reading this episode as an evidence that Zuko is a right partner for Katara still doesn't sit quite well with me (and I'm a zutara trash, mind you!)

The problem with this ep in general is what it mixes too many complex topics together, and it becomes difficult to entangle the mess.

Basically, Aang was wrong talking in terms of "revenge" and "forgiveness" and "Jet" and "Appa" instead of "Katara's mental health", but he was right in his general concern. Hatred is not some precious right a person needs to hold on. It's a destructive feeling which is better to manage adequately for the sake of a person's own well-being.

But wait, someone may ask, isn't that exactly what Zuko was offering? To help Katara manage her hatred?

Well, yes and no. Yes, he was trying. No, this wasn't a good way to achieve it.

What many people don't seem to understand is that you don't need to confront the actual physical person you hate to deal with your hatred. Quite the opposite, actually. It's the person's imprint within your psyche what keeps destroying you from inside, and facing the person himself doesn't dissipate this imprint magically. It will only make things worse (*the only exception is when the both sides are genuinely interested in fixing things between them). You need to work with the imprint, and it's much easier to achieve when an object of your hatred is physically distant. No matter what kind of person you are, or what your moral/religious beliefs are, this is universal.

(It's a complex psychological topic I'm not really an expert on, so I'm not gonna go into much detail here. I'll just say what therapists have their ways to work with it).

I suspect Aang intuitively realized the problem, but with him being a 12-year-old monk and not having the needed skills or categorical apparatus, "forgiveness" was the best approximation to a right solution he could think of (I have no way of proving it though, so take it with a grain of salt as well as this whole post in general, lol).

While some idealization (and a lot of preaching) on Aang's part may have taken place, he saw "Katara's inner darkness" for what it was - a self-destructive tendency. She may think confronting Yon Rha is what she needs (although before Zuko introduced the idea, she didn't even think of the possibility), but it wouldn't be good for her. Sometimes, your loved ones are not right. Sometimes, they're about to hurt themselves. And it's not disrespectful to try and dissuade them from this (You'd think post-redemption Zuko of all people would agree with the sentiment).

Now, Zuko. While it's not his fault by any means I'm looking at you royal family, the way he dealt with the problem wasn't exactly the healthiest (or most selfless, as some people insist). He meant well, but offered a wrong method, and held on this specific method because it was something he personally could help Katara with. "It's the same as doing nothing!" - these are the words that kinda gave him away. I suspect it's not Katara's revenge or justice he was so passionate about, but his own chance of action. He was desperate for it. He didn't even stop to listen to her brother's and best friend's perspective, because it was interfering with his opportunity to be helpful, to be on the same side as Katara. In general, when your partner is too eager to side with you against your loving family, it's not a good sign, even when the family isn't perfect. (Well, okay, Aang's spectacularly poor choice of words had something to do with it as well. And where were you, Sokka-with-the-beard, when you were most needed?)

No one really offered a better practical solution to Katara's problem than Zuko though, that's the sad truth. And to be fair, after Katara had agreed to his plan enthusiastically, where was no better option for him than to go with it, I guess.

But... The bar was so low that offering nothing in the first place would be a better solution than this, honestly. Because no matter what the actual script of the episode says, I don't think this "life-changing field trip" would realistically do much good for Katara and result in her forgiveness. I think it would only hurt her more and would add to her list of irrational reasons to hate Zuko.

It may hurt, but as Katara herself made clear, there was nothing Zuko really could do at this point to help her or earn her forgiveness. It was something out of his control. He had to accept this and keep trying to do the right thing, simple as that.

I'm still a zutara trash, but not thanks to their interaction in this episode, I have to conclude.

(I guess what I'm really saying is that all those kids just need their therapy, lol)

Still typing on my phone and ignoring tumblr notifications. I wonder If anyone reads this at all lol

[desceros]

Okay PLEASE I have to know your opinion-

So you know how sometimes you look at people and just like- yeah, they’d be a golden retriever for sure. Or a chihuahua.

If the Rise Turtles were a dog breed, what breed would you think they would be? I’m definitely seeing Donnie as a herding dog wanting everything to be organized his way, Leo as a guard dog, Raph would definitely be a giant ass clumsy dog breed that doesn’t realize how big he is. Mikey has got to be some type of hyper terrier of sorts.

fascinating question!!! behold the power of an autistic person who loves dogs and tmnt

donnie: dachshund

wow sam favorite breed for favorite turtle OK LISTEN THO!!! dachshunds are sooo smart but stubborn as hell and want to do things Their Way. picking up a new toy and instantly playing with it so hard it explodes into fluff. taking direction well but only if you have a good relationship with them and they trust you. sassy attitudes, a penchant to attach themselves to one or two people and be distant to others, looks great in cute clothes, a fragile back that needs protecting--DRINK THE KOOLAID!!!

leo: akita

so this one was actually also very easy for me. akita are very much Family Over Everyone Else, and i always see leo as being very protective of his brothers (to a self-destructive point even). they don't trust other dogs or animals (much like leo doesn't trust other mutants or yokai), but when it comes to their people, they're goofy little goobers that love to play and have fun and snuggle. they're super smart, but need good training in order to achieve their potential, otherwise they'll have a tendency to do their own thing and that never ends well. wow who put this picture of leonardo hamato in the akc handbook

raph: great dane

i was torn on this one thinking some kind of livestock guardian dog at first since he worries about his brothers so much and always puts their safety first. only problem is a lot of them are bred to have mild temperaments, and, uh, [gestures at raph]. for that reason, i settled on the great dane. they're guardian dogs who care intensely for their family and are very, very sweet. but their large size and caution against strangers is quite intimidating, and they need to be properly trained against being aggressive to strangers. also, yknow, big.

mikey: pumi

pumi are well-known small dogs that are work-hard, play-hard dogs with the CUTEST curly hair. sound familiar? they're pretty good at watching the family, but often times they're a bit too busy bouncing off in the corner because these dogs are like. adhd in canine form. always need stimulation. always need exercise. gotta bounce move play bark play run RAZZ MATAZZ. also they're cute and mikey is cute.

[sleepyhead-poll]

BONUS! MOD'S CHOICE POLL!

Mod's Propaganda Under the Cut:

Judai:

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a Yu-Gi-Oh fan. For whatever reason, this series imprinted on me when I was a child and I just never let it go. I've watched the original series, season 0, GX, 5Ds, and Arc V, as well as read the original manga, the GX manga, and the Arc V manga, as well as watched all the movies. The point is: I like Yu-Gi-Oh. There are people who like it more than me, that have watched all the series and what not, but I think I still like it an absurd amount. And out of all the protagonists I know, Judai is my favorite. He's just so lovable, you can't help but like him! He's goofy, he's reliable, he's fun, he has a descent into madness, he's gay, what more could you want in a shounen protagonist? Though being sleepy isn't a major part of him, it's more of a gag of him slacking in class and always going to sleep, it's still super funny and I'm a little sad that he lost in Round 1, though I do like Sonic as well (who he lost to). Give the Slifer Slacker a chance!

Linhardt:

Considering Linhardt is my profile picture at the moment, I don't think I need to justify this too much. But I will anyway. Linhardt is the sleepy crest scholar. Although I will be the first to admit that I am not actually a Fire Emblem fan (and tbh I find the writing in Three Houses kind of bad) (sorry to those who enjoy it) I love Linhardt so much anyway. He's probably my favorite in that very large cost. I love that he's so unapologetically sleepy, like he doesn't care if you scold him to do work, he will do work on his own time. Not only that, but he's actually really smart and dedicated when he wants to be. Linny's friendship with Caspar is really nice, especially since I think someone needs to save Caspar from his awful dad & self-destructive tendencies. Plus, I really like his supports. Especially with Marianne, Hubert, and Edelgard. His supports with Dorothea in Three Hopes is also really nice.

Garfield:

It's Garfield. He's a classic comic. He's a classic meme. Little orange kitty. What more could you possibly want? I love Snoopy, but to be perfectly honest I think Garfield should have gotten as far as Snoopy.

Sleepytime Tea Bear:

Again. He's just a classic. What more would you want but a sleepy bear in pajamas on a chair?

Olruggio:

I'm a big Witch Hat Atelier fan and I love Olruggio. Like yes, I like Orufrey like everyone else, but I also just like Olruggio on his own. I like his scruffy little look and I love the fact that at first he is so intimating but almost immediately he's revealed to be a big softie. I love his light magic motif and I really think it's sweet that he made the thing to keep you warm when you sleep and gave it to the kids-- he's a FATHER. This man needs a nap fr though. Man I need to catch up with this manga.

Osaka:

IT'S OSAKA. Like!!! I don't even know how many clips and comics from Azumanga Daioh make the rounds around Tumblr, but specifically the ones about Osaka are amazing!!! She has the most autistic anime girl swag I love her so much. She's so sweet and earnest and silly... I always lose my mind at "OH MAH GOD!" and she has so many other classics. Like when she makes the Osaka stamp with her eraser or when she struggles to cross the street because she keeps zoning out when the light gets green or when she's distressed about Americans wearing shoes inside... I love her. And to her sleepyheadness, she's always falling asleep in class and whenever she's studying she just starts falling asleep. She's just like me fr...

Takane:

Back in the day I really liked Kagerou Project and so as tribute to my old obsession from middle/high school I have to give a spot to Takane. My favorite part of the series was when we saw flashbacks to the Yuukei quartet and Headphone Actor is still a bop.

Tanaka:

THE REASON WHY I STARTED THIS TOURNAMENT IN THE FIRST PLACE??? Last December during finals I decided to read something light and fun while working and I chose Tanaka-kun is Always Listless because I remember the title from a few years ago when the anime came out and like I loved it SOOOOOO much. He's the ultimate sleepyboy and he's just so funny and relatable. He needs to be carried around by his best friend Ohta and his ultimate goal in life is to minimize as much effort as possible and he's always nodding off and he dislikes being a main character, instead wishing he was a background character... my favorite guy for real.

[prettyrealm]

ateez san ideal type reading

this reading is a paid commission, thank you so much for trusting in me! <3

overall:

someone who is exactly who they appear to be (he doesn’t want any tricks or surprises nor does he find this exciting, he just wants an honest person), someone who has overcome a rough childhood (maybe he had one as well?) and has the knowledge and wisdom to act as a right hand to him giving him good advice & guiding him through emotions, someone generous, nurturing & loving with an angelic vibe (like a genuinely innocent person), someone who he can gossip about others with, a soulmate type connection that others will see and be jealous of (he wants to be viewed as like “love birds”), someone who can trust to always take his side (if he doesn’t like someone then his partner doesn’t like that person either now), someone devoted to a higher power or belief system (even if it’s someone who looks up to a life coach or reads self-help books), someone that will get up and move with him at any time without complaints (he may even want to travel the world with someone, or be able to take them with him on tour), someone who he can live with comfortably, someone wounded that he can help fix, but he doesn’t want this person to have a victim complex or seek sympathy, he wants to be able to work to grow with them.

turn ons:

when someone really intense or crazy about him (like, if a partner were to seek revenge on his behalf even on a small scale, he would be really into that), someone almost “toxic” (i think he likes obsession & possessiveness tbh), when someone shows determination or bravery, when someone stands their ground or comes out on top despite the odds, when someone can preach realness, but also practice it (if you can talk the talk you better walk the walk), someone genuinely kind and compassionate, but at the same time i think he wants his partner to have a “cruel” or “cold” edge and be able to detach enough to still be able to advance their own interests (so kind of business minded & putting themselves first when needed be), someone who doesn’t hang out or associate with people he thinks are morally corrupt or trashy, someone who he can trust, but specifically trust enough to tell everyone else’s business to (whether it be group mates or just random industry tea, he would like to be able to spill and rant about it without worries), someone with short hair, freckles/moles or imperfections on the face, on the taller side (or with long proportions), big boobs & big butt.

turn offs:

someone who holds racist views (maybe he can put up with ignorance or insensitivity, but straight up hatred of another race seems to be something he can’t look past), stupidity, people who run away from their problems or have escapist tendencies (he seems to be the type to think you should fight whatever has you in a rut head on), people who don’t like trying new things, when someone can’t commit to things or has what he thinks is no real direction in life (he thinks everyone should have goals and spend their lives going after these goals relentlessly), people who lack self control and discipline, people who engage too much in what he may see as trashy behavior (partying, drugs, drinking), people who act as if they can’t take control of their own lives (he hates excuses), when someone says self-deprecating things, when someone engages in destructive behavior or ignores the consequences of their actions, very short height, when someone doesn’t take care of themselves (messy hair, sloppy looking, not put together), & a wide waist.

[murasaki-cha]

I was gonna post this as a reply for this post by @he4d-banger but it got too long so I’m making it a separate post.

I have talked about this before but I’ll talk again because I love talking about Cale’s complex emotional state.

More than pushing them away, Cale completely ignored his grief which has made him completely emotional constipated. This has lead to many side affects which get glossed over most of the time since we read the novel from Cale’s pov.

Some that I can remember from the top of my head right now are: dissociation, selective memory, depression, anxiety, stress and tons of physical problems like eating disorder, etc. which I’ll get into more another time. His self destructive tendencies based on the decisions he makes are all because of his emotional constipation.

Cale’s denial over his own symptoms has become chronic over the years even tho it’s fairly visible from other peoples perspective. Some instances I can remember where we see Cale’s condition from other peoples pov are: moments when Alberu tells him he’ll definitely get his slacker life, everyone’s reaction to him smiling after crying, Choi Han meeting younger Cale, the villains’ reaction when Cale gets angry, everyone telling him he’s too weak and skinny, Ron and Choi Han’s pov during side story 7 after Cale dreamed about CJS and LSH first death anniversary, etc. Everyone can recognize that he’s not well.

And about the venting on destroying stuff, that’s exactly correct. Many times when we see the fight from the other pov of the villain, most of the dialogue is about how angry and terrifying Cale looks. Of course part of that could be due to the effect of Dominating Aura, but they specifically mention Cale’s expression and the look in his eyes a lot. That’s what truly terrifies them. Cale doesn’t recognize this but he’s really expressive, everyone says that he’s very expressive and lets his emotions slip through his face.

Another case when he couldn’t control his emotions anymore was when he cried. An interesting fact is that people who aren’t used to crying and/or hold themselves back from crying, once they do actually cry they can’t stop the flow of tears and are motionless and/or rather calm and quiet. It’s that silent unstoppable crying that Cale displayed. His grief finally exploded after meeting LSH and he couldn’t understand the sadness he was feeling at that moment because the meeting ended with consolidation and relief. All the pain over the deaths of his best friends finally released.

That is a complete contrast to his reaction in side story 7 after the first anniversary of his team’s death. When he arrived home he just collapsed on the floor expressionless. Not once did he cry. But the way he collapsed at that moment said a lot about his state at the time. All the stress accumulated in his body from holding back his emotions all day today affected his physical health to total exhaustion

Actually in my opinion SS7 is one of the best chapters about examining Cale’s emotional state. There are multiple visible of him suppressing his emotions like: keeping a neutral expression all day around, refusing to mention what day it was tomorrow even though everyone knew, not closing his eyes in front of the grave because the memories would resurface, the small panic attack shown by his shortage of breath, background silence and feeling of heaviness, and you can see how burned out emotionally and physically he feels. The only way he wouldn’t feel these things was by working, as it is noted multiple times throughout the story that he never took days off.

And my favorite moment was when we see Cale waking up from the dream and very clearly experiencing signs of ptsd and a panic attack. He was feeling cold despite the entire house being heated with magic, cold sweat running down his face, shortage of breath as soon as he woke up and a distressed expression as shown from Ron and Choi Han’s pov He also felt the need to hear noises and pet the kids to make him feel a sense of attachment with reality since the silence in his memories made him feel suffocated. Tho Cale himself couldn’t recognize these symptoms.

That side story also shows how he has grown emotionally throughout the novel now becoming more emotionally open with others.

I can also go on about his selective memory, anxiety, get more into his self destructive lifestyle and about his obvious signs of depression during his team leader days and early part of the novel while touching on his childhood trauma, but this post is already long enough so I’ll leave those for another day.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 21

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I’m bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 9.4k

a/n: Whoa haven't seen you guys since last year... LOL. This is very angst filled, sadly its our last vacation chapter. Back to reality but Javier and Andrea try some new... stuff... this chapter 🍑. If it isn't your thing thats okay!

But (no pun intended) on a less sexy note, Andrea meets some family this chapter.

Sorry for the wait was busy this month having a winter break fling (that's so like me) but back to reality.

Thank you for being so patient with me always.

This is for @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

The two of you leave the studio shortly after Edmond threatened to wring Javier’s neck for the first date joke, well it is our first date. Before that though you were honestly  eager to get out of the place, you needed him back in the hotel room, you needed to thank him with your mouth, with the warmth pooling on the tiny thong under your skirt. While Javi explains to Edmond that you are indeed the girl he had vented about when they first met, usually this would have made you a blushing mess but you were practically squirming in the stool. Your earrings catching the light casting a red reflection against the wall. Your eyes follow the light around the room as the two spoke, your mind drifting in places that could only be described as filthy. Edmond jokes that it had all worked out in the end, it took you a moment to catch up with their jokes. You had disassociated but Javier picked up on it and ushered the two of you out of the studio and back out into the Louisiana heat. 

“I have dinner reservations so behave.” He whispers before grabbing your hand in a sweet possessive hold. Your brows quirk slightly before leaning into him completely. He seemed to be hyper focused on getting the two of you to the proper place at the right time because his eyes went all squinted while he walked you through the busy sidewalks. 

“I am behaving.” You were, sure, maybe it was a bit rude of you to look around the room aimlessly while Javier caught up with his old pal, but you truly didn't mean to. There was something about girls like you, girls who craved to be wanted–once you get a taste–insatiable is the only word to describe you. So insatiable that you couldnt give a fuck about a dinner date with Javier Peña, it was so like you. So like you to feel so overwhelmed with love, a feeling so foreign, so strong that now you can't think of anything else but the thought of him inside of you. Good lord you were soaking. 

His cheeks were still red, either from tears or the high sun. Regardless he looks down at you with a teasing smirk that quickly hardens and turns into a disapproving head shake. “I saw you out of the corner of my eye, querida. Wiggling around in that stool.” He says in hush tones, you break eye contact in slight embarrassment. You know that annoys him, when you shy away because you feel his body stiffen. Poor Javi, you think. One day he’ll understand you fully, he knows you better than anyone else  but he still isn't used to your self-destructive tendencies of self-manipulation and constantly wondering whether he truly likes you. And despite today being the greatest testament of his devotion for you there was still that part of you that was a girl without a father. How humiliating? You also know he is never truly upset with you, even when he stands up straight and huffs a breath, it's always followed by silence, his space to try to figure you out.

There's a lot to learn, six years apart is too much for anyone. You've become four different people in these six years. 

By the time the two of you entered the warmly lit restaurant you've given your brain some time to think of meeting your grandmother tomorrow, now thats a thought to have you quit squirming. The desire you felt so heavily only half an hour before left in an instant at the thought of what's to come tomorrow. As you settle in your seat the thought of your father not being alive crosses your mind, instinctively you touch the bee earrings softly.

You feel Javi watching you with intent, a small frown on his lips as he adjusts his belt buckle while he sits. If your stomach wasn't doing turns from impending doom you would have made a big dick joke, you suddenly didn’t have it in you. You quit touching the earrings and let out a shaky breath before grabbing the menu. 

“What’s wrong Andrea?” He asks, stern, almost like it's a statement. Like nothing is not an answer he’ll accept. He knows something is wrong. 

“I’m really nervous for tomorrow.” You admit without any tooth pulling. Uncrossing your legs beneath the table, Javi nods firmly he knew how to react to you when you admitted things like this. There's nothing you hated more than someone screwing their brows in concern and pity, he never did that. He just nodded, solid, dependable and able to listen. He doesn't respond so you continue. Brushing a piece of hair from your face you sip the water given. “I also don’t want this weekend to end. I don’t want to go back. I especially don’t want to go back if tomorrow goes bad, I don’t have it in me to explain that to my mother.” There it was, that other part. The sheer embarrassment that could be awaiting you, the possibility of being humiliated by your paternal family and coming home to a mother that will look at your tear stained cheeks and say, I told you so. 

Javi clenches his jaw at the slight shake in your voice, and it’s so like him. He puts his large hand palm up at the small table between you two. Your heart grows in your chest and without hesitation you place your own small hand over his. Manicured nails circling the dry lines there, his thumb rises and wedges between two fingers tickling you a spot you never knew tickled. You choke out a giggle and dug your nails into his palm, he winces in fake pain. Ow, he grumbles. You take his hand entirely and lifts it to your face, pressing a kiss to his palm. He smiles, his dimples deepening and his eyes crinkling. “Sorry.” You say and kiss his palm again, “Sorry for attacking you with my nails even though you’ve made me the happiest girl in the world today.” 

He shakes his head in a shy little act, wow, you wanted to jump his bones again. “It’s okay I like it when you’re rough.”

“Oh shut up.” You laugh, pressing his palm to your cheek before placing it back down on the table. “And I’m sorry for ruining the mood with my sulking.” 

 “Don’t apologize to me.” Javier furrowed his brow in disapproval, “If tomorrow doesn’t go the way you plan I’ll extend our weekend, give you time to recover here. Don’t care if it’ll be obvious to everyone that we’re together, we’ll figure it out.”

Your lips quirk in a satisfied smile, you’ll take it. You were minutes away from suggesting the two of you stay in New Orleans until the damn wedding Saturday. The two of you were so in love it was hard to be logical. Hiding your face a smidge as you lift the menu to cover your crimson cheeks. “Okay, that's fine with me.” 

“God I wish I knew she was that mean to you–I’m like regretting being her friend a little bit.” You were slurping down pasta with a frown, hearing stories from high school about Lorraine. The more he uncovered, the more you regret giving her grace. Every new piece of information was followed with Javier’s attempt to excuse it. You suppose the both of you have some things to learn, you wanted to tell him that her actions and his faults were not in the slightest bit comparable. Like;

On valentine's day she got drunk and purposefully poured wine on my favorite sweater in front of all my friends. But she was mad because I skipped sunday mass with her family the week before. 

Or,

I was really upset with her cheating, but she blamed it on the time I called you pretty in front of her. I guess to her that was emotionally cheating.

You sat in front of him with your mouth agape, or you cursed under your breath before shutting yourself up with carbs. “None of that is normal, you shouldn't make excuses for that sort of behavior. I doubt she does when she complains about you to other people.” You say while dabbing the corners of your lips free of marinara. 

He laughs and nods in agreement, “You're right, I want to be the bigger person though. No need to be upset on my behalf querida.”

The 2nd glass of wine gets to you slightly as you roll your eyes aggressively, feeling awfully protective of your boyfriend. You remember which sweater it was, it was the white knitted one he wore to his last christmas at home, he would wear that thing to every holiday. “Whatever, god forbid I feel defensive over my man.” You whisper and bring your glass to your tinted lips. Javier’s lips quirk at its corners, you know he loved hearing that come from your mouth. You noticed it just thirty minutes prior when you told the waiter, my boyfriend would like the same. You picked up on the way he shifted in his seat when you called him baby. For the past 10 minutes you had been slipping the pet names slowly and scattered, he was getting worked up. Look who needs to behave now. 

“Hmm.” He huffs, annoyed, turned on, grumpy and everything else.

You bite back a tipsy smile, slipping your pointed heel up his calf slowly, until the outsole skated his inner thigh. He shakes his head and looks to you through a half lidded gaze. “Relax.” His voice deep and striking, loud enough for the other patrons to hear. You nod in agreement and attempt to move your foot back down but before you could make the effort his hand falls between his spread legs and holds your delicate foot in place on his lap. Your breath hitches in your throat, your leg pulled so still your skirt rides up. Saving yourself from the breeze, your left leg tightens to cover the soaked fabric now exposed. 

With his right hand holding your heeled foot and his left hand on the table, he grabs his glass and continues at his drink. Your breath is hitched in your throat, you feel his stare. His eyes glued to your chest, your nipples pebbled under the fabric. You don’t listen to his demand, incorrigibly you lean forward releasing some tension with the press of your legs and the hip movement required for you to move closer. “Why are you being so mean?” 

His eyes narrow, “Mean? A weekend getaway, museum date and those pretty earrings.” He teases and you nearly laugh, nearly, truthfully you were so turned on you couldn’t care to play these games. You’ve had years to do that. You survey the restaurant, there had only been about ten tables and each paired with a couple or a group of men in suits. Your eyes dart to the family bathroom, Javier follows your line of sight with a smirk. No families, you note. Less guilt for what you’re about to do. 

You drop your heel from his hold and wipe the corners of your mouth, “Well, you’ve spoiled me Javi.” You shrug, adjusting your small cardigan to cover your pointed nipples. He laughs a hearty chuckle. Your face falls to straight seriousness, hair readjusted. His nostrils flare at your hardened look.

“Rotten.” 

Your eyes shrink with a slight hint of petulance. Like a little girl not getting her way, absolutely not. Eyes scanning the room once more, “Well if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to take care of myself in the bathroom.” You huff before rising to your feet. Feeling the table to your right shooting a glance at your figure. With a strut of false confidence, your knees were buckling with fear he won’t follow you and just think you’re upset with him. It’s the last message you want to get across after he poured his aching soul to you at the gallery.

Javier watches you walk to the bathroom and close the door behind you. Well he watches to make sure no one else was watching because the pencil skirt you decided to wear curved perfectly below your ass, making it apparent to everyone that your behind was a tight little thing. Rolling his tongue against his cheek he waits a few seconds before pinching the bridge of his nose. 

He knows you, he knows you’ve been pent up since the gallery, since he put those earrings on you. How could he not know, you practically screwed your brows in bliss every time he took a look at you. Truthfully on their walk to the restaurant he was still reeling from the entire first date thing, he had never lost his composure like that—to cry in front of someone— to cry in front of you. He’d be a lying dog if it didn’t scare the living shit out of him. So scared that he nearly thought about just saying fuck it and getting down on one knee and proposing to you with some fucking earrings. 

He knew it before. He knows it now that what you too have is forever, beyond time and circumstance, there was no way you two could live a life with other people. What a discovery to make on a first date. 

Anyway those feelings of sheer terror and love, they’re the same in his head, were quickly replaced with every tiny possessive nickname you let leave your red bitten lips. He was fully hard by the time you decided to play footsie with him, he wondered if you felt the strain against his pants through your heels. He decided he was going to fuck you into the mattress when the two of you got back to the hotel but he supposes you had different plans. 

His eyes glued to his glass he picks it up and downs it. “Fuck it.” He murmurs before wiping his mustache, adjusting his shirt and heading for a straight bee line for the bathroom. 

You smile softly at him through the mirror, “I was starting to think you didn’t get the memo.” Javi nods, his mind set. Silent and brooding behind you. Your confidence seemed to have faded with each passing minute he contemplated whether to follow you or not. “I was afraid you thought I was really upset-Oh Javi.” You shriek the second he tosses your skirt over your ass. Instinctually bending a bit over the sink. Dropping to his knees, his dirty thoughts win as he slightly sinks his teeth into your tan behind. You giggle at the absurdity of it all, but he doesn’t care what it would look like to  anyone else. He was a man utterly in love with his girlfriend, and with how soft her ass was. 

Javier kisses each cheek of hers and laces each kiss with a bite then a firm tug. Kneading and kisses, his large palms have finally found something that he didn’t completely engulf. Why was it so sexy when his hand covered your entire breast yet even sexier that your ass finally dwarfs him? He’s never been a man above worship, above religion, still he had never believed in a god so clear, so real until he came home and had you. Was it normal to be this enthralled by a partner? Was it just the honeymoon? He really couldn't care anymore about those questions because god, Andrea, he murmurs like a prayer.  

With your skirt piled at your hips, the tiny little red thong was fair game for his needy kisses. His teeth graze the string that just barely covered the one part of you that’s untouched, you buck as his fingers spread you open, the loose string falling to the side to expose you there. “Anyone ever touch you here?” He asks with his left hand holding you open, and his right thumb skimming so close. He knows the answer. He wants to hear it. You screw your eyes shut, a small whimper escapes your parted lip. Your heels slip on the tile, he lets up his left hand to hold you steady. 

Tossing your hair over one shoulder and attempting to look back at him you whisper, “Never—I want to try but-”

But I’m not sure I want that sort of first time to be in a restaurant bathroom. You think.

He knows exactly what you mean, he knows how delicate this part of sex could be, he knew it's a lot more than a heat of the moment decision. He’d never, not in a place like this. Though, he had other ideas, “Another time, can I taste you here at least.” He taps at your cunt and you eagerly reach behind and slide your panties to the side. Javi smiles when he’s met with his girlfriend’s swollen cunt just for him. Good lord, he did not want to think about having to sneak around again. For the two of you to be limited beyond your control the second you step home. He wondered why he couldn’t just rent a home out here just for the two of you, just until he leaves. Will they be reduced once again to just twice a week, all pent up and hand-covering mouth sex in his bed. He tried not to think, tried. 

One thing the two of you have grown fond of is him eating you out from behind. This position was just like the second time, in his room on memorial day. You look over your shoulder, the cardigan slipped low to expose the tan shoulder of yours. With lidded eyes you stare into Javier’s soul as you reach your hand between his face and your bent form. With a shy blush your delicate fingers run across the seam of your cunt and slowly up to skim the tight hole that's been the object of Javier’s deepest fantasies. 

“You can taste here too.” You quip, you weren’t sure if people even did that. You could be making a fool out of yourself but you knew after his fingers got close to your asshole, you felt a new pit in your belly. Javier’s eyes raised and he suddenly felt like a kid in a candy store. Never in a million years did he ever imagine a world where you agreed to something like this. He mumbles deeply, Jesus Christ. You didn’t have to tell him twice. 

He plunged his face into your cunt first, quicker and less teasing this time, they were in a public bathroom for crying out loud. His licks and sucks are wet and aggressive. His head shaking in between. You drop your head into your chest and the slow build of release. If he kept up this pace you’ll be writhing in climax in thirty more seconds. You're not sure you were ready for the moment he proceeds to eat you out just there. For a moment you wonder if this is really something people do during sex, you’ve had girl friends who have tried anal but none of them ever mentioned their boyfriends eating them out there. You wonder if you're the first people to ever do this- or it’ll feel good at all. You surely weren’t ready, the second his heavy tongue slid up to your place untouched, and you weren’t expecting such a feeling.

You shrieked loud enough for the guests to hear. Javier’s heart sank and paused for a second while you covered your mouth.

“I’m sorry-I’m sorry.” 

Javier’s brows tensed, “Is it too much?” He asks lowly, looking up at the back of your head. You screw your eyes shut, and nod.

“No-I just didn’t expect for it to feel so good.” You whisper as if to do damage control for the shriek you let out, with your head dropped in shame you feel his chuckle between your cheeks. Okay, he laughs and continues again. You’re more prepared this time–yeah you two definitely aren't the firsts to discover eating ass. This has got to be popular.

His head moving skillfully, his chin skimming your cunt along with it. Shaking his head and devouring you whole. And oh, it was a feeling so good you were afraid to know what it would feel like if he applied more pressure than a tongue back there. You never saw the appeal in anything to do with anal—suddenly—you suppose it takes the right person. You always told yourself you’d never try any of that unless you were married or something— well close enough. Your knuckles go white gripping the porcelain tops. He parts for a second and spits directly on your ass, parting you to watch it slide down onto your cunt. 

“You like being a dirty girl? Yeah, Andrea?” he gets close again to clean up his mess and good gracious you were close. “Letting me eat your ass like this? Used to think you were so shy—now look at what you’re letting me do to you.” He dives in again, this time reaching his entire body leans with it. His hands gripping the tops of your thighs while he moves from your cunt to your ass and back-and back again. 

Your forehead presses against the mirror and you catch your own eyes for a moment and you’re absolutely disgusted by the sight. Disgusted in the best way possible. You are filthy, you love it—you loved this. You bend further to give him better access to your clit and you’re a goner. Your ears ring and you fall limp but like always he never lets you fall. He’s at his feet again, pressing your knees together. He unbuckles himself and relieves his aching cock from their confinement. You open your mouth to tell him to put it in but he speaks first.  

“I’m gonna come, just let me—fuck.” He grabs himself and fists himself over your bent body. “Let me fuck your thighs really quick—please princesa, let me—” He grits and you bite your lips at the thought. Your heart skips a beat or a few, so many firsts. Why is the thought so enticing?

Okay—please, you murmur and without hesitation he drags his cock between your folds, collecting slip before thrusting. He wipes his eye as an attempt to readjust his blurry mind. The post orgasm clarity will hit him soon, it didn’t matter now he was too pent up to care. He humps you from behind, his length squeezed by your thighs and his tip nudging your overstimulated clit. There was something depraved about the action, being used in this way. Being used and loving the way it feels.

And he’s driving fast, pre-cum spreading at the tops of your thighs. How he made sex so enjoyable was beyond you, all you could do is softly sigh and moan, nearly drooling from your mouth falling open. “Javi please– I-” Perhaps your moans were a bit too loud because his hand snakes up to your mouth, effectively muzzling you. You babble incoherent begs and moans into his dry palm, while his other hand death gripped your hips for stability. It didn’t take many thrusts for you to be coming again, his hand on your hip quickly snaked to hold your thighs tighter against him and with that he finished over the tops of your thighs, painting you perfectly. His own little art piece. 

There’s a ringing silence for a moment as he slips out from behind you. You catch your breath, wiping your tears away. Head heavy, too frazzled to adjust to the situation. Javier just ate your ass out in a restaurant bathroom and fucked your thighs. And you came twice in ten minutes. Jesus take the fucking wheel. 

“I-I’m sorry I’ve never done anything like that before.” You almost expect for those words to come from your mouth but it aches all the same coming from his. You turn around to him, knowing the sight is probably ridiculous, tear stained cheeks, a wrap skirt hiked up your legs and his come spread at the tops of your thighs.

Your eyes soften watching him fumble to tuck himself away. You could see his jaw clenched, you knew when his mind was on overdrive. This is one of those moments. Like he’s drafting ways to apologize to you. 

“I liked it.” You admit in a whisper. 

His brows shoot up and he looks up to you. The color in his face returning, as he fastened his belt. “You did?” 

You blush, your eyes falling to your thighs. “I did, we should try more stuff like that… it was… really hot.” You admit, looking up at him through your brow bone. His nostrils flare and he’s nodding. 

“Okay.” He nods sternly in the same old grumpy Javi way. 

Your lips twist at the silliness of it all. “Okay…” 

“Alright.” He’s still staring at your thighs. 

You giggle, “Jesus christ Javi! Clean me up!”

He jumps in place, “Right sorry.”

It’s safe to say that the two of you were quite full after the whole restaurant debacle. Frankly your last night should’ve been filled with endless love making but Javier could sense your nerves. After tipsy kisses and stumbling into the room the reality began to set in. You struggled to sleep that night, afraid of waking up to a packed room and a car ride to your grandmother's home. He slipped into the shower with you without any advances, you wouldn't mind it all but he reads you, he washes you without lingering touches and only a few kisses. The two of you find a rhythm, drying off, getting into his shirt and some panties. The two of you exchange stories before bed, who knew he was such a softy like you. 

“I’m always nervous before meeting old people.” You admit. Its a stupid quirk of yours but man do the elderly intimidate you. You chose teaching because you knew that dealing with the elderly would be far from that area. “They can be so judgemental and old fashioned, its painful– every conversation.”

Javier strokes his hand against your arm, “You're rambling. It's time for bed baby.”

He was right, you had no need to bring that up, you just really didn't want the day to end. Why is that you were so afraid of the thing you yearned for your entire life?

The morning is quiet and gloomy, it rained the entire night so the sky was all gray clouds with peaking sun. The entire room was packed by the time you sat up to rub your eyes. Your stomach is so uneasy you could only take four bites of the waffles he called in for you, no syrup, just butter and powdered sugar how you like it. He’s quiet too as he folds your clothes. You check out at twelve and load his car again. He kisses your temple before opening the car door for you. You nod a silent thanks before you settle into the car seat. Head leaned against the window. Reaching into the dash board for the map, finger tracing until it stops at the road circled labeled, Andrea’s Grandma, you smile to yourself thinking about Javier at his desk circling and routing a way to her grandmother's home the night before their trip. 

With fear of rejection you fiddle with the bee earrings in your ears, grounding yourself with the reminder of Javier even when he's right next to you.

The home was fairly close, only an hour away from the hotel. Javi smokes two cigarettes with the low sound of the road below the tires and slow soul music filling the car. It was then when you realized Javier was nervous too. You think of what he told you at La Belle Forme, about his panic attack. It was rare for silence to exist between them not like this. You kiss his knuckles, a few kisses, you suppose you found solace in comforting him. 

When the car slowed down you weren't expecting to be approached with large estates with rolling grass and bald cypress trees casting down like curtains. When Lorena called you pictured an elderly woman in a small home, you never envisioned a large white home attached to other small homes. You looked down at the map. 4289 Coventy Court, “Its the small house, the big one is 4287.” You point, it all seemed to be on the same estate though, you'll still have to walk through this strangers beautiful front lawn in order to get to your grandmothers. Javi nods, shutting the car off. Your hands drop to play with the ripped ends of the map. 

His palm comes over to your lap and grabs at your fidgeting hands, his hands always cold and dry and large. “¿Estás segura de que estás lista?” He asks so softly, he did that often, reassuring you in spanish. You inhale deeply, looking at your connected hands and then to the house peeking behind the large trees. You nod. 

And there it is, right In front of you— a physical manifestation of the answers you’ve prayed to hear. Everything you've ever wanted to know. It could split you completely, could kill you, but it could free you. A small part of you hopes it splits your heart in two so that you're prepared for heartache in November at the hands of the DEA. Who knew Javier could hurt you more than your father? When did you give him that power, you suppose it’s when you realized it was love. 

The two of you climb out of the truck and make your way through the cobblestone path, “I’m not going to get shot out here right?” Javi whispers and you cant even itch out a giggle from the coil of nerves in your chest, he doesn’t joke anymore. He trails behind you while you lead the way, like you know where to go— you haven’t had a fucking clue. With every tap of your sneakers on the ground you felt panic rise higher in your throat. 

You could feel Javier behind you, keeping his steps slower than your own. Giving you space you weren’t sure you wanted. You appreciated it nonetheless. Like he was ready to run and get the car if anything hurts you. He’s 3 steps behind you once you close your eyes shut before knocking on the light blue door. Your eyes surveying the plants lining the white porch. “¡entra!” A distant voice calls from beyond the door and its the same voice from the phone. Something in you bursts, your eyes dart to Javier in fit of panic. Fuck it. You open the door to the home. 

The astounding amount of pastels blind you. An entire rolling carpet of white at your feet, Javier holds his arm out before you nervously put your outside shoes inside this museum piece of a home. You saw her too, out of the corner of your eye. Sat in a wheelchair with hair pressed straight down to her hips, with a book in her lap – the sound of birds chirping splitting your ears as you unlace your shoes with shaky hands. Javier seemed to have slipped his shoes in record time because his socked foot took a step inside before he bent down again to grab your shoes and tossed them outside. 

Standing up straight the woman in front of you widens her eyes at the sight of you, her smile splitting her face in two and you arent sure if anyone had ever looked at you with such melancholy before. She was a beautiful woman, well kept from what you can see it seemed like she had a lot of help. For once in your life you feel strong, chin up and nearly smiling. Lorena fully smiles and there it is–You can finally pin point where your bright grin comes from. "Ven aquí! Get over here before I try to walk to you!." She shouts with that same accent you remember over the phone and with that you're padding over to your grandmother. Embracing her for the first time. Receiving kisses to the side of your head, and caresses and you don’t feel sad anymore–or nervous. You sat in front of her and Javier stayed in his lane, quiet and observing. His hand on your while she explained how she found your number. 

“My greatest friend Griselda moved to Laredo about a year ago. I had been pushing the poor woman to look through the phonebook for your name– I didn't know if you had our last name or hers. Whatever I found it and tried calling but your mother– you already know.”

You sure did, the conversation was what you expected it to be. She attempts to understand what your life has been like this whole time. You tell her your mother owned a boutique and that your brother was on his last week of being a bachelor, she teared up at that. You almost forgot she was around when your brother was just two years old, she laughs when explaining his biting problem. Her eyes fall between the two of you a few times, you and Javier and your joined hands. The way his were in your lap and  how your nail grazed the strong tendons of your lovers hands. She kept the questions Andrea central.

Did you end up going to college?

Yes, University of Miami. I’m a middle school teacher.

She laughs and claps her hands together, she tells you taught for thirty six years. Your heart nearly bursts in your chest. 

So are you living at home?

For now, yes. I’m looking to move soon.

Do you like your brother's wife to be?

Oh–yeah. She’s been my close friend since I was in middle school. 

She nods, turning to her left to grab her cup of tea. There had been two cups left out. She let you in on how she kept the place so tidy, her home nurse Ms. Cristina, who worked for her every day. She points to her bird cage at the corner of the living room which shows the only non-tidy part of the house full of bird seeds on the floor, They also take of me. 

“And this–.” She smiled, waving her finger in between you two. “How did you two meet.”

“Oh!” You laugh, Javier cracks a smile. “We-”

“Uh-No. I want to hear his story. Ha estado sentado ahí en completo silencio, habla, hijo.” She cuts you off in the only way elderly people know how, gracefully and silly all at once. Your cheeks burn red. Absolutely intrigued to hear his explanation. His face softens for a moment before he breaks into a deep chuckle. Rubbing his eye in that same nervous tick that he always does. 

“Oh–We were just kids when we met.” He was instantly interrupted by a yelp from your grandmother. 

“¡Ay, por Dios! Qué romántico. So you two have been together since then?” Perhaps it was rude but immediately you and Javier look at each other and let out a cackle in unison. Leaning into his shoulder as you giggle while your grandma sits confused, wondering what was so funny about her question. “What-What’s so funny?” She says with a hint of humor in her own tone.

Javier shakes his head and replies, “It took us close to a decade to get here.” His eyes flash to yours, soft and gleaming. He looks at you like this often—always, but there’s a different look, something close to pride. Truthfully, he was overjoyed to talk about you to someone, especially to someone who by some crazy phone call and last minute trip—is your family. 

Lorena smiles, sipping her tea with a nod. Her eyes floating to something behind you, above your head. You don’t turn to see what has made her eyes misty and youthful for a moment. “Ah.. one of those. I’m familiar, promise you. What is it that you do Javier?”

He straightens up at the question like it shattered the small world he’s created with you. “I’m a DEA agent, I’m assigned in Colombia starting this November.” It was firm, devoid of laughter and pride. Like a soldier being questioned about deployment. Your grandmothers brows screw in sympathy the second he mentions being away, her eyes falling to your own. You tried to be strong but the reminder chips away at your spirit each time. Five months away. Your eyes drop to your knees. 

“Ah… I see.” Softly she points her chin high, a necklace falling out of her cashmere sweater with the movement. She nudges behind you, where her eyes fell previously, you and Javier turn slightly. The image of a man in black and white, eyes light and a stern look. Clad in military attire, and a nose so similar to your own. You into the eyes of your grandfather for the first time. How could you have forgotten? You haven't even asked about him, his name–anything. You notice then that the entire hour you have spent in your grandmother's home you hadn't once thought of your father. Something about the eyes in the photo seared you, What if my fathers dead? “Your grandfather was also named Lucas. He was my high school sweetheart but we broke up after he decided to leave me for the war. Listen, I respect our military but–not for him–absolutely not. He was always leaving, estúpido, estúpido. We split when he was apart, it wasn't very easy to be in contact like it is now. But… I didn't wait, I found someone else but mija… the second he stepped foot on american soil we were married and I was pregnant with your father 3 years later.”

Javier placed his hand on your lower back at some point during her story, thumb softly rubbing into your thin t-shirt. Your eyes threatened to betray you. You know why she chooses to tell you this story, you suppose this sort of thing runs in the family. Leaving and watching the ones who leave. “He died before me, that absolute idiot.” She sniffles and shakes her head. You turn back around, facing her–she had already wiped her tears away. And she does it just like you, palm first and hurried. Who knew the sight of your grandmother crying could fill you with such warmth, you suppose you were never emotional in the same way your mother was. You wondered where it came from, you guess you can say you've got it from your grandmother.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” You choke on your own words and she waves her hand  in a its alright but it isn't motion. She grabs her teacup once more, her eyes stuck to yours until her brows shoot up in shock.

“Oh–your father. It's so like me to get wrapped up in myself, I’m sure you have a million questions. I can settle your nerves and tell you that he is very much alive.” She laughs, she really was a kookie old lady. “He also knows that you’re here.”

“What?” You and Javier blurt simultaneously, the two of you leaning in on your knees. For a split second your cheeks heat at the thought of Javier being this invested but that completely flies out the window while your grandmother nods with a smile. 

“This is his estate, you think a school teacher could afford all this? His home was the big one right next door. He’s nervous but he is expecting you. I thought I’d give him time to… speak for himself.” She nods and settles her cup down once more. “I’m not trying to kick you out but he’s probably bouncing his knee for the thousandth time over there”

“You’ve gone non-verbal Andrea.” The two of you kissed your grandmother goodbye with promises of a second visit in the next few months, Javier was micro analyzing your every move. How after the bomb was dropped you had frozen in fear and only muttered 4 more words. Her brows furrowed as the two of them approached the back door of her fathers home. Javier knew what this meant, what this all means. He sees what its doing inside of you, your body is rejecting the truth that, A. your father is alive and B. He seems to be doing quite well for himself. Your grandmother gave the two of you instructions like you were on a secret mission. 

Go through the back door

Javi, it's best you wait in the hall. 

He will most likely be sat in his office, first door on your right. 

You just nodded with a knot in your throat. Javier watches you lead the way in silence and it's killing him to know how much this is taking a toll on you already.

You have eaten in on yourself already, absent in the eyes.

 He remembered fathers day being a particularly rough day for you during your summers. How you would call Javier’s house but he’d have to explain that he was on his way out fishing with Chucho. He can't think too hard about all of that, he might crumble himself and he had to be strong, he had to be that for you. You step up and look over your shoulder, nearly tripping–Javier catches you at your elbow and you are trembling. 

“Sorry, I’m trying to catalog all the questions I have.” You chuckle and there isn't a bit of humor behind it, just nerves and all. “His house is way too nice. This door knob looks like pure gold.” You attempt a joke but Javier can't seem to laugh either. And like the brave girl you are, you don't hesitate this time, you twist the doorknob pushing the door open. Ahead of you was a grandiose hallway, white paneled walls with tiny intricate floral designs. 

The door to his office is already in your view, a long ottoman right outside the door like a waiting room. It felt nothing like a home, like a sterile office or a Homes and Gardens spread. Javier selfishly thinks of how their home will look one day, it will never feel this cold, not in the Louisiana heat. He’d settle down with you in Louisiana. He decided this weekend, he’d like to watch you bask in under the cajun sun with a belly. 

The two of you stand side by side in front of a door with no imperfections but a carving of the letter L on the wood. Your brows furrow, “Okay.” You exhale, turning to Javier knowing this is where you part, knowing that whatever goes on behind those doors could hurt you in a way he fears he can never fix. So maybe he’s just as scared, he nods silently and firm. Still putting his act up for your sense of security, he knows you can read right through it, he also knows you love that he does this for you. 

He can see it on your lips, see the 3 words, the words he knows you tried to spill out twice on this trip. He shakes his head and grabs your face in a chaste kiss. Your hands hold at his shoulders as you rise on your tiptoes to return it deeper. He doesn’t let you stall, he steps away. “I’ll be right here.” Javier juts his chin toward the ottoman, and he watches you disappear into the room. 

Sitting down with a strain in his lower back from the drive and his body's reaction to the thought of the ride they have to take once this is all over. Javier leans his head back, his eyes facing the ceiling. Touched with a heavy weight and the lingering thought of maybe one day having one of these moments with his own mother, if she’s out there. He busies himself with an attempt of remembering her face, drawing her in white lights behind his closed eyes that he was too damn scared to open, scared to be present. Scared of not being strong enough for you. Afraid of opening his eyes and seeing a blackhole ready to swallow him whole, engulfing himself in his own grief that he’s shoved down trying to be a man for you. 

He sees your face at first, angled cheeks he first sees you now, a longer face–lips full, a nose with a tiny slope and teeth always threatening to split your lips in a smile. He also sees what you looked like in 1980, rounder cheeks, the face of a shy girl. He remembers your cheeks always being pink. His chest constricts when he pictures that same young face full of tears at fault of his own fears. That's when he makes out his mothers face, eyebrows a light-light brown, so light they always seemed barely there. Her freckle below her eye, her eyes clad with glasses and quirk between her brow. Of disapproval for all things involving their life as a family.

Javier snaps his eyes open at the thought. Straightening up, attempting to now hear what was being said behind the door. His eyes adjust to the bright light of the hall, it really felt like a waiting room. Javier blinks away the floaters.

In front of him is a single picture hung on the wall.

It's an image of your father, he sees the resemblance immediately. But that isn't what catches his eye. Javier's heart drops nauseatingly fast at the sight of two young girls-twins, in the photograph. And in cursive in the far corner,

Best Dad Ever  

He’s up and hugging you before you could take in that this is really happening. The hug is tight, it's unfamiliar, it's strangling and you attempt to hug back to make it feel loving but it just isn't there yet. You want to pinch yourself, you've dreamt up this moment. You hugged your own aching body to sleep countless nights wishing for a hug from your father and now that it’s here, you can't even register the difference between him and a stranger.

He holds your face for a moment with his eyes misty, your chin quivers then. He was a splitting image of your grandfather. Eyes a hazel, his hair shaggy and long. Like he doesn't belong in a home this large, you close your eyes for a moment. Overstimulated with the situation, your father cradles your face for the first time since you were a premature newborn. He even calls you beautiful a few times and you’ve never felt stronger for not melting into a puddle of tears. Perhaps you were just too happy.

It was the happiest moment. 

You sit in front of him and he has a sheet in front of him. You couldn't be bothered talking about yourself again but you do anyway, he leaned in with every small fact. He beams with a laugh when you tell him that little Frankie was expecting a baby and wedding. He claims that these past years he wondered what you were doing with your life, once your eighteenth birthday approached he says he stayed up the entire night wondering what this next step would look like for you. 

“It seems like you've done well for yourself–I'm sorry Andrea, I’m sorry I wasn't there.” You were the only person in tears in the room but you couldn't be bothered to be embarrassed. The tears were only joyful, those sorts came rarely for you. You allowed them to flow without shame. 

It’s okay dad, it's okay. You whisper, “My mom–she says she left because you were–”

“An addict.” He cuts. “I was, I got clean the second she fled with you. I called my mom and she sent me to a rehabilitation facility in New York. It’s where I lived most of my life, where I built my business. Where I met my wife.” He smiles to himself and you smile too. What a privilege it is to be loved by someone else. “She isn't home today,  told her we would be meeting today and she decided to not overwhelm you so she’s out. I hope you don’t mind.”

You reach out for the box of tissues at his desk, dabbing your eyes. “It's okay–I'm sorry that my mom did that– leaving without notice, it-it kills me when I think of it.” You wipe again as more tears fall, god why was it so difficult to talk when crying. You think of the day after your birth often, you think of your father asleep in a hospital chair, you think of him waking up in an empty room. Your heart chips away slowly but then you look at his face again and he looks just as confused.

He straightened up and his jaw clenched. You were to oblivious to notice the change in his demeanor.

“Andrea– I knew she was going to leave– I- I encouraged her to… I was too sick. I wasn't ready then– I waited six years until I had kids.” 

You swear the feeling was akin to being cut by the sharpest blade, sliced slowly down your sternum and the weight of the world on your shoulders. There you are, in front of your father, bleeding out, being drained in front of him. Your head feels light as everything you thought you knew turns on its head. Your eyes fall to your knees, staring into the denim of your pants, trying to register if any of this is real.

What? You whisper. 

“Oh Andrea–Melissa–your mother. She sat in that hospital bed and cried, she begged me to get clean for you, but she didn't know how all of that worked. I had to do it for myself, and I did. I asked her to leave. I wasn’t ready, sweetheart.”

The name stung, you sat there, you were an open wound in front of your father as he explains that he made the choice to reject you. 

Your chin quivered in a new way, no longer happy. No longer tears between teeth, “I’m really confused.” 

“I forgave myself for that decision in rehab. I found god and I absolve myself from that guilt through years of healing, Adalina and Adare’s birth helped me free myself from that decision. I knew you were taken care of I had to–”

“I-I wasn't taken care of. I wasn't loved. I was ignored–I-I spent the holidays alone. I was raised by a nanny–When-when I fell off my bike I relied on my brother's best friend to take care of me. I needed you but I was never angry at you for not looking because I thought you were left completely in the dark.” Each word came with a sob so deep, you weren't sure your body could handle a heartbreak like this. His lips thinned and his brows creased in sympathy that didn't feel genuine. You had sisters, sisters with names awfully close to your own. "Did-did you know where I was?"

"I had you address for several years, yes." Cooly he says it. “Andrea–I'm really upset to hear that. I had assumed you were okay, you never looked for me.”

You shook your head with closed eyes, tears staining your neck. “I shouldn't have to–I’m the child…” You whined, regressing to a little girl, you couldn't help it. This was the worst pain you've felt. “I needed you– I needed a dad.”

“I understand, I understand the importance of a father in a young woman's life–I've got two of my own–But I cannot be sorry for the decision I made twenty two years ago.” How could he be so cold, so analytical. How is it that he talks about the situation like he’s just an observer? 

“Three, you have three daughters.” Your voice sobers, its anger this time. You were so upset that he couldn't see this the way you do. Your eyes burn into his and there isn't anything, there's nothing. You began to wonder how he could be the product of a woman like Lorena. “You had me on January 14th 1964, you watched my mom carry me for 7 months before she couldn’t– I’m your daughter too.” You spit without a shaking breath. 

His face tightens and he nods, “Technically speaking yes-”

“Oh give me a fucking break!” You cuss, jumping to your feet and he jumps in his seat. 

“Please do not cuss in my home.” 

You were red hot, fuming as your eyes finally took in the catholic iconography throughout the office. And the many, many pictures of your sisters. Wiping your tears with your palms, fast like you want to hide from him that he even made you cry in the first place. “You are a pathetic person. I feel so ridiculous having wasted so many years wanting you. I’ll see my way out.” You turn and he’s following you, repeating your name but no apologies. You swing the door open and Javier is there at his feet already, with a tense face. You see it, he heard it all and he’s angry. 

“Please Andrea, let's just pray together.”

You cackle and glance at your boyfriend. “Let's go Javi.” You storm past him, swinging the backdoor open. 

The second the rolling front yard and southern sun hits your skin you begin to sob. Chest wracking yet silent as you walk away from your fathers home. As you walk away from someone else's father. You chest hiccuping as you blurily lead yourself down the path, Javier's steps quickening behind you. Your cheeks hot and stung with tears, head pounding you knew you looked like a swollen hot mess. You hug your own shaking body all the way to the car. Climbing in the passenger's seat with more tears. 

You aren't sure if you could ever be okay.

Javier circles the car with his heart in his throat, hearing each word and feeling the cuts deep. He sits and thinks, she won't be able to handle this. He knows you, he knows you enough to love you. He knows you are strong, he also knows no child is strong enough to face rejection from a parent. So he stares at your father before you have walked out the home, he contemplates killing him there. He wants to hurt the man for making you ache so badly. Call him crazy or irrational, but he thought it for a split second. Thought of hurting him.

 Javier decides taking care of you was far more important than his anger. 

He walks behind you, 

It felt like a huge joke, like a fuck you. The beautiful scenery of the estate, the birds chirping and the world still spinning, and you're there, hugging your own body while you silently weep ahead of him. 

He doesn't start the car when he gets in. He stares ahead, sick to his stomach at the sound of your cries. His eyes glued to the steering wheel, his peripheral catches you shifting to lean your temple against the window. The car was hot, sitting out in this sun. Hot enough to burn you once your elbow touches a belt buckle but the heat felt trivial. Javier glances at the map, prepared to drive back into New Orleans and extend their weekend, take you away for more days. Allow you to be detached for some more time, this was far too much for you. 

“I want to go home Javi.” You whisper between tears, “It was…dumb of me to look for a family out here.” 

There it was again, your eagerness for a complete family. For someone to see you, understand your pain, he heard you beyond that door. He heard you talk about being left alone, celebrating holidays with only yourself. He heard you begging for sympathy from your own blood from your own family. He heard your voice so small when you begged him to see you as his own child, as his own family. 

Javier panics, he’s so overcome with emotion he isn't sure he has the words to comfort you. He can't get out what he's tried to tell you all weekend. You will always have a family with him, you no longer have to search. But it doesn't come out from his mouth.

Instead, he reaches his hand over to you and between his thumb and his pointer he rubs the earring he gifted you. The earring, the reminder. Without words he tells you, I’ve got you. He watched you the past two days rub the thing as a nervous tick, he sees your brows furrow and your chin quiver once more before you cave and lean your head against his hand. Your cries regulate and calm with each pass of his thumb against the delicate little bee in your ear. Javier watches you with blurred eyes and he remembers meeting you for the first time. He remembers putting bandages on your knees and peeling oranges for you and diving into lakes and biking, and blushing and kissing and leaving. And And And, 

“Andrea, I really, really love you.”

[facelessxchurch]

Headcanons: The Red Right Hand

• Serpine is one of only a handful of people who ever gained the red right hand and not only bc it's a forbidden technique even among necromancers. Powerful magic like this takes a price not everyone is willing or able to pay. If you want to cause pain, you'll need to endure pain as well.

-> For one, the process of creating the red right hand is excruciating and requires a high pain tolerance and self-discipline.

-> Second, even if the ritual is a success the red hand might not work for its user. For it to function you must have the sincere will to kill and to cause pain. Any second thoughts, hesitations or any other form of reluctance and the technique will fail (think the three unforgivable curses from HP). This is a technique only someone sure of their own sadism would ever attempt to learn.

• That also means that the red hand is safe to touch as long as Nef has no interest in killing you and prevents him from killing anyone on accident.

• Despite that everyone (apart from Mevolent) still gets nervous when he takes the glove off.

• (That's why his coup failed. He tried to kill Mev with his red hand, but when he hesitated it stopped working.)

• Nef always wears a pair of black leather gloves bc wearing one glove would look odd and make him stand out, which could get in the way of him manipulating and charming his way to his goal.

• Even after the ritual is completed the hand will never stop hurting though the pain did dull with time. Nef got used to it eventually.

• But the more he uses the hand the more it hurts (nerfs the hand so he can't just one shot kill everyone). The worse the pain gets the longer it will take him to recover from it. Being masochistic as well as sadistic Nef revels in the pain he has to endure as much as the pain he causes but once it surpasses a certain level he'll require pain-numbing leaves which he always carries for cases like this. If he is desperate enough to use his hand until he himself ends up screaming on the floor, curled around his red hand he is long past the point where pain leaves will help.

• The Red Hand is the ultimate "I will shatter myself to cut you with the shards" which fits Nef and his spiteful, self-destructive tendencies so well.

• While the shadows necromancers use are magic fuelled by death, the red hand is pure death magic.

The Ritual/Learning the Technique

The ritual involved him having to flay his own hand. He needed to do everything himself or it won't work

There is no need to use the right hand for the technique to work. It just happens that Nef is left-handed. For one it would be foolish to do something like this to your dominant hand. But also, flaying yourself is hard enough with your dominant hand, let alone your other. Imagine the strength of will it took for him to calm himself and try to suppress the shaking of his hands as he kept cutting.

During the ritual, the use of anything that would dull the pain is strictly prohibited.

As if being flayed isn't bad enough, he had to coat his hand in a mix of oils and herbs which burned like hell. They prevent the exposed flesh from getting infected or bleeding out and offer the protection that normally the skin would have provided. It also prevents it from healing.

All through the ritual he has to repeat the incantations Tenebrae dictated to him in a magic language he only half understands due to its age and lack of access to the resources he would need to fully understand it despite his best efforts to obtain them.

Unbeknownst to Nef the temples have the missing texts needed to fully learn the language which is how Tenebrae was able to to change the incantations so the red hand would temporarily kill any necromancer it was used on before resurrecting them. This would ensure Skul's survival as well as protect the temples (including himself) from Nef should he decide they outlived their usefulness.

The ritual to learn the technique is written down in the Grimoire of a dark mage and former leader of the Irish Necromancer Temple which is why they still have it long after his passing and can use it without triggering the protection curse placed upon it. The curse is the only reason Nef didn't force them to hand the Grimoire over. He can either deal with breaking a curse or stay friendly with the necromancers. The latter seemed less suicidal.

The Grimoire is presumably still hidden in the abandoned Irish temple somewhere.

[tellmegoodbye]

Look, I finally made a banner for this!

I have a bunch for y'all this week, so buckle up. We've got two Carlos songs, two TK songs, and one Tarlos song.

Fear - Blue October

The beauty is I'm learning how to face my beast Starting now to find some peace Set myself free, yeah

Today, I don't have to fall apart I don't have to be afraid I don't have to let the damage consume me My shadow see through me

'Cause fear in itself Will reel you in and spit you out Over and over again Believe in yourself And you will walk

These lyrics have always felt very raw to me (as is the case for many Blue October songs) and I specifically love this one for Carlos.

He said in his vows that he lived his life with so much fear, and that TK was the key that unlocked him, but he also had to do that work himself. He had to learn how to be comfortable in his own skin and let himself be free, and I think this song speaks to that journey.

Burning Bright - Shinedown

I feel like there is no need for conversation Some questions are better left without a reason And I would rather reveal myself than my situation Now and then I consider my hesitation

I wonder if the things I did were just to be different To spare myself of the constant shame of my existence And I would surely redeem myself in my desperation Here and now I'll express my situation

The more the light shines through me I pretend to close my eyes The more the dark consumes me I pretend I'm burning bright

Carlos, my beloved, our chronically avoidant king.

This song is about about putting on a mask. Carlos has done this for so long that he's grown comfortable with hiding his feelings from others, and he's afraid of what will happen when he's honest with people.

Easier to Run - Linkin Park

Sometimes I remember the darkness of my past Bringing back these memories I wish I didn't have Sometimes I think of letting go and never looking back And never moving forward so there'd never be a past

If I could change, I would take back the pain I would retrace every wrong move that I made

It's easier to run Replacing this pain with something numb It's so much easier to go Than face all this pain here all alone

This is one of my favorite TK songs! These lyrics are a great representation of his self-destructive tendencies and the guilt he feels when he hurts the people he loves.

Unlovable - Diamante

Is there anyone left to believe? Is there any good still left in me? I keep slipping further underneath I just want a love that never leaves Thought I had a heart of gold Everything I touch turns to stone Is it my fault I always end up alone?

Well, maybe I'm just difficult Maybe I'm impossible Maybe I'm just one step over the edge You're one foot out the door Maybe I'm emotional Too much to handle Maybe I'm unlovable

All of those times TK pushed Carlos away was because he was scared of being hurt again. He carries this underlying anxiety with him that he's always going to be the one that's the problem.

Heavenly - Broadside

I love the sound of your voice on the back of my neck when were tangled up in each other And I love the nights we spend, where the hours blend and were still hidden under the covers

I must be dreamin' heavenly, you are my remedy I want you to bury me in your reverie

TK and Carlos are just really into each other! No other explanation needed.

Tags!

@strandnreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings @lemonlyman-dotcom @carlos-in-glasses @goodways

@heartstringsduet @carlos-tk @literateowl @herefortarlos @welcometololaland

@nancys-braids @captain-gillian @bonheur-cafe @honeybee-taskforce @paperstorm

and anyone else who would like to join!