#of having made those decisions to begin with

[tarotsoul]

ghost in the wind — part three

summary: as feelings progress and truths unfold, you're left with a decision that could end your entire existence as you know it. the mother has a path for every soul, perhaps this was where yours was supposed to end.

warnings: swearing, mentions and brief descriptions of sexual abuse, consensual sexual themes, mentions of death and suicide.

word count: 5.8k

series masterlist

Feyre Archeron could never begin to imagine the pain and horror her older cousin had faced in the mortal lands. Rhysand hadn’t shared that image, hadn’t shared the memories he’d witnessed when he took some of that pain away from you. 

She didn’t need her mate to share those visuals. Not when she felt every ounce of anguish through their bond. And every day since then, she had not been able to forget it. 

Another two weeks had passed since your arrival, three in total of your being in the Night Court, and you were finally beginning to work through your trauma. 

The offer had been there to find your own place of residence, to have that independence if you so wished. But after speaking with Feyre and Rhysand, after learning it was in fact Nesta who had imposed the leave Y/N be rule… you realised just how much you loved living in the House with your family. 

Your friends. 

So when you’d finally accepted Mor’s desperate pleas to take you shopping and fill your empty wardrobe…

“You’re going to need another dresser.” 

You blinked, taking in the mess around you. Your entire closet was stuffed to the brim with dresses, blouses, sweaters, coats…

And the pile on your bed…there was no chance of those articles of clothing fitting in the closet too. Nesta was right, you definitely needed another dresser. 

“Rhys is going to lose his shit when he finds out how much we spent.” 

Your eyes widened at Nesta’s words, not quite picking up the teasing tone she spoke in. Mor shot her a look and threw a sweater at her face. 

“She’s kidding,” Mor reassured. “My dear cousin has more money than sense. This won’t have even made a dent in his wealth.” 

A relief, but that guilt began to creep its way into the pit of your stomach nonetheless. You were ashamed to admit that while you had fun shopping with Mor and your cousin, you hadn’t even taken a moment to realise how much everything had cost. 

Nesta threw herself onto your bed, right on top of the throng of clothes you needed to find a place for. “I’m thinking we raid Rhys’ wine cellar tonight…”

A gleaming smile radiated off Mor’s face in agreeance and they both turned to you with upraised brows, expectant. 

You pursed your lips, an apologetic smile on your face. “I told Rhys and Feyre that I’d babysit Nyx tonight.” 

Nesta huffed and threw herself back on the mattress again, clothes bouncing and crinkling as she did so. Mor raised another brow, as if that wasn’t a good enough excuse. 

“So? I’ve gotten drunk while watching Nyx loads of times.” 

Nesta seethed at her. “One, that’s my nephew and I never want to hear you doing that again. And two, Y/N’s tolerance to alcohol won’t be as strong as ours. Two glasses and she’d be borderline incapacitated.”

Despite the slight insult, a laugh bubbled up your throat at just how right she was. Because you’d never even drank a sip of wine in your life, and Nesta knew that. 

“I’m surprised you don’t have plans with Azriel…” 

Mor was prying, you knew that. But you had no control over the heat that made its way across your neck and face. 

“We’re just friends.” It wasn’t a lie. You’d spent a lot of time together the past couple of weeks, and he was one of the only people you felt truly comfortable around. 

Mor gave you a knowing look. “Mhm, tell that to his shadows.” 

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nesta scoffed, sitting up again. “Az’s shadows are basically an extension of himself.”

Mor hummed. “They don’t do anything unless Azriel commands it. Or sometimes, they’ll do something based on his emotions or thoughts. They’re so friendly with you because Azriel likes you.” 

Your cheeks burned. You hadn’t realised his shadows touching you was a product of Azriel’s emotions. And the more you thought about it, there hadn’t been a time since you met him that they hadn’t touched you in some way. 

You didn’t say that, though. No. Azriel clearly had no qualms about other people noticing, but that did not mean you were willing to gossip about it. 

You did not need to allow silly fantasies to root their way in your mind. Azriel was your friend. And you were okay with him only wanting you as such. 

Within an hour, Mor had disappeared to tend to her own duties and just as Nesta was about to leave for hers, she grabbed your wrist and motioned for you to look at her. 

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

She didn’t need to say anything more. Those words were enough—more than enough. She saw you, she recognised everything you had been through and everything you did every day to overcome it. 

I’m proud of you. 

The last and only person to have ever told you that was your mother. 

And because you saw her too, because you remembered fhe young mortal woman she was before her own struggles of turning Fae and adjusting to her new lifestyle, you found yourself saying, “I’m proud of you, too, Ness.”

Nyx had been wonderful to look after that night. 

You’d gotten all the cuddles and boyish giggles, the beautiful little smiles and a few stinky diapers to go with it. You loved every moment with the little babe, and when Rhys and Feyre returned from their night off early in the morning, you offered to sit with him again whenever they needed it. 

But despite how fulfilling and wonderful it had been, it had also hurt. You wondered if you’d ever be blessed with the opportunity to carry and birth your own child. Wondered if you’d ever even find someone to want you in that way. 

Especially within Prythian. 

It was another late night for you, though your reading sessions had taken you from the lounge to the library. And you no longer spent them alone. 

Azriel sat on the couch opposite you, his nose deep in a book as you watched him. In the past week, you’d spent a lot of time together. It ranged from walks into the city to sitting and reading in the library until early hours of the morning. 

You’d grown accustomed to his presence, his scent often able to calm any anxiety or qualms you felt. He had noticed, of course, he wasn’t a Spymaster for nothing. But Azriel did not mention the change in you whenever he was around. 

He basked in it, in the way you appeared so much more comfortable with him. You weren’t afraid to speak up, to ask questions or acknowledge whatever was on your mind. 

You were coming out of your shell and it warmed Azriel’s heart to know that he was somewhat of the cause for it. 

“What does salacious mean?”

Azriel blinked repeatedly as your voice broke him from his thoughts. Salacious? His throat tightened. You’d often ask for definitions of things you were unsure on, sometimes even asking how to pronounce words you had never come across. 

But salacious? 

“Are you reading Nesta’s romance novels?” He quirked a brow. 

Your lips involuntarily pouted at him, your own brows furrowing just slightly as you rested the open book back into your blanket-covered lap. “Yes. Why?”

Anxiety creeped its way into your stomach, rooting deep into your flesh from the inside out. Reminders of how this used to go flashed through your mind and suddenly, it felt like you were back in the village, back in the mortal lands and living with Rafe. 

A tendril of darkness peaked at the corner of your vision and you focussed on it, watching it slowly dance across your knuckles and weave between your fingers in a calming manner. 

Shadows. Azriel. Library. Velaris. Safe. 

And just like that, the anxiety un-clawed its roots and crept away. 

Azriel nodded ever so slightly to the book, knowing exactly what had just happened with you but acting as if he didn’t. “Salacious means…having inappropriate interest in sexual matters.”

There was no hiding the heat on your cheeks—the way it burned your soft skin. You tore your gaze from his as quickly as you could, unable to contain your slight shame and embarrassment. 

But Azriel did not mind one bit. 

Azriel had secrets. He supposed that being the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was to be expected. But these secrets were different from the others, something he kept locked tight in his mind for the past month. 

And it wasn’t the secrets that had him moving closer and spending all of his time in the lower level of the House. No. That was very much you and your presence and whatever it was in your soul that called out to his. 

He couldn’t stay away—though, it wasn’t like he even tried—for that pull was far too strong for even his willpower. 

He had suspicions. Suspicions of a golden thread that started in his chest and ended in yours. He knew it was far fetched, knew he was only hurting himself by entertaining the complete insanity of the idea. 

You were human. Mortal. And mortals didn’t have mates. He told himself so every day, and right after, like clockwork, he countered his own sound advice with the one thing that had been troubling him the most.

Because what mortal could plant and bloom a patch of tulips with nothing more than a thought and a touch. What mortal could speak so clearly to the earth and create life right before another’s eyes. 

Despite the possible threat that could pose for his court and his family, Azriel had kept that tidbit of information to himself. Just for now. Just until he could make sense of it. Then, and only then, would he bring that information to light. 

Because Azriel did not feel any ounce of danger or ill intent from you. He did not feel anything but warmth and intrigue and that godforsaken sensation when you grew excitable over something. 

He couldn’t take that from you. Not when you were finally coming out of your shell, finally talking and laughing and going as far as joining him and Cassian for training twice a week. 

“If sex makes you uncomfortable, there are other romance novels without that.”

Heat warmed your skin again. Shadows dared to intertwine with your fingers. 

“No, it’s not that.” You played with his shadows, allowing them to caress your skin. “Sex doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve just never had a good enough experience to understand much.”

He didn’t push, didn’t ask further questions. You wouldn’t be embarrassed for this, for something that was not your fault. You wouldn’t cower anymore, hide what you felt or thought. No longer would there be repercussions for speaking your mind. 

So you spoke again. 

“Rafe was the only person I’d ever…it’s just different to read it, to have it described as something enjoyable.”

Azriel’s knuckles turned white. Something enjoyable. He’d never experienced it to be anything but. His soul almost cleaved in two at the thought of what you’d endured. 

Azriel dared to glance at you again. “Sex with the right person can be very enjoyable. It should be nothing but beautiful.”

He stiffened then, blood thumping in his ears. His shadows stilled, noticing the shift in your scent just as their master had. Sweet, all consuming arousal, and Azriel did not miss the way your thighs pressed together in impulse. 

He swallowed thickly. 

You broke his gaze, your own heart thumping sporadically as you stared at the pages on your lap. You couldn’t help your mind wandering to thoughts of him, of experiencing that with him. You knew it was wrong. So, so wrong. 

“The thought of being intimate like that with someone new…” You couldn’t find the words to express the fear and anxiety that came with that thought.

Azriel listened intently, breathing deeply. 

“I want to experience life the way it should be experienced. Not the way others have pushed it upon me.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his book on his knee. “You control your life now, nobody else. If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.”

You wondered then if he could see into your mind as Rhysand could. If he could feel that shift in the air. If he could smell it on you. That want and desire. You would not apologise for it. Not anymore. 

“But if it feels wrong, is that not my guts way of warning me?” You countered. 

Azriel smiled, just barely. His knuckles still white. “It’s your guts way of protecting you. Because you’ve never experienced anything beyond what others bestowed upon you.”

Gods above. 

An ache fluttered in your chest, just above your breast and you absentmindedly rubbed at it, disrupting the neckline of your shirt. Azriel’s eyes squinted at the exposed skin, at the mark that adored your flesh. 

“Are you hurt?” His tone was primal, protective. 

You paused your movements, following his gaze. “Oh, no.” You pulled your shirt a little lower. “Just a birthmark.”

He needed to compose himself, needed to stop allowing his mind to wander about other areas of your concealed skin. He felt like nothing more than a big brute. 

Your soft, airy giggle woke him from his daze and he looked over to find tendrils of darkness caressing any inch of your skin that they could. Gods, if he didn’t have a leash on his emotions around you, how could he control his damned shadows. 

“It’s like they have a mind of their own.”

They didn’t. But he couldn’t correct you. Not without exposing the fact that they only fed off their masters emotions and desires. Not without exposing the fact that Azriel wished he was the one touching your skin and not his shadows. 

He swallowed again, throat dry. 

“Nesta told me that they’re an extension of yourself. That they only act if you will it.” You didn’t know why you said it, why you thought you had the right to speak that truth. 

But you would not apologise, even as Azriel remained silent for a few moments. Partly out of shock, partly in awe. But that was another thing he would not speak aloud. 

“Sometimes they can act on behalf of my emotions. My desires and wants.”

You dared to meet his honey eyes. “And that’s what you want?” You were breathless, a feeling in your stomach that you’d never once experienced before. “You want to touch me?” 

Neither of you knew where this confidence had come from, but Azriel did not question it and you did not apologise. 

He shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t repeat the words that echoed in his mind and soul and body. But, Gods…he could not seem to regain any semblance of control when he stared into your eyes. He could not lie to you, could not hide what he felt. 

“I want to do a lot of things.” The admittance was barely audible, nothing more than a breath he’d been holding but you heard it all the same. As though you’d demanded the words out of him. 

You couldn’t look away, even if you tried. Your entire being was encapsulated by him. Your chest heaved, legs ached. The shadows slowly left your shoulders and neck, returning to their previous position at your fingers. 

“But above all, I want you to be comfortable. Happy.” 

Something compelled you to stand, the shadows seemingly guiding you to their master as your book toppled to the couch. He watched with a hungry gaze, one full of faltering self-control. 

If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.

Take it. 

Take it. 

“I’m comfortable with you.” 

The shadows moved like a breeze between you both, tugging you closer and closer. Nothing else mattered, not in that moment. Not when your soul felt like it was singing, like it was exactly where it longed to be. 

Azriel stood slowly, towering above you once at his full height. You strained your neck to meet his gaze and he bent his to come closer. You could feel his breath dance with yours, could feel his hard chest press upon your soft one. 

No part of you felt nervous, no part of you felt unworthy. 

But Azriel…he didn’t know what to do. For weeks he’d been dreaming of this moment, dreaming of the taste of your lips, the touch of your skin. He slowly raised a scarred hand to caress your warm cheek, and you didn’t cower or shy away from his touch. 

A test, perhaps. To see if you really could handle the intimacy of another male so soon after what you’d endured. You didn’t falter, didn’t break his gaze. He wanted you, more than he ever wanted anything else before. 

“What you went through…”

“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you cut him off. “That was then, this is now. I don’t want to live in the past.”

Take it.

Take it. 

Your lips…so close to touching his. 

The shadows swirled in delight, excitement.

Azriel knew this wouldn’t be just a kiss. This wouldn’t be meaningless. He felt it, in every part of him, he felt the way your entire being sang to his. He wanted to lay his soul bare before you. 

He itched to brush your hair behind your ear, to hold you and taste you. But Rhysand’s voice echoed through his mind, beckoning him for his assistance. He closed his eyes, huffed out a breath.

“Rhys is calling for me.” 

Azriel stepped away, removed his palm from your skin. You swallowed, stepping back and letting your eyes fixate on the rug beneath your feet. He cleared his throat, struggling to reign in those shadows of his. 

“I’ll come to you tonight…we can talk then.”

But had Azriel waited just a few moments longer, had he given into the urge to brush your hair from your face, he would’ve noticed the slight point that had formed at the top of your ears. 

Azriel didn’t meet you in your chambers that night. And you didn’t see him the next morning. Or the day after that. 

Cassian had mentioned that Rhys sent him on a mission. That he would be back in a few days. 

But something was wrong, you could feel it in every inch of your body. An ache that only got worse with every passing moment. You tried to ignore it, tried to relax in a hot bath with soothing lavender oils. Nothing relieved the pain. Nothing soothed the ache.

And when you left your bathroom and found your once round ears now pointed, and a trail of tulips following in your wake, your legs carried you toward the kitchen before you had a moment to consider it. Cassian and Nesta sat at the table, giggling over their breakfast when you stumbled toward them. 

“What’s happening?” Your panicked tone caught their attention, eyes wide as they stood and took in what lay before them. 

From the stone ground, moss and grass and flowers bloomed as though you stood in the middle of a field. Daisies and buttercups sprouted in your hair, roots of trees tangling around your limbs. 

Everything was so loud yet muffled. Like every word was screamed in your ear but somehow underwater as Cassian called out frantically to Rhysand. Neither of them went near you, even when Rhys flew through the open balcony doors, Feyre in tow. 

They looked at you with nothing less than concern and fear. 

“What in the Gods is happening to me?!” You demanded. 

Rhysand held Feyre back as she attempted to near you, his gaze locked on you as he assessed the situation. But it wasn’t the flowers or grass or roots that he watched. It was you, and the way your crescent-moon birthmark glowed something violet. 

Rhys had known, had suspected something lay dormant within you. From that moment he entered your mind, when he gazed upon that luscious field that seemed to call to you with promises of something new. 

He’d never witnessed such before. Not in the most powerful of Fae had he ever stumbled across that. 

With a very careful step forward, his gaze demanded yours. Feyre had told him of your mother, of her death and your marriage to Rafe. And his voice was soft when he finally asked the question that had been on his mind ever since. 

“What happened the night your mother died?” 

The world went still, cold. Feyre whirled to him in protest. 

“Rhys—“

“—it was a house fire.” 

All eyes turned to you, to the patches of bloom that haltered their growth. 

Rhysand took another step closer. “Where were you?” 

“I—“

A heat unlike any other licked at your skin, waking you from your peaceful slumber. A heat so unwelcomed that you bolted upright in a sheen of your own sweat. 

You could hear the wood of your cottage crackling under a burning flame, and smoke quickly infiltrated your room. You coughed, attempting to swat it away as you squinted in the darkness. 

“Mama!?” You called out, panic stricken in your voice and body. 

Fear began to cripple you, began to take away any sense of self preservation. You couldn’t leave your bed. Your door now engulfed in flames, you screamed. 

“Help! Someone, please help!”

No one was coming. This was the end. You couldn’t move, couldn’t get to your beloved mother. A shrill cry, unlike anything you’d ever heard before, split your heart in two. 

A scream of pure agony and fear tore through your throat, your eyes clenched shut as you gave your body over to the fire. 

Only the next breath you breathed was clean and cold. And your sheets were no longer beneath you, no. Now you laid on the rich soil outside of your home, your fingers rooting themselves into the dirt. 

You screamed and sobbed, unable to do anything but watch as the fire claimed your home and your mother. 

You were sobbing, collapsed to the ground as you struggled to breathe at the memory. 

Rhysand dared another step closer, kneeling before you now and his eyes held such sorrow, such remorse. 

“Y/N…” he spoke softly. “Was your mother ever accused of being a witch?” 

Nesta seethed, threatening. “Rhysand, that’s—“

“How do you know that?” Everything felt very, very still. No one should have known that. No one of these lands should have known that. 

Rhys didn’t answer your question. And despite the sound of large wings breezing through the sky, you did not look away from the High Lord. Not even as Azriel rushed into the House and his heart sunk at what he bore. 

“The day I entered your mind and took some of your pain away, I felt something. Something within you that I have never, in my 500 years of life, felt before.”

Azriel took a step closer. He should have said something when he first noticed the flowers. Because now, whatever power you had…it was consuming you. 

“I’d like to try something,” Rhysand proposed. 

You struggled to keep your breathing even. “What is it?” 

Another step closer, a warm hand on yours. 

“I’d like to enter your mind as far back as it will allow me. Just to see if I can find something.”

Violet eyes watched yours. “Find what?”

He squeezed your hand in reassurance. “Something to make sense of this.”

A moment of pause, to take in your surroundings. The flowers and soil had sprouted to cover the entire expanse of the lounge floor, your friends and cousins standing just beyond the brush of it. 

Eyes flickered to something hazel. Azriel. He stood in the soil, flora coating his ankles and he struggled to keep a tight leash on the shadows that fought to reach you. 

You looked back at Rhysand. 

“Will it hurt?” 

He shook his head. “No, not if you don’t resist.” 

That suddenly sounded an awful lot like your past. Memories of Rafe pinning you to the bed—scolding, reprimanding, promising no pain if you didn’t resist. 

This wasn’t like that, you had to remind yourself. You were safe. They only wanted to help. To understand. 

Azriel stepped closer, ignoring the silent warning that Rhysand whispered into his mind. A scarred hand out held, you took it. And Rhysand took that moment of distraction to enter your mind. 

The first memory he saw was one from just days before. You and Azriel reading in the library, the shadows that swirled your fingers and arms, the near-kiss that escalated into nothing. 

He dug deeper. The next, of you and Azriel again, exploring the city where you left a trail of green and brown tulips in your wake on the embankment of the river. 

Deeper and deeper, until the memories showed you living in the mortal lands. A blow to the face, to your stomach and your head. Rafe seething above you as he shouted and belittled you. 

Deeper, to a memory of your husband pinning you to the mattress, of his body crushing yours as he stole everything you never offered. 

Every memory Rhysand met, you re-lived them. 

A little deeper and he was watching you at the Archeron household, helping Elain plant seeds, watching Feyre paint, reading with Nesta. 

Deeper and deeper he went, passing the memories of the fire, of your mother, until he found exactly what he was looking for. 

“She is my child too, Selenthia. You cannot keep her from me.” A voice you did not recognise. A memory you did not recall. 

“For her protection, I will do what I must.” Selenthia seethed, coddling you closer to her chest. “No one can know what she is, or she’ll be hunted for the rest of her life.”

The unknown male huffed. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, strong and commanding. But there was something about him. Something not quite right. 

“So you plan to lock her away for the rest of her life?”

Selenthia bared her teeth. “I would never lock my child away. She will live her life as a mortal. I won’t subject her to a life like mine or yours.”

A moment of silence. “You cannot hide her from what she is.” He spoke softer now, edging close to peer at you, his daughter. 

“What do you plan to do when she first bleeds? When her ears point and her power grows—“

“That won’t happen.” There was no room for discussion in Selenthia’s voice. She placed a finger over your heart, a familiar violet glow permitting from her skin to yours. 

“What are you doing?” That male’s voice, cold once more. 

“I’m burying her power. So long as this wyrd remains on her skin, she’ll be safe.”

Selenthia pulled away, just enough to take a look at the mark that marred your skin. A mark two shades darker than the rest of your flesh, the shape of a crescent moon and no larger than a fingernail. 

“There. Nothing more than a birthmark.”

Rhysand retreaded from your mind, panting and shaking. Tears streamed down his flushed face, your own skin staining with silver, too. 

“What is it?” Nesta demanded, daring a step closer. 

But those tulips and daisies and buttercups…the soil and grass and roots, they all began to sink into the ground until nothing but the florals in your hair remained. 

“My mother…she…she was a witch. A healing earth witch. And my father—he…”

“Your father was Fae.” Azriel breathed, his eyes focused on the point of your ears that peeked through your hair and flowers.

“He was of the Night Court. A High Fae male.” Rhysand added gravely. 

Azriel’s hold on the shadows loosened and he allowed them to caress you, comfort you. Your hand never left his. 

You pulled away from Rhysand, clutching at your chest—at that crescent moon you always thought was a birthmark. Your mothers protection all along. 

“When you crossed the wall into the Fae lands, your power tried to break through. It was your mothers mark that had been keeping it buried with you all these years.” 

You dared a look at your cousins. But they looked at you with nothing but sorrow and anguish. No fear. They did not fear you, they did not pity you. In their eyes all you could see was longing. A longing for you to no longer live in such agony and hardships. 

“Our mothers were sisters. Does that mean—“

“I don’t think so,” Rhysand cut you off. “If they held the magic you do, I believe their power would have shown by now. They were Made. So it’s possible the Cauldron could’ve interfered with it if that were the case.” 

It was too much. All of it. Reliving those memories again, seeing your father… You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t have magic and powers. You could not be half Fae, half witch. 

It would be easy to give up. It would be so easy to ignore it until it killed you. So easy to just let go of everything. But a pounding in your soul begged you not to. Begged you to fight with everything you had. Begged you to live. 

“Burn the mark.” 

All attention snapped to you, flickering from your face to the mark on your chest that finally stopped glowing. 

“Are you insane?” Nesta seethed. 

You looked at her. “I don’t think I’d be far off to guess that if I don’t burn this mark, this…power will consume me entirely. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be so lost because I have no idea who I am. This is who I am, whether I like it or not. I won’t run anymore.”

Feyre stepped closer, crouching to your level and taking your spare hand in hers. Azriel still held tight to the other. “If you wish to burn it, it will unleash whatever power you have at full force. You don’t have any training, any control over it.” 

You felt sick to your stomach. “I don’t want to die, Fey.” 

And that was enough to enrage Feyre in a way she’d never once felt before. “You are not going to die. Do you understand me?”

Azriel squeezed your hand, begging for you to look at him. You couldn’t. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him looking at you any different than he had three days ago. 

“Rhys, fetch Madja. We will burn the mark in a controlled environment. Where any fallout can be contained.”

You shook your head, not willing to risk a single soul because of your selfish decision to live. 

“No,” you said. ��Drop me to the mountains and I’ll burn it myself.”

Nesta scoffed. “Oh, you are insane.”

You seethed at her. The first ounce of anger you’d truly shown. The first time you’d ever directed it at anyone but yourself. 

“This isn’t your decision. I will not risk anyone. Azriel can take me to the mountains and you can all keep your distance. At least until it’s safe.”

Until it’s safe. As if you knew for certain you’d survive it. You truly weren’t sure you would. There was nothing more to discuss, your tone made that clear enough. 

“Fly me, winnow me…whatever. Just do it now before I change my mind.”

Within a blink, your body was shivering and you were no longer in the House of Wind. Shadows encased your entire body, darkness swarming every inch of you. You said nothing as Azriel held you, nothing at all as he flew you across Velaris and toward the highest mountain just outside of the city. 

Only when he landed, when he refused to remove his hold from you, did the darkness dissipate and hazel eyes gazed into yours. 

“I’m staying with you.” 

“No, you’re not. I won’t risk your life, Azriel.” 

He set you to your feet, holding your hands now to keep you close. A plea of desperation swam in his eyes, his entire body yearning to take you and find another way to fix this. 

“There is no other option. If I don’t burn this mark, I don’t know what my power might do. It might kill me, it might destroy this city. I cannot risk anyone’s life for mine.”

Azriel parted his lips to speak but you shook your head, squeezing his hands. 

“If I don’t survive this—“

“Don’t.”

“Please, listen to me.” Silver lined your eyes, blurring your vision. “If I don’t survive this, I want you to know how special your friendship has been to me. How much I care for you, for your family.” A sob tore through your throat. “And I am so incredibly sorry for burdening you all in this way.” 

You reached on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his. Warmth and love and the most raw emotion could be felt between you both. An apology for not having longer, a prayer that there would still be time. 

A fuse lit within the pit of your stomach, in the pit of Azriel’s. Tears stained your lips, stained his. In that moment, you were one. Whole, as though you always should have been. 

You pulled away first, forcing your hands from his hold. You took several steps back, blinking through the distorted vision and swiping away and evidence of the fear that crippled you. 

A puff of violet darkness misted beside Azriel as Rhysand winnowed to the mountains. Pain flicked through his eyes, regret and the same sorrow you saw in your cousins. 

You did not meet his gaze. 

“Summon a fire.”

He did as you asked. And handed you a blade. 

You did not grant them another look, did not give into the pleading in your mind to watch them leave. Or else you would’ve seen Rhysand drag Azriel off that mountain. You would’ve seen the anguish on the Shadowsingers face. 

Alone. As you had been your whole life. Though the weeks spent in Velaris had given you a taste of what could’ve been. You’d treasure those memories in the Hereafter. Those and the precious ones of your late mother. 

For they were all you had left. 

You did not allow another tear to fall. Not as you hovered the blade over the flame, not as you tugged your shirt down and took a deep breath. 

For if all you were ever meant to be was a ghost in the wind, you were content to know you’d reunite with your mother soon. Where you would no longer feel such pain. 

You didn’t want to die. But if this was all the time you were fated to have, then so be it. Better you than someone else. 

“Keep them safe.” A whisper to the winds, if they deigned to listen. 

With a final breath, you pressed the scorching blade against the mark on your skin and the entirety of your captive power unleashed upon the mountain as your body allowed it to consume you. Until you saw and heard and felt nothing at all. 

From below, the city shook, a thundering boom and a gust of aftershock and pelting mountain debris that blew the Inner Circle back. 

Then there was silence. 

And Azriel’s soul bellowed. 

a/n: so a LOT happened in this chapter and there is still a lot more to happen, i'm hoping i can fit it into two parts but it may be stretched into three, we'll have to see!! i'm so grateful for all the love you guys have been giving this series and i am so excited for you to find out how it all ends!!

if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

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[anakinstwinklebunny]

PRINCE!ANAKIN HEADCANONS 👑

TW: at some point it contains sexual content, so if you're sensitive to that or don't feel comfortable with it, please do not read it for your own safety and comfort.

Prince!Anakin who was a ruthless, meticulous, arrogant.. yet somehow with a heart. For others he was simple a wise and intellectual future king

Prince!Anakin whose marriage between him and you was arranged to solidify an alliance between your two kingdoms, a necessity driven by political and military pressures. Anakin, now King after the recent death of his father, was resistant to the idea of marriage, especially one born out of duty rather than love. He had always been wary of love, having seen the toll it took on those around him, particularly his own family.

Prince!Anakin who refused to consumate your marriage at the beginning

Prince!Anakin who, at the beginning, highlighted the true reason of your marriage and put you in the other part of the castle so you two wouldn't see each other

Prince!Anakin who is known as a formidable and stern ruler, deeply dedicated to his kingdom. He built emotional walls around his heart, vowing never to let anyone close enough to hurt him. When you first arrived at court, he treated you with cold politeness, making it clear that this marriage was a political arrangement, not a romantic one. And yet, in contrast, you entered the marriage with hope, a believer in fairytales and the possibility of finding love even in an arranged union. Despite Anakin's cold demeanor, you remained kind and patient, trying to find small ways to connect with him (but after his countless cold responds you grew yourself impatient and sharp in tongue, although he was your king, so..being nice had to be in place..at least in public)

Prince!Anakin who, over time, began to notice your unwavering optimism and the light you brought into his otherwise pragmatic and calculated life. He admired your strength and the way you handled court politics with grace, but he kept his distance emotionally, afraid of what letting you in would mean.

Prince!Anakin who felt somehow attracted to you, even if he didn't plan this marriage, he didn't want to be married to you, yet there was just something about you he found unique, alluring and he couldn't help but be drawn to your presence (which was very frustrating and weird for him)

Prince!Anakin who whenever you asked for something he always came up with 'ask for anything and it'll be given to you. Even the half of my kingdom' thing

Prince!Anakin who, after your relentless asking, took you hunting;

"Your Majesty, with all due respect, are you sure this is an appropriate place for the queen?" one of the men spoke, clearly uneasy.

Anakin shot him an irritated glare, his patience wearing thin. He was acutely aware that the hunting grounds weren't exactly the safest place for the queen, especially given her delicate condition. But there was little he could do about it now. He’d much rather have her safely ensconced in the palace, yet the situation demanded otherwise.

His frustration mounted as more and more people questioned his decisions. He knew what he was doing; he didn’t need anyone else second-guessing him.

"Are you questioning my decision?" he snapped, turning his horse to face the man directly. The intensity in his eyes made it clear he wasn't in the mood for dissent.

The man visibly flinched, his face paling. "I—I’m merely pointing out that, perhaps, hunting isn't a... lady-like activity for the queen," he stuttered, his voice wavering. The courtiers around them shifted uncomfortably, their gazes dropping.

Anakin's hands tightened into fists around the reins of his horse. The growing annoyance was palpable in his stance. He had been patient long enough, but this was the last straw.

"Who's the king here, me or you?" he growled, his voice low and dangerously firm. His eyes narrowed, the simmering anger barely contained. He understood the risks; it was precisely why he hadn't wanted her to join. But her presence here was a necessity, and he wouldn’t tolerate any more questioning of his authority.

Anakin watched with growing concern as you struggled to ride your horse. Despite his efforts to focus on the path ahead, his gaze kept drifting to you. He saw your difficulty and felt a deep, instinctive urge to help you, to lift you onto his own horse and spare you this struggle. His grip on the reins tightened as he forced himself to look away.

"Stop that horse; you’re going to hurt yourself," he muttered, bringing his horse to a halt.

You wrestled with the reins, your legs trembling as you finally managed to bring the horse to a stop. Breathing heavily, you glanced over at him.

Anakin's eyes scanned over you with concern. You were clearly struggling, sweat glistening on your skin, the gorset clinging uncomfortably. Despite your evident distress, you still looked captivating, and it was driving him to distraction.

"Can you get down yourself, or do you need help?" he asked, his voice firm but laced with concern.

"I think I can manage," you mumbled, attempting to dismount. You nearly stumbled as you got down, and Anakin's brow furrowed, expecting you to fall. To his relief, you managed to stay upright, though he couldn't hide his frustration.

He shook his head and approached, knowing it was too risky to let you continue riding alone. Your struggle was wearing him thin, and he couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.

"You can’t even get off a horse without almost falling," he said with a scoff.

You shot him a defiant glare, walking over to him "Not all of us are as skilled at riding as you are, Your Highness," you retorted with a touch of sarcasm, your voice dripping with mockery.

He helped you onto his horse, his hands steady as he guided you into the saddle. As you settled in, your hip brushed against his, sending a jolt through both of you. Your heart raced, and you had to look away, struggling to steady your breath.

The accidental touch ignited a fierce longing in Anakin. He let out a small, strained laugh, trying to remain composed. He positioned himself before you, his body pressing against your back as he mounted the horse behind you.

"Take the horse back to the castle," he instructed, his voice low and firm.

As he took the reins, his presence pressed against you, the tension between you palpable. Every movement seemed to heighten the charged atmosphere, and both of you were acutely aware of the closeness.

Your hands tightened around his waist, your body pressed firmly against his back. The sweet vanilla scent of yours filled his senses, and he could feel the warmth of your curves against him "Hold tight. This won’t be a slow ride," he said, his voice rough and low.

->

You gasped as he urged the horse into a faster pace. "I thought we were going hunting?" your breath warm against his ear.

The closeness of your voice managed to sent a shiver down his spine. Yet, he pushed those distracting thoughts aside and focused on guiding the horse through the hunting grounds.

"It’ll take a while to reach the animals," he replied curtly, the horse’s speed increasing.

"Slow down for—"

He smirked when he felt your grip tighten around his waist. Your face was buried against him, and he could almost feel your fear. It was both thrilling and maddening, and he could hardly ignore how much he enjoyed your closeness.

"Stop whining," he said, amusement lacing his voice.

Your fingers this time dug into his skin with your voice tinged with panic. "I’m not whining!" you protested, your breath hitching as the horse made another sharp turn.

He felt your fingers leaving an imprint on his muscles. The sensation only heightened his awareness of how tightly they were pressed together. He found himself wishing she would hold on even tighter.

"You’re going to leave marks on my stomach with your fingers," he said in a low, almost teasing tone, not easing the horse’s pace.

With a scoff, you dug your fingernails in a little deeper. "Good. Maybe it’ll teach you to slow down a bit."

As you arrived at the wooden hunting cabin nestled in the forest, Anakin led the way inside, with you following closely. The two courtiers stayed outside, leaving you alone.

"Do you know how to use a bow?" Anakin asked, his gaze fixed on a collection of hunting gear.

"Yes, my father taught me," you mumbled, your attention drawn to the array of stuffed animals lining the walls.

Anakin moved to the shelves, picking up various pieces of hunting equipment. He tried to stay focused, but he couldn't ignore the way your beautiful, the prettiest he had ever seen eyes wandered around the rustic cabin, intrigued by its contents. In some way, he wanted his gaze on him, only on him

"So, I assume you're quite skilled with the bow?"

"The last time I held a bow was ten years ago. We'll see," your tone light but confident.

He walked over to you, extending the bow toward you. His gaze lingered on you, noting how your hair was tousled from the wind and those eyes sparkled with curiosity. As he held out the bow, your hands brushed lightly, sending a subtle jolt through him.

"Let’s see if you haven’t forgotten how to shoot," he said, his voice carrying a playful edge.

you couldn't help but roll your eyes with your lips curling into a teasing smile. "Careful, Your Highness. I might mistake you for a doe."

Anakin’s brow arched in amusement. Your sarcasm was endearing, and he had to suppress a smirk at the thought of you aiming a bow at him. He moved a little closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Would you shoot me in the heart, my little doe?"

"Absolutely, I would."

A slow, teasing smirk spread across his lips at your response. The intensity in your voice stirred something primal within him. He found himself torn between wanting to silence you with a kiss and reveling in your boldness.

"Or would you aim right between the eyes?" he challenged, his tone a mix of amusement and desire.

"I’d not dream of anything better, Your Highness," you whispered with venom "i’d watch as crimson red liquid overwhelms your face while you beg for mercy, choking on your own blood."

Anakin shivered at your words, the mix of irritation and arousal making his control slip. You were infuriatingly charming, and your fierce spirit only made you more tempting. Yet, he wanted to shut you up, but he was equally captivated by your daring. His expression hardened a little due to your boldness

"You’re a little minx, you know that?"

"Oh, Your Highness," you replied with mock sweetness, "I’m your worst nightmare," and with a final glare, you turned and walked away, leaving him in the cabin.

Prince!Anakin who, one night, after a particularly stressful day dealing with court matters, found you in the royal gardens, talking softly to a group of children about a fairytale. Something about the way you spoke, the softness in your voice, and the way the children adored you, made him pause. For the first time, he truly saw you—not just as his queen, but as a woman who brought warmth and light into a cold, stone palace.

Prince!Anakin who slowly began to fall in love with you without even realizing it. He found himself seeking your counsel on matters of state, not just because you were his queen, but because he valued your opinion. Your presence became a comfort to him, a constant in his life that he didn’t want to lose. Yet, he struggled with these feelings, as they contradicted his vow to never love.

Prince!Anakin who, in time, began searching for your presence in every place, your voice in every conversation, your eyes in every crowd

Prince!Anakin who sometimes appeared in your chambers at night;

"Leave us," Anakin commanded, his voice firm, though laced with an undercurrent of urgency.

The maids exchanged quick glances but obeyed, slipping out of the room and leaving them alone in the softly lit quarters. Her room was a sanctuary, filled with warmth and quiet elegance, but the atmosphere now was thick with unspoken emotions and the heat of longing.

The moment the door clicked shut, he moved with a sudden, desperate urgency, closing the distance between them. His lips crashed against hers, the kiss searing with the force of everything he’d been holding back.

You couldn’t help but giggle as you both tumbled onto the bed, his weight pressing into you. "Your Highness—why the rush?" you teased, breathless and amused, though your heart pounded in sync with his.

He didn’t respond with words; instead, his lips trailed down your neck, each kiss more fervent than the last. The feel of your skin under his mouth was intoxicating, each soft gasp from you spurring him on. He had held back for so long, but now, he was overwhelmed by his need for you, by the depth of his desire. It was as if all the weeks and months of pent-up emotions had broken free, and he was helpless to resist.

"Can’t wait," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a raw hunger that sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved to pin you beneath him, his grip firm yet reverent, as though he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

He looked into your eyes, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that took your breath away. The world outside this room ceased to exist; all that mattered was the heat between you, the undeniable pull that had finally won out over duty and decorum.

"Neither can I," you whispered back, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the taut muscles beneath his clothing as he leaned in, capturing your lips once more.

"Doe, what are you doing?" he murmured, his morning voice raspy and thick with sleep.

"You're in my bed and already reading papers," you mumbled, pressing soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder

A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he felt your lips on him. Your touch was one of his favorite things, a soothing balm against the constant demands of his royal duties. But then, reality intruded, and a sigh escaped his lips, the weight of his responsibilities settling back onto his shoulders.

"I have meetings all morning," he said, his tone carrying a hint of frustration, the thought of leaving you so soon already souring his mood.

"Just show up a little later," you whispered against his ear, her voice a playful challenge. "Aren't you the king?"

His eyes fluttering shut as he savored the feeling of your breath on his neck. The temptation to stay was overwhelming. All he wanted was to remain here, wrapped in your warmth, to forget the world outside. But the demands of the crown were relentless, and he knew he couldn’t shirk his duties, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Wish I could stay here with you all morning," he mumbled with a sigh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your arm. His voice held a slight edge of grumpiness, the conflict between his desires and his obligations clear.

"We can make it quick," you whispered into his ear

He could practically hear the smirk in your voice, and he knew you had him exactly where you wanted. He was already running late, but with your body pressed so temptingly against his, all thoughts of duty and meetings started to fade.

In one swift motion, he turned, pinning you beneath him on the bed "How quick?" he asked, his voice a husky growl

"Ten minutes?" you grinned

He scoffed, a smirk curving his lips as he leaned in closer, his body pressing you deeper into the mattress, trapping you between his strong arms. You were a temptress, and he knew you could very well be his undoing, but right now, he didn’t care.

"Ten minutes?" he repeated, his hands sliding further up your thighs, fingers brushing against your heated skin. "Now you're just underestimating me," he murmured before capturing your lips with his, sealing his surrender.

Prince!Anakin who moved you back to his bedroom, with no care if in other places the queen has her own bed to sleep in

Prince!Anakin who had his own moment when he realized just how much he cared for you—perhaps during a crisis when you were in danger, and he found himself terrified at the thought of losing you;

Anakin sat in his dimly lit office, his mind consumed by the latest stack of documents that required his attention. The weight of ruling often bore down on him, but he carried it with the strength and resilience expected of a king. Yet, as he heard the soft but urgent footsteps approaching from behind, he felt a strange unease settle in his chest. He looked up, finding his old counselor standing before him, a grim expression etched across his face.

"What is it this time?" Anakin asked, his tone impatient as he set the papers aside.

The counselor hesitated for a moment before speaking, "It’s the queen, your highness..."

Anakin’s eyes narrowed instantly, his heart skipping a beat. The mention of you, his queen, brought an immediate sense of dread. His voice turned sharp, almost cutting. "What about her?"

The counselor’s face paled, his voice almost trembling as he replied, "Her condition has worsened."

Anakin shot up from his chair, the fear and panic he had buried deep within now clawing its way to the surface. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. He fixed his counselor with an intense gaze, the demand in his voice barely masked by his rising desperation. "What do you mean ‘worsened’? What has happened?"

"She’s been battling a high fever for the past two days," one of the maids interjected softly, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "Her wounds... they’re not healing as they should. Her condition is deteriorating, your highness."

Without another word, Anakin stormed out of his office, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He moved with a speed fueled by fear, every step echoing the growing terror that he might lose you. When he reached your chambers, he pushed open the door with a force that sent a gust of air rushing into the room.

There you lay, on the grand bed that now seemed to dwarf your frail figure. Your skin was pale, marred by the angry red wounds that refused to heal, and your breaths were shallow, labored. Every whimper, every groan that escaped your lips felt like a dagger to his heart.

Anakin crossed the room in swift strides, his hand immediately finding its place on your fevered cheek. The heat of your skin burned against his fingers, and the sight of you in such agony nearly brought him to his knees. The fierce king, known for his strength and resolve, felt utterly powerless in the face of your suffering.

"Leave us," he commanded, his voice laced with authority, though his eyes never left you.

"Your highness, but—" one of the maids began to protest.

"I said leave us!" he repeated, his tone brooking no argument. The maids exchanged uneasy glances before hurriedly leaving the room, closing the door behind them.

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by your shallow breaths and the occasional soft moan of pain. Anakin sat down on the edge of the bed, his heart breaking as he took in your weakened state. You looked so fragile, yet even in your pain, there was a beauty about you that took his breath away.

"It’s so painful..." you whispered, your voice hoarse, barely audible.

Anakin felt his chest tighten, a deep sense of guilt and helplessness washing over him. He gently stroked your fevered face, his thumb tracing the contours of your cheek. "I know, my love," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m so sorry... I wish I could take this pain away from you."

He carefully pulled you into his arms, cradling you against his chest as if his embrace could shield you from the torment ravaging your body. He held you close, feeling the intense heat radiating from your fevered skin, the trembling of your weakened frame. It was as if holding you tighter could somehow anchor you to him, keep you from slipping away.

"Shh, I’ve got you," he whispered into your ear, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of pain that wracked your body. He gently caressed your hair, his touch tender and full of the love he struggled to express in words.

With a wet cloth in hand, Anakin carefully dabbed it against your wounds, the coolness providing a fleeting relief. He moved with a delicate precision, his fingers trembling slightly as he worked. The sight of your suffering was unbearable, yet he forced himself to remain calm, to be strong for you.

"I’m here," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he pressed the cloth against your fevered skin.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he closed his eyes, silently praying for your recovery. Anakin, the king who had faced countless battles, was now facing his greatest fear—losing you, the one person who had made his life worth living.

And in that moment, he would have given anything, sacrificed anything, to see you smile again.

You closed your eyes, your voice small and strained as you spoke. "You shouldn’t look at me... I’m revolting."

"Revolting?" The word was almost laughable to him. Even now, when you were so weakened by illness, you were still the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. "You’re not revolting. You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful," he said with a quiet intensity, his fingers brushing tenderly against your cheek.

"Have you seen my arms?" you asked, your voice tinged with bitterness.

He glanced down at your arms, at the wounds that marred your once flawless skin. The sight of them filled him with a deep sorrow, but it didn’t change the way he felt. "Yes," he replied, his tone unwavering. His fingers gently traced the inflamed skin, his touch feather-light as if afraid to cause you more pain.

You flinched slightly, the tenderness of your wounds evident. "Does this look beautiful to you?" you muttered, disbelief coloring your words.

Anakin let out a soft, almost incredulous scoff. How could you not see what he saw? Even with the pain and the sickness, you were still the woman who had stolen his heart, the woman who made him believe in something beyond duty and power. "Yes, it does. You’re beautiful, no matter what. Sick, wounded, healthy—it doesn’t matter. I will always see you as the most beautiful woman in the world," he declared, his voice firm, eyes burning with sincerity.

He saw the doubt flicker in your eyes, and it pained him deeply. How could you be so blind to your own beauty? To the strength and grace that still radiated from you, even now?

He leaned closer, his fingers drifting down to trace the delicate line of your collarbone, his touch reverent, almost worshipful. "You have no idea how stunning you are," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant only for your ears. "Even like this, you take my breath away."

Prince!Anakin who's one of few hobbies was making love to you;

he loved to tease you about heirs. he brought it up often, with a playful tone, but deep down, the desire was real and intense. The thought of you carrying his child, your belly round, your breasts swollen ignited a fierce, possessive longing within him. He wanted to see you like this - pregnant and full of new life

"gonna give me heirs, hm?" he whispered with his pace quickening

your sweet, breathless moans only spurred him on. You were so beautiful beneath him, your flushed cheeks and heaving chest making you look even more irresistible, if that's possible

"you'd look so goddamn stunning with my heir inside you, sweetheart" his voice a rough murmur

his cock, all envelopted by your squishy walls, moved deeper to reach his, and yours, edge "you'd be mine, completely. Carrying my child, you'd belong to me in every way"

"am i not yours already?" you panted

his lips connected with yours, making sure to nipp on your bottom lip "you are mine, love..but having you carry my child..it's a whole other kind of mine" he groaned, his large hands moving over to your hips

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[david-talks-sw]

Back in 2021, @writerbuddha wrote this amazing post where he interweaved Lucas' words in his meta post defending the Jedi. I'd like to take a page out of their book and start a 4-part series of posts on Anakin. So, with illustrations by Brian Rood, I give you:

In George Lucas' words: The Fall and Return of Anakin Skywalker

- Episode I -

Episode I exists to show us that Anakin Sykwalker makes it into Jedi school, becomes free, and realizes his dream. But in the process, he has to go through a lot of painful sacrifices.

When we meet Anakin, he is a young slave boy who dreams of becoming a Jedi. Lucas makes it a point that, he’s a really wonderful, angelic little kid.

This is intentional. The reason George started the story where he did. He played with having Anakin start out in his late teens like Luke, or age him down to twelve-years-old. The problem was that a twelve-year-old leaving his mother - as Anakin does - is not nearly as traumatic as a nine-year-old leaving his mother. And there is a key story point that revolves around the fact that he was separated from his other at an early age, and how that has affected him.

The whole point of Anakin’s arc in the Prequels is that Anakin is a normal, good kid. And how does somebody who is normal and good turn bad? What are the qualities, what is it that we all have within us that will turn us bad?”

Well, Anakin has some flaws - and those flaws ultimately do him in. Those flaws are hard to see in Episode I, but they are there. He’s cursed by the same flaws, and issues that he has to overcome, that all humans are cursed with. There's a lot going on there. 

In Episode I, we see that there are a lot of parallels between Luke and Anakin. In Episode IV, Luke does struggle with his commitment to his uncle and his commitment to a larger destiny. His heart is to go and go off on this adventure, but he's caught in his obligations to the mundane, so to speak.

Eventually, Anakin takes a different road than his son takes, but it’s been set-up for you to almost expect that they will go— that Luke will follow in his father’s footsteps. Once again, these are issues that Anakin, Luke, and anyone can confront.

After all, once he liberates himself through a Podrace, Anakin is confronted with the fact that he will need to leave his mother, Shmi, behind. Shmi is caught in a struggle. She loves her son, but she wants a better life for him and has to let him go.

So she does. Right off the bat, the first movie shows Anakin’s mother display a type of selfless love - which Lucas refers to as “compassion” - that Anakin will only really be able to learn in the last movie.

Now, when they get to Coruscant, Anakin needs to be tested to allow him to be accepted as a Jedi, eventually. Because he has the powers… but as Yoda points out, there’s a lot of fear in him, and anger. That’s why they actually deny him the chance to become a Jedi. But it’s also - when they relent later on - it’s the thing that ultimately begins to describe some of his downfall.

In theory, the child should have been trained by Yoda until he was about seven or eight years old. And then when he was seven or eight, he'd be given a Jedi, he'd become the Padawan learner to a Jedi. 

But Qui-Gon wants Anakin to skip the early training and jump right to taking him on as his Padawan learner, which is controversial, and ultimately, the source of much of the problems that develop later on.

It is obvious that Qui-Gon is wrong and made a dangerous decision, but ultimately this decision may be correct. Anakin is indeed the chosen one.

That doesn't mean that the Council's prediction is wrong. The tale meanders and both the prediction and Qui-Gon are correct. Anakin will be taken over by dark forces which in turn destroy the balance of the Galaxy, but the individual who kills the Emperor is Darth Vader— also Anakin, who brings peace at last with his own sacrifice.

Once Qui-Gon dies, ironically enough, it’s Obi-Wan that has to train Anakin and take care of him and take over the responsibility that Qui-Gon has started. The Jedi Council let Anakin in and they make him Obi-Wan's Padawan.

Sources:

The Phantom Menace Commentary Tracks #1 and #2, 1999

Cut Magazine, 1999

Premiere, 1999

The Making of The Phantom Menace, 1999

Star Wars Insider #52, 2000

A New Hope, Commentary Track, Special Edition DVD, 2004

The Making of Revenge of The Sith, 2005

The Cinema of George Lucas, 2005

Starlog Magazine #337, 2005

BONUS: How George describes Obi-Wan's initial thoughts on Anakin

Throughout the film, Obi-Wan is at odds with Qui-Gon, who rebels against the Jedi rules. So when he meets him, Obi-Wan does not trust Anakin. He’s not a big fan, he has a suspicion, this initial skepticism toward Anakin which is why Lucas didn't want to overplay the scene where they first meet.

He’s like the reluctant elder brother saying, “You’re not leaving him with me. I don’t want to babysit anymore, I want to go out and do something good.”

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan disagree about using what one would call in mythological terms "the guide." One believes in the guide. The other one doesn't. Obi-Wan’s argument is that taking on characters like Jar Jar or Anakin with them on the trip is “going to slow us down. This is not a wise thing to do.” 

It's a classic mythological motif but at the same time, it's conflict. The characters have to grow so what happens is that eventually the character that is very much against doing this has the obligation transferred to them. 

So by the end of the film, Obi-Wan has become Qui-Gon, by taking on his rebellious personality and responsibilities.

 Obi-Wan commits, and tells Anakin that he’s going to train him. He has character and takes responsibility. Han Solo would’ve left him out on a desert planet somewhere.

Sources:

The Phantom Menace Commentary Tracks #1 and #2, 1999

The Making of The Phantom Menace, 1999

The Making of Revenge of The Sith, 2005

The Star Wars Archives: 1999-2005, 2020

[kingtomura]

Vitality | 6

Summary: You were always told heroes and villains had no place in your home. Not when there’s an increase in crime, not when there’s monsters on the loose in Hosu and certainly not when the man in your home raises a hand to you. All it takes is one impulsive decision to change your life forever. content: shigaraki tomura x female reader, slow burn, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, reader has a quirk, graphic depictions of violence, past abuse, past sa, angst, pstd, eventual smut, dark themes, found family LoV, mdni wc: 6.2k | prev | chapter 7 | m. list | read on ao3

Three. 

That’s how many people died on the mission with Dabi. Three people lost their lives because they challenged the League of Villains and they paid for it. 

But the worst part of all is not the fact that your nose still holds the putrid smell of charred flesh, it’s not even that this trip has given you more insight on the Cremation Villain himself. 

No, the worst part of it all is that you feel stronger. 

You feel as though you could take on anything — like you finally had a chance to take your power back. 

Dabi was right when he said it’s you or them. 

That phrase had been thrown at you over and over again in the past by your father and only now had it clicked in your mind.

You were finally in a space to do something about it.

And you had support. 

Dabi may not be the friendliest of the League, but you know now that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to the distant villain.  

So instead of a baseless fear, there is a newfound respect for the man, and it stays with you even through his snarky remarks and flippant exits from the base.

Those same thoughts are expressed in the mission recap you give to Shigaraki.  

You’ve both found yourselves back into the rhythm of the roof. A quiet pocket away from the world. 

“But there were three of them, and the one with the illusion quirk — I’ve never seen anything like it.” You go on, words falling from your tongue as you recall the recent experience. The blaze of Dabi’s flames left phantom tingles in your fingers and you bring a hand up to gaze at it.

Shigaraki is quiet as he listens on, taking a sip from his fizzy drink. 

(Toga swore she couldn't find his usual sugar filled soda and now he’s stuck with a rosy pink drink and not nearly enough caffeine.) 

There's a warmth that spreads throughout your chest as you bring your hand back down.

You missed it out here, even if the mission had only been a few days long.  

“So,” Shigaraki’s low voice starts, capturing your attention at once, “there were no problems?”

“Hm,” you look to the night sky and then back to your hand, memories flooding your mind as your shoulders drag a slow shrug, “not entirely. Things got a little tense at one point when they got me, though.”

“Got you?” He echoes, surprise in his voice so slight it goes unnoticed.

You continue on, “Yeah, I thought it was over for me. The illusion quirk was trickier than I anticipated and the paralysis quirk was dangerous.” 

Shigaraki brings a hand to his neck, the light scratching raising no alarms as you think back to your trip, almost excited to tell him how you finally stood up for yourself and did something about your situation. 

“But the paralysis only worked because he touched me, and—“ 

“Someone touched you?” His tone held a tension so tight it made your words stall.

“Yeah, but Dabi, he—”

“Why were you on the front lines?” Shigaraki cuts you off, voice as sharp as the nails that rake across his neck. 

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you quickly find yourself slipping into dangerous territory, unsure if your next answer would be one to put you on the chopping block.

There’s a pit in your stomach beginning to form as you wet your lips. 

This anxiety, it’s all too close to home. 

You try to still your thoughts and answer in a way that would salvage this situation, “Well, it was because of Dabi, but he saved me—!”

Shigaraki doesn’t want to hear it. 

“He could have gotten you killed.” 

Or worse, your breath hitches at the thought. It hangs in your mind, trailing behind his words. 

Yes, you could have been killed but the reality is much, much worse. 

But you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Not aloud. 

Not to Shigaraki. 

“Reckless,” he mutters, more so to himself than to you, “we don’t need to take risks like that so soon.”

His rambles fade into the night as your mind races at what could have been, the light touches and mocking jeers pulling your attention from reality.

Shigaraki’s next words are the only thing to pull you back to shore. 

“No more missions.”

Your eyes snap to him. “What?”

“It’s too much of a liability. We need a healer here, at the base — alive.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded that your leader has, in so many words, grounded you.

“But, Shigaraki—” You go to complain but he’s heard enough.

Your leader stands and makes his way to the exit without another word, nails still biting at the skin of his neck and effectively leaving you to sit in the somber company of the whistling wind and city lights. 

————————

For hours on end it’s been a constant stream of punches, kicks and newly formed bruises on skin. 

“You have to hit harder!” Toga calls out to you as her clone gears up to strike at you once more. 

You groan as your fists come up again, dragging with the weight of your exhaustion as her doppelganger licks fresh blood from her knife. She hasn’t backed down once and shows no signs of slowing up. 

There’s nothing more you can do but brace yourself and plant your feet. Even though you were tired, you would be damned if she got the chance to call you out on it. So instead, you put on a brave face and prepare. 

The clone jumps with a speed that rivals the real thing and knocks into you with enough force to send you tumbling to the ground. 

You go down with a yell and channel your energy into coming out on top of her. 

With a bit of force and a lot of focus you manage to do it. Toga’s clone is restrained below you, her soft face clinched in pain as you pin her arm behind her back. 

“Yes, good job, little bird!” Toga calls from her perch, “Now finish it.”

The knife her clone once held has fallen to the ground out of her reach, but well within yours. It should be no problem taking her out. 

Finish it. 

No big deal.

The clone struggles beneath you as your breathing grows heavier, feeling the weight of Toga’s gaze as it pierces your back and makes you sweat.

“C’mon! End it and we can be done for the day.”

There was nothing you wanted more than to be done for the day so you could head back to your room to decompress from this relentless training.

But… 

You hesitate. 

It may have been easy to come out on top with the man from the mission, but this was different. 

Clone or not, it’s too much like her, and Himiko has done nothing but support you.

Her clone looks back at you, and you drop your gaze.

You just can’t do it. 

Your eyes close as you hear Toga’s faint steps along the grass. She finishes the job without a second thought and her doppelganger turns to muck beneath you. 

The substance it was made of clings to your bare knees and palms. 

“What happened?” She questions, standing over your kneeled form and casting a shadow over you and your doubts. 

The clone substance begins to evaporate while your eyes focus on her sleek school shoes that probably haven’t stepped inside an actual school in years. 

“I... I don’t know.” 

“You were able to help Dabi on the mission, weren't you?” Even though you can’t see her face, you can feel her concerned expression from the tone alone. “You’ve taken someone down before.”

“That was different. This one,” you pause, cautious of your next words. “She looks too much like you.”

Silence stretches between you both, loud and uncomfortable as it fills the forest fields with nothing but your awkward vulnerability and her heavy expectations. 

One fact remains the same. 

You are not a villain yet. 

You realize there won’t be a response as the quiet drags. So, out of words and tired, you sigh and flop onto your back. The soft brush of the green grass molds beneath your body as you relax, your exhausted gaze finding the deep blue hue of the sky above. 

There's not many clouds out today.

You hear Toga’s steps above where your head rests as she follows suit to lie down nearby, a calm sigh leaving her lips in the process.

Curiously, you turn your head to the side and take in her relaxed features — her golden eyes closed and cheeks dusted pink as she basks in the sun. 

“Just you wait, little bird,” she coos, catching your attention with a smile spread across her lips.

“Hm?”

“You’ll be free to do whatever you want, you know?” She starts with a yawn and you wonder if she’ll end up napping out here, “Tomura will make sure of that.”

Your eyes wander back to the sky.

She speaks as if she believes it with her whole heart, and expects you to believe too. 

Your eyes catch an airplane cutting through the infinite blue now, leaving its own trail of clouds behind and you watch it fly with placid interest. 

Free, huh…

————————

He shouldn’t care. 

He shouldn’t care and he doesn't care so why was this entire ordeal making his skin itch?

Tomura paces the space of his messy room as the prickly scratching habit makes itself known once more. 

He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep losing his temper around you. 

Had recent events taught him nothing? He was supposed to be in charge, damn it. 

What would sensei say?

Tomura scoffs at himself. It would probably be something along the lines of, “a mission’s success is more important than the losses taken,” and lucky for Tomura, there were no losses.

But there could have been.

Frustrated, Tomura crashes into his computer chair in a heap as he brings the machine to life. 

He’s quick to pull up a search tab and make sure the various seeds placed for his future endeavors remain planted.

There is a goal to accomplish, a bigger picture and he can’t spend more time than necessary on something as simple as unmanaged feelings. 

No, Tomura needed to grow. Sensei tried to make him aware of that. 

Tomura closes one tab and opens another, typing your name into the search bar and taking note of the results.

Your articles are dwindling. 

Good.

The sooner that false story leaves the eye of the public, the easier it will be for you to move on. 

The sooner you move on, the sooner you’ll be able to reach your full potential. 

The sooner you can do that… the sooner Tomura can stop wasting his precious time on you and your striking familiarity. 

It's beginning to drive him mad. 

Tomura is a leader, but he has no time to play therapist to those with troubled pasts. If that were the case he would have a private venting session with all of his League members.  

He wants everyone to flourish and stand on their own. The operation just works better that way.

But…

That’s easier said than done. 

Tomura leans back in his desk chair and takes a breath.

Dabi finished the job as intended, which means there's no one for him to take this rising frustration out on, and he’s become too high profile for his usual walks. 

The roof was a compromise of sorts. Somewhere he could get fresh air without putting himself at obvious risk, but now—

Damn it, his thoughts cycle back — they always seem to cycle back — to the mystery that you are. 

Tomura taps a finger on the desk as his thoughts run rampant. 

No, he can’t let himself be blinded by curiosity. Especially not if it's going to interfere with his temper. He has to stay focused. 

This isn't only about him now. 

There’s a bigger picture to be revealed. 

He has to take down All Might. 

He has to focus.

Tomura closes the remaining tabs on his computer and shuts the system down.

The last of the lingering light in his room comes from his desk lap and it shines down on a lone scrap of paper resting on his desk.

It’s a polaroid.

One of a blond boy, locked in chains and muzzled like an animal.

The photo catches his eye and Tomura feels the puzzle pieces of the world snap back into place. 

His rampant thoughts cease. 

Yes, it’s best for everyone to find their place here, to flourish and stand on their own. 

The mission before was just a precursor for what he had planned, and with a few more preparations the League could make their next move. 

His sparse brows lift in amusement as he remembers how close his next goal is to fruition. 

This was it. 

With careful fingers he picks up the photo, a wicked smile dancing onto his features as his mind regains its much needed clarity. 

In the League anyone could become what they want to be, and Tomura would be the one to ensure that.

————————

Everything feels humid.

It feels oppressive and stuffy and you can’t breathe. 

Your lips purse as you try to break free of the spell that bound you. There’s no way to know when or how, but you were trapped. 

Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. 

The noises you try to make from your mouth don’t come out, sending you further into a panic. Your limbs try to hit at anything, but feel submerged in jello. There was no way out of this and you couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that if you didn’t do something soon you’d surely suffocate. 

The sounds of muffled laughs and deep voices plague your ears as the unwanted feel of feather light touches dance along your skin. 

Those touches soon turn harsh — hungry and biting for more of you than you could ever hope to give.

Your head starts to spin with the overload of feelings, your mind racing as you continue to fight against this assault.

You wake with a scream.

Out of breath and panting, you grip your cotton shirt, looking around your dark room for any signs of intruders.  

There's no one there with you. The area is still and silent, the only noise to keep you company is the loud ringing in your ears as you try to make sense of what you know realize was a nightmare. 

It’s the dead of night according to the clock on your nightstand. 

Reaching over, you turn on the lamp, it’s dull light doing little to illuminate the space. You make due with it for now, though — thankful as it chases away the rest of the fog from your mind. 

You feel shaken and outside yourself as your eyes dart around the room, your mind wanting to ensure that you are alone to bear the burden of bad dreams. 

You are, and it was just a dream. 

This mantra plays on repeat in your mind as you bury yourself beneath the blankets and try to go back to sleep. 

But it’s no use. 

Every time you close your eyes that sickening feeling claws its way back into your mind, haunting you like a lingering ghost. 

The more you try to close your eyes and forget, the more unsettled you feel.

After countless minutes of tossing and turning bring you no comfort, you give up altogether and sit up, facing the night head on. 

You can’t go back to sleep like this. 

Any other night you would take this as an opportunity to find peace on the roof.

Your hands clench the plush of your blanket, pushing those thoughts away. You haven't been to the roof since that night, and maybe it was better that way. 

Staying out of Shigaraki’s way feels more comfortable and making yourself small feels familiar.

So, rubbing the fast fading sleep from your eyes, you examine the contents of your room, scanning over the growing number of books on your bookshelf to the papers tossed haphazardly across your desk. 

You pause. 

There, sitting atop the desk, is the black gaming system Shigaraki gave you. 

It hadn’t moved an inch since he gifted it to you that night. 

But it wasn’t from lack of interest.

Ever since your conversation with Shigaraki on the roof, the training you had been doing with Toga had tripled to the point where your body ached from the extensive exercise. 

You knew it had been Shigaraki’s doing, but your body was too exhausted to find him and complain about it afterwards. 

Your body was too tired for anything afterwards, even disruptive dreams were rare on those nights. The only thing on your mind had been the ache of your muscles and the warm bath that would follow your rigorous routine. 

You hadn’t dreamt at all. 

The relief of retreating to your welcoming bed was too strong. 

But now that’s changed. 

Toga has left for a mission and you’ve found yourself with more free time on your hands than you would like to admit.  

So, as phantom hands and lingering leers cling to your mind, you stand on shaky legs and reach your desk. 

It’s cold, you note as your fingers brush over the scratched device, picking it up and searching for the power button. Some part of you doubted it held a charge after how long it's been sitting, but the bright white light of the screen startles you as it turns on, its cheerful chime loud in the silence of your bedroom. 

There’s already a game inside. 

A silly humanoid cat creature with a blue cap pops up on screen and you take a seat back on your bed. 

It’s a colorful sidescroller that's not too difficult to get the hang of. 

Getting lost in the game feels easy as you lie back and continue to mash buttons and beat the levels. 

It’s… cute.

And distracting. 

So distracting that you don’t even realize you’d fallen asleep until your eyes flutter open the next morning. 

Days go by and the game has captured your attention more and more.

Toga is still away, and with her absence comes a lull in your tasks. You haven't completely put off training, but the break feels nice. Being strictly a healer comes naturally to you, and beyond that there isn’t much else for you to do. 

The bar upstairs has been a more welcoming area. With its more lively crowd, you have a little more fun being around others instead of your secluded bedroom. 

Shigaraki is in his usual place, slouching on a stool at the far end of the bar, while Kurogiri slides you another glass of the fizzy clear soda you swear you’re not becoming addicted to. 

And you’ve brought the console with you. 

Level after level, you soak in its bright colors, the semi-difficult puzzles and all around fun of the game. 

Until you reach level nineteen. 

You’ve been at it for hours, but the result is the same. Run, jump, kick and fall. Your character falls deep into the digital abyss and you’re stuck looking on as he respawns and bounces idly in place. 

“God damn it.” You curse under your breath as your character dies for the fifth time in a row. You’re left to huff a sigh as you place the system down on the counter and glare at the empty glass of soda before you. 

The game is fun, until it’s not. 

You halfheartedly wonder if all games were this way as Kurogiri notices your frustrations and quietly refills your glass. 

With a quick nod of thanks to the apparition you take the glass, downing the drink and sending your frustrations with it as you come back to reality. 

A quick scan around the bar shows you that there aren’t many people in today, but that’s okay. Sometimes it's nice to just not be alone. And when there’s one too many members present things get… loud.

Your gaze lands back on the game, wearily debating if you should ask your leader for help with it — he gave you the damned thing after all — but you pause. 

Shigaraki is quiet as he flips through a newspaper, completely unbothered by commotion beyond his readings. 

You haven’t spoken since that night, you’ve barely even seen him. 

Your brows furrow as those familiar anxieties begin to rear its ugly head yet again.  

At home you would know if your father had a problem with you. The silent treatment only lasted so long before he would—

No.

You weren’t home anymore. There was nothing coming to get you or hurt you. You take a breath and turn towards your leader.

“Hey, Shigaraki,” it’s hard to be certain from the hand covering his face, but you believe he hears you, “Could you, maybe, help me out with this level? I can’t get past it.”

You try to stop the small tremble as you hold the small console out to him, half expecting him to completely ignore you like he ignores the racket around him.

But he doesn’t. 

Shigaraki turns his head, eyeing the game and then looking back at you. 

He reaches out, taking the system. His gentle touch surprises you as his careful fingers grip the system with a care only years of mandatory practice could cultivate. Those dangerous hands were free from the confids of his partial gloves, and you suspect that he prefers it that way. 

They’re weapons and with his lifestyle it’s best to be ready for anything. 

(You will yourself not to think of the implications your rooftop nights have — the nights where he is gloved and unguarded.)

It takes him no time to sink into the game, a soft tsk as he seems to find exactly where you went wrong. 

“Here,” he hands it back to you, mindful not to brush his fingers against yours. “There was a platform above the hole. You had to jump at a certain angle to see it.”

The character on the screen cheers as he completes the level, but you remain stuck in place, unsure what to say besides a muttered thank you. 

Somewhere inside you almost wish you had more to say.

Nightfall comes and the other members begin to clear out, but Shigaraki remains. 

You debate retiring to your chambers as well, silently dreading the gray walls that await you. 

The faint sounds of glass clinking meets your ears as Kurogiri puts cups away, fully absorbed in his task of shutting down the bar. 

You move to stand, knowing you were better off heading to your room than the roof, better off heading to bed where your nightmares will undoubtedly chase you awake once more. 

But… 

No, you shake the thoughts from your mind. 

You have the game. It shouldn't be a problem to play until you fall asleep.

The chill is the first thing to greet you as you open the door to your bedroom. 

The silence is next.

A sigh leaves you as you make your way over to the bed, tossing the game onto your bedside table and allowing yourself to fall into the sheets. 

No matter how much you try and fight the feelings they just won't go away. 

You can’t deny it. 

You miss the roof.

And even more, you miss gazing out at the city and you miss not being alone.

Silent nights with Shigaraki were… nice. Peaceful. The most peace you had gotten in a long time.

It takes a moment but you sit up, knowing sleep wouldn’t find you anytime soon. 

Even if your leader wasn’t on the roof tonight, you could at least get some fresh air. It’s an easy option, you convince yourself as you grab the extra blanket Kurogiri gave you during your first week here. 

You push down the worry clouding your mind and leave the desolate place you call your bedroom.

There’s an almost giddy feeling rising within your chest as you make it to the secluded space. A feeling that makes you feel like you’ve discovered a grand secret and it was yours and yours alone to keep. 

For some reason you didn’t think Shigaraki would be there. You’d convinced yourself that maybe he felt the same way you did, too preoccupied with the sour note the night had been left off on and fully crossed out the roof as his hiding place. 

But, no.

He’s sat in his usual spot, sipping his usual energy drink and looking out at the night sky,

Your steps are light as you slowly make your way over, gentle as if he would make a dash for the exit and leave at any slight sound. 

But he doesn’t. 

No, Shigaraki sits there, hand no longer obscuring his face. He’s so still you almost think he hasn’t even noticed you.

A naive thought.

Your leader seems more aware of his surroundings than the average villain. 

Your steps stop just before you reach him, but his gaze remains fixed on the city lights.

“I brought you something,” your voice is soft, uncertain as you watch him take another sip of his drink. You knew the silence would last forever if you hadn’t broken it first. And it's not a lie, technically. It can be for the both of you. 

Finally, he turns to you, eyeing the blanket in your hands. 

“I thought it would be nice to have something to sit on.” You fight to keep your words from catching in your throat, but it’s hard. His piercing red gaze does nothing to soothe you and his lack of words makes your anxieties heighten.

“Are you stuck on another level?” His voice breaks through the tension and your shoulders begin to relax. 

If he seems bothered by your presence he doesn't show it. 

“No, I—” you pause, debating your next words — things feel so fragile right now. “I just wanted to come out here again.”

The wind whistles, carrying the strain of your worries on its back as you watch your leader.  

“It’s been a while.” You continue, watching Shigaraki’s ashen hair blow in the soft wind.

“You’re free to do what you want, you know,” he says between another sip. “You don’t need permission.”

“Right.” You mumble, eyes cast down at the cemented roof he sits on, “stand up for a second.”

Shigaraki watches you, but does as he’s told, giving you an opportunity to spread the blanket below and it's an honest improvement to the space. 

The quiet that spreads between you is more familiar. More comforting.

It lets you fall into the ambiance of slow cars and the calm city, the open air of the outside being just what you need to calm your mind and relax. You feel more confident in the unfiltered space, away from those gray, claustrophobic four walls of your bedroom.

“I wouldn’t mind some tips, if you had any,” you start, stopping that train of thought and pulling out the gaming system. The chime of the start screen fills the air and you bite back a smile.

He watches, the residual light from the screen shining against his face, making those ruby eyes shine brighter. “I might.”

You take the initiative and scoot closer to him, feeling a childish elation at the idea of learning something new about your borrowed game. 

Shigaraki doesn’t stop you, but he makes no attempt to move closer, only reaching for the device and starting a new level. 

“Here,” he tilts the screen, allowing you a better view as his character runs towards a wall. The faint smell of fresh linen meets your nose, it's soft against his well worn black hoodie. You try to ignore it, knowing your mind would wander but the proximity forces you to take note. 

You never thought Shigaraki would smell bad, per se, but you didn’t think it would be noticeably nice.

Cozy, even.

“And if you do that right…” he continues, pulling your attention back to the tutorial at hand, “you should get… this.” 

A box appears above the character and he jumps, claiming three extra lives and you would be impressed if you weren’t trying too hard not to show how distracted you were.

“O-oh! That’s cool.” Your hand finds the hem of your shirt, nervously picking at the seams as you watch on. Shigaraki wasn’t quite done showing you the tricks of the game and you wordlessly thank the stars for the distraction. 

This time, he leans over giving you a much better view of the game as his fingers press the controller buttons rapidly. “If you time it just right you can do…” his words trail off as the character makes contact with an enemy, making it disappear while gaining a power up. “This.”

The character jumps, its new and boosted form reaches higher than he could have without and meets the finish line. Shigaraki wins.

“Whoa.” You breathe and in any other case you would try to say more, show more enthusiasm, but you can’t ignore the soft scent of oatmeal and cinnamon. Shigaraki smells… warm. 

“It gets easier when you know where to look.” He finishes the demonstration and there's no chance you’ll be able to replicate his tutorials. 

So you nod, hoping that the night sky will hide the growing flush in your cheeks. 

Childish. Stupid.

You try to shake off the sprouting feelings. 

It’s probably just your mind playing tricks on you, anyway. An act of kindness that sends your brain haywire. 

“I didn’t think games like this were your type.” The words fall from your lips before you realize. 

Shigaraki raises a sparse brow, more curious than irritated. “What games do you think are my type?”

“Hm,” you pause, stopping to really ponder what may or may not be Shigaraki’s type, “I’m not sure. To be honest, I didn’t think I would like this game as much as I do, to be honest.”

“You’ve never played anything like this?”

Your smile is somber as it bites the bitter taste of your past. “No, my father had me on a pretty tight leash. I didn’t play much of anything. There was one game I really wanted though. Um, I think it was pocket monsters?”

“You’ve never played pocket monsters?” Shigaraki’s tone is usually even, but even he can’t hide the genuine surprise. 

You spit a laugh. “No, he saw that they battled or whatever and shut any dream of that down. Its,” your voice fades as you face the reality of your past, “Kind of depressing, really.”

Shigaraki stays quiet, watching the way you sigh. You wonder if he were looking through you, peering right into your mind and uncovering all of your dirty, disgusting past. 

If he were able to see all of that — to see all of you — what would he say?

After a moment he turns away, seemingly having gotten his fill of your damaged disposition and bringing his attention back to the sky above. 

“You would probably be a water type trainer.” He says suddenly, catching your attention. 

“Hm? What makes you say that.”

He shrugs, a lazy half lift of his shoulders. “It just fits you.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes are caught on his fingers, the way those hazardous hands grip the console, careful not to hold it in a way that would harm it. Forever cautious that those hands would make it disintegrate into a pale dust and then nothingness, doomed to ashes as it would blow away. 

You can’t imagine how stressful a quirk like that would have been to grow up with.  

“You would be a ghost type trainer.”

“Oh?” 

“Mhm,” You nod, eyes cutting away from his hands as you try to stomp down the sheepish feelings rising in your chest. “It’s in your name.”

Mourning. 

The words go unspoken, hanging in the air between you. It hangs heavy and you want to continue, need to continue.

You think of your leader and his growing gang of misfits, you think of the way there were no questions asked when taking you in and his previous words of encouragement. 

Tomura Shigaraki may be a dangerous villain, but he’s shown you more consideration than the person who was supposed to raise you. 

“You seem like the type… to see the beauty in abandoned things.” You fight through the nerves and speak your mind, unwilling to back down with how far you've gone. “Things that may have been forgotten, or lost…”

Himiko’s words echo in your mind, then Dabi and his hardened expression.

“... Things without a home.”

The silence stretches for a long time, you almost worry that you’ve said something wrong, but you can't help but feel a little happy to have gotten that out of your mind.

You pick up the conversation again.

“You know, talking about games with you, I,” your eyes meet the blanket below, your digits picking at the hem of it. “I feel like I've missed out on a lot.” 

Countless nights of telling your friends you can’t meet them at the movies, can’t go with them to stay-away camp, can’t do anything.

The only thing you can do is wait and watch your life pass you by in a prison dressed up as a broken home. 

“Do you ever feel this way?” The words slip out before you're able to catch them, the ache of connection too desperate to stay hidden inside. 

You don’t know much about Shigaraki, but you know that his upbringing must have been unusual if he’s turned out this way. Yet he’s here, trying to fight against what he believes is injustice. There has to be something that drives him to keep standing.

The quiet stretches and you’re about ready to change the topic and pretend you hadn’t asked anything. 

“Sometimes.” 

Your head turns to him, surprised. 

He gives his half shrug again. “But there’s no point in sitting in something that can’t change. The past is the past. Carve your own future.”

You bring your knees to your chest desperately trying to fight off the familiar burn of tears in your eyes. Once you would start, it would only be downhill from there.

“I just want to be normal.”

“Normal is subjective.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to society.” The words are bitter and they leave a sour taste on your tongue, knowing there is no way to live a life where you are just like anyone else. 

To be someone who’s had the comfort and privilege of growing up in a healthy, stable life. 

To live in a world where you could only read the articles about some home invasion in another city and gasp in disbelief that something like that could ever happen. 

In this fantasy world, you would shake your head in disappointment, make some comment about society going downhill and show the story to a friend for validation. Then you would close the page and move on with your day, forever forgetting about travesty because situations like that don’t happen to normal people. 

But that isn't how things work. 

Not for you. Never for you. 

“You should take that feeling and hold it close.”

Your brows furrow as you turn to him, your impending spiral screeching to a halt.

“Foster it and let it grow.” Shigaraki continues, handing his gaming system back to you with such careful hands. So, so delicate and gentle, unable to even risk a brush of your fingers. Somehow, this feels even closer than if he had touched you. “Why should they go on about their lives while you suffer?”

His voice is soft. 

It's tender, as if you were fragile enough to break with words alone. Your heart thumps against the cage of your chest as you hold the game tight, bringing it close and allowing it to anchor you. This conversation feels familiar, like the one you shared in your first days here.

Shigaraki gives a slow half smile and those warm feelings inside of you grow, spreading to your cheeks and ears while you hang on to each word, “you deserve to show the world your feelings.”

You gasp and meet his eyes, entranced as he breathes a new light into you with those words.

You see the beauty in abandoned things. 

It's true. 

But you never thought he’d see it in you.

A familiar roll of thunder drags you form your stupor, eyes transfixed on the gleam in his eyes and budding feelings within. 

“Sounds like it’ll rain soon.” His voice breaks through, and he’s already rising from his place on the blanket.

You nod a tad more enthusiastically than you should and hurry to gather the cover, flushing deeper as you notice he’s glued to his spot.

He’s waiting for you.

Your feet patter against the concrete of the roof as you nearly skip over to him, the smallest drops of rain meeting your cheeks. Your mind races as you gather two important things from tonight:

Tomura Shigaraki is an interesting guy.

And you are a curious cat.

[the-psychopathist]

Is Agatha Harkness a sociopath?

I wanted to make this post ever since I finished Agatha All Along, specifically after Agatha was referred to as a “sociopath” in the series. Now, “sociopath” is not an actual diagnosis and most of the time, what people refer to when it comes to sociopathy and psychopathy is actually anti-social personality disorder (ASPD). In this post, I’ll attempt to “diagnose” Agatha with ASPD and see if she fits the criteria for a diagnosis.

Disclaimer: I am not a professional, I’m only “diagnosing” Agatha because she’s a fictional character. Do not attempt to do the same for any real person. This post isn’t meant to stigmatize any real person with that condition, this is simply a character study. None of what I’m writing should be used in a real-life context. 

1) Failure to obey laws and norms by engaging in behavior which results in criminal arrest, or would warrant criminal arrest

Agatha is quite literally a serial killer. She has been luring witches to their early graves for centuries. We don't know exactly how many people she has killed, but her body count is definitely quite large. I don't think she was ever arrested for her crimes but it definitely warrants a criminal arrest. If it wasn't for Wanda trapping her in the Agnes persona at the end of WandaVision, she would have most likely been arrested, especially since she attempted to kill multiple S.W.O.R.D. soldiers. 

2) Deceitfulness, indicated by continuously lying, using aliases, or conning others for personal gain and pleasure.

This one is a given. Her primary means to steal magic was through a con. She deceived and manipulated unsuspecting witches who trusted her with the intent of stealing their magic and killing them. And even before that, she used her own son to lure witches and do the same. She does it primarily for profit, to get more magic, but she does seem to genuinely enjoy deceiving others and gaining pleasure out of it.

In both WV and AAA she was lying, deceiving and manipulating the rest of the cast from the very beginning for her own benefit. She infiltrated Wanda’s hex and posed as her nosy neighbour “Agnes”, graining Wanda's trust with the intent of stealing her magic from the start. She did it primarily for profit but there was also some enjoyment for her when she revealed the truth to Wanda, so much so that she created her own intro song. She was enjoying putting up a show almost as much as getting Wanda's magic.

This pattern of behaviors is seen throughout AAA too, especially upon rewatch. On your first watch, you might not notice but after rewatching a second time fully knowing the end, you can notice how much Agatha has been lying the entire time. Not only did she lie about the road and always intended to murder the cover in her basement, but when the hex road appeared she kept the lie that she went to the road before going. One could say that she had to keep the lie going because she never intended for the road to appear, so those weren’t lies she intended to tell, but at the same time, we can see how easily she can lie and deceive others. She knew all along that Billy created the road and that said road was deadly, yet made no attempt at stopping him. She knew people would die but she kept the lie going because she hoped that she could get back her powers at the end. So she lied, deceived and manipulated the group the entire time for her own gain.

3) Exhibiting impulsivity or failing to plan ahead.

Agatha is someone who likes to be in control, and does give off the illusion of being in control. But the truth is, she isn’t as much in control as she thinks she is, and is quite impulsive. Lots of her shortcomings are a direct consequence of an impulsive decision (fuck around and find out). Being impulsive doesn’t mean she can’t make elaborate schemes, because she sure does. But a lot of those are made impulsively. She sensed Wanda’s magic and decided to join her hex without knowing exactly how Wanda’s magic worked. She even started messing with her without knowing how Wanda’s magic would respond. Then in AAA we see more of her impulsive nature. She doesn’t think through whenever she makes a decision and ends up needing to improvise in order to compensate for her reckless decisions. She told Lilia about how her ability to steal magic worked, she picked a bound witch to be part of her coven, as well as a non-magical woman. The only one in the group that seemed to have the ability to blast was Alice. Not the greatest group if she needed to steal as much magic as possible. On the road, she made a lot of impulsive decisions that were quite reckless, like attempting to break the window and throwing her wine glass during the first trial, suggesting to summon another green witch, pretending to be possessed by Sharon, or messing with the tarot cards. There’s also the way she provoked Billy right after he nearly killed her. Those were all decisions she took without thinking about the consequences, out of impulsivity. But she’s not only impulsive when it comes to being reckless with others’ safety. She was also shown to be impulsive when it comes to helping some of her coven members. When Rio first emerged from Sharon’s grave, Agatha’s first instinct was to get in front of the coven as if she wanted to protect them. When Billy got thrown into the window, Agatha rushed to go check on him, or when Lilia was about to get impaled she jumped to push her out of the sword’s trajectory. 

4) Irritability and aggressiveness, indicated by repeatedly getting into fights or physically assaulting others.

Once again, this one is a given. Agatha is easily irritated and very aggressive, she’s quick to anger, losing her patience and snapping at people. She had no issue hurting Wanda when she had her captive in her basement, slamming her against the wall when she got irritated with her. I’d argue that the mass murdering she did over centuries also count as frequent assaults. She’s also quick to engage in physical fights with Rio (although those are mutual on both sides), and there was a moment at the end of episode 3 where Agatha randomly kicked Jen when she was already down after they all went through the water slide. 

5) Reckless behaviors that disregard the safety of others.

Agatha did not care how her actions affected the resident of Westview when she was purposefully messing around with the hex. She did not care either on the road. She knew from the beginning that it was a hex and even after seeing they could actually die in the trials, she made no attempt to try telling the others the road was fake. She could have tried to let Billy know he made the road but she didn’t. Because she didn’t care if some of them might die. She had no concern for their safety. She endangered the coven in the first trial by trying to break the window and by refusing to drink the wine. She did so too in the third trial by pretending to be possessed, making the group lose precious time. Same with the fourth trial by messing with the tarot cards and not stopping even when the swords were dangerous dropping on both her and Billy. 

6) A pattern of irresponsibility

This is probably the only criteria I’m not sure would apply. There are instances of Agatha being irresponsible, but I don’t think we have seen enough of her personal life to establish a pattern. So until further notice, I’ll consider this criteria doesn’t particularly fit. 

7) Lack of remorse after hurting or mistreating another person.

Agatha does not seem to have any remorse for all the people she murdered. She may have some remorse regarding her original coven, including her mother, but that was a much younger Agatha. The Agatha we know now does not seem to feel bad for the people she had killed for centuries. It’s even something she will be really flippant about whenever she talks about how many people she has killed.

She didn’t feel remorse when Sharon died either. Agatha might not have directly killed her, she is still responsible for her death by recruiting her into the coven. And it’s not like Agatha didn’t intend from the start to put Sharon in harm’s way. If her initial intention was to kill the coven, it’s very likely she would have killed Sharon too, or Sharon would have been killed by the Salem Seven. Billy may be indirectly responsible for Sharon’s death because he created the road, he was not aware of that nor did he intend for this to happen. Agatha on the other hand always intended for Sharon to die and did not feel bad when she actually did die. She acted extremely callous after Sharon’s death and never bothered to learn her name, even forgetting who she was later on.

And it’s not just about murder. She didn’t feel bad when she got Alice fired, nor did she feel bad when she learned she was the person who got Jen bound for a hundred years. She didn’t feel bad either about attempting to kill the coven from the beginning and had no qualms about using them to get to the end of the road even if it meant sacrificing them.

The coven’s members aren’t the only people who suffer because of Agatha’s actions. If we go back to WandaVision, Agatha orchestrated Sparky’s death. And she seemed pretty proud about causing a dog to die. It may have been revealed in AAA that Ralph poisoned the dog, but it was under Agatha’s order. He was under her magical control, so the blame is entirely on her. She did not feel bad at all for killing a dog. Speaking of Ralph, as much as his character is played for laughs, what she did to him was also pretty atrocious. She took control of his life, stole his house, and forced him to commit awful acts, causing psychological damage to him to the point he is completely paranoid now. It’s unlikely Agatha knows how Ralph ended up after what she did to him, I highly doubt she’d feel an ounce of remorse for that. 

Now, lack of remorse does not mean lack of regrets. Agatha does not feel bad for hurting others and how her actions affected them, but she does have regrets. She does feel bad if her actions negatively affect her, like personal loss or missed opportunity. She did seem to feel regret about killing Alice, but I don’t think she felt remorse. She did not feel bad for Alice, she felt bad because of the consequences she had to face after. She did not intend to kill Alice at that time, and now she has lost any potential trust she could gain from the coven. Not only that, we know Agatha became a ghost because she couldn’t face Nicky in the afterlife, so the regret might also be that she thought her son had seen her kill Alice. I don’t think she felt remorse for what she did to Jen either. When Jen did the unbinding ritual, getting told over and over that she “holds nothing” worked on Agatha possibly because deep down, Agatha knew it was true. She no longer has her son, she has no magic, and she has driven away Rio. She did hold nothing anymore. 

Having ASPD does not mean Agatha is incapable of love, or caring about others. She undoubtedly loved and cared about her son. So much so that she developed a soft spot for Billy because he reminded her of Nicky. She loved Rio too. Same for her pet rabbit. Unlike popular belief, lack of empathy is not a criteria for ASPD. It does usually result in low empathy, and that can vary from person to person. Agatha probably has little to no empathy for most people except the rare people she does manage to bond with. You can see it as a selective empathy for those she did love and care about, which included Nicky, Rio, Señor Scratchy and later possibly Billy.

If Agatha does have ASPD, how did it start? Even if sometimes genetics can play a role in developing that personality disorder, you aren’t born with it. Most of the time, it’s caused by the environment, mostly trauma experienced as a child. We know Agatha’s mother hated her. She thought she was born evil. She, with her coven, attempted to have her executed when Agatha was only 18. I do believe the accusations made at her were mostly true. She probably did steal knowledge and practiced dark magic. But Agatha did beg her coven to teach her, so I think it’s very likely that since her mother thought she was born evil, she didn’t allow Agatha to properly learn magic. If Agatha wasn’t taught magic and had this power she couldn’t control (siphoning), it’s not surprising that she would have to steal knowledge in order to learn. Agatha learned from a young age to break the rules in order to get what she wants or needs. And without proper guidance, it’s reasonable to think she might have practiced dark magic.

So yes, even if the accusations were true, her coven and mother are not blameless. Agatha is the way she is because of how she was raised, how she was treated as a child and growing up, and what she had to do in order to learn magic. She never had a healthy support system growing up, there was no possibility for therapy at that time, she was a witch living in the worst era for her kind, and she couldn’t even rely on her fellow witches to protect herself. After accidentally killing her original coven (including her own mother), which was definitely a traumatic event for her regardless if it was self-defence, she kept doing what she did so far to survive; steal, lie, deceive, kill. All the antisocial traits she exhibits as an adult are learned behaviours. Of course, it does not justify her crimes and horrific actions she later committed, but it does explain why she is that way. She wasn’t born evil, she became evil. She’s the product of her environment, experiences, circumstances and era.

[cityofmeliora]

Quick question, do we actually know WHO the clergy is? it's spoken but do we ever get a hint on what they are? If not, what do you think they are? Strictly humans? A mix of humans and ghouls? Sister Imperator was a member, right? Sorry if its a lot of questions I was literally trying to figure it out in my head earlier and couldn't come up with an answer

The Clergy are the leaders / decision makers of the Ghost church. they're compared to a board of directors, basically.

the person who holds the title Imperator (Sister Imperator / Frater Imperator) is the "head of the Clergy", so they would be the top decision-maker / leader within the Clergy.

SISTER IMPERATOR: My son, I'm sorry could not find it in my heart to tell you about my condition. I was afraid you might lose your sometimes frail concentration. My hope is that while reading this, you will come to understand that one day ending means the beginning of a new one– after a night of darkness, of course. Anyway, boy-o, now you have an even greater task ahead of you– as the head of the clergy. You will henceforth be known as… PAPA EMERITUS IV: … Frater Imperator? RITE HERE RITE NOW

SISTER IMPERATOR GHOST: Well, I'm not in charge anymore. FRATER IMPERATOR: No, you're not! RITE HERE RITE NOW

The Clergy makes decisions such as who will become the next Papa and when they will replace the current Papa.

So Papa Emeritus I and II were, and are, on contracts, and there will soon be a Papa III. That's how it works, yes. But Papa II will be with us for quite some time. So how would you choose Papa III? Oh he's being chosen by the clergy. It's like having a President. There's a board that decides who will be the next guy and we just have to follow and hope for a better one next time. Phoenix New Times (October 23, 2013)

What was the selection process for Papa Emeritus III, or is just Pope Benedict in disguise? Well, it is, actually. No, usually that process is taken care of by the clergy so I can’t really answer. MUSIC&RIOTS Magazine (August 26, 2015)

interestingly, Papa himself is not considered to be part of the Clergy. as we've seen, Papa has no say in how much he works / when he'll get replaced / what he has to wear and do and sing. all of those decisions are made for him. so despite being the literal Pope of the Ghost church, Papa actually ranks below the Clergy.

The Clergy also assigns elements / parts in the band to the Nameless Ghouls.

INTERVIEWER: You have funny signs on your costumes and guitars. NAMELESS GHOUL: They represent the elements, with the addition of a 5th, like... the aether. Yes. INTERVIEWER: So actually, they are not funny. NAMELESS GHOUL: No, they're not there for fun. They have a meaning. That's not our entire meaning, but it has a symbolic meaning. INTERVIEWER: And everyone has a symbol. Why that? Did you choose it yourself? NAMELESS GHOUL: No, they were given to us. INTERVIEWER: By the Papa? NAMELESS GHOUL: By the Clergy. Berlin Metal TV (December 9, 2013)

the Nameless Ghouls are not part of the Clergy. we know this because they take orders from the Clergy and don't get to make decisions, and also because their meetings / briefings are kept separate from Clergy meetings, as shown by the title cards in the 'The Summoning' lore videos.

THE CLERGY HAS ADJOURNED AND THE NAMELESS GHOULS ARE SUMMONED… The Summoning part 1 // The Summoning V: The Square And Hammer

(to be clear, the word "summoned" here means like "called into the room to attend a meeting", not literally summoned from hell adklfjsdfsk)

the question of whether the Clergy are all humans or a mix of humans and ghouls is also kinda pointless to me because the Nameless Ghouls are definitely humans too.

so yeah. TLDR; The Clergy is the mostly-unseen group of human leaders that make decisions in the Ghost church. Sister Imperator / Frater Imperator is the only person we know to be part of that group and is the leader of all of them.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Adam Gabbatt at The Guardian:

US federal judges have criticized Donald Trump’s decision to pardon more than 1,500 people involved in the January 6 insurrection, arguing that the clemency “cannot whitewash the blood, feces, and terror that the mob left in its wake” and that the president’s reasoning for the pardons was based on a “revisionist myth”. The fierce condemnation came as the GOP scrambled to deal with Trump’s move, which was broader in scope than some Republicans had expected and included pardons for people convicted of assaulting police officers. Trump, who described the attacks on law enforcement as “very minor incidents” in an interview with Sean Hannity on Wednesday, issued the pardons in one of his first acts in office. The president said the clemency would begin a process of “reconciliation” and correct a “grave national injustice”, but in a scathing order on Wednesday the US district judge Beryl Howell disagreed. “No ‘national injustice’ occurred here, just as no outcome-determinative election fraud occurred in the 2020 presidential election,” Howell wrote in an eight-page order issued in the case of two January 6 defendants.

“No ‘process of national reconciliation’ can begin when poor losers, whose preferred candidate loses an election, are glorified for disrupting a constitutionally mandated proceeding in Congress and doing so with impunity.” Howell added: “This court cannot let stand the revisionist myth relayed in this presidential pronouncement.”

[...] Also on Wednesday, two of the police officers who defended the Capitol during the insurrection criticized the pardons, with Harry Dunn, who retired after the attack, suggesting that Trump had made it clear that he “was proud of the people who stormed the Capitol on Jan 6”. In an order issued the same day, Tanya Chutkan, the US district judge who presided over Trump’s election subversion case, was similarly blunt, writing that the pardons “cannot whitewash the blood, feces, and terror that the mob left in its wake”. “It cannot repair the jagged breach in America’s sacred tradition of peacefully transitioning power,” Chutkan wrote, in an order to dismiss the case of John Banuelo, who was accused of rioting on January 6 but was among the 1,500 people pardoned by Trump. “In hundreds of cases like this one over the past four years, judges in this district have administered justice without fear or favor. The historical record established by those proceedings must stand, unmoved by political winds, as a testament and as a warning.”

A pair of federal judges, Tanya Chutkan and Beryl Howell, denounced Trump’s dangerous decision to pardon almost all of the J6 insurrectionists that was based on revisionist propaganda that painted the domestic terrorists as “hostages.”

[hi-i-just]

Orion is 'selfish' (<- using this very loosely, he's more insensitive more than anything) in the sense he gets so taken by the bigger picture he doesn't really occur to him to consider how it affects the smaller people in his method — mostly D-16, who is the person closest to him.

D-16's outburst in the cave is part-projection, but it's partly true too. "But it doesn't matter what I want, right Pax?" is not a statement that comes out of nowhere; that's how D-16 feels whenever Orion goes off in another 'run' for the greater good for everybody. Yes, Orion wants what would benefit for everyone else — what he fails to do is to respect other people's wants and choices. That was the flaw Orion had to learn from.

Because turns out? Yeah, he did suck at respecting D's wants and choices. Tricking him to joining the race was just the most egregious example. D has already made it EXPLICITLY clear he doesn't wanna go on the race, all with his own valid and understandable reasons, what does Orion do? Had him go on the race anyway.

"But it ended being beneficial/it was for the greater good!" You could say the same for life-saving surgery, but even then doctors have to respect your decision if you choose not to go through it.

"But D ended up enjoying it in the end even if he said no at first!" if you say something like that about your partner if you had sex that counts as rape. (And extreme example, but I want to be very clear about the importance of consent here).

Consent is no small thing. Respecting it is respecting the individual and acknowledging their autonomy. My sister does not like to be hugged most of the time — there's no 'grand' reason to it, it doesn't harm her, it doesn't even distress her, it's straight up just a hug — she just doesn't like it. Do I still hug her anyway? NO. Because she said NO. Simple as that. And that's just a mundane and trivial example. What Orion did was worse.

Yes, he meant well, but even after D listed his reasons why he doesn't wanna join the race (he can't transform, might get humiliated/demoted, injured/killed even! ALL super reasonable and more than valid), ORION STILL TRICKED HIM TO JOIN THE RACE. I don't think people even realize just how unimaginably shitty it was for Orion to do. I do think a lot of people end up justifying what Orion did because "he's Optimus Prime, he does what's good!" when the scene makes it obvious he's doing something pretty shitty. It gets buried under the humor of the racing scene, shit I laughed too, but when I saw Orion latched the jetpack unto D I was PISSED. And that anger and irritation remained even long after that scene ended.

The worst part? Is that it's likely this isn't the only time Orion did something like this — it's just the one we get to see most recently. It's 50 cycles of your well-meaning friend not respecting you and your choices and your reasons.

"Then why didn't D speak up then??" Why the FUCK did it need for D to speak up to Orion for Orion to realize that not respecting people's consent is shitty?? 💀 When respecting people's consent is supposed to be the default. That aside, what I do appreciate about Orion, is that when people call him out, he does change! He does acknowledge that D's criticism, while overblown and mixed with projection, had some nick of truth in it, and changed.

The Orion that made those speech with the miners, asking them for help and letting them choose instead of telling them to follow him and fight? The Orion in the beginning of the movie would not be able to do that. D's outburst, hurtful as it is, was necessary and humbling. It was a wake-up call to the one thing missing that what makes Orion Pax become Optimus Prime — respecting people's freedom to choose.

I'm going to do a better analysis but I'm surprised that many label Orion Pax as bad selfish for being a rebel.

Let's recap: they lived in a system that treated them like garbage "because of how they were born" where you had to submit and even suffer physical and verbal abuse.unable to defend himself

Even all this atmosphere affects jazz

d16 justifies the mistreatment she received, Elita calls herself a mistake with legs, they even belittle the life of miners because it is protocol, if it weren't for Orion and d16, Jazz would be dead.

That many say it is selfish is an erroneous term because remember Orion's actions are driven by the fact that they want a better life for everyone outside of that abuse.

His actions are reckless more than anything

I'm not saying he's a saint because he's not, but many of his actions have some justification, but then I'll do a better analysis.

[revvethasmythh]

An idle thought, really, but I think it's interesting to see fandom latch on the metaphorical interpretation of things like Laudna's relationship with Delilah as a metaphor for addiction or Imogen's psychic powers as a metaphor for either chronic pain or queerness, but there's much less attachment to or discussion of the characters who explicitly, canonically dealt with exactly those things. By which I mean Scanlan's substance abuse, Veth's alcoholism, and even Ashton's chronic pain (which feels like it was discussed much more before it was confirmed canon, and seems to be brought up mostly just as ship fodder these days). I suppose one could argue the devotion to the metaphorical interpretations lies in the fact that it's an interpretation of canon as opposed to being explicitly so, meaning there's more wiggle room to project a personal interpretation onto it. Explicit canon is more concrete, less malleable to the individual viewer. Still, if we're going to talk about addiction now in a metaphorical sense via Laudna, it leads me to wonder if we will see further discussion of the characters who explicitly dealt with addiction (Veth and Scanlan), as opposed to Laudna's purported allegorical version of it

[kurokoros]

I want to meet the duffer brothers so badly specifically so that I can ask them why the hell season three is like that. was it netflix making decisions behind the scenes? did they genuinely think changing the tone, flanderizing the characters, and making up the most batshit insane plotlines were good ideas? were they desperately trying to get the show canceled so they could work on other projects, but it backfired on them so badly that they were given two more seasons and a multi-million dollar contract that was too good to turn away?

[byanyan]

ㅤborn on june 30th at 3:40 am to eunji byun, a woman who never had any intention of raising a child, byan was taken home by their adoptive parents, hye-jin yoon and dae-seong lee, a couple who had never been able to have a child of their own and had eagerly awaited their arrival. given the name yeong-hwan lee, they were treated exactly as if they were the couple's biological son and learned to refer to the two as eomma and appa (mom and dad).

this was the only period in their life where byan had a very "normal" childhood. and it was good! they were a happy, outgoing kid from the start, always curious and full of energy. they felt loved. they were loved. they don't remember it, but they were even taken to korea to meet their parents' extended family when they were two.

things were good, and it seemed like they were only going to get better when hye-jin unexpectedly discovered that she was pregnant.

byan's sister, hwa-young, was born on september 9th, when they were four years old. given her name because hye-jin was fond of the idea of her children having similar names, even byan was excited by this, and by the concept of having a baby sister. things remained exciting for the first few weeks, but as time passed and the newness of having a baby in the house began to wear off, things started to get... complicated. neither parent had particularly high paying jobs, and hye-jin couldn't afford to take much of a maternity leave. she worked from home, but between work, household chores, and hwa-young, neither she nor dae-seong had much time left over for byan, let alone for themselves. needless to say, it was a stressful time, and with money and energy running thin, byan beginning to act out a couple months in due to a lack in the attention they were used to having didn't exactly help matters.

only a few months before their fifth birthday, byan was placed into the care of a foster family. it wasn't an easy decision for either of their parents to make, but they had never planned for two children and no longer believed that they could properly support or give them both the life they deserved. the decision was made thinking that it would give byan the opportunity for something better, and that if things ever turned around for the family, they could eventually be brought back.

ㅤ—of course, that never happened.

contact was kept for a while, but when it seemed to only make things harder on byan, and subsequently harder on all of them, the decision to cut contact completely and all at once was made. the thought process was that if byan stopped waiting and hoping for the day that they'd get to come home, maybe they would eventually allow themself to settle with another family. at least they were probably young enough that they wouldn't remember all that much from their first four years, right? surely they would move on, and eventually be happier for it.

the last thing byan remembers hearing from eomma and appa didn't even come directly from them. it came through their foster mother, who tried to make it sound exciting that their last name had been changed from lee to byun.

[fansids]

Welp, I've finished the season 4 special...

Anyway-

[kendev]

first post..

[kelpiemomma]

the forgotten god and the one who brought him back

ugly sketchy. i meant to include emmet and akari and rei but. its 1 am and i chose to stop here lol

[gallusrostromegalus]

I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.

-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a

~*Spiritual Experience*~

I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.

Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.

He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only BARELY enough space for the fireworks and certainly none for his truck.

So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand. This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.

He begins, and this is crucial to what happens next, by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it unsecured on his lawn.

Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.

His process for unloading the fireworks is to 1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls. 2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things. 3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed 4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup. 5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her. 6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house. 7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too. 8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate 9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed 10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.

Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man? Answer: Absolutely Not.

There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else. (This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual) Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally. Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.

I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.

However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up. and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop" And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."

For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."

I move under the eaves. "Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled." "Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not." "Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."

Sometimes, the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.

The Gods were not merciful today.

It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this, But I got to see it today. Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before. Oh. I realized as it got closer. That's RAIN.

Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say, five to tent square miles, is instead concentrated into an area of say, my neighborhood exactly.

So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.

The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel. Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge. Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.

My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp. They do not have a tarp. They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.

Which is when the hail begins.

"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy. "HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!" "OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"

I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic. The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor. Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.

So. I was raised Agnostic -but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.

---

(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)

[mrsriddlenott]

~Teach Me, Please~

Bsf!JJ Maybank x Innocent!Reader

Warnings: oral(m&f receiving), bit of a handjob, praise kink, spit kink, innocent reader but she’s lowkey in control, reader kinda gets bullied in the beginning but not directly. Not proofread.

{masterlist} • {PART TWO)

————

“She’s like their little sister,” you heard the kook girl you didn’t recognize laugh as she spoke about you, “She follows them around like a groupie, JJ most of all. It’s like she doesn’t know what to do with what she has, I would be flirting non-stop if I was with him as much as she is. JJ is absolutely delicious.”

“I think they’ll always be just friends,” her equally annoying friend giggles, the pair clearly not noticing you behind them or simply not caring, “I mean look at how innocent she is, I doubt she would know how to please him if she had the chance. She has literally never had a boyfriend, she probably has never given head in her life and JJ gets around a lot he has plenty of better options. Hell he probably doesn’t pay enough attention to even notice her raging crush on him anyway. You should definitely go for it tonight, I’ve heard he’s good.”

You huffed, stomping off back towards the couch you had left JJ on. What annoyed you the most wasn’t the shit talking, you knew people talked, especially kooks who somehow had nothing better to do. What hurt was the accuracy. Despite being the same age as your fellow pogues, and knowing JJ and JB since the third grade, you were still very much innocent. Especially when compared to your ragtag group of friends.

You knew they didn’t mind, they all loved you no matter what. Kie helped you as much as she could but it was pointless, you just didn’t know how to be as laid back as them. You had fun and loved to party as much as they did, but you still preferred a nice night in with a movie. And while part of you used to worry you held them back, they made sure you knew you could always come to them. So when you saw JJ wave you back over with a questioning look in his eyes you knew you could ask him to help you with anything.

And your crush on him had totally and absolutely nothing to do with that decision.

“Will you teach me how to give a blowjob?” You blurt out, dropping onto the couch infront of JJ’s outstretched arm as though everything was normal. He gagged on the gulp of beer he’d just taken before looking to you with wide eyes, trying to decipher if he heard you properly.

“What’d you jus’ say?” His voice was breathless as he wiped his face of spilt beer, your eyes tracing the droplets that escaped down his neck.

“I want you to teach me how to give good head.” You stated, stretching the words to make your intentions clear. You watched JJ’s eyes bounce between your eyes and lips, the gears in his brain working overtime to decide if you were joking or not.

“Like- uh.” JJ starts, his voice strained while he needlessly wipes his mouth again, spreading his legs on the coach and making room for himself and letting his knee touch yours, “Like on what though.” He arches his eyebrow to look at you, not wanting to be presumptuous but wanting nothing more than to help you directly.

JJ would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you like that a million times. He wanted you, he just never admitted it out loud because he thought you deserved better. He messed around and acted out while you and John B cleaned up after him but over the years he started to notice a distinct difference in his feelings for Jonh B compared to those he had for you. However, he decided long ago he wouldn’t act on any of them unless you did first, he couldn’t risk ruining you because you were just so good.

“On you Jay, come on don’t make me feel weird about it.” The whining tone of your voice makes JJ bite his lip, unsure if this was ethical. JB would surely frown upon this and Kie would probably kill him for corrupting you. But he was having a hard time fighting the urge now as you looked up to him with pleading eyes.

“Well I don’t wanna take advantage of you or anything, y’know?” He stutters over his words slightly as he fumbles to find anything to say, making you giggle in that way he loves so much. You had never once seen JJ flustered or worried about a girl asking to suck him off and you honestly couldn’t believe it was you who got that honor.

“But I asked you to show me JJ, I want you to teach me.” You beg him, turning your body on the couch to face him fully, placing a hand on his exposed bicep.

And his resolve snapped.

He tossed his half full beer can aside as he stood, not caring where it landed. His hand took your own hand, gently but assertively pulling you up with him. He held onto you tightly, not wanting to lose you while weaving through the crowd in the Chateau making the way to the bedroom he made his. You caught sight of the first kook girl in passing, noticing the way she tried to catch JJ’s eyes only to be ignored. Her face contorted in surprise and disgust while you laughed softly before JJ was yanking you into his room and locking the door behind you both.

“C’mere,” JJ instructed, waving two fingers towards him. When you turn to him he’s facing away from you, grabbing a pillow from the top of his bed and tossing it on the floor at his feet. The bed creeks from his weight flopping onto it, manspreading while watching your slightly shocked and confused face, unable to hide his smile. “Come on, y’wanna learn or not.”

Your legs carry you to him, anxiously messing with the hem of your dress now that you can make out the bulge in his shorts. “Are you sure you want to do this?” His voice draws your gaze back to his and you can see the excitement whirling behind his blue eyes dropping you to your knees carefully, leaning into the comfort of his pillow.

“Thanks for the pillow,” You whisper, locking eyes with him from between his legs, “I didn’t know guys did that, I’ve never seen it in the porn I watch.”

“You watch porn?! Oh my god this keeps gettin’ better.” JJ groans with a smile, knocking his head back and letting you watch his adam’s apple bob, “I’ve never done it before, I just didn’t want you to bruise your knees.”

“Good to know I’m special.” You laugh awkwardly, wiggling with excited and nervous energy where you leant before him. He released an airy laugh above you, looking down at you again, his pupils dilated.

“You have no idea,” JJ’s voice was breathless and his words caught in his throat slightly, “Do you wanna get started on our lesson Princess?” JJ asked teasingly, running his fingers down your warm cheek, stopping to lift your head up by your chin. You nodded, shell shocked as you stare up at him unable to force your mouth to form words.

“I need you to tell me,” He whispered, leaning forward slowly until his lips ghost against yours, “If I’m going to finally corrupt you I need you to ask Cupcake.” Your eyes fluttered shut, taking in his scent as your heart rapped against your ribcage.

“I want you Jay….T-to teach me, please.” Your eyes flick open just in time to catch a wicked grin spread across his face before your cheeks were cupped in his warm palms, tugging your lips into his in a heated kiss. Your sighs mingle together, finally exploring what you both silently desired for so long. His tongue danced across your bottom lip asking for entrance as you gasped letting his tongue fight yours, forcing a moan from you that vibrated against his lips. He pulled away slowly, spit connecting you for a second before you’re licking your lips subconsciously. JJ observes your furrowed eyebrows and the redness flooding over your skin as your eyes stay closed in obvious pleasure.

“Still with me Gorgeous?” JJ asks, tapping your cheeks lightly, smiling excitedly as he watches you look up at him. His painfully hard erection rubbed against the zipper of his shorts as he adjusts his hips. Leaning back and resting his weight on his forearms, his crotch looming in front of you, your wide eyes telling him you have no clue how to start this. “Put your hands on my knees,” He instructs, shivering under your touch when you listen immediately, your cool hands resting against his steadily warming skin, “Good girl, now I want you to slowly move them up, like you’re not sure you want to take my pants off yet, tease me y’know?”

Your breath hitches at his praise, and he notices. You whimper as you try and follow his instructions drifting your hands across his broad thighs and letting your fingers tease under the fabric of his shorts, “You like being my good girl don’t you?” He asks, his voice teasing only slightly, his breathy voice making your thighs clench, rubbing them together desperate for friction.

“Yes, I do,” His eyes immediately catch onto the movement of your thighs, biting his lip while he watches you wiggle in front of him. He twitches in his shorts at the thought of you getting off to his pleasure, moaning loudly when he takes your hand in his pressing your palm directly into his bulge. Using his larger hand to move yours to perfectly cup around him and uses your palm moving it against his shaft as he swallows, desperately trying to collect himself.

“K-keep doing that until you’re ready,” He sighs, letting you continue at your own pace, moving his hand up to your hair to fix it, not wanting it to fall into your face as he watched your features for signs of distress, “When you want to unbuckle my belt and-“ He gasps cutting off his sentence when your fingers immediately jump to hastily undo his belt. Your shaking hands struggle for a few awkward seconds before you’re tugging his shorts down his thighs exposing his black boxers. JJ lifts his hips to let you discard his shorts fully, tossing them aside as you stare into his eyes triumphantly, “Good girl.”

Your wide smile as your hands tease their way back up his naked thighs just as he taught you has him reeling, practically shaking with excitement. “You like being praised, don’t you Mama?” He asks, tugging his lip between his teeth when your fingers find his cock again. He tugs your hand upward, moaning when he presses your hand into his tip, stopping your movements entirely until you respond.

“Yes Jay.” You whine, your tone impatient as you wiggle your hand under his, making him release a breathy moan laced with a laugh as he releases your hand, letting it continue it’s excited exploration of him. Your free hand started to sneak it’s way up his body, making him jolt forward as your cold hand found it’s way into his shirt.

“Who do you wanna learn this for?” JJ blurts out, not entirely wanting to hear the answer as he tugs his shirt over his head impatiently. Closing his eyes as your nails dig their way back down his chest, part of him wondering how you knew he’d like that.

“Myself.” JJ feels the smile grow back on his face, relief flooding his body as he opens his eyes, locking onto your wide gaze looking up to him expectantly. You want his instructions, and he wants to draw this out.

“So there’s no one in that precious mind of yours right now?” He asks, letting his eyes fall down your face, gazing at your wet lips before eyeing your cleavage and wiggling hips. Trying to suppress that part of him that wants you to stay here like this forever.

“Well,” You giggle, palming him through his boxers just over his tip, loving the way his head falls back with a moan when you apply more pressure, “Right now I have you on my mind Jay.”

“Fuck, you have no idea what that does to me,” He smiles towards the ceiling, imagining all the times he came in his hand to this exact scenario, “I thought you were too good for me, why’d ya ask me?”

“Some girls at the party were talking about me, calling me your groupie and saying I wouldn’t know what to do with you if you ever gave me the chance, and I really wanted a chance.” You sigh, drifting your hand down his toned abs to tease the elastic of his underwear, letting it snap against his skin as your excited eyes find his again.

“Oh Princess,” he cooed caressing your cheek, “You have always had the chance. You were the first girl I ever imagined doing this for me.” His eyes went wide when he realized what he had said, almost backtracking before you interrupted him to speak.

“Good, because I can’t imagine anyone else teaching me, I trust you, I want it to be you.” You state simply, locking your eyes in his gaze and taking not of the hitch in his breath. In a spurt of confidence you’re tugging his boxers down his thighs, eyeing his thick, throbbing cock as it bounces free, eyes meeting his again in a beg, “Tell me what to do Jay.”

“First give the tip a kiss Baby,” You do as your told, touching your lips against his hot, red tip as it leaks precum onto your lips, “Mmm, fuck now get your tongue nice and wet and lick up the middle, when it feels right slide my tip against your tongue n’suck on it like those Cherry suckers you’re always begin’ me for.”

You laugh, suddenly feeling more and more confident as you watch him come undone above you. “Is that what you want Jay? Or are you goin’ easy on me?”

“If you think you can take me in one go do it Princess, but don’t think I’m pressuring you,” He sighed, watching your tongue wet the side of his pulsing cock, “I want you to go at the pace you’re comfortable with.”

You smile up at him as you separate from him, letting spit coat your tongue before moving to lick up the prominent vein popping out of the other side of his cock. He groans above you, subconsciously moving his hips closer to your mouth in uncontrollable excitement. As your lips caress against his red, leaking tip you slowly let spit drip from your lips onto him, watching as it drips down him and pools in the bit of trimmed hair at his base. His eyes pop from his head when you bring your hand up to spread your saliva over him, pumping your hand slowly and twisting it like you’d seen in videos. You watched his furrowed eyebrows, buying yourself time to work up enough spit in your mouth to take him fully. His lips tug into his teeth as his hips stutter upward into your hand.

“Where did you learn to do that?” JJ gasps, stuttering and twitching in your wet hand.

“Porn.” Your sickly sweet voice has him moaning and tugging at your hair, forcing you’re eyes up to his.

“You’re so fucking perfect.” He states before slamming his lips into yours, moving you back by your hair wrapped around his fist. You gape up at him wide mouthed, your hand speeding up when his eyes bounce between your open, drooling mouth and your blown out eyes as though asking for permission. You nod your head to him, not sure what he wanted to do but okay with it nonetheless. His free hand jumped to your chin, tugging your mouth open wider before leaning down and spitting directly onto your tongue. Rolling your eyes into the back of your head as you moan you shiver in front of him at the feeling of his spit mixing with yours, unknowingly helping you in your previous goal.

JJ chuckles at your reaction, moaning slightly when your hand speeds up again. You savior the feeling of his spit in your mouth for a second, your eyes latching onto his as you smile wickedly. JJ only takes a second’s pause before his eyed widen watching your mouth dip lower, his fingers subconsciously tightening in your hair, moving his other to grip the bed and ground himself. Breath fills your lungs from your nose, prepping yourself before teasing his tip with your tongue for only a second before you slowly slide him into your mouth. His hips jolt forward subconsciously, shuddering breathlessly when your eyes meet his over your lashes again. JJ curses under his breath, watching you take almost every inch of him in one go, sliding your head down his shaft, resting your hand at his base when you can’t fit anymore.

JJ moans loudly when you swallow around him, jerking his hips into you desperately trying to control himself, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you cut him off quickly, shoving your head as far down as you can go, feeling his tip twitching in the back of your throat as you gag around him. You pop your head up, dragging your tongue against the underside of his shaft, moaning at his taste and sending vibrations through him. You suckle on his tip, preparing yourself as you gasp for breath around him. You start to bob your head up and down him, swirling your tongue as you go dropping low enough to feel his pubes tickle your cheeks, his hands moving to the back of your head to tug your hair into his fingers.

“You’re a natural,” JJ sighs, “Feel like imma cum already Gorgeous, fuck.” Gazing up at him you watch his eyes try and stay open, try to maintain eye contact until they flutter shut when the tip of your tongue grazes his ballsack unintentionally. JJ subconsciously pushes your head down, pulling a moan from you as he groans into his bitten lip, hooded eyes watching you intently now as he tugs you off of him with a pop. His hand stays in your hair, his eyes watching the way your spit dribbles down your chin, mixing with your lipstick and contrasting the black mascara running down you cheeks.

“I want you to try something, but only if you’re comfortable okay?” You nod to him desperately, ignoring the fact that your hair’s probably a mess in his hand, “Flatten out your tongue f’me,” His voice was demanding but soft still, a side of him you had never seen before beginning to come forward, “Yea, good girl just like that,” He says as he watches you stick your tongue out for him, spit dripping down the middle and directly onto is erect cock, “Now lean down and suck on my balls Sweetheart.” Your eyes went wide watching how he bobbed infront of your face. “If you don’t want to that-“

A shiver runs down his spine and directly into his rock hard cock when your warm tongue drags against his heavy sack before you suck one into your mouth, his hand tugs into your hair harder instinctively as he shudders. His shaft twitches against your face, your tongue swirlly against his salty flesh, tugging off him with a pop. You look up to him, makeup dyed spit dripping off your chin and down your chest, “Like that?”

“Yes yes just like that,” He gasps, desperation laced in his tone, immediately making you drop your head back. Sucking his other tight ball into your mouth, swirling your tongue while he shakes you slowly move your hand that was supporting your weight on his knee under your dress, circling your clothed clit with two fingers. Moaning around him as your eyes flutter shut feeling the wet patch seeping through your underwear.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” JJ growls when he catches your hands movement, his hand caress your face gently contrasting his hard tone. Despite wanting to listen your eyes stay shut as you speed up your fingers movement, “Thought you said you liked being a good girl, now listen to me.”

Letting your eyes flicker open you feel your cheeks heating up even more when you catch his gaze. His blue eyes only egg you on further, your fingers speeding up subconsciously while he stares at you with a smile. Breathing through your nose you continue your mouths exploration of him, popping your mouth off of his flesh only to immediately suck his tip into your mouth again. JJ’s hand tugs your hair into a ponytail as you bob your mouth on him, his tip hitting your throat each time making you gag and moan on him. The vibrations of your noises make his hips jolt uncontrollably, his body and dick twitching together as your spit pools on his groin and slips down his thighs.

He releases a loud needy groan when you force your mouth off him, his hand falling from your hair and clutching the blanket below him, mumbling incoherently while trying to ask why you stopped. He whines loudly gasping and gripping the bed so hard his knuckles turn white when you drag your wet tongue from the middle of his ballsack directly to his tip. Moaning when he twitched against your face, sucking him into your mouth while you eye his adam’s apple bobbing. Sensing he was close you stop your fingers with a whine around him, moving in order to move your hands to support yourself on his knees as you suck your cheeks in. You drag your mouth down his shaft and JJ whimpers, shoving his hand into your hair and tugging as he cums down your throat, filling your mouth as you moan.

“Fuck I’m so sorry, I didn’t have time to warn you, do you need’ta spit?” He asks, trying to ignore the tingle running down his spine at the sight of his cum dribbling past your lips.

“It’s okay,” You state simply licking your lips clean, the sweet tone in your voice not changing despite the more than inappropriate circumstances, “Your cum tastes so good Jay, look I swallowed it already.” You stick your tongue out to him, showing what little residue remains as he groans above you again.

“If you need anymore lessons, you can always, and i mean always, come to Papa Jay.” His breathless voice makes you laugh as you hop up to sit next to him on the bed.

“Do you wanna take my virginity too.” The burst of confidence making him cum gave you almost wears off at the look of shock that grows onto JJ’s face.

“Damn Mama, you are so fucking bold tonight, you have no clue how many times I have imagined you asking me that.” He smiles at you, his large ring clad hand gripping your thigh as it sits beside him, “Wanna tell me how long you have been fantasizing about your best friend poppin’ your cherry?”

“Forever.”

“Mmmhmm, that’s what I wanted to hear.” JJ groans, pulling your thighs apart and shoving you backwards letting your dress ride up. He rolls over you, settling over you where you lay on his bed, framing your face with his arms. “I think it’s your turn right now though don’t you?” Shivers run down your spine at his tone, subconsciously trying to rub your thighs together earning a teasing laugh from JJ. You brace yourself on his waste, tugging him closer to you as his lips crash into yours, tongues immediately starting to fight for dominance only for him to win with a groan.

“We should save your first time until there’s not a dozen people right outside the door.” Lowering his voice to a whisper as he lightly digs his hips into you, “And I think we need to have a conversation before we….move forward.” Letting his lips graze your neck as he keeps going he smiles at your gasps of appreciation, “But don’t think I don’t really, really want to right now.”

JJ’s teeth tug at the spaghetti strap string of your dress as he crawls lower down your body, letting it snap back against your skin with a sigh, “You’re so fucking gorgeous, so perfect I can’t even look at you sometimes.” The warm feeling of his tongue against your collar bone has you bucking against him desperately, hissing when his teeth nip at the exposed flesh of your breast.

“I love when you wear this dress,” JJ moans against your skin, his head falling low enough to push his face into your chest for a few seconds, wiggling it around dramatically, making you laugh before be continues his decent, “I don’t wanna take it off.” He groans, biting at your flesh through the fabric.

“Then don’t.” You say breathlessly, smiling down to him as you tangle your fingers into his hair. He smiles back to you, quickly pushing himself down the bed the rest of the way so he was face to face with your exposed thighs. With a quick flick of his wrists he flips the hem of your dress up, exposing your damp matching underwear.

“You matched your underwear to your outfit? That’s so cute.” JJ groans, dipping his head to bite at the flesh of your thigh as his hands slowly work their way up your thighs. He pulls back, watching intently as he slips his fingers past the lace hem of your underwear, tugging them down as you lift your hips to help. You watch him as he tosses your underwear behind him, his eyes meeting yours for a second seeking consent as he shoves your thighs further apart, putting you completely on display for him. JJ licks his lips as he eyes you, moving his hands slowly under and around your thighs resting them on his shoulders before shoving your hips down with his large palms. He groans loudly as he bites into the flesh of your thigh beside him, slowly licking his way to your center and leaving a wet trail behind.

His hands hold your hips down hard as they jolt upward with your moan and laughs into you happily. Eyeing the way your head falls back, your chest rising and fallen he quickly speeds up his tongues pursuit of your clit. Watching you as one hand hangs above your head and the other plays with his hair, JJ can’t think of anything that looks better.

“Oh my god,” You yell, the feeling of his tongue flattening against you, slowly licking back and forth over your clit before quickly sucking it into his mouth. You scream a moan at the sensation, tugging at JJ’s hair aggressively not caring if anyone outside the door can hear your pleasure. “Do that again Jay.” JJ’s lips pop off of you into a smile, his lips glistening with your release before he drops his head back into you. Flicking his tongue aggressively against you as he licks up your slit, groaning at the feeling of your nails against his scalp when he sucks your clit into his mouth again. JJ can feel himself growing hard against the blanket at your taste, your shaking legs egging him on as your release quickly approaches.

The feeling of JJ’s tongue prodding at your entrance as you clench on nothing has the tightening feeling in your abdomen worsening, making you whine and wiggle your hips subconsciously. The grip of JJ’s hands on your hip tightens, his nails digging into your flesh as he grinds himself into the mattress at your excitement. He plunges his tongue into you, collecting your juices on his tongue with a desperate groan, his eyes flickering shut as he moves to flick his tongue against your puffy clit again. JJ pulls back quickly making you whine and tug at his hair, trying to shove him back into you and forcing a wicked laugh from him as he spits directly onto you and dives back in. You shudder when he starts to lap against you wildly, your hips jolting and your back arching, your hands tugs on his hair harder as you cum, the almost painful band in your abdomen breaking in a euphoric release. Moaning so loudly you know for sure anyone close enough to the door could hear but you didn’t care as you came undone on your best friend’s tongue, breath shaking as your body twitches.

JJ’s tongue slows, pushing himself up to get a better look at your post orgasm face, your eyes unfocused and your mouth open in gasping breaths. He slowly crawls up your body, smiling in your face and you smile back at him the best your can, he groans at the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your hair sticking to your forehead as he smash his lips into you. The taste of yourself lingers on his tongue as you both moan into each other.

——————

I might wanna do a part 2 of this for their first time, would anyone be interested in that?

PART TWO: Another Lesson?