#pov: they fought

[incorrectzbone]

Ricky, looking through his closet: hey, what should I change into?

Gyuvin, from across the hall and beyond two doors: a better person.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One / Part Two / Part Three (you're here)/ Part Four

A03

It ain’t much.” Wayne started, half-curious if the sight of his trailer would be the thing to offend Steve’s (so far lacking) born-rich sensibilities. 

Of course turning to look at the kid proved he was in his own head about this more than Steve was, because Steve had his eyes closed and looked two seconds away from puking. 

Right. 

Pain management. 

“I’ll get your stuff.” Wayne said as he guided the truck to its usual parking spot. 

Steve’s quiet ‘okay’ had him hustling a little bit, and the fact he had to gently guide the kid’s hand off his bag handle told him it was the right choice. 

The nailbat could wait in the car for the moment he figured, as he led Harrington in. He’d get it sorted once he’d fished out the pain pills and gotten Steve settled a bit. 

"Eds--he's my nephew that I told you about--has the bedroom, so you and I get to share out here." Wayne explained as he loaded Steve up on Tylenol and put a bag of frozen peas in his hand, not bothering to give a tour of the trailer. 

It was pretty damn clear which door led to the bathroom and which didn’t, given Ed’s door was wide open. 

Steve peeked at the absolute chaos strewn about beyond the doorframe but didn’t say nothing of it. 

Didn’t, in fact, even look too long, instead sitting at the table as directed. 

Seemed to sink a little into it, leaning an elbow on the cheap wood to help keep his head up. 

"The couch is a pull out, but I'll warn you the bar across the middle is nasty. I usually sleep on the cot over there," Wayne nodded to where it was rolled neatly against the opposite wall, "but given the state of you, I'll let ya have your pick." 

Steve blinked (or winked, not like Wayne could tell since the peas were pressed against half of his face) finally seeming to perk up a bit. "I can't take your bed." 

"I'm not going to fight you for it, I'm just offering." Wayne responded, now focused on trying to locate the bandages in his ancient medical kit. 

The one on Steve's hand was falling apart, and he didn't like the look of the injury he could see under it. 

Yeah, Wayne was absolutely going to need to make a run to the store. 

“Lemme see.” He asked as he finally got what he wanted. 

It seemed to take Harrington a minute to process what Wayne wanted, but he finally held out his injured hand, watching as Wayne unwrapped the bandages.

"I'll take the couch." Steve said stubbornly, but Wayne was past it, too busy frowning at the kid's hand. 

It took him a moment, once he'd gotten it all off, to properly realize what he was seeing--that the mottled bruising on Steve's wrist was separate from the cut across his palm.

In fact, it looked a hell of a lot like…

Wayne paused, then pretended to fuss with the dirty bandages for a moment while his eyes sought out Steve's other wrist.

Sure enough, matching bruises.

Someone had tied the kid up--and it hadn’t been the feds, because these bruises were partially healed. 

Wayne had initially thought of Steve as having been tortured in the same way roving bands of neighborhood kids tortured their peers. The kind of hurt that came when it was an unfair fight; four on one and wielding knives, so you had to take what you were given and pray you didn't get stabbed. 

He was not thinking actual, honest to God torture. 

Yet here the evidence was, plain as day.

'What the hell went down in that mall.' 

Someone as young as Steve shouldn't have been caught up in it, and it made a deep part of Wayne ache for the poor kid across from him.  

All this shit, and his parents still couldn't be bothered to come home.Just left him on his own, as if it was another Tuesday. 

Did they even know? Wayne wondered as he got to work. Had Steve, or Hopper, or anyone tried to call them about the mallfire? Let them know their son got hurt?

Jim said he hadn’t bothered to reach out regarding the spooks, but that had been a week or so later past the fire. 

Wayne couldn’t even imagine it. 

Getting a call that Eddie been involved in such a thing would have him off the couch in an instant, and the image that played on the news, the ones all the reporters talked over of a gurney being wheeled out of Starcourt’s on fire front doors…

He’d have been a wreck until he had his kid in his sights. 

‘Nothing you can do for that,’ Wayne figured silently, ‘but you can help him now.’

Wayne wasn't exactly an expert when it came to wound care, but like many people who just couldn't afford to go to a doctor he'd gotten by.

Learned a lot of home remedies. Figured out pretty quick when something needed to be seen by an expert and when you could hold off.

Made friends with some of the local nurses on the night shift down at the Red Barn, well enough that a few well baked treats and dishes could sometimes be traded for looking over a potentially broken arm or two. 

It had come in handy plenty, given Ed’s ability to attract trouble, but thankfully he’d never managed to hurt himself like this. 

He’d never even gotten caught in a bad fight. 

A black eye or two sure, but the kid had adapted his “scary” act not too long after Wayne had gotten him, and it seemed to work as intended. It was half the reason Wayne never said anything about it (and hell, even let Eddie take his ancient leather motorcycle jacket.) .

All of that was to say that he could tell Harrington's hand needed cleaning before it could be rebandaged, but didn't appear to need stitches. 

Course pouring alcohol all over an injury like this wasn't exactly going to be fun, and he told Steve as such.

"I know." Steve replied, with a grimace. The kid’s injuries seemed to be getting to him, and Wayne anticipated he was going to drop here the second Wayne was done looking him over. 

He hoped Harrington could get in a few hours--particularly before Eddie came home. 

Wayne gently wiped it clean, noting how well Steve sat given the amount of pain he had to be in.

Tylenol, even given the more than recommended amount he'd given Steve, just wasn't going to cut it. 

Not in general, and definitely not for this. 

What could help was likely something Eds had, which was yet another conversation Wayne wasn't looking forward to having.

Particularly given that Eds had sworn off selling hard drugs after his last encounter with Hopper, and Wayne knew damn well that had only lasted until the damn kid caught sight of an overdue bill. 

Too smart for his own good, Eddie was.

"I can give you something to bite down on, if you like." Wayne said to Steve, getting the alcohol and bandages ready to go. 

He got a tight smile in response. "So long as you don't use a needle, I'm good." 

And Wayne figured it was just teenager talk--a young man who didn't really know how bad this was going to be, and prepared himself to hold Steve's arm down accordingly so they wouldn't have to do it twice.

"Four." Wayne counted down. "Three. Two."

He poured on two.

Better that than Steve clenching up in anticipation.

Steve hissed, arm jerking, but stilled it under his own power as Wayne began dabbing his hand with some of the medkit’s wipes. 

He felt his eyebrow raise as Harrington froze himself in place, breathing in a way that felt practiced. 

This, Wayne decided, was not Steve's first rodeo. 

"Almost done." He promised softly as he finished wrapping the wound back up, this time in the pattern he'd been shown long ago. 

"Thanks." Steve said, blinking rapidly. 

The kid's eyes were wet, but he didn't let a tear fall, and that perked Wayne's attention more than anything. 

Some men felt they weren't allowed to cry--and pushed the same ideals on their sons. 

It wouldn't surprise him any if Richard Harrington was one of them. 

"I know you got hit more than just your hands and face kid." Wayne said, after letting Steve have a moment to recover. "You bleeding under that shirt?"

"Not bleeding." Steve murmured, looking more and more like he was struggling to stay upright now that the worst part was over. "I think my hand got the worst of it."

"Do I want to know what happened there?" Wayne asked, keeping his voice calm and non judgemental. 

Like they were back to talking sports.

"I fell back into a broken window.” Steve responded, and now that Wayne had seen the kid lie, it was easy to see when he was telling the truth. 

"Ouch." Wayne said flatly. Which made that hint of a smile flash across Steve's face. 

"I'll cut you a deal. I taped last weekend's game, but haven't had time to watch it yet. I figure you might not have had a chance neither." He sat back, nailing Harrington with a no-nonsense stare. "You let me take a look at what they did to your chest n' back there, and I'll put it on."

Steve just looked at him a little miserably, a beaten dog still hesitant to wag its tail. "I don't think there's anything you can do for it, it's really mostly bruised. Nothing feels broken though."

"You know what broken ribs feel like?" Wayne questioned partially out of curiosity but mostly to make sure.

Teenage boys loved to think themselves immortal after all.

Or at least his did.

"Cracked, but yeah." Steve admitted. "Couldn't finish out the year on the basketball team because of it."

He said it like it didn't hurt, but Wayne knew better.

Boy like Steve? 

He'd bet big bills something like basketball was all the kid really had, in terms of positive relationships.

(Except apparently, whatever had made Hopper decide to look after him.)

"I mostly just wanna make sure nothing looks like it's broken or bleeding internally son." Wayne said, then tried to cinch it with some good old guilt tripping. "I'd hate to have to tell Hopper that after all he went through to keep you safe, you up and died on my couch." 

"Hey, it might save him some future gray hairs." Steve responded but he looked a little more open to the idea, at least. 

It took a bit more coaxing, but Wayne finally got the kid to take his shirt off. 

The damage had him whistling out of instinct.

A fucking artist had gone to town on his torso, with bruised of all shades parading around to his left side. 

Thankfully most of it didn't hold that deep, dark tone that indicated any kind of bleeding, his back had scratches and road rash, and his shoulder had one long, thin line that looked a hell of a lot like Steve had narrowly avoided getting cut with a knife. 

"You got lucky, kid." Wayne told him.

Steve let out a shaky breath. "I know." 

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, a question clear on his face. 

Which of course, was the exact moment Eddie chose to walk through the door. 

"Hey old man, I--Harrington!?" 

"Munson?" Steve said, looking just as confused. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Eddie had frozen in their little entryway, so close the door nearly whacked him on the ass as it slammed closed. 

Privately, Wayne cursed his nephew's awful timing.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie challenged back, and it was only years of Wayne knowin’ the kid to see he was struggling to decide how he wanted to react. 

“Uh…” Steve said, trailing off and looking pointedly at Wayne. 

Eddie saw this just as he registered all of Steve’s injuries. “Shit Wayne, did you hit him with your car?” 

“Don’t try to be funny, boy.” Wayne warned. There wasn’t much bite there, and Eddie, far too used to him, didn’t take it seriously.

Eddie was glued to the spot, eyes narrowing, “... Did Harrington hit the car with his fuckin’ face? Jesus christ.” 

Wayne could tell he was struggling to pull one of his usual little bits, eyes too wide and voice too high. 

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Eddie.”

“We can take him out back and shoot him, put the poor bastard out of his misery.” Eddie continued, like a runaway train. 

All gas, no breaks. 

It was a joke but a poor one, and it made Steve straighten out of his sideways slant. 

‘Dammit.’  Wayne thought with a sigh. 

He needed to stop this now, before the two of them went for each other's throats. 

“Since you already know each other I won’t bother with introductions.” Wayne cut in, before Eddie could blow up like a tea kettle--or cause Harrington to do the same. “Steve’s gonna be staying with us for a while.”

That of course, got the reaction Wayne had been hoping to avoid. 

Eddie stood stunned for a second, mouth gaping like a fish. 

“Why!?” He finally landed on, seeming both at a loss for words, and equally trying not to have a proper meltdown in front of Steve. 

Certainly wasn’t for Wayne’s benefit. 

"I'm…" Steve glanced at Wayne a second time, "...on vacation?"

 It took everything Wayne had in him not to run a hand down his face. 

He was going to give Harrington a pass, on account of the head trauma.

"You’re vacationing here.”Eddie’s tone was flat, but seething, like a lit fuse. “In my living room?” 

“...Yeah?” He finished poorly tone up-ticking at the end like it was a question. “It’s a--college thing. Supposed to help my applications.” 

This time, Wayne did run a hand down his face this time. 

God save him from idiot teenagers. 

Hands clenched tight, Eddie took an aborted glance to the right before shaking his head hard and scoffing. At least it let Wayne know exactly what his kid was thinking. 

To Eddie’s right was the counter where Wayne kept the bills. 

Before he realized just how badly Ed’s daddy had messed him up about such things, Wayne hadn’t bothered to hide the bills that were past due. Turns out the kid noticed such things, and worry over money had been the leading factor in more than one of Eddie’s run-ins with Hop.

Clearly, he thought it was the cause of Wayne entertaining this bullshit. 

Offense was written in every rigid line of his body, and Wayne knew betrayal wasn’t gonna be far behind. 

“What the hell Wayne!” Eddie spat, taking a singular step forward, the accent he tried so hard to hide growing thicker the madder he got. “We’re not a damn experiment--why would you agree to that!?” 

He had seconds to salvage this, before Ed’s ran and did something dumb. 

“‘Steve’s here cause I owe Hopper a favor.” Wayne answered honestly, standing to put himself between the two. “He reminded me of all the times he’s been good to you, and then he called it in. Now,” 

He cut Eddie off before his rant could pick up steam and bowl them all over. “I need you both to listen to me. Steve, I need Eddie to know the basics in order to keep you safe. I’ll only tell him what he needs to hear to understand why that is.” 

Steve stared at him for a moment, catching Wayne’s eye as the elder man positioned himself so he could see both boys at once.

“Okay.” Steve said, dropping the hesitant tone for something serious. 

Eddie said nothing, crossing his arms tightly over his chest and gripping the edges of his jacket hard enough to leave creases. 

Judging that as good enough, Wayne continued. “He’s not here on vacation, Ed’s. Hopper has asked us to house Steve for a bit due to an ongoing situation. It’s a dangerous one, and it’s important you do not tell anyone that Steve is here.”

Eddie’s mouth did the thing it did when he desperately wanted to say something, but Wayne held up a finger in the universal “wait.” position. 

“Let me finish.” He warned, and though he caught a hell of a glare for it, Eddie remained silent. 

“Right now I need you to trust me, son.” He said softly, and prayed that alone was enough for now. “I don’t do things without a good reason behind it. I know you know that. Let me get Steve settled, and I’ll come talk to you.” 

He could go in depth a little more, outside of Harrington’s eyesight. There Eddie would be inclined to drop the parts of his personality he put on blast as a defense mechanism, and ideally, Steve could get the sleep he so desperately needed. 

“It’ll be tight, but we’ll all get through this so long as you two keep your heads. “You both got plenty of problems right now on your own, you don’t need to add to it. You understand?”  

Eddie’s eyes narrowed dramatically as he sucked in a deep breath. 

“Fine.” He snarled, letting air hiss through his clenched teeth. “As long as King Dick here can keep himself out of my shit.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait--or perhaps, was simply too tired to want to do anything but exit the conversation. 

‘Yes Sir.” He said instead, and Wayne didn’t bother correcting him that time. Simply clocked the title as a nervous tick of Steve’s and let himself feel that brief pang of sorrow that he’d caused the kid to backslide a bit trust wise.

No use for it, though.

Not if he wanted peace in his home. 

“Good.” Wayne said. 

Eddie stormed past, beeling towards his room. 

The door closed with an angry slam, the sound echoing throughout the trailer. 

Steve reacted like a puppet with its strings cut, letting out his own breath and going right back to slumping sideways. 

“Come on kid.” Wayne said quietly. “I think it’s beyond time you got to lay down. Let’s get you a shirt and some blankets.”

Steve didn’t say a word, just managed to get himself up and over to the couch, fumbling for his bag. 

“Oh.” He said after a moment, pulling a green sweater from the duffel and blinking dully at it. “Shit--I mean, shoot.” He shot a guilty look to Wayne, like Eddie hadn’t just sworn up a storm in front of them both. 

“What’s the matter?” Wayne just asked. 

“It’s nothing, I just-- grabbed the wrong bag.” Steve told him earnestly. It was clear the day had taken a hard toll on him, because he was blinking rapidly, fighting away sleep. 

A bad sign, given the energy Eddie had just come in with. 

It should be taking him longer to feel safe to drop off, and that he was doin’ so anyway was a bad testament to the state of him. 

“You need a different one?”

Steve shook his head. “No this is just my grab bag for the Upsi-errrm.” He hummed, before falling silent for a minute. 

Wayne let him fish for words at his leisure. 

“These are just clothes that I couldn’t get stains out of, kept them as backups.” Steve managed, before beginning the long process of pulling a shirt on. 

Wayne almost offered to help, except he knew he’d likely be rejected. It was too soon, the trust between them not there yet. 

He almost let the clothing comment go, figured it as  just one of those things the brain did when it was injured and run down. The sweater Steve was struggling with was expensive and soft, and Wayne didn’t even see a stain until the poor kid finally finished getting it on. 

He nearly froze, for the second time that day, when he did.

On one sleeve, smeared like Steve had wiped his face with it, was a bloodstain. 

This one was old, and clearly attempts had been made to get it out. 

‘Aw kid.’ He thought, staring at Steve as the kid managed to swing himself up on the couch, looking seconds away from dropping off. ‘What the hell has life done to you.’

It didn’t take long before sleep took him, but Wayne watched over him for a bit longer anyway, working up to what the hell he was going to tell his kid. 

Eddie might very well not forgive him for this, but Wayne had a shot now to head things off before they got worse. 

He just had to find the right words. 

[cheriafreya]

Getting ready 💄

[meirimerens]

[mikakuna]

actually the thing that pisses me off when fandom talks about the titans tower incident isn't even just that people wildly misinterpret/overreact to it, but that they only care about it because it happened to tim

half the other unhinged shit jason has done towards heroes (beautiful and spectacular) is like. never brought up. the titans tower incident is just tim fans' way of angsting up their blank canvas

[kationella]

I wish we had gotten the POV of someone with more of a history with their godly parent during the Battle of the Acropolis. And by that I mean either Percy or Annabeth. If Nico or Thalia had been there I would have been okay with their POVs too.

Can you imagine the tension, angst, and yearning during the fight? Did they trade words or battle banter? Annabeth had recently dealt with the fallout of the Mark of Athena, and now she has to fight alongside the one who started that whole mess. This would have made for an excellent opportunity to address Annabeth's feelings and relationship with Athena across the series, giving that background plotline that has been since The Lightning Thief closure.

Or maybe the appearance of multiple sons of Poseidon across HOO foreshadows a final talk between Percy and Poseidon after the fight. After they can finally stand physically together side by side. Percy, after being left alone by his father once the Great Prophecy ended, feels the true (maybe now fully unconditional) support of his father for the first time in his life. A great send-off for Percy as a protagonist before focusing on new characters in the next sagas.

Just... they were DEMIGODS fighting alongside their GODLY PARENTS. That was huge. The kind of shit you only saw in fanfics. I just feel it could have been... more(?).

[hualianisms]

There's sometimes a misconception that Feng Xin is totally subservient to Xie Lian or afraid to say no to XL but FX often scolds/nags XL and has on multiple occasions told him to do or not do something.

FX has his own convictions and mind of his own too. He trusts XL's judgment on major decisions, following XL's call for serious matters, but imo it's not subservience, but rather loyalty borne out of a firm belief and conviction in XL's moral compass. FX's loyalty is bc of FX's own righteous principles and own moral code too.

In bk 4 FX argued with XL and questioned XL's decisions, and was even openly angry at XL, like when XL almost killed a commoner just for disrespecting XL and called the commoner a derogatory term. FX was angry at XL and yelled at XL for that bc FX has his own strong moral code that includes not harming innocents or doing unscrupulous things. He's not just blindly loyal. He has his own convictions too.

And he's certainly not a people pleaser or someone who follows rules to the letter. It's considered rude and unbecoming for heavenly officials to be too vulgar in the heavenly court, yet FX cusses openly all the time without a care. Would a people pleaser who was scared of breaking the smallest rule do that? FX is simply not someone who is afraid of saying no.

[sirinoya]

just because i thought it was really fun, here’s the amount of hearts grian took from gem and the scotts:

gem: 56.5 —> 49; 48.5 —> 5 (51 + 2 gapple hearts)

scott: 35.5 —> 11.5 (24 + 2 gapple hearts)

impulse: 30 —> 7.5 (22.5 + 2 gapple hearts)

total: 97.5 + 6 gapple hearts

[1doesnotsimplyhavejust1fandam]

Imagine being such close besties with someone that your entire world knows about it. Just. Sirius Black and James Potter being so close that literally nobody questions that Sirius was the Potters’ Secret Keeper, even when he immediately went after Peter in a very public way, instead of laying low like any sane person would do after they were just revealed a traitor and their precious Lord died (although, they did think Sirius went mad, so it makes sense in a way). But of everyone in the Order, no one once questioned the Potters making Sirius their Secret Keeper, despite his prejudiced family, despite the Prank, despite any number of ways in which Sirius wasn’t perfect. Everyone in the Wizarding World still saw Sirius and James, and thought, “yeah, there’s no way it was anyone else, even if the betrayal makes their friendship seem so much less deep”. There was no reason for Remus to question it because he watched James and Sirius be the best of friends for a decade, he knew Sirius was Harry’s godfather, he knew James would have trusted no one more, that Lily loved Sirius and thought the world of him. There really was no other choice for the Potters, to anyone.

Which makes Peter being Secret Keeper that much more awful because it was such a genius move! Sirius was actually so smart to try this twist, to suggest making Peter the Secret Keeper. He knew everyone knew how close him and James were, how close he’d always been to the Potter family, he knew they’d come after him and Sirius would’ve DIED rather than betray his friends, his godson. He would’ve died to protect Peter too, so that nobody would know who the Secret Keeper really was. There was no reason to suspect Peter when there was Sirius Black, known Death Eater hater and unendingly loyal to his friends, RIGHT THERE. If Sirius really HAD died, he would’ve gone out thinking his friends would still be safe bc once Voldemort discovered he wasn’t the Secret Keeper, it would’ve jumped to Remus or even an older Light member like Moody or Dumbledore. Sirius damned himself knowingly, before ever finding out that Peter had gotten the Potters killed.

Sometimes I think about how Sirius managed to convince James and Lily to use Peter instead of him. They both must’ve known that Sirius would be killed immediately once it was determined that he didn’t know the Secret, so Sirius must have used Harry against them, said that they needed to do ANYTHING to keep their little boy safe, even if it meant Sirius offering himself up as a target, a sacrifice for their safety. Sirius must have thought he was so smart, because he found a way to keep his friends and godson safe, even though he wasn’t the Secret Keeper, and he didn’t put them at risk by trusting “potential spy: Remus Lupin”. He must have argued with James and Lily for ages about it, convincing them that it was the right decision, some misdirection to keep them safer for longer, another line of defense between their little Harry and the monster who wanted to destroy him.

It’s already wild to me that Sirius even held enough power/voice in this discussion to even suggest Peter as Secret Keeper. Like, the level of trust James and Lily must’ve had in him, to entrust their lives AND their son’s in Sirius’ plan? Nobody can ever say that Sirius wasn’t loved and trusted to the ends of the earth by James and Lily. They wanted HIM because there was nobody they trusted more, even with how reckless Sirius is shown to be, even years later. Trying to imagine Sirius in Azkaban all those years, knowing he basically handed his best friends over to Voldemort with that plan? Hell on earth, literally. He speaks on it maybe once to Harry in the entirety of the series, and it’s so clear that he is completely derisive about the plan. He despises the fact that it was his plan that got his best friends killed, that caused Harry to lose his parents. He blames himself (and Peter), but he had over a decade to sit in prison and think about the what ifs of that plan, to remember that it was his idea that killed James and Lily.

[its-all-papaya]

please do a fic with lestappen+54 after seeing max and daniel leave the paddock together and then take a helicopter

This took a month+ but good news! It’s literally 7k.

have you ever wondered what would happen if anybody, nowhere and the devil in me had a baby? and it was lestappen? with smut? that’s what this is in my brain. enjoy, or something. and happy 'he wins in monza' to charles leclerc and all of you too ofc.

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

54. out of envy or jealousy | lestappen | 6.9k

Charles is crying again. Over an hour out from the chequered flag by his measure, Max’s palms are on both of his cheeks, smudging tears out from under his eyelashes as he kisses Charles over and over. They’re still in their race suits, and the navy blue under Charles’ fingers makes the whole thing sweeter, for once.

“I love you,” Charles says, when he can get a word in, “I love this day, I love Monaco.”

“It’s good,” Max says, and his eyes look nearly as shiny as Charles imagines his own must, “we love you back, of course.”

Later, after they’re both sweaty and fucked-out and a tad drunk, still, he’ll ask with a bit of cheek if this isn’t Max’s favorite Monaco Grand Prix to date. Max will look up at him, chin propped just below Charles’ navel, and say “Monaco has always been quite good to the people I love.” Victory is fresh in his veins and Max has won Monaco twice, so Charles won’t think anything of it. He’ll drag Max up until they’re pressed together, sticky as they are, and he’ll fall asleep thinking of his own body breaking the surface of the water in Monaco, and it will never occur to him to consider anybody else’s.

Read the rest on ao3!

[ezralva]

Since JJK both manga and anime use lots of parallelism and analogy scattered around, I've been thinking why at the very start of Red Scale episode they took particular close-up to this sign

Then Yuuji running passed the sign, where his shadow intercepted with it. A similar pose of a man running.

Taking it out of context, the sign was one man, one body that is split into two parts. Depicting Yuuji's body who is housing two souls inside.

Then at the very end of the episode, when Yuuji was unconscious at death's door, we are once again given a close-up of the sign...

Now showing the sign was split in half...the body that was sectioned into two before now left with only 1 side... with blood splattered on it. Foreshadowing whose part is now left more on the upfront and the shitshow that's about to go down...

[sootsz]

certified classic hatsune miku moment

[adamfromsawreal]

veryyy fixated on the concept of drex and henry developing… not exactly a friendship, but an understanding of sorts, a very reluctant, slow understanding that hinders them both. i just think if this hadn’t been a kids show or wtvr their relationship could’ve been written in a very complicated and confusing manner and i would’ve eaten it up!!!!!!

[rewritingcanon]

scorbus is so cavetown coded and jalice is so tv girl coded and tedoire is so cigarettes after sex coded and lilysander is so hozier coded and yolly is so paramore coded and rosphia is so hayley kiyoko coded thanks for coming to my ted talk

[spacewombatty]

The day Obi-Wan died, a piece of Anakin went with him.

He'd grieved him the way the Earth grieves the sun in winter, a more apt metaphor because like the sun, he came back. When the sun returns, the ground celebrates it, relishes in the warmth and light as consistent as it had been at the beginning of time.

But suns had been nothing but cruel to him. Anakin remembered a time when he craved that warmth compared to the chilled void that was space. He remembered crouching in the corner, back to the metal hull separating their cots to the ship's beating heart, until Obi-Wan had tugged at his sleeve and brought him back to bed.

The next time he'd return to Tatooine, it would be to deliver his mother's body home. He'd stopped associating himself with that desert wasteland soon after, didn't bother visiting his surviving relatives when they'd left her to rot. They could die there, for all he'd cared. They probably would.

The Knight hadn't felt a rage akin to that since the day Rako Hardeen shot a hole through his Master's chest. Anger came easier when the enemy was a stranger. Now, it just felt like punishment.

Heat. Hot. Cruel. Obi-Wan was alive, and Anakin's temperature ran a high as the sand under the desert sun.

The man's profile stood out strong against Coruscant's skyline, features prominent and doused in shadow as he recounted what he'd managed to find on his mission. It had been an overwhelming success. His death had been entirely convincing in attracting the attention of Moralo Eval, Obi-Wan's high-standing status as a senior Jedi a worthy enough wager to outweigh suspicious and favor respect in the Republic Prison. His Master had the Council's full approval, and that was a wager heavy enough to outweigh Anakin's.

"Your death was most convincing," Plo Koon commented, voice crackling through the holocom.

Obi-Wan paused. "I'm not the one to thank for that."

Anakin had left before he could be formally dismissed, and his Master hadn't stopped him.

Anakin wanted desperately to hate him. He wanted Obi-Wan to beg for his forgiveness, for ruining something perfect they'd had together. He wanted to hate him for lying, for letting him grieve, for using Anakin like a pawn and then pushing him to the side when he was no longer needed. He wanted to hate him for taking away the last piece of home the Knight felt he had left.

But the war would and did continue along without them, and the months after were akin to grieving a second death. Anakin grieved the way his Master's gaze made his skin crawl, the way it made him want to break. Obi-Wan was infuriatingly calm, as unshakable as a tree braving the wind of the storm, and Anakin wanted to grab him and make him scream just so he wasn't alone, just so he would admit he felt the distance between them as potently as the Knight did. He wanted to drag Obi-Wan into the guilt, the hurt, the loss that he'd left his best friend alone in. He wanted Obi-Wan to say he was sorry.

Time eventually eroded away the sharper edges of their broken halves. By the time their wounds had healed, they just didn't fit together anymore.

The day Obi-Wan died, a piece of Anakin went with him. It would be the only part of him his Master got to keep.

[dollhousemary]

“appointment in samarra” — a belated poem for yesterday’s “underrated episode spotlight” prompt! this one’s for 6x11, from the perspective of tessa <3

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