#there are always Perfectly Good Reasons for doing things that hurt others (or for failing to consider that you might)

[echo-exco]

❝DID YOU GET ENOUGH LOVE, MY LITTLE DOVE, WHY DO YOU CRY?❞

୨⎯ ┊BATFAM X NEGLECTED!HEALER!READER ꒱

✰ ৎ──────SYPNOPSIS: all you ever wanted was a purpose. something that would give meaning to your existence, your power. healing others was the only thing that ever made you feel alive, needed… until you ended up in that awful place.

or… in which some decisions end in an unfortunate tragedy for some.

✰ ৎ────── masterlist. | prev. | next.

What’s so important about your power?

The question returns, as it always does, in the quiet moments. When no one is watching. When there’s no blood, no patients, no bodies to heal.

When there’s no excuse to exist.

Why do you do it? Why can’t you just stop?

It was never just about healing. It’s never been only that.

It’s… the only thing that gives you meaning.

You didn’t like hurting yourself, though you do. You didn’t enjoy the pain of others, though you feel it. You never wanted to die stitching together lives that weren’t your own, though you know that’s exactly what will happen if no one stops you.

It’s just that you don’t know how to live without it.

Every time someone bleeds and you can’t intervene, something curls inside you. Like you’re a broken doll, incomplete, incapable of fulfilling the one thing you were made to do.

Every time someone breaks and you don’t stitch them back together, a piece of you splinters too.

Your power became something greater than a skill.

It’s your compass. Your purpose, your voice.

When Masashi told you that you were special, that no one else could do what you could, you believed him.

How could you not? He let you heal. He let you treat patient after patient. He let you use your power. He looked at you with a warm smile when you were exhausted, bleeding, shaking… and told you that you’d done well.

He’s proud of you. He never asked if you were okay. Only if the patient had survived.

And over time, you learned to ignore yourself too.

When a bone breaks, you fix it. When an organ fails, you rebuild it. Even if it shatters you inside.

You know you can endure it.

You have to.

Bruce wouldn’t understand.

Your father would never accept it.

Would he be the first to stand against the only reason you have to live?

What’s the worth of a power if you can’t use it?

You never asked the question aloud. You didn’t have to, you already knew the answer. You’d felt it in your fingers, numbed by thread. In your nails, bloodied from stitching too hard. In the needle that no longer hurt when you drove it into your own arm just to practice, just so you wouldn’t forget what it felt like.

Just so you wouldn’t grow rusty.

Just so you could still be useful.

This power is yours. You had accepted it as such. It wasn’t a gift, and it wasn’t a curse. This power is a responsibility.

If you had it, then you had to use it. If you used it, then you could save. And if you could save lives… then maybe you weren’t a bad person.

That’s what you thought.

You weren’t a good person.

You’re not like them. You’ll never be like the heroes. They shine. They reach people’s hearts. Heroes lift buildings with a smile, capes fluttering in the wind, saying things that make people feel safe.

But you couldn’t do that.

You know perfectly well you don’t speak kindly to your patients. You sound irritated, frustrated, because you are. Why would you be happy treating injured people? You hated seeing the pain on their faces, but you loved the joy when you saved them.

You didn’t know how to comfort people. You only knew how to stitch torn flesh, mend shattered bones, repair punctured organs. You only knew how to drive a needle deep into their bodies and keep threading until their bodies stopped begging to die.

It was that… or nothing.

And now you were in Gotham.

The city that either rejects or embraces everything rotten in the world. Everything that could ever be like you.

Mutants, metas, people with abnormalities. Gotham didn’t want them. It didn’t need that kind of trouble. Ironically, though, the city also seemed to be a magnet for exactly those kinds of people.

Your father, Bruce, is the symbol of that, at least his alter ego is. Batman was the unspoken law. The silent rule that dictated: if you were born different, you were a potential threat to the city. To his city. Even if you wanted to help, even if you had never hurt anyone.

Because people born like you always ended up being a problem for the city and for the innocent. Everyone had to be investigated before being treated like a person.

You aren’t trusted.

Thankfully, Bruce hasn’t figured it out yet. No one in your family has.

You feel proud of having successfully fooled an entire family of heroes and detectives.

Then again, Masashi likely intervened in every document related to your existence, carefully crafting your life before Gotham to avoid suspicion.

That was… a rather helpful gesture on his part. You’re not surprised Masashi was so meticulous with your whereabouts. What genuinely does surprise you is that he didn’t warn you in advance about everything that was going to happen.

His silence is suspicious. Masashi has never left you alone for this long. He was always too clingy, too eager to spend every second by your side.

But then again, considering the kind of people your family is made of, it wouldn’t be surprising if Masashi took overly cautious, even surgical steps before finding a way into Gotham.

You can’t blame him. You’re scared of your own family too.

Every time Bruce walks past you… Every time one of your brothers talks about missions, villains, or justice… You shrink a little more inside. Like your very existence is a betrayal waiting to be exposed.

Because you know that once they find out what you really are, they won’t look at you the same way anymore. They won’t look at you like you’re something normal, like you’re something human.

You haven’t used your power.

You can’t use it.

You’re scared.

You’re terrified of all of them.

Is this really the right thing to do? Doubt fills you. You’re afraid… What do you want right now? There are no injured people in this mansion. No patients to treat.

Only you.

Running away like a coward, too afraid to face the consequences of your actions. With the truth of your existence pressing down on your shoulders.

Why did you want Bruce to look at you with the same approval Masashi always gave you?

You were alone again. The only company you had was the trembling in your fingers as you wondered how quickly you'd forget everything you’d learned.

What was the point of being alive if you couldn’t save anyone?

You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t dare say anything at all.

Because in the end, the only thing separating you from being a burden, the only thing that helped you believe you weren’t useless, the only thing that let you think you weren’t a bad person, that maybe, just maybe, you could really save someone’s life—

…was your power.

You loved your power. You adored it like nothing else in the world. Your power went far beyond any feeling of ego or control—over others or even yourself.

You loved your power because you knew that saving someone was the right thing to do.

The right thing, even if it hurt.

The right thing, even if you bled.

The right thing, even if it tore you apart.

Masashi always understood that. He was the one who helped you stop hating your power. He helped you stop questioning your existence, gave you a purpose, something to keep fighting for.

He never told you to stop.

He never scolded you for using it.

He was never horrified when you trembled with fever after healing over thirteen critically injured patients in a single night.

He just said: “Good job. You’re really… good at this, aren’t you?”

You believed him.

You were enough, for him.

Now you were here, in Gotham. A city where “goodness” was far more complicated than it pretended to be. You understand why a hero would stop you if they saw what you were doing.

You know they wouldn’t hurt you… And that was even more terrifying than being punished.

Because you understand that not hurting you would mean forbidding you. It would be the same as telling you that you can’t help anymore.

That you can’t save anyone.

That maybe… things would be better that way.

But you know that isn’t possible. If you stopped using your power, if you stopped healing, then who would you even be?

Who are you without your power?

Would you become that same dying girl with no last name again? Or would you turn into the greatest failure your father could have ever imagined?

No one.

You’d be no one.

Just a useless child, living in a massive house, waiting for something, or someone, to break, just so your existence could be justified.

At first, you thought maybe, just maybe, your father could understand. That foolish hope shattered the moment you found out Bruce Wayne was Batman.

Batman doesn’t trust what he can’t control.

You discovered his identity by accident. And with it, you discovered your sentence.

He wouldn’t allow what you do. You doubt Bruce would go as far as to believe a child is inherently evil… But you know it’s his job to stop things like you, and you don’t want to be stopped.

You can’t be stopped.

Because if you abandon everything that makes you who you are, then all that’s left is the worst version of you.

A broken child, a lie inside Wayne Manor, a horrible lie to this poor family, a metahuman hidden among orphaned children who fight crime wearing masks.

Damian already told you, and he’s right.

In this house, you’ll only ever be known as a burden.

You theorize that Bruce thinks he’s protecting you by keeping you on the sidelines. That he genuinely believes offering you a bed, food, a family close enough to see but distant enough to ignore, is enough to keep you safe.

Unfortunately for Bruce, he doesn’t know that it’s not enough. It never has been.

You can survive without all that.

What you need is something else. You need to save someone. To make your pain worth something. To see your power move. To watch the thread pass through flesh, in and out of their bodies.

You need this pain to be worth something.

If Bruce knew… he’d take it away. He’d lock you up, he’d isolate you. Maybe even hand you over, maybe because he secretly hated you for being a liar or maybe because he truly believed that separating you from your power was the healthiest thing he could do for you.

Unlike Masashi, Bruce would never accept that you needed to survive through your power.

Masashi at least knows. He knows that you’re already broken.

And still, he let you save lives.

This life is so painfully strange and complicated. You hope you’ve done the right thing, even as the doubts grow more unbearable with time.

You just hope… You’ll be able to leave this place at the right moment.

Masashi would never consider himself a ruthless man.

No, not at all.

He considers himself a just man.

Someone who does what must be done. Someone who doesn’t reject his true nature, who doesn’t waste time clinging to moral illusions about what’s right or wrong.

Masashi simply adapts. He takes advantage of every opportunity life gives him, molding the pieces as they best serve his cause.

That’s perfectly normal, for everyone. The only difference lies in whether you choose to accept it or live in ignorance while chasing vague moral ideals of what “good” means in this world.

To Masashi, you were one of those pieces.

If not the best one he’s ever obtained, ironically, even he didn’t realize that at first.

Meeting you was a blessing.

One he didn’t recognize until much later. Until the second time he saw you.

Masashi still remembers the first day he laid eyes on you.

Killing your mother was necessary.

It was even… fun.

That woman was foolish enough to think she could leave him. As if walking away would be enough to disappear without a trace. As if a traitor could ever hide from consequences.

Masashi always found a way to reclaim what he considered his.

Muchitsujo Seika.

A distinguished, highly respected woman, meticulous, brilliant in the field of medicine. She could have become a leading figure in Japan.

Seika could have been remembered for years to come, for her work, her pure effort.

But she made one critical mistake: She crossed a clear line. She dared to think her life belonged to her.

There’s no need to talk much about Seika. She was capable, talented, even brilliant.

But also naive.

She knew exactly who she was getting involved with. She knew she couldn’t leave without consequences. And yet she tried. Even knowing the risk. She actually believed she could hide a child from him.

Seika thought she could protect you from him.

The media didn’t say much.

They couldn’t. Masashi made sure of that.

Seika had been a well-known doctor in certain circles. Quiet, brilliant, with a spotless career and an unshakable reputation. Her sudden disappearance was, of course, an anomaly.

But Masashi filled in the blanks with an elegant and functional narrative: That Seika had chosen to leave medicine after an unexpected pregnancy and raise her daughter alone in a quiet place, away from the public eye. A reserved woman making a personal choice. Nothing more.

There was no body. There was no funeral.

Only an absence far too convenient.

It was the story he himself planted. The story you’d one day be told, whispered in a soft voice, with the rehearsed sorrow of someone who says, “I was too late.” A lie, carefully crafted, precisely manipulated by his own hand.

“Seika left to raise her daughter. Then… she vanished. Some say she was murdered. No one knows for certain what happened to her.”

All lies.

Masashi remembers the truth.

He remembers every second.

He remembers the blood. The spasms. The way Seika dragged herself across the freezing floor, dripping life, trying to reach the little creature she’d just brought into the world.

Just a few steps.

Never enough.

He remembers Seika on the hospital floor. The cold lights. The dull sound of her body collapsing against the tile.

It was a grotesque, desperate spectacle…

And at the same time, profoundly beautiful.

The terror in her face. The trembling in her hands. The pain in her eyes.

All of it was worth more than any apology she could’ve offered.

"You don’t have to do this… you don’t have to do this to her…” She whispered, barely a murmur, as blood poured down her coat.

“Of course I don’t.” He replied, voice gentle.

“But I want to.”

All she tried to do was reach the baby.

It was useless. Pathetic, even. The desperate effort of a mother who hadn’t yet realized she was already dead.

Masashi didn’t feel hatred. Just a flicker of irritation, like a tool breaking before it finished its task.

Still, even Masashi knew there was nothing interesting about caring for an infant.

A baby was useless. All it did was cry. The thought alone was tedious.

Who was supposed to take care of you? Him?

Ridiculous.

Then everything went quiet.

It was Charlotte who spoke next.

“The baby… are you going to get rid of her too?”

He looked at her without much interest.

“Why bother? She’s worthless. She’ll probably die with her mother. Wouldn’t that be lovely for them both?”

Charlotte lowered her gaze, calm.

“And yet… she could become useful. In time. You said the mother had potential. Maybe the daughter does too.”

Masashi didn’t answer right away.

“You’re suggesting I let her live?”

“I’m suggesting that if there’s no reason to kill her, letting her live isn’t a loss. If she dies on her own, time will have solved the matter for us. But if she survives… she might be worth something.”

He let out a soft laugh, thoroughly delighted by the idea Charlotte had offered. Masashi simply reached out and patted her head, like a master praising his dog.

“Good work. I really have taught you well.”

Masashi granted you the benefit of the doubt.

The decision was made. A decision based on logic. On a remote possibility, and the mild pleasure of watching what the future might bring.

There wasn’t much hope for you. You were just a tiny thing, so fragile, you barely counted as real.

Masashi didn’t believe you were special.

But like any other experiment, you had to be tested.

You were thrown into the nameless misery of Japan’s outskirts the moment you were born.

Brothels. Damp streets. Alleys where the sky didn’t seem to exist.

Seeing if you survived was the only curiosity in his mind.

If you did… maybe.

If not, who would mourn you?

If you couldn’t survive something that simple, then it was impossible for Masashi to imagine you'd be worth anything later.

Because it wasn’t as if someone would come for you, claim you, or protect you from the cruelties of the world at such a young age.

Years later, Masashi found you again. He hadn’t looked for you. Hadn’t even thought of you all those years. His expectations were minimal, if not nonexistent.

It was a coincidence, a twist of chance, but sometimes, fate arranges its pieces with terrifying precision.

The girl he saw wasn’t a living creature. She was an empty shell, dead eyes, the perfect mirror of her mother, without her fire. A walking corpse.

You were injured… and healing yourself.

The power surprised him. Not just the fact that it existed, but its rarity.

“Healing?” Masashi murmured, watching from a distance.

He crouched in front of you, studying the scene without intervening. Thin, almost transparent and luminous threads pierced your own flesh at inhuman speed. Needles, impossible to ignore, yet you didn’t cry. You didn’t even tremble.

You simply worked. As if that was the only thing you’d ever been taught to do.

“How interesting…” Masashi remembers how you looked at him.

Wordless. As if unsure whether you should fear him, or thank him. It no longer mattered. Because he had already decided.

That strange, broken, useful creature, would belong to him.

It wasn’t an act of love. It wasn’t vengeance. Because if he couldn’t keep Seika, then he would take what she left behind. As he should have from the beginning.

The daughter would suffice. You would be enough.

This time, Masashi would shape you from the start.

“You’re going to stay with me.” He said with a bright smile, stroking your head with something that resembled tenderness, but couldn’t possibly be called that.

“I’ll teach you not to waste what you are.”

You didn’t respond. You simply blinked, slowly.

You were empty. No mother. No father figures. No relatives to run to. No identity. No functioning emotional framework.

All that was left was that absurd need to serve, to heal, to do something useful with a body no one had asked to be born into.

Perfect.

Masashi would be more than happy to fill every corner of your being.

You didn’t have to ask for guidance.

He gave it to you.

You didn’t have to cry for your mother.

He told you he arrived too late. That there was nothing he could do. That he believed you had died along with her.

A convenient story.

He wasn’t trying to inspire pity. He simply needed to keep you calm.

Masashi found it almost moving.

You—a child with no trace of anger, no ambition, no drive.

You were just waiting for someone to tell you who you were.

And he did.

He told you pain must have a purpose. That you were only valuable if you could heal. That being good meant being useful, nothing more. That you could save the innocent with the gift you’d been given.

You believed him. You accepted it, desperately.

Because you had never known anything else.

You were far too lost back then to even consider searching for something more.

You just wanted to save lives.

At least that way, you wouldn’t be a bad person.

The room was dim, lit only by the warm lamp beside the bed and the pale glow of the moon slipping through the curtains. Seika had settled onto the futon with effort, cradling her belly in her arms as if holding something fragile, precious, irreplaceable.

She couldn’t sleep.

Lately, Seika rarely managed to.

This time, it wasn’t because of the sharp aches in her back or the accumulated exhaustion from the past few weeks, with the worrying surge of patients suffering from deadly diseases and injuries.

This time, it was something softer. Sweeter.

Something inside her was begging, pleading, not to let the night pass without saying something.

So she gave in to the whim of speaking to her daughter.

“You know… I’ve been thinking about you all day.” She murmured, gently caressing the soft curve of her abdomen. “I wondered if you’ll like the rain. It calms me... but you move around a lot when it rains. Does that mean you don’t like it? Or does it excite you?”

She smiled. A slow, tired smile, but a real one.

“I don’t know what color your eyes will be. That makes me laugh a little. I’d like them to be like mine, though… if you end up looking like him, I think I’ll still love you just as much.” She chuckled at her own illogical thought.

“Silly, right? As if I could stop loving you over a few genes.”

Seika paused. She closed her eyes for a moment. The silence was thick, all-encompassing. Outside, the wind shook the branches of the tree in the yard.

“I want to give you a peaceful life. A life of school, snacks, books… a slow childhood, like the ones you don’t see much anymore. Far from harm and problems no child should ever face. But I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if the world will let us.”

Her voice dropped, barely a whisper.

“I don’t know if he will let us.”

There it was... the name she didn’t dare say out loud.

Masashi.

Her worst mistake, her crime.

But Seika wasn’t going to think about that now. Not about that man. Not tonight. She couldn’t.

“No, no. Not tonight, little one.” She sighed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Tonight, I just want to imagine you happy. Walking through a park. Laughing with your mouth wide open, without fear. Breaking things by accident. Dreaming big dreams, the kind that sound impossible when you say them out loud.”

Her voice trembled.

“I want you to know that I wanted you. I waited for you. I worried. I protected you. As much as I could, I protected you.”

She brought her hands to the center of her belly and pressed gently, as if trying to draw that invisible bond between them even closer.

“I don’t know if I’ll be there to watch you grow. And even if I am… maybe not in the way I’d like.”

She swallowed hard.

“But I want you to know this: I love you already. I love you unconditionally. Without knowing you. I love you with a part of me I never used before.”

She lay down fully, slowly, exhaling as if the weight of the world had become a little easier to bear.

“I’ll name you with care.” She whispered. “I’ll give you something beautiful, something strong. A name that protects you when I’m not there, a name that feels like home. Not a weapon, not a curse… just a real name.”

A tear slid down her cheek, quiet.

“I want to give you everything I never had. I want you to never feel alone.”

She caressed her belly one last time, as the soft movements of the baby answered her touch, as if truly listening.

“If the world ever hurts you, I want you to know your mother loved you before you were born. That she talked to you every night. That she laughed to herself thinking about your imagined quirks. That she dreamed of your tiny hands, your voice, your face full of questions.”

Then, with a gentle sigh, she closed her eyes.

“Tonight, tonight and for all my life… I just want to love you.”

“I promise I’ll be a good mother… I only wish you’ll come into this world safely and live happily… without worries…” Seika hummed a familiar melody. A lullaby, perfect for practicing, for when you finally arrive into the world, into her life.

“I’ll love you for all eternity, little one… I already love you, and I always will.”

A shame that, without knowing it, this counted as a farewell for both of them.

Her precious daughter.

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[suzukiblu]

. . . so like, no PROMISES for doing the whole month, buuuuut . . . day one of “Kon meets pink kryptonite and decides to fuck Tim and his boyfriend about it” behind the cut. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh, should I? In all the spare space I’ve got in here?” Tim asks, still sounding wry. 

“Buy a bigger boat, babe, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bernard says reasonably. “How’re we gonna keep a kept boy without a bigger boat, huh? You want a big pet around, you gotta have a big space for him. Let him really stretch his legs, you know? Or spread ‘em, whichever.’ 

Kon buries another laugh in his arms and Tim rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. Jokes aside, they really are crammed in pretty tight on the bed–it is just not that big a bed to be fitting three people in–but Kon minds literally nothing about that. Not even a little bit does he mind that, in fact.

He likes it, more like. Likes being all up in someone else’s space even without anyone actually fucking each other or even making out or like–just, anything, he guesses. He doesn’t get to do that often enough, it always feels like. Everybody’s always–busy, or moving, or . . . 

He just wants to, like . . . get to do this kind of thing more often, he guesses. 

Doesn’t hurt that it’s Tim whose space he’s currently all up in, either. Like–he has definitely not gotten to be all up in Tim’s space too many times that weren’t directly related to one of them saving each other’s ass in a crisis situation. Or, like, occasionally being transportation to a crisis situation; that has also been a thing more than once. 

. . . actually, fuck, thinking too much about being Tim’s usual designated transportation or just being all shoved up in each other’s space while the world was trying to end while he’s gay is not something he’s gonna be able to be normal about, huh. 

Like . . . wow, yeah. Not even a little bit normal. 

Jesus. 

“Oh, I see, so this is just another excuse to try and get me to trade in my perfectly sound and perfectly outfitted boat,” Tim says, which sort of distracts Kon from his own personal Chernobyl: Horny Edition. Like, kind of, anyway. “Is there literally anything that we have not managed to do in this bed? Genuinely, please tell me what position you have in mind, I’m honestly curious.” 

“Well, what about letting your boy sleep at the foot of the bed?” Bernard asks even more reasonably, which actually just made Chernobyl: Horny Edition like, twelve billion times worse, probably. Just–Jesus, again. “You think you’ve got the real estate for that on this mattress? No you do not, because you’ve failed to plan ahead and you should be ashamed.” 

“Yeah, Rob, shouldn’t you have a Bat-contingency plan for that?” Kon teases past more laughter, and Tim sighs. 

“You know, I did worry if you’d get along with each other or not, but I think it’s worse that you do get along with each other,” he muses, picking a peach slice up off the plate in his lap and eyeing it assessingly, because Tim is literally incapable of not assessing things, apparently, boyfriend-delivered breakfast or otherwise. “Actually, no, it’s worse that you encourage each other.” 

“I’m a very encouraging person, man, what can I say?” Kon says, flashing him a sharp grin. Tim rolls his eyes again, but with that little fond smile again, and Kon feels warm and heady and a little bit desperate to get his mouth on his cock again or, like–get kissed again, maybe. 

It’s maybe a little stupid, how he can’t really tell the difference between those things. Like–which one he really wants, he means. But like, in his defense, he is still experiencing his own personal Chernobyl right now and he’s just doing his best with the resources he’s got available, okay? 

“Oh absolutely, yes, I’m always so encouraged in your presence,” Tim says wryly. Kon grins at him, then sticks his tongue out at him instead. Tim drops the peach slice on his tongue like a weirdo, and Kon represses another laugh and pulls it into his mouth. What, it tastes good. And it’s not any weirder than getting hand-fed a protein bar was, either way. 

Well–maybe still a little weird, but whatever. 

Tim picks up a piece of waffle–Bernard cut them up in quarters, Kon guesses–and holds that out to him, and that . . . Kon hesitates a bit over that, because . . . 

“Sorry,” Tim says. “Don’t want it to get cold.” 

“That’s, like–your plate, man,” Kon says, his face feeling a little hot as he flicks his eyes up from the offered waffle chunk to glance at Tim’s face, because for some ridiculous reason his brain’s gotten stuck on that over a waffle, even after not really thinking of it with just the peach. Though that seemed . . . less deliberate, maybe, so . . . 

“No it’s not,” Bernard replies matter-of-factly, shaking his head as he picks up a banana slice off his own plate and pops it into his mouth. “Tim’s plate has way fewer waffles on it and blueberries instead of peaches. Also oh my god, Tim, don’t feed your boy dry-ass waffle with nothing on it. There’s whipped cream and caramel sauce over here, you want any, Kon? Also butter, if you’re feeling basic. I won’t judge, sometimes the vibe is just butter.” 

Kon takes a long moment to process the fact that Bernard put the plate he made for him on Tim’s lap, and also that Bernard went to the effort to make his plate different, for like . . . whatever reason. 

“. . . um. Caramel, if that’s cool,” he answers, a little belated, and wondering if Tim, like–told Bernard he likes peaches, or . . . well, he’s pretty sure peaches and caramel sauce are not standard waffle toppings, or at least not standard in most people’s usual breakfast setups, so like . . . “Uh–thanks.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Bernard says easily, reaching over to the tray and coming back with, weirdly, like a little, like–carafe, or whatever? pitcher? like the kind of thing people put coffee creamer in, except just full of caramel instead–and passing it to Tim. 

Which . . . okay, low-key weird that Bernard felt the need to pour out the sauce bottle into a fancy little pitcher, but Kon isn’t gonna lie, he’s a little charmed by it. Like, it’s just a funny little quirk, but . . . 

“You’re so fucking cute, man,” he says, laughing again and then grinning at Bernard in amusement. “Like, A+ hosting, don’t get me wrong, totally killer hospitality, but I wasn’t gonna knock down Tim’s Yelp rating if the bottle was sticky or whatever.” 

“Huh?” Bernard asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression, then seems to realize something and clarifies–“Oh, no, Tim only has the shitty cheap syrup that makes a shell when you put it on ice cream or whatever, I wasn’t gonna put that on waffles, I just made my own.” 

“You made it?” Kon says in bemusement, a little startled by the idea. That’s like–a thing? “Like–what, from scratch?” 

“Yeah, Tim said you liked caramel but again, the only caramel he had on deck was shitty cheap stuff,” Bernard replies with a shrug as Tim pours some sauce onto–Kon’s plate, apparently–and swipes the waffle quarter he’s holding through it. “Personally I’m more the whipped cream type but like, caramel is way less annoying to make from scratch when you don’t have a stand mixer, which your bestie continues to refuse to invest in because of some nonsense about ‘limited counter space’. So like, normally he whips the cream, because it’s his fault I gotta do it by hand anyway and also, you know, he’s got all those sexy, cream-whipping vigilante muscles that I was pretending not to notice but was not above taking advantage of. But we didn’t want you to come up without somebody around, so today my arm is sore, fuck you, babe, buy at least a hand mixer already.” 

Kon . . . blinks, once or twice, and feels–weird, maybe, because that rattled-off chatter makes it sound like . . . like Bernard made that sauce, like–specifically for him? Like . . . just because of him? 

Did he? 

[deathbxnny]

"The sun always comes back in the morning." | Arlecchino x Wife!Fem!Reader

Please refer to my Genshin Masterlist in my Navigation Masterlist under Arlecchino's name for the previous parts of this, as I can't tag them for some reason.

Woo... man, this is the finale of a truly great series that I'm almost sad to see go... but I hope you guys will enjoy this and thank you once again for X Anon for their important and phenomenal contributions to our little community! (Read their ask HERE.)

Anyways... buckle in, because this may hurt. (I cried whilst making this ngl lmao)

Content: Bitter sweet ending?, doomed Yuri, wlw, wife reader, heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, sfw

Reader is afab and has she/her pronouns!

((Not proofread))

"Are you... sure about this, Mother?"

Lyney breathed out after a long, deafening pause. The flickering flames of the fireplace illuminated the room and filled the silent gaps between his barely audible words. His two siblings sat at his sides on the couch, bodies stiff and rigid, faces illuminated by the merciful warmth of the fire whilst their hearts ran cold.

But it was inevitable, wasn't it? Everyone knew it would happen eventually. They were just too scared to face the truth, wanting so desperately to disillusion themselves than to to see what was really happening.

And you couldn't help but smile at that knowingly, the corners of your lips shaking. You made them this way. You hid the truth from them for so long. Selfishness was never a part of you. It was their well-being and feelings you always put first.

But it was time for the truth.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Freminet was the one to break first. The tears came flooding in, his body shaking uncontrollably whilst he keeled over into the embrace of his trembling hands. His soft sobbing filled the room, but the other two stayed strong, eyes focused and unmoving.

But the pain... oh, the pain.

It was unbearable, and your heart broke at the sight, but you knew this was right. It was time to finally reveal everything. To show your cards and tricks, allow them to see behind the curtains of your perfectly crafted play. You knew better than to believe that they didn't know at this point, after all. Not after what happened just a week ago.

The tension was thick and suffocating, the rest of the children in the house picking up on it and drowning in it knowingly. The end was near. Doom was coming. And no one could stop you now.

"And none of you are at fault for it."

Lyney took off his hat slowly, and you could see the slightest shake in his hand as he gulped down his agony. You knew he blamed himself, thinking he wasn't good enough for his Father and, therefore, the reason for your downfall. But that wasn't it. "... How could it come this far...?" He asked finally, although he knew the answer already deep down. He just had to hear it from you.

Your head turned to a nearby window, the moon shining beautifully in the night sky. What you'd do to disappear in its light than do this. "Sometimes, things such as these can happen when you ignore the early warning signs of a catastrophe... it was... always destined to fail." Lynette sunk into the cushions further as though to escape from your words and reality itself. But she heard every word and understood. She always did. "This is simply how life is, however. We both always had different views and opinions on everything. We... never saw eye to eye. That's ultimately the reason as to why I have decided to do this, children."

More silence, that was filled with Freminet trying to get himself together whilst Lyney closed his eyes in defeat. He knew the consequences of a divorce from his father. They all did. And that may even have hurt them more than it hurt you. But it was alright. They will get through this. Somehow. Gently patting his brother's back, he sighed softly.

"We understand, Mother. As much as it pains us." Tears burned in your eyes, and even then, did you not break. Your children should see your strength and follow it, as they always did. Ultimately, your sacrifices and love for them weren't entirely for nothing. You had raised them into good, kind children. Something your wife couldn't stand at times due to seeing softness as weakness. But you didn't care anymore and prayed they'd keep that part of you in them forever. Even just out of spite.

You nodded and stood up, your shadow casting largely over their sunken and weakened frames as you made your way to the door. They knew what would come next. And it made Lynette finally speak up, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you... had another chance at life... what would you be?" You turned your head and smiled again, nearly chuckled too. You understood what she was asking, as out of place it may have seemed to be.

Your eyes met the moon again and then mountains in the distance. A childish wish came back to mind, one you buried when you took on your role as the "Mother." When all there was, was you and Clervie dreaming of a life beyond the stale walls of your prison. Neither of you ever escaped them in the end, you realised grimly now.

"... I'd be an adventurer traveling endlessly through all of Teyvat... yes, I think that's what I'd be."

You left the room with those haunting words, your gaze focused on the walls and hallways of your home as you walked to where you needed to go next. You've spent years in this house, putting your own blood, sweat, and tears into all of your endless hard work. Your reward was dead children and an endless graveyard to fill. And for what? Was love really all that held you here? Who were you beyond your role as the mother? Who were you as a singular human? Clervie's shadow was haunting you, watching you from the corner of your eyes in the stead of cruel mother. She'd rest once you did. She promised that.

And it was time for you to do just that at last.

The Knave prided herself in being extremely insightful.

She had eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing ever came as a surprise to her. But you... you were the exception. She never knew what came next or what was going on in your mind ultimately. She could only guess your suffering by the endless tears you've shed and the painful fire that burned in your eyes. Yet it never went further than that.

A fatal mistake, she realised grimly.

Was it too late to fix it now? She didn't know. This was the one thing she couldn't plan for nor predict. For once, you had the power in your hands. You never did before. And it secretly irked her more than she liked to admit. But the near panic and sorrow that surged in her usually cold heart overrid the annoyance and replaced it with something she hadn't felt in a very long time.

Dread.

So much dread.

Is this what doom felt like? Is this what it felt like to lose? She hated it. She hadn't felt it in so long. She couldn't stand it! But it was her fault. Peruere understood that. Yet Arlecchino was still in denial. She refused to believe that this was it. There had to be a way to fix it. There just had to. You always forgave her for everything. You knew how she was when you married her and even before then did you never shy away from her demeanor.

Couldn't you understand that the Harbinger had no choice to be this way?

Arlecchino's confidence crumbled as fast as it came, when she saw you calmly sitting there on your once shared bed, the peaceful acceptance in your eyes soul crushing. She wasn't a fool. She understood. She really did. But it didn't mean that she couldn't try to-

"Sit down."

Your voice steady and calm, as though you weren't about to end everything. She obliged, however, visibly unmoved and unbothered as always, but you knew her too well. Peruere could never hide from you.

Sitting down on the nearby vanity chair, she crossed her legs and waited for you to speak. She had to fight for you now more than ever. She... she had to do something. She was losing you. She- "-Do you remember when we used to sneak out at night to see the moon?" She didn't respond. "I remember it well. Those were the small moments of freedom I starved for... a freedom I always starved for. We all did. And for a moment, we thought we had finally escaped for good, didn't we? For a while, we believed we had done better. We had become better."

The tears in your eyes finally betrayed you, and you didn't know why. Was it the reality that was finally dawning on you? Or the heartbreak you knew would be much greater than you could ever handle? You didn't know, but it didn't make you stop talking. The words flowed out of your mouth, the damn finally breaking after so many damned years.

"We never got out of that cage, Peruere. You have become it instead. We never had a chance from the start, and I... cannot do this anymore. I can't stand the ghost of the past haunting me. I can only take so much. I just wanted to see the moon for all of eternity with you and Clervie and yet-" A crack in your voice, a sob escaping your throat. You were overwhelmed by the emotions that ran through you. There were so many of them. Sorrow, grief, sadness... relief. So much relief.

"-We never got out. We have become what we hate the most. And I refuse to be a parf of this llay any longer. My children deserve to feel the breeze as they spread their wongs and fly out of this hell, even if I have to fall for it first." Then came the rage. It was scorching and hot. "For all the ones that have been injured. For all the ones that died. For all the ones I had to bury with my own two hands. They all deserve better. We all did."

Tears ran down your face, fire burned in your eyes, and rage made your body tremble. Arlecchino could just watch you in disbelief. She had never seen you this way. Not once in her life... what was this feeling? Was it loss? Was she losing?

"... It's over. It will all end now." You stood up and carefully presented the papers to her. Papers she had never thought of ever having to see or sign. Silence filled the room, aside from your labored breathing and the clicking of a clock on the wall.

And then she spoke for the first time. "... You... understand that you will have to leave if you do this?" She saw the muscles on your neck tighten, more tears welling in your eyes. "You were right all along, if it makes you feel better... I was never made to be the "Mother." I'm a weak disgrace of one... but I've accepted that a long time ago. I have raised my children to my best abilities, and I'm proud of it until the very end. My image will haunt you in their eyes and their hearts for the rest of your life. I will never leave."

When she looked up at you, then you saw the woman you married years ago appear again for the first time in years. "I... you..." She was speechless. She was actually speechless and powerless for the first time in her life. You just stared down at her, not backing down.

Your decision has been made. And Peruere realised then what her last action of her love for you had to be then. She had to open the gate to the cage. Even if that meant that the bird would never come back.

"... Very well, my love. As you wish." She said as she took the papers from your shaking hands.

The docks to the Aquabuses were always busy, as people rushed to get on and off the vehicles. You often had passed by them and wondered what it must've felt like to travel far away from here. The envy you felt for the foreign passengers that disappeared over the swell of the horizon was one you had always pushed away... until now, as you wanted on your own bus out for the first time in your life.

Clutching a simple leather suitcase in one hand, you turned to look at your children with a pained smile. "This... is my stop, I believe." You said gently, the morning breeze rustling through your clothes and hair. Lyney took off his hat and nodded at that with a sigh, the acceptance grim in all of their eyes. But they were happy deep down. Relieved that at least you got to get out before things got much worse. Maybe one day they'll find the courage to do the same. Not today. Not tomorrow, either.

But one day.

The Knave hadn't come along to say goodbye, but you didn't mind. It was fitting in a way. No goodbyes were needed. You had given her your inner farewell a long time ago.

Once the older two siblings took their turns to hug you tightly, it was Freminets turn. His lip was trembling, his eyes red from the many tears he had shed. But he had one last mission to fullend. A small form of rebellion. "Take this and drink it once you're on the Aquabus. It will give you strength for your travels, Mother." He said as he pressed a small vial of familiar liquid and a folded paper into your palm. You stared down at it knowingly, and Lyney closed his eyes painfully at the sight of it. You all knew what the liquid did.

But you were willing to play pretend one last time.

"Thank you, my love. I'll... write you letters." They all gave you weak smiles, and you took the opportunity to press a kiss to Freminets forehead, his eyes closing with tears escaping them treacherously. Such a terrible actor, but you weren't any better either. Like Mother, like son. "Stay strong, all of you."

Stepping onto the Aquabus, you settled down as it began to pull away from the station. And only then did the three finally break down fully. You could only sit there and watch for the first time. It took all of your strength not to jump into the water and swim back to comfort them like you always did. But you knew what you had to do. Their small act of rebellion would not go to waste like this.

Once they were almost out of sight, you finally popped the vial open and hesitated as it touched your lips. You watched their small forms in the distance, tears welling in your eyes before you finally drank it. Repeating their names over and over again, you hoped to not forget them this way.

Lyney, Lynette, Freminet.

Lyney, Lynette, Freminet.

Lyney... Lynette... Freminet?

Lyn... ette... Fremi...?

.........

.......

.....

...

..

.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" The Melusine conductor asked you, making you blink in surprise and look around in confusion. "I... yes, I am fine. My apologies... I must've... zoned out." You hum carefully, your eyes spying a foreign folded piece of paper in your hand. Opening it curiously, your brows furrowed in confusion.

"The sun always comes back in the morning. -LLF"

Odd. You didn't know what it meant nor how you got here in the first place. But it felt right, either way. "I feel like I've forgotten something, though." You added on in thought. Your head hurt, and you simply used it as an explanation for your odd memory loss. Perhaps you were just tired. But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

"Oh! Is it something you require urgently, ma'am? I can turn the bus back around to the station if needed!" The helpful Melusine chirped, yet you shook your head at the suggestion.

Leaning back in your seat, you watched the sun rise over the horizon. Your mind was scrambled and disoriented, but one thought prevailed against all odds. You were an... adventurer. Yeah, right, that's what you were. And you were on your way to... well, wherever the flow of your heart takes you.

"No... It's alright. I'm sure it wasn't anything important anyway."

[feralrabidcrow]

The Mercs Driving - Updated

So a bit over a year ago, I made a post about my headcanons around the mercs and their driving abilities. I figured it wouldn't hurt to do a new one! Only because I have been thinking about Scout and driving and decided okay the others can get updated too a bit. As a treat. Who knows, maybe I'll update some other old posts too.

Scout: A little known fact about Scout is that he knows how to hotwire a car. A logical assumption based on this knowledge would be that he can also drive a car. This assumption would be, in fact, false. One of his brothers had taught him how to hotwire, because you never know when you'll be in a tight spot and need to 'borrow' a car. He knows how to drive in the technical sense. He knows how to start a car, where the brakes and accelerator are, et cetera et cetera. But when he actually tries to drive, he's really bad at it.

I believe this is because Scout is small and agile, used to having a lot of flexible mobility. A car, in contrast, is a big metal machine that is very much not flexible. Once he's in a driver's seat, he loses all spatial awareness, and feels awkward and out of place. This is also why he can drive something like a motorcycle, because a motorcycle is small and 'agile' in comparison to a car. RIP Scout TF2 you would have loved Smart Cars. Anyways, in a really dire situation, he can technically drive. He's just really bad at it and is guaranteed to hit something. Traffic laws will be broken.

Soldier: Like Scout, Soldier is an abysmal driver. Unlike Scout, Soldier believes that he is actually a good driver. This makes him a much greater danger around any automobile. He has been known to steal the company van for undisclosed reasons, and it always comes back a little worse for wear. Sometimes when the van disappears, the car keys are still back in the garage where they're meant to be. Also unlike Scout, Soldier doesn't actually know how to operate a vehicle. He just pushes and pulls at things until the car moves forward.

Additionally, the only person who allows Soldier to ride shotgun with them is Demoman. Having Soldier as a passenger is only marginally less dangerous than having him as your driver. He's loud and disruptive, pushes buttons he probably shouldn't, and historically has caused most of the accidents where the driver was someone who actually knows how to drive.

Pyro: No one has seen Pyro drive, and they all assume Pyro can't drive, because they have no way of confirming Pyro can or cannot drive unless they put Pyro behind the wheel. Which is a scary idea in the scenario where Pyro cannot. But the truth is, Pyro not only can drive, but does drive.

It just so happens that by some weird law of the universe (cartoon logic), nobody has noticed this. Somehow, every time Pyro takes the company van out for whatever they want to go do, nobody has any reason to go into the garage and notice the missing vehicle, and nobody needs to find Pyro for anything.

Demoman: Demoman is probably one of the most average drivers of the bunch. He can drive perfectly fine, he obeys traffic laws, and he somehow gets by without any depth perception. However, he has to be in the sweet spot where he's had enough to drink to avoid withdrawal, but he hasn't had so much to drink that he's in a state of incompetence.

There's also the tiny issue that if he gets pulled over, he will automatically fail any breathalyzer test, no matter how much he's had to drink, because his body literally produces its own alcohol. So Demoman is rarely the driver for the full team when they have somewhere to be, and most of his driving is done on his own time.

Heavy: Heavy can drive, and Heavy will drive. But this does not mean that Heavy likes to drive. Because most vehicles are designed for puny baby men, and not giant men who can crush skulls in their fists. Having to be hunched over in a tiny driver's seat puts Heavy in a bad mood, and nobody likes when Heavy is in a bad mood. So he only drives when he absolutely has to, such as in cases where everyone else he is with is unable to drive, such as seen in Expiration Date, where he has to drive because he's with Scout and Soldier, who cannot.

Engineer: Engineer is all around good with vehicles. He knows everything about any automobile you could bring him, and if he doesn't, he'll just take it apart and find out. He can also drive just about anything, with perfect precision and skill. Being a tinkerer, he often takes the opportunity to 'operate' on whatever vehicle he has at his disposal.

This includes those that aren't even his, such as Spy's car. It however does not include Sniper's van, as his first and last attempt almost ended in bloodshed. Spy's car nearly went the same way, but upon seeing how much faster it could go with the upgrades, Spy decided to find it in his heart to forgive the labourer. Sniper was not so easily persuaded.

Medic: Medic never bothered to get a driver's license. It seemed like such a waste of time, to get something he would probably end up losing in the future anyways. If there's anything Medic has learned, it's that licenses are overrated bits of paper, and it's the actual skill that ultimately matters. He happily drives around in his makeshift ambulance, stocked with emergency equipment and small organ refrigerators.

If any police officer dares to pull him over and ask for his license and registration, well, who is he to say no to more free organs? Medic has also had a history of grand theft auto, a most notable example being when he stole a catering van with some doves from a wedding.

Sniper: Sniper feels most at home when he's on the road. He's lived in his van as long as he's had it, that being since he could drive. The van is practically his soulmate. However, there are times when he has to be away from her, such as when he's driving the company van for everyone else. He and Engie are the most common picks for driver, with Sniper being picked just a bit more often. He's especially comfortable driving large bulky vehicles. In another life, Sniper would have been well suited to the life of a professional truck driver.

Spy: Spy drives an extremely expensive cherry red convertible sports car that easily costs more than a house. The car also has the ability to turn invisible for a period of time, which comes in handy when you need to make a getaway. And of course, a broken speedometer, courtesy of Engineer. Spy also knows how to drive a motorcycle, drive a speedboat, and fly a helicopter, but these are skills he employs less often.

[fuck-you-upmusicbracket]

Against the Kitchen Floor (Will Wood)

And I swear! I will die trying!/I'm still in the process, but I'm making progress; I promise I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible, I swear!/I'm so fucking sorry! I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all, But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all!

Less rare than scarce, less diamond then rough/Unlikely to be more than just the coal you failed to crush

I'm catatonic in your arms, crying, "How did I cause so much harm?"/I'm down pounding my head against the kitchen floor/Apologizing for my life and ever entering yours

The vertex of my redemption arc/I’m searching on that virgin heart

"The raw emotion! And I strongly relate to desperately wanting to improve for someone you love. I belt out this song when I feel really hopeless"

"my one OC. also me. also it's just a really good song. one of will's best imo. screaminbg"

"Literally hits almost all of my self-esteem issues. Feeling like people only care about you for your body? Check. Not understanding why anyone would want you? Check. Thinking that all you do is hurt people? Check. I don't cry very often but this song DEFINITELY made me teary"

"one of those if u aren’t paying attention to the lyrics ur like this is nice but once u hear them its an OW holy OW and guilt and I’m sorry feelings"

"Just. Loving someone but not feeling like you’re good enough and trying to improve."

"Not only does this song have lyrics that are deeply relatable to me, but this song also feels very deeply personal to the artist and I feel that anyone who listens to it for the first time has that same feeling of getting punched in the gut. Just the lyrics and the melody and Will Wood’s vocals make this song an absolute masterpiece and I cry every time I hear it."

"One reason I'm attached to this song is because my friend sent it to me and said "I'm kin assigning you this song" and ruined my life (/j) It messed me up because I've always had a hard time in my life figuring myself out and dealing with my emotions, and for what feels like the first time, this song has been able to near perfectly describe how I feel about myself and my impact on other people, and it always just meant so much to me that my friend who sent it to me knows me better than I know myself and shared the song with me and I love them dearly."

Fast Car (Tracy Chapman)

You got a fast car, I want a ticket to anywhere/Maybe we make a deal, maybe together we can get somewhere/Any place is better, starting from zero got nothing to lose/Maybe we'll make something, me myself I got nothing to prove

So I remember when we were driving, driving in your car/Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk/City lights lay out before us/ And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder/And I-I, had a feeling that I belonged

You got a fast car/Is it fast enough so we can fly away?/We gotta make a decision/Leave tonight or live and die this way

"I know it's an obvious one but YOU try playing it without crying I dare you"

"I cant explain the yearning but this makes me howl"

"OH GOD the longing!! The yearning in the recurring central image of the narrator and her lover on the highway, feeling this sense of limitless possibility and incredible hope!!! And then the verses take us with brutal efficiency through the collapse of their marriage, the way that the cycle of poverty stomps down on their hopes, and how with nothing left, the narrator does what her mom did and leaves!! Leaving the kids to experience the same thing she did growing up!! But it’s all punctuated and bookended by these callbacks to that central iconic memory of hope!!!!! But by the end we realize that the last line “leave tonight or live and die this way” offers only the illusion of a choice: when the narrator first runs away and later when she leaves her husband and kids, she’s still fulfilling her role in this cyclical generational story. God!!"

Against the Kitchen Floor submitted by @pixopolis + others

Fast Car submitted by @smallboyonherbike + @uchihasasukeofficial + @all-our-exploring

[phyrestartr]

The Intern | Miguel O'hara x M!Reader

#NSFW, Age Gap (mid 20s and mid 30s), reader's a homewrecker, Miguel's a cheater, mentions of toxic marriage, male!reader, bussy loading, porn with feelings, Miguel's a bit of a dickhead, top Miguel (for now), bottom reader (for now)

Note: I can't write anything without making it into a series lol I'm writing another part right now leave me alone!!!

-- The Intern --

[ How it Started: 1/2 ] [2/2]

Miguel didn't take interns. He hated them, actually; the way they'd needle him with too many annoying questions, the times they tried flexing their unimpressive knowledge of genetics, the way they'd fail to flirt and catch his eye–all of it ticked him off, made him snap and snuff out their bright, curious flames. He didn't mean to. He didn't want to make future scientists lose steam. But he had a limit, and these day, it was hit way too fucking often.

That didn't change when the tours came through. Actually, between his wife pushing his buttons and the young, bright-eyed scientists eyeing him over, everything just pissed him off more, shortened the limit exponentially. 

And he saw you there, listening to someone with a better temper talk. You didn't look all too impressed. You were maybe a little bored, actually. Your eyes swept across the room in wide arcs, looking for something interesting to land on. That was a feeling Miguel could relate to all too well. 

But your eyes eventually landed on him, somehow. You pursed your lips slowly, like it'd make too much noise otherwise, while your cheeks lifted in amusement. You glanced back to the speaker and back to Miguel, eyebrows gesturing too perfectly: get a load of this guy, eh? 

Miguel's expressionless mask slipped for a moment, and he twitched a smirk. He shook his head and looked back to his work. 

He did, however, glance at you on your way out. You didn't look back at him. 

–

He and Dana agreed to separate. It'd be a momentary thing, a way to work out the kinks in their marriage without more random accusations and hurtful words being thrown at each other on the daily. Miguel didn't want that. He didn't want Gabi to be subject to it, most of all. 

The separation calmed things down quite a bit, down to the point where Miguel wondered why they were arguing so much in the first place; until Dana did a very Dana thing and decided, for some reason, she couldn't take care of Gabi by herself while they were separated. Probably a ploy to get them back together under the same roof. Probably a scheme to manipulate the situation. 

But Miguel could play hardball, too. 

He'd pick Gabi up every day after school, and take her to the lab, but sequestered off in the cafeteria where a security guard was always present. She'd get to snack, she'd do her homework, and Miguel could work knowing she was safe. Not ideal, and maybe a little lonely for her, but easy. 

Checking up on her was another good excuse to walk away from his work, too. And one of the times he passed by, in desperate need of a cup of coffee and boost from his little girl's warm smile, he saw someone sitting with her. 

He watched for a moment as he stirred his coffee. Then, he realized it was you, that random intern from the tour a few months back. You were sat across from her, munching on whatever your late lunch was, and nodding emphatically to whatever his little girl was going on about. Her arms gestured wide and her giggle resonated brightly in the room, drawing some annoyed glances and cooing comments, but you didn't miss a beat, matching her laughter and big gestures. It was nice. 

Miguel's shoulders relaxed a little for once. 

He saw you there more days than not. And the days you weren't there, he often spied Gabi looking around, no doubt wondering where you were. It hurt his heart a bit to see her pout, truth be told, and he started to realize he should probably get to know you if you were inadvertently babysitting his kid. 

So, the next time he found you there, he walked over. 

You were beside her this time, both hunched over her usual tablet full of homework. You were the one gesturing wildly this time, talking too much with your hands as you explained fractions and common denominations and the sort in a way that truly only kids could tolerate and understand. Miguel had to put an end to it if he wanted to talk with you. 

"So, for this one, the little bitch on the bottom is–" 

"Sorry, 'little bitch'?" Miguel interjected, smirking when you jumped and Gabi gasped in delight. "Don't think that's proper terminology. Just a hunch." 

"Daddy!" Gabi called, happily turning in her seat to hug her father. Miguel's mean smile softened into something kinder and gentler.

"Hey, mija. Doing your homework, huh?" He asked as he brushed back his girl's hair. "He's not giving you all the answers, is he?" 

You balked before interrupting yourself. "Woah, hey, no, no, no, I'm makin' her do the stuff 'n the things, don’t worry 'bout it." Woah. Okay. That was a heavy Nueva York accent. Not what Miguel expected. 

"Yeah! I'm doing all the work! Mr.(Name)'s just helping when I get stuck 'n stuff!" Gabi's brows knitted together in concern. "Don't get mad at him!" 

"Yeah, don't get mad at me, Doc–she’s a smart kid, she don’t even need me to do this stuff for her, y’know?” 

“Well, I already knew that.” Miguel smirked as you huffed. He sat down on the other side of Gabriella and peered across her tablet at you. “You’re an intern, right? You were at the–”

“The tour, yeah.” You nodded a bit and propped your elbow up on the table before resting your cheek against your palm to watch Gabi solve her equations. “Saw you, too. You looked pretty pissed.”

“Intern day isn’t my favourite day,” Miguel offered with an unbothered shrug. 

“Yeah, I figured. You looked like you wanted to light ‘em on fire." 

"I could've, but then I'd be out a free part-time babysitter."

You laughed lightly, and Miguel caught the charming dip of dimples light up your face. "Oh, so that's how it is, huh? Guess I ain't mad at that. Gabi's a good kid, reminds me of my niece." 

Miguel raised his brows a bit. A niece. "Huh. Guess that explains a lot." 

"Dunno what you mean by that, but I'm gonna hope it's a good thing." 

Miguel smiled a bit. "It's a good thing." 

You smiled, too, though a bit more smug and proud. "Yeah? Good." You glanced up at the clock on the wall and sighed, the cute tilt to your lips suddenly vanishing. 

Gabi caught on and sent a powerful pout your way. "Already?" 

"Yeah, sorry, chica. Gotta get back to work." You stood up and offered your hand to Miguel. "Didn't introduce myself. I'm (Name)." 

Hm. Miguel liked how that sounded. 

"Miguel. Miguel O'hara." But you probably already knew that, though you had the decency not to point it out. 

"Nice to meetcha, Doc." 

You shook his hand and ruffled up Gabi's hair before seeing yourself out, a sudden haste in your scrambling steps as you checked the time again. Hah. You must've been late for something. 

"He's nice," Gabi said. Miguel's eyes fell back to her. 

"You think so?" He's not bad-looking, either. "You're okay with him? You feel safe?" 

"Ah-huh, ah-huh. He's not mean." Her big brown eyes sparkled up at Miguel, then. "I like 'im! Are you gonna be friends with him?" 

Miguel glanced back your way, surprised to see you standing by the elevators and glancing back at him. You looked away when you got caught, but turned back again with a little wave, like you’d realized turning away looked awkward and suspicious and had to rectify it. 

A light smirk tugged at Miguel’s lips. “Yeah, maybe.”

–

It started with chatting at lunch. Then, it turned into light touches on the shoulder and your thieving hands plucking whatever sort of drink or snack Miguel held in tired hands. And then, well, it just got worse. 

Miguel growled into your ear as he held you pinned against the wall, his hips slamming up against yours, driving himself deep into your core. To your credit, you held your voice well, only letting the slightest peeps and squeaks out when the older man happened to hit your soft spot in his wild momentum. It’s not that it would’ve mattered, though; the Halloween party’s music blared too loudly in the cafeteria for anyone to hear you getting fucked braindead in Miguel’s office. 

“Mmmmnnn–Doc, wait, wait, ow, ow, ow–” Your thighs constricted around his waist in a panic as you hissed and dug your blunt nails into his massive shoulders. 

Miguel paused his cruel tempo and finally took a second to breathe. “I–what? You okay?” He asked, brushing some of your messy hair from your face. The corner of his mouth quirked with amusement as he was reminded of the dried fake blood trailing down your mouth, and the glue-on fangs you had set to your canines. You looked quite cute as a fucked-out vampire intern, he had to admit. 

You nodded weakly as you panted. “Y-Yeah, ‘m good, you’re good.” You tilted your head back and bonked it on the wall behind you, no doubt influenced by the alcohol in your veins. “This wall sucks. Hurts my back.” 

Ah. Miguel probably shouldn’t care. This was just a fling, some stress-relief from his frustrating marriage.

But he was too weak, apparently. “Tch. Picky,” Miguel scolded into your ear before pulling you off the wall. 

“Picky?” You repeated, clinging to him desperately. 

“Incredibly picky.” He walked a few steps, carrying you with his cock still buried deep inside of you, and rested you on his pristine desk instead. “Better?” 

You sighed and pulled your shirt down more while you both got situated. “Yuh-huh.” You looked at him with that infuriating, lazy smile and wriggled your hips against him. “Continue.” 

Miguel’s eye twitched. He couldn’t help but feel like he was accidentally subservient to you for that split second. He was supposed to be in control, not you. 

“Smug brat,” Miguel scoffed before hoisting your legs over his shoulders and pistoning into you cruelly. 

His core ached with want as you arched beautifully off his desk, and through the buzz of booze, he admired you; your own heavy cock wept against your stomach as your diaphragm stuttered with each needy dive into your messy heat. Your face flushed a captivating crimson while your eyes fluttered and shone with unspent tears clinging to your lash line. Then, your stupid costume teeth bit into your lower lip as your voice started to break free from its restraints and pushed by your bobbing Adam’s apple, letting new whimpers and clipped moans fill his office. 

“Doc,” you whined, screwing your eyes closed and fisting your hand around your length. “Doc–” 

Oh. Oh no. You were cute. Really cute in the way you started letting out bubbling praise and babbled wants, in the way your free hand clawed at his arm to just touch him and hold him while your high threatened to push you off the edge and into that endless spiral. Miguel hadn’t felt this wanted in a long, long time. He hadn’t been showered in praise, told how good he was, given someone’s full attention for even longer. 

He couldn’t remember the first time he came first, either. 

Because he did, with his teeth clenching, his thrusts breaking down into something erratic and out of tempo, he spilled inside of you. Electricity pulsed through every synapse of his nerves, bringing a wash of cool, prickling energy to his palms and curling fingers as he gripped on you harder, tighter, jamming himself inside of you with a reckless abandon. 

“D-Did you–?” You asked. Miguel caught your gaze, and another gush emptied out of him–your eyes, wide and doe-like in surprised amazement, were too captivating, too endearing. And when you realized that, yes, you’d made him cum first, you were quick to reach the same peak. 

Miguel was the one to moan this time. Your body clenched down around him in desperation to hold him still while your own white-hot bliss ripped through you. Pearly strands of white roped across your trembling hand and your stomach, one after the other, until there was nothing left to give. But with a sharp slap to your ass, Miguel found there was just a little more you could both give. 

“Good boy,” Miguel mumbled, voice thick and full where it trilled. He gave you another good spank. “Good boy.” 

Miguel slowed his hips gradually, slowly catching his breath in tandem with your wild panting as the afterglow stayed where the too-hot sear faded. His nerves relaxed with his body. His mind soon followed suit, too, which was a problem and a relief; a problem because he didn’t feel a shred of guilt, but relief in the realization of how simple this exchange was. Just sex. With someone he could tolerate.

“Shit,” you breathed. You glanced down at the mess you’d become, and grimaced. “C-Can a good boy get a, uh, a tissue or, like, five?” 

Miguel rolled his eyes. He popped open one of the drawers to his desk and pulled out a tissue box and set it beside you before, like the bastard he was, he pulled out of you without warning and watched your hole clench around nothing before glossy whiteness oozed out of you. He ignored your sharp complaints in favour of enjoying the show and meanly stuffing his cum back into you before, for a third time, giving you a slap on the rear like you were a good ol’ used truck. 

Miguel snatched the first tissue to clean himself up and tossed it away, tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his clothes out like nothing happened, before turning and walking away. 

“Hey, wh–seriously?!” You cried (or whined, or complained) at his back. 

Miguel smirked to himself before calling over his shoulder, “Make sure you clean my desk up, too. I’ll get you kicked out of the program if it’s not in perfect condition tomorrow morning.” 

But he almost crumbled under your sweet, cooing pleas for him to come back, to stay a little longer, but thankfully, a whirlwind of petty insults were thrown at his back when he reached the door. And he found the strength to keep going, to subject you to his little game. 

A cruel game of torturing his favourite intern.

[beenbaanbuun]

Not sure if this is a request or me just going insane after reading your dumbification yeo fic but oop-

Been thinking about jealous Yeosang nonstop since then because I always get a little disappointed when fics paint him as this super passive, open lover. I mean it's all well and good to be someone who's genuinely okay with their partner having multiple partners/being kinda flirty, but I honestly don't see him as the type to be that chill

I mean sure he wouldn't exactly be as loud or aggressive about it as sayyy.... Joong or Sannie, I am a switch!Yeosang enthusiast after all, but I still think he'd get upset if he saw you being too chummy with one of your guy friends or one of the other members.

Early on in the relationship it would probably be all cute, he gets pouty and quiet, maybe clingy after and he needs lots of affirmation and assurance before he feels secure again.

But once he's comfortable with you? C'mon, you CANNOT tell me he's not the type to pin you against the door as soon as you get home, hands and lips desperately latching on to you as you clutch at his hair, deep voice muffled by your skin as he seethes over That Guy who kept hitting on you or how Wooyoung was a little too touchy for his peace of mind (woo totally did it on purpose btw).

And oh my god if those angry growls turn desperate? If you're not responding verbally cuz you're just so overwhelmed by everything that's Yeo?? And he suddenly whines into your neck and nuzzles your pulse point seeking verbal affirmation??? And you grip his hair and he whimpers when you tug so he has to look you in the eye?????

I need to calm tf down before I drop a whole 1.5k word smut fic in your ask box but you get the idea XDD

Jealous yeo lives rent free in my brain and you're writing has him running LAPS TwT we as a fandom have failed to have enough yeosang smut on the market and it Saddens Me

~Lyra

i am CLINICALLY INSANE!!!!!!!! WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME 😭😭😭

like i’m sorry but i can imagine him just pinning you to the door, fully clothed, and grinding up against you. his mouth is just on your neck, sucking, biting, kissing at your flesh until its mottled with purple bruises. like there’s literally no rhyme or reason, he’s just that desperate to his his mouth on you and mark you up that he barely gives you a minute to think straight.

like you’re still both fully dressed and your back is still presses uncomfortable against the door, but that doesn’t stop yeosang from bucking his hips up into yours, dry humping you because he doesn’t have the patience with you right now. he needs you to know that you’re his and his alone.

“can’t fucking believe you,” he growls before biting down on the soft flesh. you keen at the sensation, legs going weak. you’re glad he has you pinned to the door; if he didn’t, you might fall, “all over that guy as if you don’t have a perfectly good boyfriend who takes care of you. what? did you just want my attention? because now you have it.”

you whimper as he grinds down hard against your pelvis, his clothed hard-on rubbing so deliciously against your folds. you want him in you, but with everything that’s going on, you can barely think, let alone talk.

“s-sangie-” you choke out, trying to tell him how bad you need him, but you’re cut off by the whine that claws it’s way up your throat.

“what?” he grunts into your neck, “you want to tell me something?”

you nod, but no words come out. yeosang chuckles darkly into your neck.

“go on then, baby,” his teeth graze against you, threatening to add to the purple bruises that run up and down your skin, “if you’re going to tell me anything, tell me how bad you need me.”

you know it’s an ego thing. of course it is; yeosang was obviously hurt when he saw you flirting with the other man, and now it’s your job to repair that. and you would, if you could hold a thought for more than two seconds. you’d love nothing more than to stroke his ego, make him feel all big and powerful and like he’s the only man in the world.

but you just can’t. every time you open your mouth, you lose your train of thought and all that comes out is a few pants as yeosang tears your mind down to nothing. you cant even focus when he pulls back a little, studying your face with glassy eyes before diving right back into your neck. he doesn’t suck, or bite, or kiss this time. he just nuzzles the sticky skin with his nose, mumbling almost incoherent words against it.

“baby,” he says after a moment or two, voice a little breathier than before, “baby, please tell me me how much you need me. need to hear it.”

his tongue darts out and he begins to lap one of the bite marks, as if trying to soothe it. it only makes your mind race more.

as do the continuous whimpers that you can hear spilling into the air, only this time they’re not from you. they’re from yeosang.

yeosang who is still grinding into you, albeit with sloppier, softer motions than before. who is still pinning you to the wall, only with a more desperate grip, as if you’ll slip away if he lets go. who still has his face pressed against your neck, words slipping from his mouth, but now they beg rather than degrade.

“baby, please,” he whispers, and you feel something wet fall against your neck; a tear, “i need you tell tell me you need me.”

he sounds so pathetic, crying into your neck like that, and it soon sinks in that the tables have turned without you even really realising. the man that had pinned you to the door minutes prior, wanting nothing more than to teach you a lesson, had vanished. he’s been replaced by your baby boy, who was so desperate to hear how much you wanted him. so desperate to know that you loved him as much as he loved you.

you try your hardest to gather your thoughts, just enough for you to be able to scrape together a sentence or so. but with yeosang bucking against you like a dog in heat, its so incredibly hard. add that to the fact that he’s gone back to suckling at your neck like its going to bring him some sort of comfort and there’s no way you were getting a coherent sentence out.

so you lace you fingers into his hair, grateful of how long it had gotten, and tug. he lets out a long whimper, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you tug his far enough back to see his face. you tug again, wordlessly pleading for him to look at you. just once would be enough for him to see how thoroughly mindless he has you already. just once for him to understand that he is all you can think about right now.

[thewickedkat]

long post incoming; meta enthusiasts may wish to digest this in chunks.

i am so completely exasperated with Laudna as of the latest episode. however, i temper that exasperation with my enjoyment as a viewer; indeed, i am feasting on the conflict, thinking finally, some good fucking food, because i think (and have always thought) that Laudna is terrifically interesting as a character and she presents wonderful opportunities for growth not only on her end, but as a catalyst for others.

that being said. the sword. how she handled it. how she handled her own trauma bubbling up, how she handled (or didn't) Delilah, how she handled Orym and Chetney and Dorian and the whole miserable mess she made.

it was selfish. there. i said it. you may disagree with me, i care not, but her course of action was terribly selfish and destructive.

i know many people out there have been likening her behaviour to that of an addict's (and there are many common factors there: the hiding, the lying by omission, the shame, the acquiescence to bad behaviour), but i think in some ways that to do so is reductive, and also removes agency from Laudna herself.

she is allowing her trauma to almost make her decisions for her, allowing it to define her, and she is not giving herself the opportunity to realise that growth beyond it is possible--or, perhaps, she does realise this and is simply too afraid to reach out and grasp it. i think even if Delilah weren't trying to subsume her, Laudna would still be self-sabotaging and self-destructive and still try to hide the parts of her she felt were undesirable; Delilah in many ways simply makes it easier for Laudna to do so and, if pressed, provides a rationalisation for Laudna's choices and actions (as in 'it wasn't me, it was her, she made me do it).

first and foremost, Laudna was a victim of heinous trauma, being murdered and then being put on grotesque display. then she was further traumatised in coming back from the dead and being forced to isolate herself from people for many years, with only Delilah's honeysweet venom dripping into her ear for that time. then she is murdered again as an object lesson for the woman she loves, then stuffed down so deep into her own psyche by the one who first killed her; she is fought for and brought back by her friends...who then seem to do little to check in with her, to make sure she is stable, or coping, because they each have their own baggage and oh by the way, the world is possibly ending. to be fair, there is little time for therapy and stability when you are literally running from crisis to crisis and trying to stop something you haven't even conceived of in your nightmares.

she feels dismissed, often, minimised, and she never developed healthy people skills or coping mechanisms (i am sorry but as much as i love Pâté, a dead rat does not a support group make). so she lashes out, has poor emotional regulation, and Does Crappy Things. so i also understand when she said 'what else have i to give, but myself?'

all that being said. what she did with Orym and the sword was fucking selfish. she is behaving like a child, as if she is the only one whose tragedies matter; she's playing Oppression Olympics, and can i just point out that Orym was the one to say 'i'm sorry' but Laudna never apologised for accosting him while he slept and hurting him? saying 'i didn't mean to hurt you' is not the same, because that implies that if she had not hurt him, stealing from him was perfectly acceptable and reasonable.

i don't believe her when she said 'i accept responsibility' because that means one must accept the consequences of their own actions, and right after she said that, she argued with everyone, told the oldest member of the Hells that he had no right to talk about loss to her, and then fled. that isn't accepting responsibility; that is mouthing platitudes in the hopes you will sway others to your point of view and when it fails, leaving in a huff like a child having a tantrum.

she didn't even bother to ask Orym why he kept the sword. she just tried to take.

Laudna often reacts from a place of fear: of pain, of more trauma, fear of inadequacy, of loss. all of these fears are valid. they are understandable, given all that has happened to her. but just because her fears are valid does not give her the right to make others pay for her emotional baggage. this is what makes her behaviour in ep 95 selfish. all of her actions in the back half of that episode are things she chose to do, and now she must sit in the mess she made. Laudna seems to be falling into the same mental rut that many victims fall into when their trauma isn't dealt with in a healthy fashion: they start fucking others over, as if being a victim excuses it. it does not.

and before others come for me, i say that as one who used to do the same fucking thing but i was lucky enough to have therapy. Laudna doesn't have that luxury--none of the Hells do. there simply isn't time to make space for any of their issues, not just Laudna's. Imogen is still wrestling with her mother; Fearne is wrestling with her parentage; Orym is just trying to keep his feet under him and do what he feels is right without betraying anyone he cares for (yes, including Laudna, shut up); Ashton is still trying to process the loss of Fresh Cut Grass (for gods' sakes, the crafting night was a fucking wake for the lil guy); Dorian just lost his brother and watched his friend succumb to a Betrayer God that turned her into a monster; and Chetney? Chetney is an old man who, i personally think, can pick his battles and knows how to compartmentalise better than any of these kids.

Laudna is not unique in that she has suffered horribly. no one is saying she hasn't, but her behaviour implies that she believes they are saying that. her actions imply she believes not only that she does not trust her friends (thanks, Dorian), but that acknowledging others' losses somehow negates hers. there just isn't time to healthily process any of this, which sucks. it does. i do think her friends love her, care for her deeply, and i think part of the reason they haven't checked up on her as much as they could is because a) they're afraid that her problem with Delilah is much worse than they thought (duh, it is); b) they can't fix the Delilah Problem right now even if they were qualified to do so (even Pike couldn't scour that bitch out of Laudna, she said as much); and c) they run the very substantial risk of wholly alienating Laudna if they press the issue too hard, thus not only losing an asset in the fight against the Vanguard and Ludinus, but also a friend and lover.

it's shit, all around, we all know that. but to pretend that it's okay she did what she did to Orym--or worse, somehow transfer responsibility from her onto him and make it his fault--is infantilising and disingenuous at best, and more than a little insulting.

[thisgardenofromance]

Hi...if you don't mind, can I ask something from Ouran High School Host Club? What do you think are Kyoya and Tamaki’s greatest personality strengths and weaknesses? Why? What do you love about their dynamic? Since what moment that you start shipping them? What are your favorite (canon) tamakyo moments?

Bonus, what are your top 5 favorite moments from OHSHC anime/manga?

Sorry if you've answered these questions before.....

Oh my god hello

Do not apologize I have answered none of them and am so excited that someone gives even one shit about my opinion

!!!

Anyway uhhh oh god this is gonna be a long answer that is a lot of questions let's see imma break it down

can I ask something from Ouran High School Host Club?

Absolutely you can. My whole blog is Ouran-themed so Ouran content is very welcome and I am so happy to tell anyone any of my opinions about it at all times

What do you think are Kyoya and Tamaki's greatest personality strengths

Tbh, I think each of their greatest strengths are exactly the thing that draws the other one in.

For Tamaki, he relies on and trusts Kyoya specifically because Kyoya is driven, perfectionist, and intensely passionate. When Tamaki wants things done, he knows who to go to - but its not just that. Those traits in and of themselves make Kyoya shine and draw in people like moths to a flame. In ep 14, the entire club goes against their own judgement ONLY when Kyoya agrees to do something, because they trust that Kyoya would never let it hurt the club. Something in him always has to examine every angle. He refuses to fail, point-blank. And he's intelligent enough to pull it off. (Of course, there is nuance to this, but that's the gist.) Kyoya gives Tamaki ground under his feet, and I think Tamaki appreciates it.

For Kyoya, Tamaki is vibrantly alive. He feels every emotion he has twice as hard as everyone around him - look at every reaction he's had, ever. He cares about people, so much that it changes the lives of the people around him (every host's backstory lol), and half the episodic plots are just Tamaki deciding they are going to make someone's life better. And he's a dreamer. He looks around and, instead of pessimism or even pragmatism, he sees beauty. everywhere. in everything. He reminds the people around that life is good and full of possibilities. Ep 13 is literally about how Tamaki convinced Haruhi that part of the point of being alive is joy. Tamaki is so Tamaki that he is the host club's core values. If you just look at Kyoya's backstory episode (24 I believe), its blatantly obvious that he may be one of the people who needed Tamaki the most.

and weaknesses?

Kyoya tends to get trapped in his own box. When he decides something isn't possible, it isn't possible, and he won't even try, even if it makes him miserable.

God knows Tamaki's head is in the fuckin clouds man. Fuck knows what he's actually processing and what he's oblivious to at any given time. It takes him more than half the manga series to even realize he was traumatized by being violently ripped away from his mother and trafficked to a different country by a grandmother who hates him for racist and other prejudiced reasons.

What do you love about their dynamic?

THEY ARE SO ooooughhhgdshgdgfhkjfhj chomp chomp chomp chomp chomp. They complete each other so perfectly and still manage to completely miss each other in some cases anyway. POWER TEAM LEMME TELL YOU. Kiss already!!!!!!! mashing their heads together until they figure it out.

Since what moment that you start shipping them?

I gotta be honest: the first watch through, I didn't even think about it until episode 24. But like. When that fuckin rainbow rose painting came onscreen after the previous 20 minutes of whatever the fuck that was?? Kyoya at the very least was gone for Tamaki. A rewatch pointed out some of the ways that it was possible for Tamaki to reciprocate (although I'm not under the impression that he has Fully developed feelings for Kyoya, at least by the end of the anime. Yet. squints) and every watch after that has cemented it for me.

It's a lot less secure in the manga, but there are still some little moments that just like take me out lol. I'm pretty sure Bisco was putting in conscious effort to lessen romantic connotations between Tamaki and Kyoya (maybe because it was a popular ship in the fandom? maybe because the anime had just come out?) and more solidly ship TamaHaru, and also get Kyoya attached to Kaoru a little more - KyoKao at least has got some pretty in-your-face moments in the latter half of the manga, and I can def see why a bunch of people ship it. But there's also that bit where Kyoya literally refuses to sleep until he finds Tamaki's mother in France JUST to pass on a message to him when he gets back as Tamaki's souvenier gift... That is simp behavior right there.

What are your favorite (canon) tamakyo moments?

Ah God okay so technically TamaKyo isn't canon romantically. But some of my favorite moments between the two of them, in the anime, include the time Tamaki decides Kyoya is the wife character out of all the hosts and only Kyoya clocks it (ep 3?); the time Tamaki is first full-on sulking because Kyoya got engaged without his knowledge, and then visibly breathes a sigh of relief when he discovers that Kyoya is NOT engaged (ep 4); the puppy-dog eyes thing (ep 14); the argument they get into in the background during the daruma doll game, where Tamaki tells Kyoya to QUIT WHINING AND LINK PINKIES WITH HIM... tbf Kyoya WAS whining (ep 14); that bit where Kyoya's dream/nightmare about his family transitions into the memory of Tamaki's voice pitching the club and THAT'S when he wakes up (ep 17); and literally all of episode 24 - the whole thing.

Bonus, what are your top 5 favorite moments from OHSHC anime/manga?

Oh fuck I gotta pick 5?? Uhhh ummm fuck.

I don't know I'll always be yelling about one scene or other at any given time.

[yoru-no-seiiki]

SERIOUSLY, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI, I WILL FUCK YOUR MOM WHILE YOU PLAY ROBLOX.

link to [part one] for those unfamiliar w/ my yan! cool kid works

@yuiiasathesilly both parents actually. these three come from a relatively affluent family. someone has to pay for all the hairdye yan! cool kid uses. in fact the both are them are kinda disappointed that the boys haven’t been using their resources as much as they want em to. cool kid has abused it the most, having an entire apartment ready for yan! reader to be kept in

@onyanjune mc does have backups! and good eye. the reason why they only deleted it in their phone is cause it’s what they have on them at all times. meaning that they’re giving our prez some leeway instead of immediate action in terms of blackmail.

in terms of their efforts, it’s purely cause they want their integration into the family to be smooth sailing. before yan! loser was an outcast he used to be pretty well known for his rich family, his brothers, and his high grades. yan! reader noticed that he usually kept to himself and suffered a little bit in terms of his siblings outshining him so much so they set out with that plan to make him completely reliant on them. it was mostly a backup that they had for yan! cool kid but he’s too above other people in general to care. same with yan! prez.

they aren’t trying to make their beloved jealous, hell they’d die if they ever accidentally hurt him in any way, shape, or form. yan! reader worships him too much. it’s more of side effect if anything. they do like to pretend as if they don’t think about him 24/7. which is frankly more annoying to yan! cool kid since he can’t exactly threaten/beat up his future spouse like he can with his brothers.

anyways off to our scenario (inspired by @carnivorousyandeere and i’s talk about sex positive/liberal parents lol)

“dad, i’m going to pursue someone from my class.” yan! cool kid leaned back and forth, rocking his dinner chair.

“oh? that’s great son. i was worried that someone as handsome as you wouldn’t put your face to good use.”

“yes yes, your father and i were worried that you weren’t bringing anybody home. all of our colleagues keep talking about how their children have been sleeping around but here we are with your monk of an eldest son and shut-in of a youngest.”

ouch.

“when i found out that all those condoms we bought you weren’t being used for sex i was devastated!”

“right son! and the lingerie sweetie! tell them about the lingerie!”

“mother, father! we’re eating!” yan! president yelled. he was already used to his parent’s lack of respect for privacy. it wasn’t their crude words that made him uncomfortable, it was the fact that his younger brother was coveting what was already his.

but his mother, as always, does not listen, “and we spent a lot of time getting those for you three to enjoy. and for what?”

“well, who is this lucky person?”

“they’re—“

“i’m full.” yan! loser stood up, wiping the food off his face and leaving. the door to the dining room slammed shut with a bang at his wake.

“as i was saying, they’re my classmate. the one whose house i went to before.”

“oh! the one whose pictures you have all over your room.”

“. . . yes.” yan! cool kid almost regurgitated out his drink from their nonchalant invasion of his room. his rebellious instincts told him to scream at them and question their behavior. but if he wanted to get their help he had to play into his role perfectly.

“oh son! just tell us what we have to do, we’ll support you all the way.”

bingo!

or not.

there was one thing yan! cool kid failed to factor into the equation. the fact that yan! president had been doing such a play since before the younger one even learned how to talk.

“what’s wrong, pumpkin?”

yan! president began his part with a gag. an expression of guilt, disgust and a hint of grief.

“it’s just that. . . i was planning on asking them out too.” and then, the tears. “they actually work as the secretary to the council and . . . no one else has been there for me like they have.”

“oh dear.” their mother looks at the two of them in worry. she already knew this was going to get messy quick.

“i’m sorry, dearest brother. i just can’t bear the thought of losing them.”

“you—“ yan! cool kid slammed his hands on the table. now at his full height which causes his chair to fall behind him. his fist pulled back, ready for impact and aimed squarely on the bridge of yan! president’s glasses.

“why don’t we all calm down, okay?” but their father manages to pull him back, overpowering the young man easily. with a smile he eases yan! cool kid away while their mother held yan! president in her arms. “we’ll think of a way for both of you boys to get what you want.“

“you. prepare a room for a new addition to our home.” their mother spoke, her fingers running through her son’s locks “we’re family we’ll get through this together.”

meanwhile under the cover of dark. . .

yan! loser pants, a hand in his pants as he pumped his cock to full mast. his meager, melodic moans muffled by one of your used pe uniforms covered in dried sweat and your scent. his eyes trained at the video of his eldest brother taking you.

he hated it. hated the way you seemed to be enjoying it (you weren’t). but since they looked alike it was the closest he could get to an image of you and him together. even if his brother couldn’t last a few rounds.

he moans one last time as he releases his spent into a condom, swiftly tying and throwing it to the rest of the pile that threatened to spill over from within the bin.

in his post masturbation haze, he wonders how all that liquid would look inside you instead and whines as he feels the blood rush back down there again.

[advantage-artrick]

Im baaaaack 😈 he he he

....sorry. anyway I've decided to be mysterious. But I need your help. I've narrowed my decision down to 🌈 or 🐶 or ✨ but I can't choose. Which one should I go for?

Also who do you think Artricks gay awakenings were?

heyyyy welcome back lol 🥰

oooh i do love a good mystery! those are all cute but for some reason i'm really feeling the 🐶 for you! (which is good cuz i'm pretty sure i saw that you've already picked it 😊).

now, call me crazy for this one, but i don't think patrick was art's gay awakening.

and i need y'all to hear me out on this. i think he had his gay awakening the summer before he started his first year at the academy. he was just so young, he didn't realize what it was at the time.

it was probably with a close but temporary friend of his, maybe a boy a grade or two above him who decided art was worth his time for the summer months (and it definitely wasn't because he lived hours away from his school friends and was out of other options).

anyway, because art was smaller and younger and more innocent than him, he was very easy to mess with, which this particular friend took advantage of at every opportunity.

he would tease art nonstop, calling him names and pushing him around, and art would come crawling back for more every single day as soon as his 'best friend' rolled out of bed at one pm.

some days they'd go swimming, and this boy would hold art underwater until he came back up coughing and sputtering with tears in his eyes. other days they'd go out to a field close by, and art never saw it coming when he got pushed down the big hill, even though it happened every time without fail.

but no matter what they did, every day art followed him all the way back home, battered and bruised from the hours of torment, and he blushed as he asked shyly if they could have another sleepover.

sometimes the boy said yes. usually he said no, but art tried not to take it personally. after all, every time he asked if they were still best friends, the boy's answer was always the same:

"yeah, sure, man. hey, can you grab me another soda from downstairs? my legs hurt from swimming all day."

art had always been a bit of a lonely child, so when this person wandered into his life, he'd assumed their relationship was typical for two new best friends.

he followed this boy everywhere, watching him run and swim with pure reverence and devotion, and he never complained when the kicks started to hurt too bad, because he figured he was lucky to even be hanging out with him at all.

and the blushing and the stuttering and the giggling and the daydreaming were all perfectly normal things that perfectly normal people did when they finally found their best friend.

that was why when art went off to the academy and quickly became best friends with patrick, nothing seemed out of the ordinary about their relationship in the slightest.

well, except that patrick smiled more and hit him less and brought them both snacks when he came back from the dining hall, but those things were a good kind of strange. needless to say, art was happier with patrick as his best friend, and thoughts of patrick took up so much of his mind, he never even considered seeing that other boy ever again.

now, for patrick, i think his gay awakening happened a little later in life for him. and by that i mean when he was like 14-15.

also, yes, it was absolutely art.

i don't really think there was much to it for him. i genuinely just think art (being the late bloomer that he is) came back to school one year after a long, eventful summer with messy curls and toned muscles and a better ass than most of the girls in their grade.

and patrick took one look at art in his suddenly-too-small tennis shorts running over to hug him with the same ridiculously adorable grin, and thought,

". . . oh, fuck."

and that was that.

patrick for sure had a 'poof! you're gay,' moment.

then he just had to spend the next several years acting like it never happened and that everything was still exactly the same.

oh, the agony of being hopelessly in love with your oblivious best friend.

XOXO 💕🐶

[plasmaandink]

I Need A Cigarette

Summary: Your best friend was talented, extremely talented. It was no wonder how she ended up in this position. It was really only a matter of time. You just had no clue of how your nasty smoking habit had brought you here

Content warning: Smoking, eventual smut at the end, graphic sexual descriptions Word count: 3632 (Way too many)

Author's note: First Tumblr post literally ever- no longer am I a stalker but instead I have written for y'all!! special thanks to @ladymaycrush because they were a huge inspiration for me to come out of my shell and also practically beta read for me!!! Enjoy <3

-----------

You had been dreading this day for god knows how long, fake smiles and cliche conversations were never really your thing. But your best friend, Emma, had quite the opposite reaction to this whole entire situation.

The situation in question? You and Emma were standing behind the building where SpongeBob was recorded, animated, and edited—trying, and failing, to stay warm on a truly dreadful day. With almost chattering teeth you looked over to Emma. She was currently panicking, pacing back and forth, while you smoked a cigarette, thoroughly bored. You could be doing so many better things right now, but because you were so thoughtful you offered to be the voice of a villain in her cartoon. “Dude, calm the fuck down” You choked on the cigarette smoke, shivering slightly “you’ve been here before, met these people. Dunno why you’re acting like this” You finished the cigarette and discarded it on the pavement.

“While that's true, I've never brought you! I shouldn’t have even mentioned you! I always knew this day would come! They’re never going to take me seriously with you by my side” she ran her hand through strawberry locks on her head, before turning to face you “No offence” “Some taken mate” You shook your head “Why even ask me to voice-act for you if you’re embarrassed of me?” Emma paused before sighing “Because you’re my best friend? And also all your smoking gives you a raspy voice that fits a villain so perfectly” She mumbled, rubbing her arm “I’m not embarrassed about you. I'm proud to call you my friend, it's just… These people may not think the same as me. They could take one look at us and hate everything i've worked so hard for” She groaned, running a hand down her face while sliding her back against the concrete wall. Her butt meeting the ground with an ‘ooft’

It was hard to see her like this. Emma had always been so self assured and proud, truly a woman to look up to. She put up with so much shit from other animators, been taken advantage of and not once has her pride faltered. It hurt to know you were the reason she was curled up on the pavement second guessing herself- Emma, the most fearless person you knew looking so small because her best friend embarrassed her. You sighed and crouched down in front of her, forcing her face out of her hands so your eyes could meet “Why do you care what these pompous pricks think about you and your work? Because they’re successful? You’re good at what you do, extremely good! You’ve made a couple of bucks and you caught their eye, I’m sure they won’t judge you based on me. Plus I said I'd be on my best behavior, didn't I?” The small smile she gave in return had you exhale, grateful that she had cheered up, even if just slightly. “Come on, I've slept on concrete. I know it isn’t comfortable” You stood up, holding your hand out for her to grab. She didn’t hesitate to grab your hand, but not before throwing your generosity back in your face “Weren’t you drunk?” “And weren’t you at some stranger's house?” You raised an eyebrow with a chuckle

The two of you probably would have continued, throwing mistakes back in eachothers faces from past lives until the sun set. But she quickly shut up when she noticed a car pull into the parking lot, not anything overly fancy but it still made her stand like a deer in headlights. She was practically vibrating next to you. Anxiety now pouring from each crevice of heer glued together self.

“Jesus, dude calm do-” The rest of your sentence was caught on your tongue when you watched the man climb out of the driver's seat. He was less than majestic to say the least. Big coat clearly got in the way of him, shaggy long-ish hair falling in front of his face as he attempted his hardest to re-arrange everything in his hands. Glasses perched on the bridge of his nose slightly askew. Nothing about him stood out, he was the type of face you’d serve at a cafe and then never remember again, only for him to ask if you remembered him a week later as if you hadn’t served 30 people who looked the same. But somehow the grey background behind him lit up when he smiled at himself after finally balancing everything in his hands so he could lock his car. Maybe that’s why your eyes didn’t drag away from him, maybe that’s why he stood out to you. After years of having the most interesting looking people chase your affection, this stranger had this magnetic attraction that you found yourself struggling to ignore.

His eyes met with Emma’s first, offering her a small smile which made her calm down. Despite how hard you had tried this stranger could do it with just a facial expression? You would’ve stayed angry if his eyes didn’t meet yours.

They had this sparkle in them, making it easy to forget everything around you for centuries to come. The shock in his face of finally seeing you disintegrated into a look you couldn’t explain with words, all you knew is it made your body weak in ways you had never felt before.

As he continued walking forward, his eyes flicked between the two of you. Smile still painted across his face as if the day wasn’t shrouded in gloomy weather. He spoke a good morning, before saying your name very proudly, as if he knew all about you. When you looked up at him, the smile turned into a smirk

“I’m Mr. Lawrence, Emma here has been way too secretive of you” The way he talked, the way he introduced himself. Exuded composure and confidence, and made you wish you had brought a spare pair of underwear.

After a moment of staring, your brain finally caught up. Raising an eyebrow you gave a smirk back “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

He spared no second, straightening his back and chuckling “Her description of you really doesn’t live up to the real thing” You really wanted him to continue, fuck how desperately you wanted to hear more about how he saw you in his vision, but he moved passed it way too quickly for your comfort.“Anyways, good morning to you two lovely young ladies. Emma, have your storyboard ready?” He turned his attention towards her, beginning to make his way inside the building with you trailing behind the both of them.

The walk gave you time to think, you tried to focus on anything other than the man in front of you. Like how in the fuck Emma ended up here? You remember her telling you, vaguely. You wish you had paid more attention to her useless rambles while you had been preoccupied with another errand at hand.

Really kicking yourself now because you hadn't.

“She’d love that! Wouldn’t you?” Emma turned to face you as she talked, clearly waiting for your response to something. And of course you weren’t listening- ironic huh?

“U-Uh yeah!” You had no idea what in the fuck you had just agreed to, but it made Mr. Lawrence smile so wide you were glad you had said yes.

–

You figured out what you had agreed to, a second too late. Now you found yourself in  headphones in front of a microphone in a recording booth that was used to record plankton’s lines. It made your head reel, things moving so quickly you felt like you had to be high for it to make sense.

You had agreed to one-on-one line rehearsal. With Mr. Lawrence (Who’s first name you found out was Doug after a couple of begs towards Emma)

“Okay” his voice was crystal clear velvet through those headphones, a little deeper than usual. Probably due to being so focused “Deliver your line like you normally would” he instructed.

This was easy, but for some reason you found yourself hesitating to speak. One deep breath, then two. Then, line

“You have g-got to be… joking me?” You had never sounded so unsure of yourself before, hearing yourself was pitiful at best. You were confident, and strong but under the watchful eyes of Doug you couldn’t help but fall apart.

His laugh made you flush with embarrassment “That was sweet, but not very villainous” He hummed “What kind of villain is your character? Is she destructive with words or is she cold and calculated?”

“I’d say destructive” 

He paused at this, making you worry. Should she be something completely different? The real question was why did you care?

Thank god, his voice cut through the wall of silence. Clearing his voice before talking “Emma mentioned she loved your voice for this character because of how raspy it would get at times. She said she’d wait until perfect moments to record your line” This was true, you remembered the amount of times Emma would stop you from doing something important. “Do you know how to turn this on and off?”

A shake of your head in response “Nope, just kind of… happens?”

“Guess we know where to start hm?”

–

Little did you know, that would not just be a one time occurrence. Doug requested your presence every spare second you had. Telling you that the greatness you had shouldn't be ignored. Throughout your time together you listened to him talk about Emma and how proud he was of her and how far she’s come since she started an internship with them. But it wasn’t the way he’d talk about her. No, it was how he talked about you.

He would talk about you like you were his little protege, as if every little mistake was his fault and not yours. He held you to a higher standard that neither you nor Emma had ever thought of. As difficult as it was to stand in that little booth every night after your shitty retail job, drink lukewarm coffee and ignore the heavy tension that you were drowning in- you did anyway. Replaying the same words in your head

‘This is all for her’

Even though you were sure both you and Doug would disagree. This wasn’t some selfless act in order for her animation to go higher. No. This was purely carnal, never have you met a man like Doug Lawrence. A gentleman in every aspect, making you wonder what he'd be like between the sheets. And he was stuck in your head on repeat, every soft groan he’d make. How his eyes dropped and sagged from exhaustion some nights. He was truly a parasite, overtaking each part of your brain with thoughts of him. Each dark corner filled with images of your new interest.

And you have never felt more guilty, never hated yourself more because of a man. It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, usually you’d fuck him out of your system and go on your merry little way. But you couldn’t do that with Doug. Not only was he extremely important to your best friend, but you didn’t want to ruin the warm feeling he gave you when he praised your work. The way he would look at you through his glasses, with pride and a feeling you couldn’t quite grasp.

Each and every night you worked with Doug, you found yourself worrying more about your appearance beneath your clothing. Did the bra look sophisticated? Were your panties lacy enough to send the right signals? Standing in front of the mirror for hours wondering if your body looked good in the garments you chose. Holding onto some fairytale that he really wanted you. Even if you could talk yourself back from delusion, a small nagging part of you still begged for you to be prepared.

No longer were you rolling out of bed from your post work nap, no. You were putting actual thought into your appearance any way you could

Even if he’d never see them, you still wore them for him. Still wanted to impress him  anyway you coil.d. But if anyone were to ask why you had worn those types of undergarments you would brush it off with a shrug. Claiming you had no idea what they meant, despite the shame that would eat you from the inside out.

He didn’t make it easy for you though, and tonight was no exception.

Two hours, you both had been in the recording studio for two hours too long. Take after take and nothing was landing, your voice now only raspy thanks to the lack of sleep finally catching up to your body. Fatigue making it really hard to keep yourself from blurting out something inappropriate. Like how fucking good Doug looked with his button-up shirt being open like that. The way his hands flexed and tapped against the table when he was in thought, or the fact he looked so delicious you could take a bite out of them

“I’m telling you Doug, I have no clue how to turn it on and off” You groaned, walking into the control room. Moving the headphones to sit around your neck “It just happens, it’s a raspy voice from smoking. No real secret behind it” You sat on the table’s edge, legs not touching the ground so you swung them back and forth.

This earned a shake of his head, walking up to you and away from the window “You just haven’t voice trained” He removed the headphones from your neck, resting them behind you. His finger came up beneath your chin, forcing your head up “You just need to know how to move words through your throat” His hand flattened against your vocal chords, soft fingertips against your cold skin making shivers run down your spine.

“Speak”

You had to be dreaming, this couldn’t be real. If anyone were to walk in you couldn’t deny your position. Faces so close that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your nose each inhale being nothing but sandalwood cologne that was so uniquely his. With a hint of spearmint that seemed to linger around him. And with his soft voice demanding something from you? Surely your alarm clock would go off any second now.

“I need a cigarette” you whispered out, closing your eyes and waiting to wake up in your bed with a lot of pent up ‘frustration’

“Smoking will shoot your voice. If you want to control it I recommend you take a break” His tone wasn’t judgmental like others, it was more thoughtful than that. As if he had personally known how hard it was to put down something that made it so easy to think clearly. 

“My voice is already shot” You laughed while opening your eyes. Pitiful and weak with a large hand still pressed against your throat making it hard to focus on an actual conversion.

“I think it’s fantastic” there was more he wanted to say and you both knew it. But only he knew what would actually finish that sentence.

You both stayed still in a moment of reluctance. Him reluctant to pull away and you reluctant to push forward. If you had been put in front of a court you would blame your next actions on your drained and overworked brain. But the ache of need deep within you told you that you would be lying.

Eyelids closed and breath held you leaned in, feeling his unmoving lips against yours. For one instant of pure anxiety boiled down to its singularity, you didn’t feel anything in return. Mind running laps you went to pull away and apologise for such a display. But Doug really wasn’t about to let that happen.

His hand slid from your neck to cup the back of your head, fingers curling within your hair and giving it a soft tug. Lips now showing much more eagerness than you. Your hands found themselves curled around the collar of his shirt, spreading your legs so you could pull him in closer. Lips parting, kiss deepening and tongues meeting in what could only be described as pure satisfaction. Like finally jumping after standing on the ledge for too long.

You could’ve lived right here, spread out with Doug between your legs. One hand in your hair and the other on your hip while his tongue explored what you both had been denying yourselves.

He pulled away with your name breathless on his lips, eyes meeting once more. You return wirth a breathless whine of his name, as if it’d break whatever fantasy you two were foolishly living in.

But it did quite the opposite, lips now meeting your neck in desperation. Fingers curling tighter around your hair and pulling harsh. Moving your head out of the way so he could get right where he wanted. It was primal, animalistic sounds slipping past the messy kisses and bites on your neck. But you couldn’t focus on how delicious the pain of his pearly whites in your supple flesh felt, if they were leaving marks or not being a worry you didn't have because his other hand found itself wandering from your hip to the button of your jeans.

In a sobering moment you gasped out his name, gripping his wrist to signal him to stop. And he did without any irritation, his eyes now searching for any sign to stop

“I-I’m sorry” he mumbled, going to pull his hand away “I shouldn’t have…” you didn’t let go of his wrist, even when he did a harsher tug.

Although you found the look of confusion on his face adorable, you sighed “Doug, I want to… I really want to” You began, about to kick yourself for your next words “But I can’t do anything to jeopardize Emma’s position here” She owed you a hell of a lot more than just a ‘thank you’.

His smile was warm, too warm. As if all the lust in the room faltered into kindness “You are so selfless” he whispered, his hand in your hair loosening so he could caress the back of your neck “I think that’s another reason you make it so hard to keep my hands to myself” With a light kiss to your cheek, he pulled away much to your dismay “I would hope you know I’m not the type that would hold your actions against her. But I un-”

That's all you needed, that was the green light. He was wrong, you were about to be extremely selfish. No hesitation this time, he kissed you back. His hands found their previous position. Drowning in lust you barely breathe through your nose, it was easy to forget about air when you had Doug Lawrence undoing your pants in such impatient movements.

Kisses trailing down your neck, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your pants and panties. It was hard to keep up, your hands didn't know where to go. One still gripping to his collar like a lifeline, the other one moving from his wrist to hold his shoulder. You were overthinking everything, did your breathless pants escaping your lips sound good? Do you look attractive in the position you were currently in? But you couldn’t think anymore when you felt it. His hands, expertly pressing every button you didn’t even know you had until the soft pads of his fingers had touched you there.

Fingers sliding between your folds and pushing until they broke past your entrance. Curling up against your insides so perfectly you couldn't help but almost collapse in his kisses and arms. Everything suddenly feeling much too overwhelming for you. Palm against your clit while his fingers don’t falter, giving you the push you didn’t know you needed to begin chasing your own pleasure.

Hips moving in sputtered thrusts, attempting to keep up with the pace Doug had set. Hand gripping his wrist, but this time it wasn’t for him to stop. Instead using it as leverage to increase the pressure assisting your thrusts.

Body moving on its own, mind not catching up. Emptying itself so the only thing you were truly grasping was Doug. Face buried in his neck, drool dripping from your parted lips onto his collar. The only thing breaking up your filthy moans was the small amounts of praise he managed to drill into your head, doing nothing but pulling you closer and closer to that ledge you loved all too much. In an instant, everything went from almost there to falling, body tensing, vision blurring and moans silencing in favour of your jaw dropping and eyes squeezing shut.

This pause also made Doug pause his movements, allowing you to ride the wave of ecstasy. Catching your breath while he pulled his hand away and began buttoning up your jeans once more, you couldn’t help but feel guilty “Did you…?” you trailed off, shaky hands beginning to fiddle with his belt. Until he stopped you

“I am more than fine, you on the other hand look like you’re about to pass out” He wiped his hand on his pants before helping you get back down on your feet.

You couldn’t help the look you gave him, lazy and soft. But he seemed to appreciate it nonetheless “Come on, let’s get you a coffee so you can manage the drive home hm?” Hand in hand, you both walked to the break room. Leaving the control room door open to air out the smell of your actions. 

“I need a cigarette” you mumbled softly, giggling slightly when you realised these were the very words that lead you both to break.

“We’ll get you one of those too”

[hoboblaidd]

@skyheld asked: The motions are familiar, but the feelings are new. Once he would have approached the statue with respect and some reverence, not like a worshiper their deity, not for a blessing but for guidance. Fen'harel, we walk in your footsteps. Fen'harel, we let you show the way. Fen'harel, we remember, even if others don't. There would have been a measure of caution, because one should not trust the Dread wolf fully. There would have been pride. Now, as he sits in front of the wolf statue, he tastes only bitterness.

"Fen'harel", he says, and closes his eyes. "That is how you want to be known, isn't it? You seem intent on making the elves of my time wrong, and the Dalish of now perfectly right about you. Not the rebel fighting for the People's rights, but the Dread-wolf, stalking their dreams. If you wanted to be Solas..."

Solas. He remembers a man, soft-spoken, kind—most of the time. He remembers thinking it was good that Dhavi had chosen not some powerful emperor who'd one day choose his empire over her, but an ordinary person with ordinary ambitions who would have no reason to betray her. He didn't believe that after he found out the truth, but Abelas told him there was still more to him and—he tried to believe that, because he trusts them. And all those former slaves they he sent them, must they not mean something? After all these years, he is still that naive.

But appealing to emotion is not why he is here. "It seems to me that Casadh is our greatest hope, maybe our only hope, to save both the world that is and the one you want. And that it will take all they have to save it. So. Tell me why with every night that passes they seem to become more and more of a shadow. Tell me why they say you are in their dreams and that—they don't say you hurt them. I see their pain. I-"

He falters.

There were so many angry things he wanted to say. Now that he's talking they slip from his mind, all that justified anger, and his voice drops into a whisper. "Is this how it is? Between Dhavi and Casadh, am I always to be left watching those I love suffer at your hands? You can be kind, Abelas still says so. Or you can pretend to be kind. If it was a mask, was it really that uncomfortable that you cannot put it on again?"

-------------------

The approach of a petitioner or supplicant was a familiar feeling. In Ameridan’s time, Fen’harel had felt it from uthenera as the ragged wolf wandered the Fade. Now, trapped not in sleep but by magic, his own magic, he felt it again.

“No more than you wished to be known as Inquisitor,” Solas said evenly, his voice carried by the ancient magic he had woven into his stone visage. “I did not craft the legends of your people, nor those of the Dalish. I never sought to be worshipped or maligned. I have only ever been a man trying to free his people. A goal that I have remained steadfast in since before even your recorded histories. You know war as well as I, Inquisitor. You know none of this is as simple as the stories would paint it to be.”

But for all his practiced nonchalance, his insistence that a legend was never the goal, Solas hated the enduring picture the Evanuris had painted of him. Their lies persisted longer than his own. Yes, it bothered him to be remembered as the coward, the villain. And yes, he had mourned in the Beyond when those elves of Ameridan’s time, those who knew him as harellan rather than traitor, had been destroyed. Both for the loss of his memory, and another regret for failing his people.

“Casadh?” he repeated dimly. “You know Rook?”

It was a twist of opportunity. Ameridan knew Casadh. All Solas had learned of them was secondhand, or now what they would reveal in dreams. Varric had taught them to play their hand well. They were careful, but not impervious. His progress with them was steady, if slow. But now Ameridan could give him more. How unexpected. 

“What am I meant to do?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Ameridan's mention of Dhavi, choosing instead to focus on his goal. As ever. “Treat gently one who caged me and released the greatest evil this world has seen? They have invaded my home as readily as an enemy. Yet the only hurt I inflict, as you charge, is that I refuse to act the simpering servant, grateful for any scraps of conversation they might throw my way.

“You ask me to pretend - to lie.” He gave a rueful chuckle. “Which of us is playing into the Dalish legends now, I wonder.” 

Abelas still says so. They had lived in the world as it should be, had seen firsthand the brutality of the ‘gods’ Rook had unleashed, and t he unspeakable horrors of the Blight. The Right and Left Hands of Mythal were united again in mission. Or at least, Solas hoped they were. He could not bear another betrayal.

“Very well: tell me why I ought show them kindness, then, feigned or otherwise. What makes this child worthy of your protection? Why should I forgive the one who has chained me?”

[cheriiepies]

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, enemies to lovers

Note: This is my first fiction, and I know it is not perfect. But I will try to improve. Btw, big thanks for @papaya-twinks as she helped me with this fiction a lot!! SO THANK YOU POOKIE(((ＵωＵ｀ *)(* ´ＵωＵ))).

Since the karting days the relationship between you and Charles was sour. It felt like any opportunity for bonding or getting to know each other was filled with long arguments over stupid things, fights, battles (and stubborness)

It was a race weekend and you were walking in the paddock towards your team ready to do some media work and content for the fans with your *favorite* teammate, Charles. Those challenges you did for the youtube or instagram is always filled with passive aggresivness or extreme competition.

As you were reaching the Ferrari garage you heared a familiar voice calling you over:

-"Y/n! Charles! Here you guys are. I need to speak to you two , alone". Charles glanced at you briefly:

-"What did you do now?"

-"Well hello to you too, Charles. I am fine how are you? And for the record the last time we were called in his office was when you fucked our race up!"

"Oh, get over it. Not my problem that you cannot control a wheel". You rolled your eyes at that trying very hard to not bite back

They entered the office seeing a very serious Fred looking at them.

"I hope you guys know that I won't tolerate any crashes that happened between you because you were too stubborn to listen to your race engineers!"-he said his voice rising at the end as this was certeanly not a rare inCHident(got that?). "We have the ability to get the podium as the car is perfectly suited for this circuit. P3 and P4 are not a bad starting position. We have to get the most out of this opportunity. Understood?". Both of them agreed, trying to talk less as it would cause more arguments.

"I won't let you ruin my race again y/n" charles said as they were leaving the office for an interview that would start in 20 minutes. "Can say the same about you. You can not tolerate me being ahead of you. It seems to be hurting your ego. The only reason you can secure podiums is because of the team orders. " He could only chuckle at that finding the idea amusing. "Well, the reason is I am the better driver in this team, so you do as the orders say." "Fuck you Charles! You act like you are all that, when in reality, all you do is blame the car or me when something fucks your race up, but it is you. Maybe you should get your head out of your ass and realise that you are not as good?" Ypu knew he was a good driver. But you still liked pushing his buttons. Charles could only glare at you not wanting to say things he will regret later. It was just a silent walk after that as they all sat in their beloved places during the interview.

Timeskip: the race

-“Right, Y/N, we’re starting in P4, let’s see if we can optimise this position,” your engineer spoke calmly. You replied with a simple and calm ‘yes’, knowing fully well of your own motive. Beat Charles. He’d already been a right ass about having qualified P3, one spot ahead of you, by less than a tenth, and what you wanted? To wipe his filthy little smirk away.

And so the formation lap begun, your eyes fixed on the rear wing of your teammate’s car, watching as he drove round the circuit. Five lights. Out. Instantly, you tried, and failed, to overtake him, feeling the threat of the number four car behind you. “Fuck,” you hissed, pressing harder to get away from him, your eyes trained on Charles. Sure, the team HAD warned you two on how these constant fiery battles could end up costing you the win or points at the minimum, but you were not one to back down. And neither was Charles, apparently. After 40 laps the cars ahead of you were starting to pit. It was an easy overtake to p3 and charles p2. But you wanted more. So you tried to overtake Charles even if your race engineer told you not to, as it is not safe with the tyres and they did not want to risk anything. As you were trying to overtake the wheels touched and it sent the both of you out of the track ulitametly crashing each other.

"What the fuck was that!" Charles was rigtfully angry. It was the perfect moment to secure P2 or even get a P1. You both got out of the car. You wanted to apoligize for ruining his race.

"Hey, I am sorry it was an accident, I miscalucilated and- "shut the fuck up! You always do this, why couldn't you just listen?. And now we are both out of the race. Do you realise how dangerous your driving is? Maybe they were all right about you. You do not deserve your seat! It is a miracle you could even get out of F3 alive!" He kept going on about how undeserving you are of the seat. It hurt you more than you cared to admit. Even if you disliked Charles(or so you thought), his validation and approval was still something you craved. You admired him since the beggining of your F1 rookie season. You looked up at him trying to hide your tears- " I said sorry, mistakes happen. I hope you forgive me . I have to go". Charles felt guilty at his harsh words suddenly realising that you did not deserve all that shit. He wanted to apologize but you were already gone. He was zoning out while the reporters asked about the crash, replaying it on the screens. All he could think of is how sad you looked when he was lashing out on you. He did not see you all day, not on the paddock not,after the race. You where nowhere to be seen.

It was already late, he could not sleep. The guilt was eating Charles up, his harsh words replaying in his mind. The way you looked so sad. It bothered him a lot, he did not actually wanted to hurt your feelings, he wasn't thinking right saying those things. With out thinking much his worry carried him towards your hotel room. Charles slowly knocked on the door, not hearing anything he slowly opened it.

" y/n? Are you here? I am so sorry about what I said. I wasn't thi-". Charles stopped talking as soon as he saw you laying on your bed with red teary eyes. Hair disheveled, laying on your bed trying to wipe your cheeks. "Hey, hey. Are you crying because of today? " he instictively came closer to you, wanting to comfort you. "I am so sorry, I did not want to ruin your race! You were right about me , maybe I am a bad driver. You have all the rights to hate me"- you rambled, trying not to cry again. "I was mad and said things that weren't true. You are a great driver y/n even if I tell you otherwise. I was an asshole and it was unfair of me to say hurtful words like that. Accidents happen. And for the record, I do not hate you. " Not realising Charles was holding y/n close, hugging her, not wanting her to cry anymore. Charles denied his protectivness over y/n, though his actions spoke otherwise. It made her feel butterflies in her stomach even if she tried to deny it.

"I forgive you too. You had every right to be mad at me. And I do not hate you either. Not at all. " You suddenly felt shy at the position you were in. But he still kept you close, gently looking at you. There was something else happening at the way you looked at each other so softly. He slowly leaned in, giving you the chance to back away if you did not want this. But you both wanted this. His lips were soft and gentle as he held your cheek and carrased your hair lovingly. As you pulled away, he gently whispered, "I can never hate you."

[ikamigami]

I always personally disliked Eclipse as to me, he was just Moon but without the title of "brother"(not that that made Moon's treatment okay, if anything it makes Moon worse because siblings should NEVER treat their other siblings like Moon treats Sun)

I get how he's angry and traumatized from being trapped in Moon's mind but what he took from it was completely incorrect, instead of realizing the one who did this to him was Moon, Moon discarded him and locked him away, he never realized Moon had ensured Eclipse couldn't be heard by doing that, he seriously thinks Sun was ignoring him when Sun flat out had no clue he was there and likely the Fazco techs never noticed anything and Moon likely lied to Sun that there was nothing there because he knew Eclipse was there, Moon is solely to blame for Eclipse's situation, and YET he blames Sun, who's just as much of a victim as him, he seriously saw what Moon was doing to Sun and his own situation and somehow went "Sun's the bad one"?

It's just like how Moon blamed Sun for their shared situation even though the Creator made them that way on purpose and Fazco let them rot, and neither he or Moon ever realized that had they been nicer their freedom would've been achieved faster? Sun was more than willing to help Moon and tried extending a hand to Eclipse despite thinking Eclipse caused July 16th, but both made themselves out to be serious threats to Sun's life and other people's lives and gave him no choice

It makes me wonder if Eclipse inherited part of Moon's hateful grudge towards Sun for locking him away, but just like Moon rather than realizing Sun actually had a good reason for that(aka he had no other choice, it sucks but nobody helped him, he didn't have the ability to do anything else, and Moon kept killing people, seriously what is he supposed to do?), it wasn't out of selfishness or malice, and Sun would've rather never had to do that to Moon, he would've rathered they coexisted, and Eclipse, despite claiming he's better than Moon, never grew up enough to realize that?

It also didn't help that after July 16th when he introduced himself he made himself out to be the bad guy, Sun and Moon had no idea Bloodmoon was a thing, to Sun all he knows is there's another presence in his head and it just killed all those people, and to Moon, he knows exactly what's in Sun's head and he thinks that that's what caused July 16th because he knew he left the killcode in there like an idiot, and what does Eclipse do when he makes himself known? Takes over Sun's body to laugh in his face, good job incriminating yourself for a crime you didn't commit

I half suspect the reason why he's so cruel to Sun is, like Moon, he knows Sun is too kind(Eclipse thinks cowardly but he's wrong) to fight back, ergo, there's no consequences to hurting him, because he'll keep being kind and forgiving, that Sun is easy prey, and we know both he and Moon think that because both are shocked when they shove Sun past his breaking point, which takes a lot, that and the fact that they enjoy hurting Sun, Sun's they're perfect victim since they could be endlessly cruel and torment Sun and Sun for the longest time never fought back, and both of them enjoyed hurting Sun, if Moon and Eclipse tried this with anyone else it'd backfire, heck when Eclipse tried manipulating Earth back when he had the Star he flat out failed because she was not cowed by him whatsoever, and Lunar eventually left him after he had enough and Lunar even killed Eclipse when Eclipse pushed him too far…Speaking of

The guy literally built Lunar to be his perfectly loyal and loving little brother and yet through his cruel behavior and him hitting Lunar Lunar ran away, he managed to drive away somebody he built to be brainwashed for and unflinchingly loyal to him, that's both a testament to his cruelty and how even when he's presented the perfect opportunity to not be alone, to get what he wants, to be loved and have a family, he ruins it with that aforementioned cruelty because he like Moon can't help himself, even if he "learned siblings act like this from Sun and Moon" does that really make it right?

Another thing I wonder is if he built Lunar to be like how he perceives Sun to be: always loving, always loyal, childish, stupid, naive, and selfish, and yet then we see how that backfires as unlike Sun, Lunar would not tolerate Eclipse's abuse, he would not forgive Eclipse if pushed too far and would take action against him if Eclipse kept going, that the love he had for Eclipse to begin with faded when Eclipse hurt him, which goes to show how Eclipse's perception of Sun(seen through Lunar) completely misrepresents and is inaccurate to who Sun actually is, people like to cite how Eclipse might've killed Lunar out of spite because Lunar "betrayed" him, if Eclipse held the role of Moon and Lunar was meant to be Sun in their dynamic, Lunar went against the script by standing up for himself and cutting Eclipse out of his life, as opposed to Sun who even now gives Moon a chance after everything, but that's just an idea

Eclipse has always tried ruining Sun's life and hurt him, it goes far beyond retribution(retribution for crimes Sun never committed) into torture, and he always think terribly of Sun, that Sun is a weakling, a coward, worthless, just as selfish and evil as he is, and that Sun deserves to suffer, and there's no excuse for that no matter what reason there might be, some might say "he's mad at Sun for not fighting back against Moon", then why did he decide to double Sun's suffering rather than try to help/encourage him to be stronger? If Eclipse was so lonely and wanted companionship Sun was right there! It's also clear that this isn't the reason since he would always call Sun a coward and just like Moon beat Sun down any time Sun did stand up to him, him blaming Sun for his imprisonment is stupid as it was Moon's fault, not Sun's, others might say "he hates himself" and so what? You don't tear others down to make yourself feel better that's what bullies do, and then there's the reason that I suspect for his behavior:

He enjoys it, he likes hurting Sun because it's fun for him, we've heard him laugh about it before, that he believes all these incorrect things about Sun and therefore he feels justified in being awful to him, and when Sun's not his personal punching bag Sun's his tool for getting petty revenge on Moon

Also for that matter, why did he never seriously confront Moon on abandoning him? If Eclipse is deserving of any kind of justice then by all rights he should chew Moon out for sealing him away, he's more than in the right for chastising Moon for that, yet that never happened weirdly, and why not start to heal from that through therapy and/or introspection rather than just lashing out at everybody?

He, like Moon, absolutely refuses to even entertain the idea that he was the one in the wrong and will jump through every mental hoop he can to avoid that, it's never "hm maybe I did something wrong" and it's always instead "it's everyone else but me" or "I'm bad so what", he never realized that most of the bad things in his life were his own fault

Sun fighting him for control? Sun would've shared if Eclipse wasn't an active threat to him and Moon, Sun hating him? He tortured Sun to his breaking point, Lunar disowning him and allying with Sun and Moon? He abused Lunar badly enough to chase him away, Bloodmoon becoming a loose canon? He discarded Bloodmoon when he fulfilled his purpose and became too unruly for Eclipse's liking, the Star slowly killing him? He sat on his hands having an existential crisis rather than using the Star to upgrade his body in an instant so it wouldn't kill him like every other Eclipse with the Star did, Sun and Nexus killing him? That's the culmination of all his terrible actions finally catching him

I could go on, and yet he still wonders why he's lonely, it took the guy dying four times, one being to Lunar, and being turned into a puppet by Ruin and later Dark Sun for him to finally give some sort of apology to Lunar, but never to Sun, to his first victim, he says he's done hating and yet now we're seeing him continue to be spiteful and bitter towards Sunlight and Moonlight in the new dimension and feel vindicated in his abuse of Sun through dealing with Sunlight

Like seriously why don't people want him to ACTUALLY improve and be a better person? I don't want him dead, I want to see him improve, or at the very least actually earn making a new life for himself by making amends with his old victims, he did that with Lunar, who not Sun? If he does apologize to Sun genuinely and recognize what he he did rather than running away I'd die happy…

Sorry that this is long and with all the talks on Eclipse's regression I wanted to pitch in

You're absolutely right, dear anon 👏

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me ^^

I don't have anything to add here ^^

And I also wonder why people don't want Eclipse to improve..

And I want the same as you, dear anon.. for Eclipse to reflect and realize his mistakes and wrongdoings and apologize and atone for what he's done.. or just apologize.. like if it's really better if Eclipse went separate ways from Sun and Moon (though I personally disagree) then let Eclipse at least apologize to them..

I think that it'd be for the better for all of them..

Also let Moon apologize to Eclipse too..

And Sun can also apologize for saying that he should kill himself..

So all of them would be even but I think that it matters..

Maybe I'm wrong but who knows..

[fordtato]

Hi. I finished your new video essay yesterday, after two sittings. Had to split it, because it came out in the late evening in my timezone, and my roommate was already sleeping - I was super afraid of waking her up with my loud, uncontrollable bursts of laughter (your sense of humor never fails me). I was so, so excited about this video for many months (I almost dropped my phone when I saw your runtime post), and, as always, you managed to completely amaze me in every possible way. 

As always, of course, the backgrounds and decorations, the whole setup - were stunning. I LOVED the stained glass - is this a pattern now? I want this to be a pattern, you have a gift - and the wax wings, and the nonchalant way you glued them together throughout the video. Your shirt-vest combo was also what made it so good as a whole and also made me want to rob your wardrobe. Beware. 

Ford's faults (and "faults") you mentioned and your arguments against them were something I've been deeply convinced of myself for years now and expected to hear them from you as well. It was deeply, deeply satisfying to hear them ALL, even the smallest, most ridiculous ones, out loud, for the first time ever. It was truly a freeing experience, and I can't thank you enough. You took all of those allegations - from the lack of a better word - that people have been coming up with since 2015 and pointed their lack of logic, thought, and attention to detail, or sometimes just plain stupidity and ignorance, out. And did so with style. 

I could ramble here for a really long time about my thoughts on the character of Stanford Pines and how, for years, I observed people interpreting him in a way that's been completely different from mine. About how it baffled me, angered me, made me sad. But it's no use for me to do so because you've said everything I've ever wanted to. You saw all the same things and pointed them out in a way no one else in this fandom could. And it healed something in me. It made something click back in place. Thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart.

The thing that I DO need to point out specifically is the ending. Something that I think always angered me the most in Ford's canon story. How after everything that happened, after everything he's bern through, he doesn't see himself as a victim of Bill, a victim of abuse and manipulation that ruined his life. He sees an Icarus metaphor. And it is the way the narrative wants us to see him - it wants us to see Ford as a man that fell because of his "pure ego", overachieving behaviour, because of his refusal to listen to the voices of reason, because of him isolating himself. His happy ending in the series is bound to being remorseful, apologising to everyone he's ever hurt and changing, and then getting the forgiveness and happiness coming from it. He's made a lot of mistakes, of course. Some of them he made completely on his own, because of his flaws, personality, and ways of perceiving the world. But others (and I would say the biggest ones, the ones getting pointed out the most) are a mix of both his personality, and, majorly, abuse and trust being broken over and over again. And in the end, it doesn't get acknowledged, not really. He doesn't say, "I am a victim of abuse." He says,"I was wrong. I was cruel. Please, forgive me." And shows ends it on that note, making it the final conclusion. And it's a thing that always has been the root to Ford's tragedy in the series to me. And I've never seen anyone mention it, talk about it, even amongst Ford's defenders. And you pointed it out perfectly with the Icarus metaphor in the end.

I don't know how many too-long-for-my-own-good-and-probably-yours-too asks I will have to write again, but I know that as long as you continue to make your "little" masterpieces, I'm going to watch them on the same day, and then think about them for weeks after. And in many of those cases I feel the need to inform you of my constantly growing amazement. I hope you don't mind. I hope you know your work is admired by many, many people, and I just happen to be one of them. I hope you get some well-deserved rest. And for the last time here - thank you so, so much.

I've had this sitting in my inbox for a while and I've struggled to find the words to respond, but I'm very glad the video resonated with you so much. And I'm honored that you enjoyed it like this.