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thesilmarillionblog · 1 month ago

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𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 ── Part 3

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: In the hopes that things would improve between you, you choose to lose your virginity to your friend Dean Winchester because you have been in love with him madly for a long time. However, he doesn't feel the same about you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: Unrequited love, angst, jealousy, tension, language

Word Count: 6043

A/N: English is not my first language.

Song: 'It takes a Lot to Know a Man' by Damien Rice

While it was exhausting in some ways and occasionally involved people who were a little noisy and irate, spending an entire day at the hospital and taking care of patients felt good. It was occasionally unclear which task you had more difficulty with than the other: hunting or nursing. That being said, one of them was a little too dangerous for you.

Your thoughts raced at every word Dean said, hinting that he didn't want you to tear down your bond, as you thought back to the evening he'd spent with Jo while Sam spent his time watching TV. Though he hadn't stated it explicitly, his sharp statements with soft tones made it clear. Although you were happy that he was trying to be respectful and polite, the fact that it hurt so much made his efforts a waste.

Perhaps it would be better for you to listen Sam. Giving new people a chance and meeting them might perhaps heal whatever hurts you on the inside. But when it came down to it, you were a coward for being devoted to someone you never had and never would. Especially when you saw Dean enjoying himself with Jo there in front of your eyes, it didn't even make sense.

As if absolutely nothing happened between you.

It was just too much for you, yet it meant nothing to him. But because you were the one who let everything happen and didn't even inform him that you were a virgin, you had no reason to hold Dean responsible. Nothing at all. However, that was such a burden.

You cleared your mind of thoughts and saw your colleague doing his job while you treated the small girl's hand when she reached you with her nervous mother, who was frequently repeating to her that she had warned her not to play with sharp objects. It wasn't that horrible, but you did your best to soothe her and divert her attention by carefully cleaning her hand.

You informed her mother that there were hundreds of such and even worse incidents in emergency, much like her daughter, after the sharp glass was removed from her arm. You were given the task of stitching, and you began it meticulously and with caution. Sadly, it had to be stitched. Even doing it with adults appeared to be challenging.

She was trying her hardest not to weep when she saw the needle because she felt guilty and ashamed, but you swiftly covered it up and looked at her mother to let her know that she too needed to calm her daughter. Fortunately, she got the message.

I was just wondering what your name is. You haven't told me yet," you inquired, trying to complete your task without drawing attention to your hands.

“Talia,” she sobbed as she turned to face her mother as if she wanted to see if she was still angry with her.

“It's a very lovely name.” You replied, “It's good to meet you, Talia,” and gave her your name. Making sure her kid wasn't gazing at you while you were taking care of her arm, you encouraged her mother to talk to her as well. Not in an angry way, of course.

“It's not very pretty,” she said. Children typically complain about several things.

“Why do you say that, though?”

“It sounds like 'Arya.' I was playing with Aisha when she told me that. I don't even like that name.”

If there was anything positive about kids, it was being prone to share too much. That was really beneficial for handling youngsters during an emergency, though. It would have been better, of course, if they had just been cautious and not gone through at all. It seemed to you that the other girl she was referring to was her closest friend.

“I don't believe so. Their pronouncations are really differently,” you observed. “I has a very beautiful meaning, and it's not a very common name, which is a nice thing. Don't you think so?”

“Yes,” she said after giving it some thought. “Will it hurt?”

“Just a little bit,” you smiled reassuringly at her. “People say my hands are really soft.”

She was unable to conceal her frightened and apprehensive look as you began stitching as her mother went on to remark about how impulsive her daughter might be at times. Additionally, you saw her continuing talking with her daughter about topics that would divert her attention.

She inquired, “Do you have a boyfriend?” with curiosity. She was attempting to cover up the hurt expression on her face so her mother wouldn't say anything further.

“No,” you smiled and stated.

“Why?”

“I'm not sure.” You attempted to respond vaguely in order to get her to stop interrogating you about your nonexistent romantic life. “Adult life is difficult to comprehend when it comes to such matters.”

“Now I'm not interested in growing up. Mine is not difficult.”

You interrupted with, “Good for you,” and carefully cleaned her arm while smiling sincere at her. “It is finished. I told you that my hands were soft, right?”

You felt better as the rest of the day passed, taking care of other patients, listening to them, and doing what you could to help them. It dawned on you that becoming worn out was an effective distraction from troubling thoughts. Making yourself occupied at that moment was definitely the best thing for you because you were going to lose your mind over thinking about Dean constantly, even when you had to pee. Your body was hurting so much that you had no energy left to consider anything but resting.

You were taken aback when one of your closest friends randomly stopped by the hospital where you work right before you were about to leave. You looked him in the eye and saw that, indeed, it was him. You shivered in anticipation as you gazed at him because of the little coolness in the air. Your pulse was pounding with excitement and curiosity as you narrowed your eyes and caught him with such a focused glance that he knew you were the one gazing at him before you could.

In a tone that suggested both shock and joy, you exclaimed, “Robert?” as you approached each other. You could have recognized him sooner, a few minutes earlier, before you left the hospital.

He was your pal from college. Before you left the hospital where you both worked and joined Sam and Dean, you two were extremely close friends. With Rob, everything was simple, and he was a really nice and supportive friend; you would never deny that. But at that point, you couldn't simply bury your desire to go after the family business in addition to your own work, and it was difficult to say no to Dean. He was the one who initially convinced you. After all of your losses, you had also yearned for something different—something that could brighten you up.

During the times you worked together, Rob was a highly professional, talented, and encouraging doctor. Even though there was a hierarchy between you at the hospital, you respected the fact that he never treated you worse than necessary or better than he should have. He was always completely aware of the lines.

But even though you've been in touch with Rob, your connection with him has been weakened since you've spent so much time with Dean and Sam. There's no denying that.

You gave him a huge, tight hug, and he chuckled, “Hey,” as if he wasn't at all shocked to see you. He knew that you were working here after all, but you didn't expect to see him anyway.

Warmly hugging him again, you said, “What are you doing here?”

He winked and added, “I was in the neighborhood,” as you drew back and gave him a suspicious look. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Dean attempted to divert his attention throughout the day while he fixed things and cleaned Baby. He became consumed with a sensation of rage and frustration that he just didn't comprehend. He was thinking about the past three weeks nonstop, even if nothing was wrong. Particularly the last night.

After speaking with Jo over the phone about his intention to stop their connection and his lack of interest in pursuing a serious relationship, Dean was pleased that she accepted his request and that she wasn't interested in pursuing it further either, even though she offered him to go hunting. His and her desire to hunt were similar, but Dean didn't comprehend how different they were in fact. He was glad Jo felt the same.

If Dean had cared a little bit more, he may have been ashamed by his obviously poor performance last night, but oddly, he didn't. He felt a lot of burden when he realized that even for a brief while, he fucked Jo thinking about you. Imagining your body under him. It wasn't fair, and he didn't even mean it. He was aware of that.

The worst thing about it was that he enjoyed it and wasn't pleased with it behaving like this. Clearly stating that one night shouldn't be enough to ruin your friendship, he shouldn't reciprocate by fantasizing about fucking you. About filling you with his—Uh. Whatever.

All day, he tried to find a way a way to divert his attention with Baby and all things mechanical. He sometimes purposefully broke things so he could fix them again. But he also couldn't quit thinking about your most recent conversation.

It wasn't the unclear situation between him and Jo that was causing him the strain he thought it was. It didn't ease him at all to cut his links with her so quickly. He was surprised to see that you were encircling him in his thoughts, imprisoning him there.

“You look messy,” Sam said, observing his ripped t-shirt and dirty face.

As he bent over and looked at Sam, he said, “Thanks,” in a dismissive voice, while searching for the right tool for his car.

“You seem to be quite busy today, aren't you?” said Sam to carefully avoid getting his shirt dirty as he gave Dean the right tool in his palm from afar.

“You think? I guess it was a long time since I took care of Baby.”

“Yeah, for around a week. But why in the world are you behaving like a cranky old lady?”

“Sam, don't get started. I mean it.” Dean shot back immediately, suddenly becoming quite defensive. He felt like the irritation was pouring into him again, but he didn't even understand why, which was making him angrier. “I have too much to do as you see.”

“By the way, when did Jo leave? Even though I got up early, I didn't see her.”

“Yeah, she left in the middle of the night.”

Recalling the evening did not soothe his feelings, but Dean responded to Sam, stating to let the fuck him alone as soon as possible. But Sam seemed intent on playing the part of the curious bitch, as if he intended to test Dean's patience to the maximum extent possible.

“After you two had finished, huh? She's an awesome girl, but her loudness..is definetely something else. I'm not trying to say it in a mean way, but for heaven's sake, Dean. If you two have... kinky stuff, it would be best if you spent the night at her place. I bet you two also probably made it difficult for Y/N to fall asleep.”

Dean shot a look at Sam, who was attempting to say something without coming out as weird about Jo or whatever. Sam didn't dislike Jo at all; it wasn't that he despised her. She was a little too cunning and rebellious for Dean's liking. That was a known fact. His brother was sometimes a bitch; that was true, but not that bitchy for sure.

When Sam brought you up in the chat, Dean found it difficult to focus on his work and became disoriented while lying down beneath his car. Sam was trying very hard to get under his skin for sure.

He had become frustrated in some way by the thought that you heard him and Jo. He wasn't trying to get you to hear something or anything. Dean frowned with distaste, picturing you hearing Jo's exaggerated noises. He shouldn't have brought her home to have sex in the first place, but what is done was done. Even it wasn't right. Fuck that.

Dean attempted to lightheartedly remark, “Women have a hard time with staying silent when I'm around, huh,” in an attempt to divert Sam's attention. He attempted to change the subject at hand.

“Have you seen Y/N in the morning?”

“Why are you asking that right now?” Dean grunted and glared at Sam. He suddenly lost control of the tool he was holding and groaned in pain as it landed across his face. “God. Fuck this.”

Puzzled by Dean's odd behavior, Sam put his hands in his pockets in between his complaints. His recent behavior has been peculiar. Sam was hesitant to confront it since he thought it was likely to do with their father and other hunting experiences, but he couldn't help but wonder if he was still angry with you for what happened on the previous hunt.

Sam was appreciative of Dean for constantly watching out for him, taking care of him, and protecting him from harm—even if there were times when it made him feel like a little child. Sam knew that Dean would always be looking out for him, even if he lived fifty years old. Dean has always been overly protective, and he always will be. However, there were times he was being too much.

“Have you?” Dean was curious and asked. Remembering your swollen eyes, he wondered if you were okay. It didn't appear like you got much sleep.

Sam said, “Yeah,” while keeping his hands in his pockets and observing Dean's struggling with Baby. “She seemed pretty bad though.”

“Why do you say that?” Despite his best efforts to appear indifferent and normal, Dean's tone betrayed him. There was absolutely no stopping it. He was wondering if he was treating you too harshly these days. Neither Dean nor you were ever good at expressing yourself clearly.

“I'm not sure. She was quite exhausted, and her eyes appeared to be red, but I'm not sure. Her having to work and hunt at the same time must be challenging.” Sam thought you were pushing yourself a little too hard since he got to know you; however, he wasn't sure if it was just weariness or something more. He was impressed by your ambition and couldn't help but feel respect and appreciation for you.

“Maybe,” Dean interrupted, reminiscing on the way you looked the previous night. You looked so worn out, but he was too preoccupied with the talk to notice. Even though he wasn't sure whether he would believe it himself, he would prefer to pretend that you were just dizzy or sleepy. He would have said that you had sobbed uncontrollably all night, but he quickly brushed this idea from his mind as a sensation of uneasiness overcame him. “She must be tired.”

“Did you apologize to her?”

“For what”

Sam kept rolling his eyes at Dean because he was becoming a little irritated with the way he was acting. He would claim that throughout the previous two or three weeks, something inside of him had altered.

“For acting like a grumpy old bitch,” Sam shot back.

Dean kept it short, refusing to elaborate on what had happened the night before. “We talked it out,” he said. “She'll start being more watchful now. By the way, is your arm okay?”

Sam kneeled down and attempted to look into Dean's face in an effort to start a meaningful conversation, realizing that Dean was unwilling to acknowledge that his reaction was wrong.

Sam remarked, “It's been a year since she joined us, and she's far too helpful and too kind for how you reacted there," dismissing his inquiry over his arm. Though I'm grateful for your concern, it's wrong. You need to be a little softer and gentler.”

“Do you think I don't know that?” After switching out the tool, Dean gave Sam a stern look.

“No.”

Sam grumbled in frustration, acknowledging that it would be impossible to alter Dean's perspective. “It wasn't very kind to tell someone that you have only one left to care about when they don't even have one.”

For a brief period, Dean's hands paused, and regret overcame his mind. He couldn't recall the exact moment those piercing words, as if he intended to intentionally harm you, came out of his mouth. It was never his intention to do so. Gradually, Dean's hands slowed, and he stood up, recalling that you were the only member of your family still living. For a moment, he stopped being interested in everything.

“Now you know what you must apologize for, huh?” With a broken smile, Sam remarked. At least Dean wasn't so rigid, which relieved him. “Do you know when her shift ends?”

Dean murmured, “Yeah, I guess,” in a tone that was more controlled and calm.

“You need to fix this; I'm serious. Give her a call, and bring her over for tonight. Having a dinner together might be a wonderful place to begin, and she'll be too exhausted anyway.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” Dean hurriedly walked by Sam, messing his hair to annoy him. He returned inside from the garage, determined not to engage in any further discourse.

After a quick shower, Dean changed into new clothing and stood in front of the mirror, making adjustments with his hair until he was satisfied with the way he looked. He bit his lip anxiously and walked the room for a little while, considering calling you, but then decided to come get you because he knew you would be finished with work in an hour. It would be better to give you a call on the way. On the drive back home, it may be somewhat more appropriate for conversation. Driving back after so many hours at work would exhaust you too much. Besides, it was becoming late. Perhaps you might even consider eating in a restaurant.

“But why didn't you inform me about your arrival? You could have called me,” you wondered, your mouth making into a smile. It surprised you too much to see him so abruptly, even though you knew he would let you know if there was another time.

Unexpectedly, he replied, “I actually did it on purpose.” You waited for him to continue. “I thought, surprising you about that, I'm going to work here from now on, and seeing that face of yours would be worth it.”

“Oh my god,” you said, displaying greater excitement than you had expected.

“You can't be serious.”

“I am pretty serious actually.”

When your phone began to ring, you apologized and continued to ignore Dean's calls. Rob then informed you that he had chosen to relocate after his father passed away, and you had attended his funeral around a month prior. You assumed that it must have caused some sort of trauma, but you didn't pursue the matter further since you didn't want to reopen old wounds.

You inquired excitedly, “Do you want to come over? I could make you some food so we can have an actual conversation instead of chatting under that weather. You know, it's kind of cold, and I'm sort of tired as hell,” you joked, hoping he would take you up on your offer. It has suddenly occurred to you that you have been missing your friend, an old friend you haven't fallen in love with despite knowing for years.

Dean eventually lost patience with you and, making an annoyed sound, placed his phone back in his pocket. He thought about giving you another call right after he parked and got out of his car, but if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, you were speaking with a man. He could tell that you had ignored his calls since you were having a heated chat that briefly made him stiff. If he didn't see you giggling and even giving him a firm hug, which caused his body to tense up for a brief moment, he would say it was simply small talk.

Dean wasn't sure if being ignored was the cause of his growing ire. Since his rage had been driving him insane since the morning, he put the blame on his lack of patience. His pride was hurt by your disregard for him as well.

With a sidelong glance at the man you were speaking with, Dean saw his rage flare up. Not feeling calm since the morning was tiring though. The man had a prideful appearance yet exuded a sense of confidence. From a distance, he could express that enough.

His body stiffened for a moment, indicating that the conversation was... intense. So that was the reason that you ignored him for that long.

Dean moved fast but calmly to avoid making a scene, attempting to maintain his composure despite his mind racing with thoughts. As he walked to each of you, he considered lying about his work. Maybe he would pretend to be a doctor in order to create a good impression, or he would claim to be working for the CIA or FBI in order to make dirty jokes about you and him. He would decide that soon enough.

You whispered, “Dean?” in shock as he unexpectedly appeared at your side. It was unusual for him to show up, especially considering how distant you two were in the last couple of days. He glanced in your direction, but then his gaze shifted to Robert.

Dean glanced at you and added, “I've been calling you for some time.” It was a little judgmental, which bothered you.

Robert stared at you both bewildered, and you lied to him, “I wasn't aware,” but he didn't interject. Awkwardness suddenly filled the air. Three of you were waiting on foot as the chilly weather grew more intense. It was a really uncomfortable moment.

As Robert extended his hand for a formal introduction, Dean said, “Can't imagine why,” while concentrating his entire attention on him. Dean talked first: “Dean Winchester.”

Robert also introduced himself quite sweetly and kindly. He was typically really polite and mindful. You hoped Dean wasn't feeling like making uncomfortable remarks or embarrassing you in any way. He wasn't a reckless person, but when he wasn't in the mood, you just didn't know whether he knew the lines.

Robert gave you a long stare when they finally got to meet, but he remained silent. Rather, he said, “So are you two friends or?”

“Yeah, very close,” Dean said immediately. Robert only nodded to him. “How do you know each other?”

“Well, I'm a doctor.” Robert said, giving you a real, heartfelt smile that warmed your heart, “We've known each other for a long time and worked in the same hospital for quite a long time from my perspective since I'm always on the move. She’s a very good nurse, very talented.” When someone you looked up to complimented you, your heart skipped a beat. These days, it's difficult to find someone who values your effort.

You tensed up for a moment when Dean responded, “I know,” in a proud voice and with a sly smile. When he saw Robert smiling broadly at you, he was powerless to stop himself. Licking his lips, he added, “She has very soft hands indeed and definitely knows how to use them.”

Though Dean had no intention of making any inappropriate remarks, his patience with the man in front of him was getting thinner by the moment as he kept looking at you while he talked. Dean felt like he was getting in the mood when he observed Robert's face change. With a confused expression on his face, he seemed to be trying to figure out whether Dean meant it literally or if it was a metaphor or something.

You gave Dean a glare, but you remained silent despite your cheeks turning red from his unexpected and dirty statement. You were shocked that he chose to act this way in order to make you feel uncomfortable in front of your friend. You didn't mind when he made similar jokes when there was just you and him; nonetheless, you felt embarrassed acting in this way in front of Robert. You weren't sure of Dean's actual intentions.

You choose to cut it off in order to release some tension. “Robb, would you like to have an actual conversation with me later, or simply come over? Of course, if you have the time.”

Dean gave you and Robert a bitter look as he realized how fast and recklessly you had welcomed a man to your house at that hour. He knew you well enough to know that you weren't someone who liked to greet guests at your place with such ease. It didn't matter how hard you tried to disguise your trust concerns; you had trust issues. You were so at ease and full of energy around that man that he wondered how close you must have been to him. Dean closed his eyes for a while, pushing the terrible pictures from his mind as he considered the scenarios involving you and him.

“Actually, I came here at that hour to visit with a different friend before spending the night with my aunt. Can we have a call for tomorrow to set up a suitable time?” Robb remarked very politely, “I guess your friend came here to pick you up,” glancing at Dean as if he required clarification from both of you.

You went to offer him a hug by saying, “Of course. I'm so glad to see you again.”

His hands massaged your back as he gave you an even closer embrace, kissing you briefly on the top of the head and telling you to take care of yourself. He promised to text you as soon as he had some spare time.

Dean gazed at you and him confused as he saw you two embrace like lovers who had met years later. He questioned whether the man's irritating conduct was intended for annoying him. He was curious as to how and when you two first connected, as well as why, given that you spent the entire year with Sam and him, you would still be so close to someone a year later. Although Dean was aware that you remained in contact with your pals, he was unaware of how close you were to one of them.

Dean was ready to say something, but he instantly changed his mind and was waiting for you to end the hug. He kind of wanted to break Robert's face and hands when he touched your back. Dean wondered when he'd felt you give him such a yearning hug. Most likely never. Considering all the times he had saved your ass, you were ungrateful. Later, he would speak about this.

Dean turned to face you shortly after Robb departed and said, “I've called you many times.”

You apologized as he gave you a strange look. You had no idea why you sounded so aloof and cold. “I haven't seen him in a very long time. He's one of my closest friends.”

You questioned, “Why are you here?” before he continued.”Has anything happened?”

“Not at all. I arrived here to pick you up.”

“But my car-”

“I will drive you to work tomorrow, alright?” Dean watched as you began to tremble in the chilly weather. As Sam mentioned, you looked pretty tired.

Dean felt his heart melt and sigh as he saw you shiver from the cold and appear exhausted. Even though he didn't mean to come across as so crude and distant, there was still an uneasiness between you that seemed impossible to get past.

“Fine.”

You continued to shake as you got in the car. You knew you were starving yourself to death when you heard the loud sound coming from your stomach. You had hardly had time for an adequate meal because you were so busy with work.

“You need to have dressed properly.” Dean softly remarked, “It's cold outside these days,” observing your attempts to sooth yourself by lightly massaging your bare arms.

You said in a whisper, “Yeah,” while Dean pressed a button to warm the car up.

Your muscles gradually relaxed, and you began to feel much better as Dean drove. He turned his head to face you, giving you a little, pleased look after he heard your little satisfied sound. He liked it so much. “Relaxed now?”

Giving a quick nod to him, you muttered with a hint of gratitude in your voice. “Uhm, yes. Thanks.”

Dean said, “So,” his gaze glued to the dimly illuminated road. “How long are you friends? You and him. You appeared to be really at ease with that guy.”

“I think for four or five years. I find him to be a really caring and compassionate friend. I hadn't seen him in a very long time, so it was a surprise to see him, as he didn't give me a call in the first place.”

You were taken aback by Dean's attempts to have a polite, regular discussion with you. Your pulse beat with excitement and anticipation since it had been a long time since you had spoken to him in that way. All you wanted was for things to be normal between you two again. You might get by with less and normal if you are unable to have more.

Prior to Dean addressing Robert and your friendship, you said, “Baby looks and smells amazing today. Have you just given her a wash?”

“She's a good girl all the time,” he remarked, chuckling. His hands around the steering wheel were more tightly now. “She needed to be clean and nice.”

You eagerly questioned, “Why did you come, by the way?” as the minutes ticked by in quiet. You wanted to make it seem like nothing occurred between you as well, and now it looked like a good moment to sort out things between you and him.

“I decided to pick you up to avoid an accident after Sam warned me that you looked terrible. Are you hungry?” Dean wouldn't say 'no' to a pie right now.

“Actually, I'm starving,” you answered, sidestepping the comment Dean made regarding your appearance. You bet you did.

“Alright.” Dean glanced at you and said, “I know a good restaurant,” in a rough voice, clearing his throat.

Stating, “To be honest, I'm exhausted.” in a sorry tone, you waited for him to offer something else. You instantaneously forced the never-to-come-true visions away from your thoughts, even though you really wanted to go on a date with him. It wouldn't be a date, but it would be a nice moment. However, it would only get your situation worse.

“You wasted the opportunity. After that, you're going to eat anything Sammy orders.”

You smiled and responded, “I'm okay with that,” but you couldn't help but worr if Jo was still there.

Your face sank unintentionally, remembering the noises she'd made with Dean last night and how he'd been distant when you two chatted. You didn't want Dean and Jo's relationship to fail if it would harm Dean in any way, but you were unable to give up and were hoping that she wouldn't be around for tonight at the very least. Undoubtedly, your body was worn out, but your heart was spent beyond comprehension.

Dean occasionally glanced at you, and thoughts of you and Robert were constantly racing through his head. He was thinking a lot of things at once—things that would make him see red, things that would make him angry, and things that would make Dean want to punch Robert in the face.

“Have you slept with him?” unexpectedly Dean asked in a stern voice that made you stiffen in hurt and disgust.

Though he didn't want to sound so harsh and judgmental, Dean couldn't resist posing the question. He had to know the answer, even if he had no idea why.

You said, “What?” your heart thumping with pain. You never wanted to tell Dean that he was your one and only and how much you gave of yourself to him that night. “How could you ask such a question?”

Dean said, “It's a simple question,” as if he were defending himself. His attitude altered upon witnessing your expression transform to one of disappointment and rage. He wasn't sure if it was really necessary to get the answer. “Did you get fucked by him?”

You responded angrily, “He's my friend,” yet both of you stiffened at the words. Your body was filled with shame, and your heart ached from the burden. All you needed was Dean making no mention of wanting to cause you more damage. Wasn't it enough?

He said, “I am your friend too,” which made you tense up in your seat. “But things happen.”

You told him sternly, “You're being too much,” while doing your best not to seem pathetic or reveal how upset you were. “I can't believe you.”

“Why are you not answering the question?” Again, he lost his temper. Dean noticed that his tolerance was wearing thin and that the pictures that were filling his mind were not helping the situation. He was aware that he shouldn't have said those things, but whatever. Fuck that. He wanted to know. He needed to know.

You snapped, “Of course not, Dean!” as a wave of rage overcame you. You wished he would have remained silent the entire way. Both of you should have stayed quiet.

Dean fought himself not to exhale in relief as a sensation of ease exploded in his heart. He didn't understand the significance of your connection with Robert or if it mattered if he really fucked you. However, the very idea was plenty to irritate him. You deserved better than this haughty, dumb man. It was such a simple question. That was it.

You didn't ask Dean whether he loved wounding your heart these days or why he was acting like an asshole. It pained your heart to see his suspicious look, even if you had no intention of telling him that he was your first to not ruin whatever you had from the beginning. If you told him the truth, you weren't sure how he would react. But knowing that he was still distant from you, you were unable to find the trust that you needed. You had no idea how he would react.

You said, “I want to go home,” in an icy tone, though you didn't actually mean it. You desired more time to be with him. It hurt so much to not be around him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you forced them back as your need for him reminded you of how pathetic you truly were to him.

He had an innate ability of ruining a nice moment just when you thought everything was going well. You realized that in order to stop him from hurting you, you needed to find a method to physically separate from him rather than cling to him. If nothing else, perhaps you could convey to him the meaning of his behavior and how easily his sharp words hurt you. Maybe someday.

“We're already-”

But you soon interrupted, saying, “My home.”

When he proposed that you have dinner at a restaurant, you should have accepted. Maybe you would chat about things that could break the ice between you, or even better, maybe you would find a way to bring up the young girl you took care of and her thoughts about love. Maybe he would act a little differently, acting more kind and cheerful rather than staring at you with rage. If only you had known which way to go to win him over, so much may have been different.

Next Chapter

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A/N: Please, let me know what you think about this one. I hope you like it. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated! They keep me going. ^^

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lale-txt · 1 year ago

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✱ visiting the cat café with JJK men (pt. 1/?)

a/n: first time writing for JJK aaaa. i should have done this a whole lot sooner! happy to be taking those fine gentlemen out for a date at the cat café hehe. and with the current events in both manga & anime i think it's fair to say we deserve to have a bit of a slice of life delulul moment, right... （πーπ）

❦ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

“did you roll around in catnip before we got here or…”

Gojo only grins at you before he starts a monologue, something about his natural musk that makes him irresistible to little meow meows, explaining how cats are attracted to cursed energy and how he has a limitless amount of it, yada yada yada…

you aren’t listening anymore, only feeling slightly jealous of how he’s swarmed by cats without any effort, like he didn’t have to go through the whole humbling process of getting to the floor and mumbling pspsps until your mouth is dry only for the cats to ignore you

every single cat in the café is practically begging for his attention and honestly, can you blame them

the cats are in heaven. Gojo is in heaven. the staff is in heaven.

a chonky white Persian cat is extra persistent and secures a spot on Gojo’s shoulder, chewing on his hair and that’s when you know you will be leaving this café either without your boyfriend or with a new cat

in the end Gojo simply ends up buying the cat café (oh to be stupid rich) and treats it as his own personal oasis from there on and you can’t even be mad because you get to see his beautiful bright smile whenever you head there together

❦ 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

at first, Nanami isn’t too eager when you suggest going to a cat café

the thought of cat hair all over his sandwich doesn’t please him, but he can never resist your pleading eyes and from the reviews he read the food there is supposed to be excellent, so he reluctantly agrees

skeptical at first, he sits down with you, trying to study the menu when an extra curious cat jumps on the table, bumping their tiny head against his chin which makes Nanami frown

“aww, someone likes you”, you croon and try not to laugh at Nanami, hesitantly petting the cat in front of him which starts purring loudly

which attracts even more cats

suddenly you’re swarmed with them and Nanami is doing his very best to give each of them a fair share of his love, even loosening his tie a bit and sleeves rolled up

forget about the food, he’s on a mission now

Nanami will lie awake at night, wondering if owning a cat could fix at least a dozen of his problems (they’re all Gojo related)

❦ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

majestic Sukuna, King of Curses, allergic to cat hair

oh, he’s trying. he’s fighting for his life, sitting on the floor and trying to pspsps the cats with four hands at once

but his sneezes are so earth shattering loud that it spooks the kitties and they gather everywhere but in his lap

except for that one deaf and blind cat that’s always drooling a little which happily lets Sukuna pick them up

the King of Curses will look at you triumphantly, like see, I’ve made this peasant cat obey me, but his eyes are tearing too much to even make out the silhouette of you

good for you because it gives you enough time to snap a good hundred photos of him cuddling with the cat, too stubborn to admit that they might be killing him softly

back home (and after stopping by a pharmacy for allergy pills) you’ll see a dozen tabs open in his browser (you taught him how to google), searching for “anti allergy cats”, “if i shave my cat will i stop sneezing”, “cat hair allergy why” and “why cats won’t obey me”

❦ 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐀

local tired lawyer man needs a fucking break

you know how prone your man is to overworking himself, so you make it your own little mission to take him out on small dates during his lunch break

he doesn’t even bat an eye when you suggest a cat café. maybe if he’s surrounded by cats he won’t have to think about the injustice of the whole world, so sure, he’s in

Higuruma feels a sense of calm wash over him the moment he sits down and a kitty rubs their head against his legs, ready to activate their cursed purring technique on him

of course he remembers your favorite drink and orders it for you, something sweet to go along with it as well, and then he’s completely absorbed by the various cats in the café

he’ll point out every kitty that catches his attention and takes lots of photos of them and from you (and he’ll make it his new lockscreen)

kisses you goodbye once you drop him off at the office again and will text you later that he had the most fun in a long time

will also send you the most candid photos he took of you and will smile to himself when you make one your new profile photo, already excited to go back to the cat café with you

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #higuruma x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #nanami kento x reader #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios

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modmad · 7 months ago

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Hey Mod, I don't know what's going on that hurt you, I feel like I missed something that's happened, but I can tell from what I did see that it didn't just hurt you, but scared you and made you feel a Lot of doubt. I've also seen a lot of messages pouring in with support, and I want to share mine.

I have hypermobile type EDS, fibromyalgia, and a whole bucket's worth of faulty wiring in my brain. And I've always had stories to tell but I never felt I was good enough to share them. If it's because I can't focus enough to get through nanowrimo, or because I can't manage the focus and time towards drawing as a hobby, or the fact that an excessive amount of either for me leads to my hands wanting to shut down. But you? You *inspire* me. Your stories, all the ones I've seen, read, experienced in some way or another, they're so good. And you're open and honest with your fans about your own health, and of course, we support you and always would rather you rest and feel as best you can, instead of pushing out something and working yourself too hard. But all of this is to say that. I think I would have given up on my own stories if I hadn't found you and yours.

I hope whatever is going on sorts itself out, I hope you're able to keep telling your stories. At your own pace, in your own way. I think you deserve to be happy. If there's anything we (your fans, especially those of us too awkward to come off anon, whoops,) can do, to help in some way? Even if it's silly videos or cute cat pictures or whatever it is that could just help you smile. We're here. We love you.

woof. I woke up to so many messages I can't even read them all in one go I'm getting too emotional- I do feel I owe an explanation so I'll explain what happened under the cut but all you guys need to know is I'm okay, I got through it, I love you, and you're so important to me and I'm so grateful for all the messages that have asked me to stay.

tw for suicidal thoughts and all that

yeah so I have the bad morning of all mornings: was introduced to the fact there's this one character (Mr Puzzles) on a very popular youtube that. resembles RGB. incredibly strongly. like. I don't want to link to it just look if you want to. Anyway at the time I thought it had just dropped (seems to have been around for 6 months actually), and having commented on it I immediately got an inbox full of hate mail.

My website, meanwhile, had locked both me and my web designer out of it, and- already in a bad state of mind- I went into full on panic/paranoid spiral of 'they have hacked it, and they are going to delete any proof that I was here before them.' This of course wasn't true, and we have since recalimed control of the site (don't know what happened there but hey. it's fine???? haha. ha.)

On top of this my father has terminal cancer of the pancreas, which is horrible for everyone already but it means that- at some point this year- I am going to be the only person with an active income in my house. I am disabled, do not make a lot of money, and the cost of living is skyrocketing. Combine that with months of Despair at the world right now, with the multiple wars, genocide, corruption and AI and the loss of control any of us have over our IP or lives and I just decided it was time to end it all.

I somehow remembered this was a bad idea to act on immediately (hard during a period of entirely irrational thought) and instead went for a very long walk, crossed the bridge I could have jumped off and during that I came out of the worst of it. I then came back home to so much love online I felt deeply ashamed for ever contemplating it, and I cried a lot. My nose is still puffy and now my feet hurt! lmao

Anyway. Yeah. There's your context. I am not going to stop hoping, making, or living. I am prone to moments of weakness and this was one of the worst of them and I am still here, thanks in a large part to all of you. I might need you in the future to defend me against this, or people who take our ideas, but I hope you know that I will do the same for you. We need each other, and to be there for you I need to be here at all.

also fuck Mr Puzzles

#context for mod's little (massive) mental breakdown yesterday #you don't need to read it but I felt folks are due an explanation #tw suicide #ask to tag #mental health is wow!!!! a thing

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megpricephotography · 3 months ago

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Flynn's become such a good, helpful boy! **Long read beneath the cut & Trigger Warning for cancer, choking, health problems... but Flynn himself is totally, 100% fine (just being helpful!) & I am OK too, nothing graphic!**

I don't talk about health on here but I had an aggressive cancer when I was younger - a few years before I got Flynn. My old lad Barney helped me through diagnosis & treatment, he was a star, bless him. Thankfully I've now been in remission a long time but do have long term side-effects. I had to relearn how to drink/eat & speak & it all remains rather hard to this day. One problem I have - especially when tired (& I am often tired!) - is that I am much more prone to choking now. Usually, so long as I don't panic, I can sort myself out very quickly & it's more emotionally distressing, than a serious danger to my life but every now & again, I do have a genuinely alarming moment, when it's worse than normal & I don't know if I might need immediate outside help. Flynn has gradually picked up on the fact that I am prone to choking while eating. He's also learned to recognise certain foods, which are more likely to cause me problems. Plus, he's worked out that he can summon assistance to me, by barking his head off if I seem to be struggling.

When I am eating food I'm usually OK with, Flynn goes to his bed & ignores me, unless there's a problem. However, whenever I sit down with a type food which he knows I find trickier to manage, Flynn has taken to standing in front of me the entire time I am eating (& I am soooo slow!) & watching me very intensely. He's not begging & he does not move from his spot, or take his gaze off me, until I make it clear I'm done.

Being under Flynn's hard-eyed stare while I am trying to eat a meal, is mildly unnerving but undeniably helpful. The thing is, despite this not being a new problem anymore… I did spend my 1st two decades of my life eating normally, so when I am tired &/or hungry, it's easy to stop taking so much care about what I'm doing - & that's when I run into problems… However, when I've got a border collie standing right there, "supervising", with an expression on his face that is similar to a particularly stern nurse, making sure their patient takes the correct medication, I find it's much easier to remain alert, remember I still need to pay attention to what I'm doing & to slow down - even more than usual... Having Flynn there regularly prevents issues even starting.

Of course, I do sometimes still start to choke & Flynn's got amazingly good at recognising when I am having difficulties & he's so fast to respond. He immediately turns his back to me, in order to watch the doorway & begins doing a very distinctive, agitated, loud, repetitive bark. He will not stop, until the relative who we live with appears to check on me. (Interestingly, when we're home alone, Flynn still takes up his vigil while I eat but he generally won't bark, or is slower to start woofing, if I run into problems). Thankfully the vast majority of the time, I am fine within a few worrying seconds but obviously, it's reassuring having someone nearby, just in case. This behaviour is just something Flynn began doing by himself…. We've slowly begun offering rewards for it though, because it's obviously, it's a nifty trick!! A very Good Boy!!

#flynn #border collie #dog #rescue dog #tw: cancer #NOT the dog & I am in remission #tw: choking

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batsplat · 5 months ago

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This line made me sooooo insaneeeeee

BUT ITS TRUE

they did not expect it from each other

You mention that after sepang 2015 that marc refused to take it lying down and retaliated, would you say that one some level vale expected him to just take it?

And also could you please recount events in which marc also waged mind warfare on other people after the divorce™ I think that the psychological aspects of his style are so incredibly interesting like how in le mans, bezzechi kind of crashed out and how viñales mentioned in post race interview how " when he heard marc's bike he knew it was over"

Thank you for your very valuable contributions to motogpblr, you enrich the experiences of all

right. right! following on from this post... fair warning: 'what was valentino's plan in sepang 2015' and 'what mind games has marc cooked up over the years' are two questions that don't exactly lend themselves to concise responses, though I've done my best to edit this down to a somewhat more palpable length. so *cracks knuckles*. let's do this

first off, sepang 2015. yes, marc did very much refuse to lie down and, yes, he did instead very much retaliate. I'm not sure if I'd say valentino expected marc to 'take it' exactly, though the hope would have been that it would a) make him more cautious around valentino, b) throw him off-balance, and c) make him more error prone. I mean, certainly you'd have to assume he didn't expect marc to react like that because.... well. otherwise, why would valentino have done it? yes, he has repeatedly alluded to having wanted race direction or dorna or whoever to step in, but those guys infamously aren't particularly proactive. and, let's just pretend for a second here that marc really had been plotting to ruin valentino's title - what are you going to do about it if you're the ones responsible for enforcing the rules? even after sepang, when it was reasonable to suggest marc had been messing with valentino in that race specifically, there was only so much they could do. sure, the main reason they didn't penalise marc was because he'd crashed and had in essence already been penalised. but if you want a more drastic penalty, then you're going to have to show that marc is doing something emphatically illegal. I mean, it's not like race direction penalised valentino when he was racing jorge in what can only be described as a cheerfully malicious manner in motegi 2010, at a time when jorge was close to sealing that year's title and the two of them were racing for *squints at notes* p3. they can't actually stop you from being a little shit, you know

this line of argument might be ascribing too much rationality to valentino's actions - maybe he was hoping race direction would do something. it's worth pointing out that one of valentino's later comments (from march 2016) to my reading suggests that valentino had already spoken to race direction several races before sepang about marc's behaviour, but they didn't listen to him. the sepang presser then constitutes an attempt to publicly force their hand... except it still wasn't enough. and a part of valentino surely must have already known it was going to go wrong after saturday's qualifying. the incidents during the practise sessions that weekend weren't particularly egregious, but they involved two riders who were both clearly willing to play games with each other (including in some towing-related shenanigans). crucially it's not really the type of thing that would happen if one rider had been spooked so badly they're making sure to ride on eggshells around the other bloke. at the end of the day, valentino thought he could unnerve and disorientate and unsettle marc - and if you're being generous you could say he at least picked the right target. marc had broadly demonstrated he could be unsettled that year, which jorge had very much not

if you're being less generous you could say 'but it's crazy he's doing this to the bloke who isn't even his title rival'. which is the whole problem from valentino's perspective - he simply couldn't engage jorge in direct combat (and again, this does make it more remarkable he even got it to valencia given one of his big big strengths in title fights was being completely neutralised). jorge has been involved in plenty of great battles over the years, but his 2015 title was won purely on raw pace and having just enough tracks where he was fast and it wasn't raining for things to work out in his favour. it was marc who valentino was continually getting into fights with, whether at argentina or assen or silverstone or... well, even phillip island, valentino fights marc a hell of a lot more than he does jorge. which makes for a weird championship in a lot of ways, but also makes it a bit inevitable that valentino ends up disproportionately focused on a bloke who isn't actually his title rival

if you want to be even less generous, you can say it was a rather radical misread of marc's character from a man who (any conspiracy theories aside) has always seemed to understand marc pretty well. like, this is the thing right, obviously hindsight is 20/20 and all that but can you really imagine any universe in which marc hadn't done something roughly along the lines of what he did that weekend? in a way, this is probably the bit that bothers me the most about the whole thing, just feels like it couldn't have ever achieved what valentino intended it to. I can excuse breaking the heart of the kid who hero worships you, but I draw the line at being kind of dumb

the way I'd break it down is by looking at why he was in a headspace in which he wasn't making good choices, and then consider what his actual thought process (however irrational) might have been. so on the one hand, you've got all the contributing factors that explain the poor decision-making process, that explain why he wasn't thinking clearly. on the macro level, you have the arc of his career and what this title meant to him and how it fits into his desire to win on his own terms and prove everyone wrong and all of that. you have the pressures of that specific season and how it had gradually gotten more and more intense post-assen, the influence of the people around him and how they had allowed/contributed to him getting increasingly distracted from the actual riding as the season went on. this factor obviously includes the man who actually presented valentino with the phillip island telemetry and had seemingly been badmouthing marc for more than two years. you have the arc of valentino's relationship with marc, his belief that marc was a sore loser who only played nice with valentino while he was winning and who valentino thought he had been more than generous to in response to marc's lack of composure earlier that season. this eventually coalesced into a mental list of all the times that year valentino felt marc had fought him differently than he would anyone else, from argentina to assen to silverstone to misano to, of course, phillip island. you have the compressed time scale - four days from the race at phillip island to the presser in sepang, at a time at which valentino will have been at his most exhausted and spent after the travails of first motegi and then phillip island at the closing stages of the toughest season of his career. it's this that creates the sense of urgency, the need to do something now to stop the opportunity from slipping away. and then, of course, on the micro level you have the actual details of the supposed conspiracy that relied on the specifics of how the race at phillip island ended up unfolding... of tyre management and seagull murder and fluctuating lap times and suspicious late race pace and a perfect last lap

which, okay, I think it's fairly obvious that valentino wasn't thinking clearly. but he still must have been intending the presser to do something, something that was different from what it actually ended up doing. now, the way this works in my head is that valentino basically did the equivalent of pressing a big red button labelled 'chaos'. if you do what he does in the presser, that's the inevitable outcome, right: you're ensuring this entire weekend is going to be a complete mess. in theory, you're the one person who's had the chance to mentally prepare yourself for that mess, because you're the person who's pressing the button. you're hoping everyone else will be off-balance, distracted... to some extent it's less about wanting to intimidate marc per se (bad idea!) and more about making sure he has other stuff to worry about. maybe you're hoping marc's going to make some mistakes, crash in ways that aren't caused by a movement on your part that looks suspiciously like a kick, be a little out of it all weekend. I mean, marc did have a tendency to hit the deck when under pressure that year. the hope is at the very least he's going to be a little more cautious, so worried about ruining his reputation that he's not going to attack you too hard. basically, hope he does anything other than what he actually ended up doing, aka throwing himself at you again and again in the race in a sort of agonised fury that paid no consideration whatsoever to his reputation, ruined or otherwise

this is where the sepang 2004 parallel is at its most instructive to me. you're giving everyone something to talk about and you know it's going to be the centre of attention that weekend and you just kind of have to hope that the chaos ends up creating an opportunity. and, for a hot second there, it did look like valentino might have been onto something. he qualified on the front row for only the fifth time that season (y'know his qualifying actually got a fair bit better in 2016, presumably because he just wanted to maximise the number of awful vibes pressers) and he outqualified jorge for only the second time that season (again I don't mean to be rude but, jorge, how the fuck did you almost lose that title what were you DOING). it's pretty unfortunate that the very start of the sepang race played out in the exact perfect way to allow dani and jorge to escape while marc and valentino started divebombing each other. this is the thing right, there are lots of ways that race could have unfolded and it basically could not have gone any worse - and it's helped make valentino's initial decision to blow shit up age particularly horrendously

the other underlying explanation is a somewhat more opaque one. people want to feel good about themselves, they want to have a positive sense of identity along several different metrics like self-worth and moral virtue and so on. it doesn't feel good to lose, and it especially doesn't feel good to lose if you've tried really, really, really hard. a lot of sports psychology is about the challenge of managing vulnerability. there is something inherently vulnerable about competing in the public eye: you are trying hard to win but there is always the possibility that you will lose. if you lose with other people watching, you are making your inadequacy public knowledge. this is why athletes search for explanatory mechanisms - maybe they make a public show of how they weren't actually trying hard, about how they don't actually care that much, or maybe there's something they can blame like the machinery or injury or the team not being on their side or whatever. maybe there's someone to blame. a narrative of sabotage allows you to preserve belief in both your own ability and your own self-worth; it is the perfect explanatory mechanism. and to some extent, this type of thing is necessary - you're not going to be able to compete well unless you have high self-belief to the point of delusion, which means you do have to tell yourself all kinds of things to keep the faith. but paradoxically, these explanatory mechanisms are also incredibly dangerous, because you cannot compete to the fullest extent of your ability if you are not throwing yourself into what you are doing in your entirety, without any restraint or self-defence. you have to be open to experiencing the pain of defeat in its rawest form to be at your best. you have to be willing to go to those infamous 'dark places' within yourself to win. the moment you are thinking about how you will explain your defeat, chances are you've already lost

but hey, I've never competed in a motorbike race before, what would I know of the psychology of it all? let's get the words of someone who should know a little more than me:

Looking back, what I said about wanting a bike that could win at Welkom, well, that was a way of boosting morale, an attempt at wishful thinking. You can't demand something like that. And even if you get it, there's no certainty you'll win. But then again, we riders always say all sorts of things. Sometimes we believe what we say, even when it sounds crazy, other times we're just being hopeful and, still at other times, it's all an exercise in self-delusion. We try to convince ourselves of something, because ultimately, every time you step on the track, words don't matter, and it's just you, the bike and your opponents. In fact, that's the only time you really have a clear picture of things. When you're actually on the track, racing against your opponents. That's when you know where you are and where the others stand. You know how your bike is doing and how those of your opponents are faring. That's the moment of clarity. Then, you can say whatever you like to everyone else: your chief mechanic, your mum, your girlfriend, the press... but, deep down, you know the truth and you know it with crystal-clear clarity. You can tell people you fell because the bike didn't follow the trajectory it was supposed to follow, or tell them that you're actually really fast, but the bike simply isn't. Inside you, however, you know the truth. You know you fell off because you made a mistake, or because your opponent is simply faster than you. And the opposite is also true. Deep down, you know whether your victories were deserved. You know if you won races on the turns, when it's down to your ability as a rider, or on the straightaways, when it's all about the power of the engine. You know the others are looking to make excuses when they say you beat them just because the bike was better. I always knew the truth behind each of my victories, and behind each of my defeats, too. I knew exactly why and how I won or lost. And so, at the end of 2003, after winning everything in sight with the Honda, I was certain I could win with another bike. But, of course, until I actually did it, I couldn't be truly certain. Thus, I set off on my journey, in search of that place where certainty meets truth.

(sidebar: I find it funny how the bit about straight line speed reads like just an extremely obvious dig at casey in his ducati days but, published in 2005, your honour he's innocent)

what valentino describes in that passage is the awful, inescapable secret at the heart of all competition: at the end of the day, you do know. you can only do so much to protect yourself from the truth. you have to tell yourself a story, even if it's crazy, engage in all manner of self-delusion to throw yourself into the field of battle again and again and again - where inevitably you are going to lose, again and again and again. any great athlete has to start out at least a little delusional, for there is something inherently insane about thinking you will be one of the very best in the world in your field. eventually, much of that delusion may turn to reality for the chosen few, but the delusion never completely goes away because there is always more to win and always more losing to do along the way. when the delusion stops, so does your career. valentino's endless capacity for storytelling and self-delusion is inherent to his success - he would not have been as good as he was if he had not found all these stories to tell himself, all these reasons to believe, to keep motivating him, to wring special performances out of himself when he needed them most. he told stories that were ridiculous until he turned them into reality. if valentino were anyone other than the person who killed his tenth title in sepang, he would not have won the other nine in the first place

and yet, chances are, valentino already had lost headed into sepang. chances are, he knew as much. chances are, he chose the kindest possible story to make sense of it all. at the very least, what he wanted to do was expose the truth as he saw it - make sure that everyone in the world knew what marc had done to him even if it didn't end up saving his title campaign. but in exposing one truth, at the same time he managed to obscure a different one. because in the end, certainty never did meet truth in 2015, because we'll always have a question mark about what would have happened if valentino hadn't said what he had said in that press conference, what would have happened if marc had reacted differently, what would have happened if race direction hadn't handed out penalty points or if marc hadn't been so hurt and angry he was unwilling to take risks against jorge in valencia. yes, of course it's likely that jorge would have won anyway, but we don't know that. it's 2006 all over again, isn't it? there's a likely winner, there's maybe somebody who should be winning, but there's never any certainty. that's why we line up on sunday, or so the cliche goes. the main lasting success of that press conference is that it has cast a shadow over the whole championship - not just in the sense of making the whole thing unpleasant to think about, but in the more literal sense of concealing the realities of that title fight, of generating ambiguity as to how it all might otherwise have played out under more 'normal' circumstances

except, of course, valentino has told us himself that he does know the truth about all of his victories and defeats. of course he knows jorge was faster than him that year, which is why he wasn't trying to win that title on pace. by any reasonable standard, there's no shame to that, not at that stage of his career and not against that level of opposition. there's plenty of ways in which valentino was the stronger rider that year, still, somehow, and enough sliding doors moments that would have given valentino just enough points and granted him a completely deserved title. but of course it was still frustrating, and it was frustrating to be reminded constantly in the paddock - including by marc - of how jorge was the faster of the two of them. valentino knew he couldn't beat jorge on pace, which is why he never tried to, but it still wasn't easy. it still required him to just... put away his ego, ignore all the snide remarks about his speed, ignore marc's digs and jorge's cockiness, and just devote himself to winning the title in the only way he could. that's the heart of 2015: it's all about valentino suppressing his worse instincts right until the moment he doesn't. it's the pressure, it's all the blows his ego has taken that year...

and of course, it's also marc. at the end of the day, it'll always come back to that - the fact that marc had made himself into someone who had the power to genuinely hurt valentino and how he then managed to make himself a target of valentino's suspicions (topic for another post). going into sepang, valentino already knew that more likely than not he was going to lose the title, and he decided he blamed marc. at the very latest during the race, he knew he was almost certainly going to lose the title, and now he definitely blamed marc. that's how it goes, isn't it... valentino's reasons for saying what he said in the press conference were complicated, but marc's actions then proceeded to simplify everything. any uncertainty, for valentino, was removed by that race. it was stripped away even further, if possible, by how marc approached the valencia race and his decision that he wasn't going to risk anything - not when it could help valentino. their whole tragedy, of course, is that if you had placed valentino in marc's shoes that weekend at sepang, he would have done the exact same thing

which is unfortunately as smooth a transition as I can come up with to stop discussing valentino's psyche and starting discussing marc's. let's talk mind games

the first point that's worth stressing is this: most of the mental pressure that riders exert on each other happens on the track. I think this is where 'mind games' becomes a bit of a tricky term, because inherently the connotation there is that you're doing something a little sneaky, a little underhanded to get under the skin of your opponent. but valentino has said it himself: you need to be performing on-track for any of this to work. and it goes beyond that - the on-track performances are key in determining what kind of psychological pressures you are exerting on your opponent. ideally, this is a symbiotic relationship where, as valentino puts it, the off-track 'work' that makes the opponents 'suffer' is used to... well, just back up what you're doing on the track, to make sure they're getting the message. to just play with them a little in a way that is conducive to bringing about further on-track success

so, in the interest of not getting bogged down in semantic debates about what exactly counts as playing 'mind games', I'm going to throw out the term for now. I think it's interesting in itself that this phrase is how people refer to that kind of behaviour, something about how it comes across as just a little derogatory, a little suspect... but we're going to ignore that. it's completely useless to discuss 'mind games' as this kind of ethereal higher-plane tactic that only happens in press conference rooms and on three hour long podcasts, as if it's somehow disconnected from the reality of what's actually happening on-track. (on-track behaviour is also at times referred to as mind games - but less frequently, and it tends to be used more for behaviour in non-race sessions.) it's also a bit of a sleight of hand: there's not anything inherently more 'honest' or 'straightforward', anything less 'psychological', about deliberately bullying someone on the track versus saying something snide about them to the media. what we are interested in here is the question of mental pressure, how riders exert it on other riders, and how riders go about working on the suppression of their rivals. basically, for a more fun term, think of anything you'd consider to be psychological warfare and go from there (the ask does actually specify mind warfare, which feels like a happy middle ground)

and just to reiterate this, the vast majority of the psychological work valentino himself did on his opponents - including in ways that marc has gone on to emulate - was done on the track. a race like laguna seca 2008, which relies so heavily on tactics and valentino's assessment of casey as a person and what message valentino decided to send casey that day... well, it may have had its effects reinforced off-track, but fundamentally that's still a heavily 'psychological' victory that enraged and unnerved casey through what valentino was doing during the race. and if you're assessing valentino's 'mental game' while leaving out laguna 2008, you really might as well not bother

so what we're looking at here isn't going to be exhaustive, but it's still going to hopefully cover most of the major aspects in a way that gives a sense of that integration between the off- and on-track. now, coming up with a list of examples isn't all that easy, because first of all... man, marc's been around for a long time by now... if we recounted every minor incident with another rider, we'd still be here by the time twenty to thirty years have passed and valentino finally gives marc a call. second of all, marc does undeniably leave less of a paper trail than valentino. partly he has objectively gotten himself involved in fewer feuds (though I'd argue there are also circumstance-related factors there), partly he's also been warier of how he approaches this kind of thing as a direct result of sepang 2015, and partly it's just a question of personal style

valentino tries to suffocate you with the paper trail, leveraging his skills at manipulating the media to make your life unpleasant, to throw distractions in your direction, at times to make sure you are overwhelmed by the frenzy and the noise and the chaos. all this, obviously, he does in addition to making your life on-track as miserable as possible. marc prefers a slightly quieter approach, maybe an indirect dig here or there, a habit of letting you know on the track if he's decided he has a problem with you. which means that a lot of what people consider marc's 'mind games' basically go something like this: a) rider does something to piss marc off (this can just be 'beating him'), b) marc does something dubious to them on-track, c) rider complains about marc, and finally d) marc goes ?? idk why they're saying all that but not really my problem :) and goes along his way

but that does make it a little tougher to actually provide a good overview of what he's doing - because, at the end of the day, I too can only be so certain that he's attempting to fuck with rivals. that's the nice effect of it, right, you get these statements from other riders where they're complaining about marc and broadly speaking I do believe them when they say he's being a little shit again... but it's a little harder to prove that this is his intention. which means they also end up engaging in a form of shadowboxing, where they think he's messing with them and they say he's messing with them but it feels kind of one-sided and silly and like maybe they're simply imagining things. which must be just... incredibly annoying. god

in a way, the best proof we have that marc regularly fucks with his opponents is that everyone in the paddock is more or less agreed in their belief that he is constantly engaging in psychological warfare. you've got other riders saying that marc is continually dabbling in 'mind games', you've got journalists on their podcasts saying that marc is always messing with people and is an awful teammate to everyone who isn't his brother etc etc, and you kind of assume they'd be the ones to know. though, if anything, this can mean they sometimes have a tendency to overshoot, which is how we got endless speculation at the start of this year on whether marc was lying to people or sandbagging or whatever when he was busy adapting to a new bike. sepang isn't irrelevant here - marc became more closed off and private and secretive and circumspect about his real feelings as a direct result of how bad that whole experience was for him. sometimes it feels calculated to unnerve his competitors, and sometimes it does seem more about just protecting himself. but that's the thing, right - if you acquire a reputation for "mind games", then people will think you're fucking with them even when you're not. which can be useful! but, as should be obvious, it demonstrates that just because somebody is accusing marc of engaging in gamesmanship, doesn't mean it's actually true (which is also of course the case for valentino)

^'who's most likely to play mind games in a press conference?' winning here! alex rins hands on hips we will get to you in a bit

all that being said, we do have plenty of fairly clear examples of the ways marc tries to fuck with his opponents, so let's get to those. here are the elements I'll focus on: 1) an explanation of how the on-track exertion of psychological pressure works, in races as well as outside of them, 2) intra-team dynamics, and 3) some specific examples of how the on-track and off-track tactics are integrated. again, far from exhaustive - the examples are supposed to be more akin to illustrating marc's approach rather than definitively listing every instance in which marc has exhibited a particular behaviour. the streamlined approach, if you will

so, let's start with the actual racing. the aspect you bring up in the ask: the intimidation. bez doing his sad little crash out of p2 in the le mans sprint, maverick thinking it's so extremely over the moment marc came too close in the main race. I've edited this section down a lot to avoid getting too into the weeds here, but let's just give the brief sparknotes version of how this intimidation works:

speed: if you are not capable of performances that unnerve your opponents, obviously you will not unnerve your opponents. no shit. marc's sheer pace is terrifying in its own right... it makes you wonder if that cushy gap you have to him is quite as cushy as it looked a lap ago. how often he seems to be able to access something special, how it piles on pressure in the context of a title battle to know that he is fast pretty much everywhere. the speed does a lot of his work for him in the intimidation department, nothing fancy required

circumstance: so, say you've got an alien behind you. not to name any names... but there are some aliens where, if they are having a good weekend, they wouldn't be behind you in the first place. that doesn't mean the alien can't still be plenty scary... but when they're at their best, they're dominating out front and so are less 'threatening' when they're sitting on your rear tyre. when things aren't going their way in a given weekend, you maybe don't have quite so much reason to be worried. marc (similarly to valentino) is a lot more flexible in how he wins his races - which might mean he's looking very ominous from say p5 at the end of the first lap. there's less possibility of respite, less chance that if he qualified badly, he has the decency to still be slow come sunday. if you find yourself on the same bit of track as marc... that's probably not great news for you in any weekend

aggression: the obvious one. marc isn't as afraid to crash as everyone else is, he's willing to go for it if he's given half a chance - which he never fails to remind people of. he said it about half a dozen times at le mans this year, including with his competitors in the same room. convenient when you have such an immutable character trait you couldn't do anything about even if you wanted to, which also just happens to make you terrifying to fight with. sometimes he mixes up this rhetoric a bit - e.g. in 2016 after his messy 2015 he did talk plenty about his newfound maturity. still, not bad if his opponents are constantly reminded of how unyielding he is... which is of course part of the reason why he bangs on about it so much

(on the flip side, while it is obviously in his best interest to barely say a word against hard racing because it would make him come across as a massive hypocrite, marc has this nice little habit of reframing his opponent's moves as just not being particularly sensible in that situation. look at how he talked about the pecco portimao crash this year - sure, it's a racing incident, but it also wasn't "necessary" to fight like this for fifth/sixth place given pecco had a championship to consider. pecco's move was "too optimistic" - and, my favourite bit, he would "learn" from what had happened. which is nicely condescending, and a good way for marc to criticise aggression in a more circumspect manner: don't call your opponent dangerous, call them an idiot instead)

tactics: linked to the second point - part of the reason why valentino instantly recognised himself in marc and has always acknowledged what a clever and tactically astute rider he is. the other aliens to varying degrees tended to prefer the 'start fast and fuck off' approach to winning races. by contrast, it's hard to really pinpoint what an 'average' race win would look like for either valentino or marc. they are capable of the 'dominate out front' victory (marc historically more so than valentino), but they also have a bunch of other ways of winning races that all produce their own psychological effects on their opponents. to give a few brief examples, you've got the 'stalking and studying' approach, closely tailing opponents and gradually ramping up the pressure while you analyse where they're strong and where they're weak before eventually making your move. you've got the 'comeback ride', which is frustrating in how it means the field is basically never guaranteed a break from these assholes - this is all about relentlessness and generating a sense of inevitability. you've also got the 'fucking around before fucking off' approach, where you get involved in a scrap for much of the race and it looks like you and your opponent(s) are on equal footing... before suddenly pulling the pin and disappearing off into the sunset. there might be good reasons for marc and valentino to stick around that don't just amount to 'playing with their food' (though there is that too) like tyre preservation or figuring out grip levels in the wet or whatever. nevertheless, it's intensely demoralising for the competition, because it almost feels like the whole thing was a lie, an illusion of a fair fight... they've been tricked into thinking they had a hope of emerging victorious. obviously, all these different ways of winning are also investments for the future, so that next time your opponents are in xyz situation you generate uncertainty and doubt and preemptive frustration in their minds, as they wonder whether they can really get the better of you this time

now, obviously a lot of this is just about marc's natural strengths as a rider - but the point is that these operate on the psychological level as well... and you can gently encourage this with a little bit of extra off-track 'work'. what you say about your own aggressive riding, what you say about your opponents' aggressive riding, any impression you want to reinforce in the minds of your competitors. there's a lot of long-term reputation management involved here. (a little more about these reputations in the context of argentina 2015 in this post.) most of the 'intimidation' happens on-track, and it's also a result of deliberate riding choices that aren't just about winning any given race. of course, it's helpful if you are particularly adaptable to different race situations, if your flexibility allows you to reinforce the impression that you are always a threat. if successful, you can make sure your opponent is already mentally beaten by the time they know you're coming for them. (I'm not personally massively a fan of the term, but this kind of thing is what generally counts as the 'aura' an athlete has.) ideal, really - to be so intimidating your opponents can't even put up a proper fight

then, of course, there's the stuff that happens outside of races but in practise and qualifying instead. a perfect opportunity to be a dick to others on-track without the stresses of a race. which means... well, look, we can't ignore marc's habit of sitting on other riders' rear tyres when they're attempting to hook together a fast lap. the towing thing radically escalated when the honda was at its least competitive post-2020, but marc was definitely very much already at it before that. (incidentally, one of the cuntiest things he has ever said was when he pointed out in 2019 that he was leading so many laps in the actual races that he wasn't getting much chance to study the other riders there.) nobody really needs me to list every single towing-related controversy marc has involved himself in over the course of his career, but it might be a good idea to get the thoughts of somebody who knows a thing or two about fucking with his rivals. valentino himself has gotten the towing treatment a few times over the years courtesy of marc, and both pre- and post-sepang his stance has generally been 'listen it's a dick move but smart play, gotta hand it to him'. take this from catalunya 2019:

and y'know, he gets to the heart of the whole matter rather nicely -thanks to the local marc marquez understander for logging in years before the discourse about it became such a big thing. marc follows other riders around because it's a great way to study them and he also does it because he knows it's extremely annoying. it's annoying both because you know you're helping out another rider who you don't want to be helping out, and because it is just quite distracting to have someone that close to you, being able to hear their engine, etc etc. one thing that changed after 2019 was how necessary it was for marc to do this... marc went crazy with it at a time when it was often the only way he could put together a decent lap (and also because it played into the strengths of the honda, for a given value of the word 'strengths' - he's spoken a fair few times this year about how he finds it harder to follow other bikes on the ducati) (not for lack of trying). but valentino is also spot on in that marc is excellent at choosing his victims, how marc understands you have to pick someone who needs to put a good lap together and has no choice but to drag you along with them

I mean, think about why he just couldn't seem to leave poor pecco alone for a while there. first of all, pecco is fast, and marc clearly feels quite comfortable following him around. secondly, pecco tended to put himself in positions where he really needed a good lap because he'd gotten himself stranded in q1 or only had one more shot at a lap or whatever. plus he was fighting for championships, so he couldn't afford to fuck marc over out of sheer spite. thirdly, pecco has been fighting for titles for the past few seasons, making him one of the riders to beat. which means that marc was motivated to a) study him, and b) fuck with him - both of which were investments for a future in which he could fight pecco properly. makes complete sense! insanely irritating if you're the victim, which is half the point. also helps that pecco very obviously found the whole thing frustrating and tiring and really hated being asked about it, but also was equally obviously adverse to kicking up too much of a fuss about it for various reasons. the perfect victim

on the flip side, marc has been known in the past to be quite careful about who he is giving a tow, like for instance this from brno 2014 (ironically the first race that year marc did not win):

The two front row slots for the Ducatis were a problem for Rossi, dropping the Movistar Yamaha rider down to seventh, and the start of the third row. Rossi joked darkly about Marquez’s strategy, claiming that he was giving the Ducatis a tow to put them in between him and his main rivals. “For sure he is clever,” Rossi said. “He doesn’t pull Jorge, me or Dani, always a Ducati.” Marquez laughed at the suggestion, admitting only half of Rossi’s accusations. He certainly didn’t look for Ducatis to give a tow, but he would not give one to his rivals, he said. “It’s your decision to close the gas,” Marquez told the press conference. “If it’s Dani, Jorge, or Valentino behind me, for sure I will close the gas, but if it is another rider, it doesn’t matter.” That is in itself an admission of just how little competition Marquez sees. He is prepared to give anyone a tow, except for the other factory Honda and the two factory Yamahas. In effect, he is dismissing the threat from any other riders. Harsh, but fair.

and, y'know, if it were so easy then everyone would do it. you need a certain level of skill to actually pull off the towing bit, which marc is clearly very good at. you also need to have a good feel for picking your moments, who to bully, when to slot in behind them, all that kind of thing. and, lastly, you also need the sheer power of shamelessness on your side. which, that should more or less cover it... there are some real gems like mugello 2019 where marc accused ducati of ordering pirro to shadow him and then played a complicated game of chicken to catch a tow from dovi and snag pole, or mugello 2021 where marc was so determined to follow vinales through q1 that he was even alert enough to dive back into the pits with him as vinales tried to get rid of the small train of guys following him... but overall, I think valentino did a pretty good job at summing up the main points for me, so let's leave the towing discourse at that. returning to catalunya 2019, obviously it is also extremely valentino that he then had a sneaky little look at the honda's dashboard 'just out of curiosity'. truly a meeting of the greats, those two, we'll never find their like again

let's move on to intra-team fuckery - which is all about suppression of rivals. your first job is to beat your teammate, and the first arena of trying to fuck with your opponents is what happens within the team. my general assumption here is that marc's particular approach is less inspired by valentino and more just the result of his natural competitive instincts (which, to be clear I do think is true for much of the tactics described in this post). it's also not something... I know the ask specifies post-2015, but I don't think it's something that changed after sepang, except insofar as marc had won the most important teammate war of his career and didn't need to be quite as aggressive towards dani any more. given the continuity between the intra-team situation pre- and post-2015, I'm not going to make much of a distinction here and just rattle through some details about the intra-team dynamic from the start of marc's time in the premier class

so, the first bit of context that has to be acknowledged: a lot of the dani/marc war wasn't really fought between the two of them directly. both of them had... well, rather drama-happy managers, who a) were willing to do a lot of the mudslinging on the behalf of their charges, and b) were pursuing agendas of their own to establish themselves within the honda hierarchy. I think it's fair to say that not all of what they were getting up to was necessarily just about acting in the best interest of their riders - and it is an internal power struggle that could've had pretty disastrous consequences for marc in particular. here's a longer write up I quite like about the situation within honda in 2013, which came to a bit of a head with the phillip island fiasco (when marc was disqualified as a result of failing to change bikes early enough). just a few excerpts (though again I'd recommend reading the whole thing):

(gabbarini is pecco's crew chief these days by the way, small world.) so obviously a lot of this is kind of dumb, not least because marc came very close to losing that year's title to a yamaha rider as a result of all this behind the scenes bullshit. it also is just the kind of thing that happens when you lock a bunch of big egos into a small space within a competitive environment - and is a nice little insight into the early year machinations that were going on as marc and his team attempted to establish themselves within honda. which they did in part by pushing through key personnel changes that replaced anyone too closely associated with the old regime... and there's also the less pressing but interesting question of whether (as casey believes) marc's team pushed casey out the door because they felt 'threatened'. this sort of backroom manoeuvring is part of the game, albeit an unsavoury one, and great athletes do have a tendency to be ruthless in asserting themselves within team environments

of course, by 2014 marc was asserting himself ever more on the track. dani might not have yet fully accepted the number two status, but he was increasingly pushed into a position where he knew he had to play along, to not kick up too much of a fuss in his own best interest. did that perhaps play a role in how all those 2013 complaints about marc's aggressive riding - not least when it caused dani to crash in aragon and effectively ended his title bid - died down a little in the following years? who's to say! of course, marc has been pretty open in admitting his abrasive approach to the teammate dynamic, which he was kind enough to shed some light on more recently in marc marquez all in. I assume pretty much everyone reading this will have watched marc marquez all in, but for reference I've still included a transcript of the relevant bits of marc marquez all in. here's marc talking about the teammate relationship:

Dani and I, now we get along great, and he's an amazing person. But in 2013, 2014, there was a lot of tension. He was the king, the number one. People listened to what he said in the box. Everyone expected something from him... The team was focused on him. And out of nowhere comes this kid. A kid in his first year after Moto2. And well, first race and... boom. Second race, boom. And it's a hard pill to swallow. [...] I've never been a nice teammate. I've always liked to... You've got to make your teammate's life impossible, if you can.

and dani's take:

Those years there was a lot of tension because we were fighting for the same thing. He knew about my potential. That's why he always tried to stick to me, so I had no space to really take off. [...] He's very competitive. That's his strong suit, how competitive he's always been with everything.

and then at the end of that segment, marc says the following:

It is true that after 2015, 2016, everything calmed down, and we had a good, normal teammates relationship. After a while, I think you learn to accept the situation, right? It happens, and I'm sure it'll eventually happen to me too.

which I suppose is a fairly diplomatic way of saying the relationship got better when marc had won the war and dani had to 'accept' his lot in life. the king is dead long live the king, etc etc. intra-team competition is perfectly natural, but of course that doesn't mean all riders approach that dynamic in the same way. dani's "I had no space to really take off" is a nice way of putting it I feel, how he talks about marc 'sticking' to dani, marc's determination to just continually work away at his teammate... to suppress him, to smother him, to ensure that not only was marc winning the war but he would keep winning the war. marc made that team his own and he ensured that dani's continued presence in that team was happening on marc's terms. a job very well done

marc is also remarkably open in describing one of the specific tactics he utilised to achieve the desired effect in suppressing his teammate. in marc marquez all in, he admits to intentionally giving misleading bike feedback when it could give himself an advantage over dani:

But back then we had a great bike, everyone worked well. So if a replacement piece worked for him, I didn't like it, "This doesn't work. I want this one. I want this replacement piece, since I'm leading it. I want it. Don't give him this." "You want to try it?" "Yeah, sure." But I didn't want to.

now, listen, I'm sure this kind of thing does happen. that being said. marc, come on, not everyone is engaging in this degree of underhanded behaviour wherein you're intentionally hampering your teammate's efforts to improve the bike just to ensure you continue to have an edge over them. let's make a casey stoner comparison, given that I am legally obligated to mention him in most of my posts. he is actually relevant here though, as dani's pre-marc teammate and the bloke who would have more likely than not been marc's teammate if he hadn't retired. casey talks a bit in his autobiography about working with pedrosa at honda, mentioning how it was nice to have a teammate with a similar pace so they could actually develop the bike together. he also says this:

I never felt threatened by a teammate because I have never had one that I felt was consistently quicker than me and throughout my career our biggest competition always came from outside the garage. Still, I have great respect for Dani, our partnership was a fruitful one and I think we worked really well together to help Honda build their best ever bike in the RC213V.

while I do quite like the implication that casey would have felt 'threatened' by any teammate who could match him, I think it's fair to say that this is a pretty different approach from what marc's describing above. of course, casey could be misleading us... but, call me naive or gullible or whatever, I really just don't think casey was pulling that kind of shit on his teammates. I'd go so far as to say that this kind of thing is maybe not quite as widespread as marc portrays it as being. it might also be worth quickly bringing in casey's thoughts on such a combative style of teammate relationship (from 2009):

probably for the best we never got to see how that particular teammate dynamic would have played out! also, luckily enough, we do actually have somebody who can corroborate that casey and marc behaved differently as teammates. let's get the thoughts of dani himself (april 2023, so after marc marquez all in had been released):

“At least in the team we were in, HRC, it was like this: the one who goes the fastest is the number 1, the one who chooses the parts and the one who determines the direction a bit. “When [Marc] arrived, I was in that position and with the races and the championships he took that position and decided in his own way. When I was directing more the evolution of the bike I had the parts first and I never thought in [my] own way. “My way has always been to do the best for the team, and if I have the best parts to make the bike the best, I'm not thinking about my rival right next door, but about Yamaha, Ducati... whoever the rival was, because I consider myself part of the brand. Later he had that other way of doing it. “I don't think I was missing [the same way as Marquez], because my way of being was that one. For example, before Marc came in, with Casey Stoner, he never played that game either."

so, yeah, maybe not completely universal behaviour. I don't know, I do find it kind of charming that marc has this very 'ah well everyone does it' attitude. now quite honestly I personally would not admit to this sort of behaviour even in confessional amazon prime documentaries - and it's fascinating what kinds of things he has a filter about and at what times he just decides to be, uh, very candid. I mean, I suppose this is a nice way of publicly forewarning any teammate who isn't your brother that you're going to try and make their life miserable. so that's something. anyway, marc did obviously win the internal war - which is the kind of thing that does matter if you're trying to impose your will on bike development... even if you're just doing so to fuck with your teammate. so by 2016 you reportedly had a situation where marc's direction was being followed to the extent that it harmed all the other honda riders:

But Pedrosa claims he had no input in the decision, and is now paying the price of having to compete on a bike built around Marquez’s preferences. The 30-year-old also said that he knew he would be in for a difficult time in 2016 as early as the Valencia test last November. "In the end we didn't have many specs [of engines], but out of the ones we had I wouldn't have chosen the current one,” Pedrosa admitted. "When we picked the bike I already knew things would be very hard. I already knew how the bike handled in November. But it is what it is. The choice of bike that we have was [Marquez's], I had nothing to do with it. For the moment, he's ahead and he deserves to be. He likes the bike, he adapts better to it, while I struggle more. That's obvious, you can see it in the results and in the way we ride." Pedrosa said the poor performance of Honda’s satellite bikes this season in comparison to previous years was yet further evidence of how the RC213V has been designed around Marquez’s needs. Cal Crutchlow’s sixth place at Catalunya has been the best result for a Honda rider besides Marquez and Pedrosa of the campaign so far. “You have to think of the team, not only about yourself,” Pedrosa added. “If you look at the rest of the Hondas, they are a lot further behind than two or three years ago, when you had [Stefan] Bradl or [Alvaro] Bautista finishing fourth or fifth. Now they are 10th and further [back]. So we have to try to get the other teams to work too."

obviously, to some extent teams following the lead rider and prioritising their feedback is completely natural and even wise - they're the one who is winning for you. it does also end up being a bit of a self-perpetuating cycle that makes the rider already winning more likely to continue winning, which helps explain why these riders are even so invested in their internal bickering. all that being said, of course it's worth noting that different riders conceptualise that teammate relationship differently, and the extent of intra-team cooperation can vary drastically. marc has a very particular understanding of that relationship when he is paired with anyone who is not his brother - one that is generally speaking pretty far along the combative end of the scale

unfortunately, we never really got to see how bad the whole marc and jorge (also not the easiest of teammates) situation could have gotten. in 2018, their relationship was definitely better than say 2013, but also jorge was still perfectly happy to criticise marc - whether after argentina, or that whole aragon incident they had

(marc did call jorge afterwards to check in on him, which jorge did appreciate.) but jorge never had the pace in his honda days to threaten marc, so nothing really got going between the two of them. if memory serves, the closest we ever got was catalunya 2019, where they had a bit of a coming together in practise - incidentally the first (and in retrospect only) weekend that season where jorge had potentially dangerous pace

But Lorenzo’s apology seemed to clear the air. Marquez explained that once he “was calmer” and the fear of dropping outside the all-important top ten had subsided, he could see the #99’s point of view. Marquez also noted how he was twice penalised in 2018 for similar actions to Lorenzo’s in FP3. He then pointed out how neither his team-mate, nor Joan Mir, who blocked the reigning world champion at one point during the Mugello weekend, were punished. Speaking to Spanish journalists after Saturday’s press conference, Marquez, said, “He [Lorenzo] apologised to me, because he was in the middle of turn three. While people can say it's only free practice, it was the third one, in which the last laps are like qualifying. “I was so angry because I knew that my lap was the one to enter Q2 directly. In the end I finished ninth, the worst classification of the year. It’s clear that last year I was twice in the middle of the track and on both occasions I was penalised. At Mugello I came across [Joan] Mir, we touched and everything and then at the end of FP3 it happened again with Lorenzo. But this happens... When it does everyone has to be judged equally. There is no difference. He simply apologised. Logically [after the session finished] I was calmer and I understood, because no rider waits in the middle of the track – or at least I hope they don’t."

obviously, this isn't like, a big deal, but in the moment it was one of those 'oooh maybe this'll go somewhere' incidents and the eternal drama enthusiasts in the commentary box were talking about it at the start of the race. like I said, that was jorge's first honda weekend where he was showing actual pace, so it felt like this might be building to something. except then, uh, jorge decided to skittle all of marc's rivals in one go in the race itself and somewhat hilariously managed to just miss marc. and then jorge got injured again the next race and it all just kinda fizzled out after that, so we never really got to find out what dramatics could have been possible there

and that's it as far as teammates prime!marc had in the premier class go. childhood rival pol espargaro took on the mantle for two years in 2021-22, at a time in which there was much kerfuffle about honda's development direction and whether they'd followed marc's path for too long. espargaro did attempt to assert himself in that team and they did try to develop the bike in a way that suited all the riders better rather than just marc, which *gestures at honda post-2020* worked insofar as marc also ended up in the trenches. that being said, pol was never a particularly serious threat to marc - aside from that one race to start off 2022, which maybe prompted a little bit of needle from marc (based on what the podcasts™ were saying at the time in any case) but nothing dramatic - so, y'know, that was kind of that. in those two years plus the year where marc had joan mir as his teammate, of course you can go into the weeds and dig out minor disagreements... but apart from the conversations around development direction and how marquez-centric honda should be going forward, it's just a bit of a different vibe when you're beefing for pee one million or who gets to be the leader of that year's crash rankings. of course, if you really want to stop marc from tormenting you, maybe you should just try being his literal brother. pecco, if you want any more useful advice like that: I offer very reasonable rates, just give me a call and we can hash something out

so, we've covered how the on-track stuff works and looked at the intra-team dynamic - what's next? time to explore a little more how marc goes about unsettling his rivals, how he attempts to give himself the decisive edge over his opponents... and also, what purpose this all serves when it comes to his own psychology. intimidating rivals typically has another underlying goal: it's about motivating yourself. it's about proving to your rivals just how far you'll go to beat them while proving as much to yourself in the same breath

again, at times we're a little light in terms of an actual paper trail of this intimidation... given that marc does like to take on the role of the aggressor in on-track disputes, often he doesn't even have to be the one to comment - and instead the onus is on his rivals to voice their dissent. there's also the issue that marc did have a paucity post-2015 in terms of 'serious title threats over the course of multiple seasons' - which, I don't know, this does feel like a thing somehow, you just don't really build feuds in a single season. even valentino, known feud enjoyer, always needed a little longer to really get something going. looking at marc's career, obviously you do have dovi, with whom he had a very cordial rivalry between 2017 to 2019... but the only year in which dovi was a serious title threat was in the first year of that rivalry, in 2017. after dovi's poor results in the first half of 2018, that title bid was essentially dead on arrival, and the 2019 title fight generously lasts until catalunya when jorge skittled the field minus marc. there's a couple marc rivalries with young challengers that looked like they were just about to kick off after 2019... but, well, we'll never find out how those would have played out. and it might be worth pointing out that in his prime, valentino's disagreements with riders who weren't serious threats to him winning titles didn't really go beyond what marc had going on with assorted other riders from 2016 to 2019. it's a bit of an open question if you want to attribute marc's lower number of feuds primarily to his actual personality and how it differs from valentino's, or whether you think it just reflects their respective competitive situations. the boring answer is that it's probably a combination of both of those things

that being said, obviously you can engage in a wee spot of psychological warfare without it escalating to feud level. now, let's get the obvious out of the way: marc and valentino were still very much at it post-2015. of course they continued to be deeply invested in their attempts to undermine and mess with each other. but, let's be honest, they're their own special little thing and it's just going to derail this post if I pay too much attention to them. there's a certain level of feuding where it becomes increasingly detached from any sort of actual competitive calculus and is more about a fraught relationship between two people who have managed to severely hurt each other. that being said, it's worth pointing out that marc was perfectly capable of using that feud to spur himself on. for the easiest evidence of that, just look at some of his misano performances... in 2017, valentino had just nerfed himself out of the title fight, whereas in 2019 he was no longer a serious threat to marc on-track. and yet despite how valentino wasn't the on-track rival marc should be concerning himself with, in both cases marc ended up using his valentino-related rage to find that little bit extra within himself in order to steal the victory

^from the marc (+ dovi) race rec post

there's plenty to be said about the misano 2019 qualifying incident, but let's set aside the specifics for now (though, speaking of towing-related drama, marc had again during fp3 shadowed valentino around the track, which... why are you hounding this man in misano of all places, marc). the whole kerfuffle certainly didn't hurt marc's race performance, and it's fair to say he seemed particularly thrilled with that victory. obviously, these were pretty pointed celebrations, very in your face, big fuck you to the nation of italy and valentino rossi specifically. celebrations like this are important in both what they're signalling to the enemy and what they're signalling to yourself. if there's one thing you can learn from valentino, it's that a celebration is a public message, and can function as a statement of sorts about what the victory 'meant'. what's the story you're telling with your victory? what do you want to take away from this race? what do you want your opponents to take away from it?

misano that year had come after marc's struggles in last lap duels, with the two races directly preceding it featuring last lap losses to dovi and alex rins respectively. now, on the one hand it's not always catastrophic on a psychological level to be constantly losing last lap duels... because in marc's case they did help reinforce just how dangerous he was, where even at his weaker tracks he would hound his rivals until the very end. on the other hand, obviously it's preferable to have a reputation for winning last lap duels as opposed to losing them - not least because it adds to how intimidating you are when you are locked in another last lap duel. valentino of course had a reputation for being lethally effective in that sort of situation, and it's nicely helpful if your enemies assume they're fucked when you're in their postcode with around three laps to go. I discussed this dynamic a little bit in how it relates to the sete rivalry here and here, which links back to the discussion of how you exert psychological pressure on the track. some relevant excerpts, plus some of my race notes:

marc is obviously more than capable of adopting similar tactics in his racing, but the sete rivalry still holds up as a really good demonstration of the kind of rewards you can reap through a steady diet of psychological intimidation. this is why it's so important to keep an edge over your rivals: you want them to be haunted by the ghosts of all your past on-track encounters whenever you're fighting to the point where it's detrimental to their actual riding. anyway, let's quickly check who marc was actually fighting with during the last lap of misano 2019, and whether that might have had anything to do with why marc was so thrilled to get the victory. oh, the rookie revelation of 2019 and the guy marc quickly identified as the big big threat of the future, you say? poor little fabio quartararo who still hadn't won a race yet, but who marc managed to dramatically deny on two separate occasions that year on the final lap? getting in early on the mission of building up some crucial psychological baggage, are we now?

obviously, and pretty tragically, this future investment on marc's part has ended up being completely irrelevant (unless yamaha wants to do something so so crazy for me and build a functioning bike before marc's hair goes grey), but equally obviously none of us knew that at the time. and fabio was able to take away some positives from the misano experience:

“I knew he would try something, but you never know with Marc,” said the Frenchman. “He can overtake and pull away because I really don’t know if he really saved his tyre. “The good thing was I could overtake him back, and this going home gives me a lot of confidence, to say ‘he’s a seven-time world champion, but we can overtake him’. So, he’s a human like us.”

because that's what it's all about, isn't it. giving the opposition the impression that you're not even human - and, even if fabio is saying the experience gave him 'a lot of confidence', imagine how much more confidence he would've gotten if he'd won. also, check out fabio's comment about not knowing whether marc had been saving his tyre. that's why the 'fucking about before fucking off' approach to races is so effective: because of how it generates uncertainty, it generates doubt, it makes your rivals wonder even during races whether there's a chance you're just toying with them

we do have a bit of a sample size issue here when it comes to assessing marc's celebrations, in that his two last lap duels with fabio came a) in valentino's backyard, and b) when marc sealed that year's title. it means that if the celebrations seem excessive, there's still other plausible explanations for why marc was so happy to get one over the rookie that aren't related to trying to bully fabio into submission for as long as he still could. did marc really use them as a way of reminding everyone, including fabio, including himself, of who's really in charge? again, you'll have to draw your own conclusions

I'm doing my best not to cover anything that's happening this year too much, since this is the stuff I'm assuming people reading are basically familiar with. but of course, if we're talking 'pointed celebrations' then there's also a few from this year that stand out. this isn't to say that marc's joy at his ducati successes have been anything other than genuine, that he isn't happy or relieved or revitalised by his current season... but, well, part of being revitalised is also being back in the game where fighting for titles is concerned. take the jerez celebrations, ecstatic in spite of losing a tight battle, openly loved and adored by his home crowd. look at how he's done his thing repeatedly this year of engaging with all these crowds, getting them to celebrate with him specifically. a cynic might say it's a way of reminding his opponents that they might be winning right now... but they should never forget who the crowds have really come to see. which would be charmingly valentino of him. while marc (probably wisely) never went too far in mimicking valentino's unique style of celebrations, he is an avid enough student to understand the importance of the theatre of victory. like in his third ever premier class race (from the jerez post):

racing is one thing, but it's always important to consider how you're reacting in both defeat and victory. like valentino before him, marc prefers not to openly show his rage. like valentino, more often than not he will be publicly magnanimous in defeat. like valentino, he's not adverse to twisting in the blade a little further in victory. like valentino, he's very much aware of when a camera is watching him. with marc, you can also observe how determined he is to appear unaffected and unbothered by the effects of sepang 2015 on his public image (except in displays of very carefully managed vulnerability like marc marquez all in). there's plenty of examples of this, but most relevant here is how marc concerns himself with not being openly affected by fans booing him. take blowing kisses to the misano 2017 crowd after his warm up crash... which, looking at his post-race presser comments, whatever he may say clearly (and understandably) did bother him. likewise, see the glee of the misano 2019 celebrations. with those celebrations, he's trying to tell you that not only does it not bother him that they're booing, but instead he relishes it. the more they do this, the more he will win

one more case study before we wrap this post up, this time using a specific rival to illustrate some of his more common tactics and how the spats he gets himself involved in generally play out. said rival is alex rins, who especially in 2019 had emerged as one of marc's prime challengers. now, before we talk about any disagreements between those two, I do have to mention that rinsy has a bit of history with the marquez family (this from 2016):

in the end, dani stayed on for another year and was replaced by another ageing spaniard marc felt confident he'd have the measure of while rinsy signed for suzuki - so it's very unlikely marc had to play any active role in blocking him from taking the seat. that being said, obviously the main takeaway is the bad blood stemming from alex marquez's moto3 title campaign and how alzamora organised that team around the younger marquez. god knows how rins felt about this by 2019, but I doubt he'd just forgotten about it. there's also this from 2020, which to me reads as a little dismissive about someone who was your teammate in moto3? I don't know, judge for yourself:

anyway, back to marc. the 'biggest' incident between the pair of them was a coming together in qualifying at brno 2019 (one of the all time great qualifying performances from marc by the way, well worth a watch):

During qualifying at Brno, cameras picked up the end of a tense tussle between MotoGP champion Marc Marquez and Suzuki's Alex Rins. The pair were caught putting some close passes on each other before pulling into pit lane, where they continued to 'duel' - until Marquez reached out with his arm to put some space between their machines. Marquez then over swapped to slick tyres and romped to pole position on the drying track, with Rins claiming sixth on the grid. "It's a tricky thing because for sure [Marc] is now one step in front of everybody. He put the slick tyres and he was super-fast. But I think he has no respect for the other riders. He is riding on his way," said Rins. "I will explain to you what happened: On Corner 5, he went a little bit wide and behind him was Miller and me. When he went wide, he looked back and saw Jack and me. Jack passed him, but then he went back onto the line and sincerely he disturbed me. I was pushing. I was not super-fast, but I was pushing. "So on the next left corner I tried to do my line. He opened a little a bit the door and I go in. I touched him, but I think it's his fault; if he is riding slow he needs to open the door and that's it. But anyway, then on the last corner he braked super-hard to overtake me [back]. Then when we were coming into the box I was in front of him and I go straight and he has no space to go by my side. If I was him, I would cut the gas…" "I ran wide at Turn 5 and Jack overtook me because I checked behind and I only saw him, so I tried to follow Jack because I know he had good pace. Then I went a bit too wide and there was a small space, but enough and [Rins] ran into me…" said the Repsol Honda star. “The funny thing was when we entered the box and the tyre wall was there [in front of me] and I didn’t have the space [to get through] because he was going that way. I don’t know if that was intentional or not, but for me it wasn’t important. I lose zero time on these sort of things.” Told Rins had said he had no respect for other riders, Marquez responded: “Of course I don’t agree with this, it is his opinion." "It's not the first time," Rins had explained earlier. "Everybody knows Marquez and everybody knows that he has an incredible talent, but also what happened in FP1 with Vinales was more-or-less the same. Marc loves to play this game and try to get in the head of other riders. But in my case I'm really calm. I just tell the truth and that's it." Asked if he thought he needed to try and get into Marquez's head, Rins responded: "No, I don't think so…. For sure if I'm fighting for the world championship with him I will try to do something, but he's 80 points in front of me - maybe he's scared, I don't know!" Austin winner Rins, who has fallen in the last two races, is fourth in the world championship.

their most significant race clash was in silverstone 2019, where alex got the better of marc in a very dramatic last lap duel. I've heard journalists make vague reference to marc not taking that loss particularly well, though... again. hard to actually pin him down on a lot of this! but we do have more extensive comments rinsy provided in early 2020 to work with, and he at least seems to agree with that assessment:

"Marc is so good at these mental things, he plays a lot with all the riders," Rins told the official MotoGP website. "For example in Brno last year, I was on a fast lap, he looked behind at me and opened the line a little bit, but not too much. I was on the dry line and I touched him. I lost my lap, but I continued pushing. Then in the last chicane he overtook me so closely, we were so close to a crash, and then he went into pit lane. From that moment, I said to myself, Marc is considering me as a rival." Rins - who declared "Marquez has no respect for other riders" immediately after the incident - got his revenge in the form of a thrilling last-corner victory pass on Marquez a few weeks later at Silverstone. "Marc is the man to beat and the rivalry is so high," Rins said. "More in 2019, because I shared more moments on track with him. For sure whenever he finishes just in front of me, I'm a bit angry, I want to beat him. But also for him. I remember when I beat him in Silverstone he was so, so angry." Rins added: "I like this because it means that I'm doing a good job. Marc is an incredible rider, winning a lot of races and championships, and if he thinks of me as a rival, it means I'm there fighting him." Rins took two wins on his way to a best-yet fourth in the 2019 MotoGP standings.

now, yeah... the problem is that this is all very much hearsay (but no more so than plenty of similar comments valentino's rivals made about him!) and rinsy could just be lying about this or misinterpreting it or whatever. we are very low on actual evidence for the stuff he says here. if you watch silverstone 2019 and the aftermath, you will not see a marc who visibly looks angry - of course you won't, because he almost never looks visibly angry. unfortunately, we don't have the chance to grill alex on why exactly he was left with this impression. at the end of the day, like with valentino, when it comes to evaluating the honesty of a lot of these character references you will just have to make up your own mind. like with valentino, some of these men will either be exaggerating the extent of the harm or just straight up making shit up. then again, like with valentino, the number of people who do seem to have the impression marc was fucking with them maybe suggests that there is something to these allegations

just a few things to note here... to highlight some of the common features that tend to crop up in these marc incidents:

there's the accusation of lack of respect towards other riders - valentino is the one who most infamously made that accusation in the aftermath of argentina 2018, but of course he's far, far from alone in making comments along those lines. marc certainly has a tendency towards being... uncompromising in his approach, shall we say, which can at times lean towards treating his competitors mainly as obstacles and inconveniences

the anger that's being attributed to marc. which he doesn't tend to directly express towards his competitors off the track! but if he is angry, it may instead... seep into how he approaches instances where they share space on-track, as well as affect his general demeanour towards them

there's rinsy suggesting marc is known for playing these games, that he does it a lot, and he's also known for being very good at them... which again is often something we only hear about indirectly, but of course it's interesting if that's the general paddock consensus

there's also rinsy's insistence that marc's games don't bother him at all - he's just calmly noting that marc's engaging in them! again, it's quite hard when you're familiar enough with valentino's oeuvre to not be slapped in the face with the similarity in some of the rhetoric their rivals use. doesn't mean all of these different dynamics are directly analogous, but it does speak to how determined the rivals in question tend to be in... y'know. telling themselves that they're above the whole thing. unfortunately, sometimes it is just very, very hard to be unaffected... and sometimes you're already losing by talking about it, because it shows you've been thinking about it

which, check out marc's response. 'oh, obviously I don't agree I lack respect' 'ah, I lose zero time on these things' (for another example of him using similar language, you could of course look to his comments about bez last year in valencia). this is marc's go-to - he generally quite likes to deny the existence of a problem, makes it sound like the whole thing is very one-sided... he keeps his distance and can maintain his poise and this veneer of neutrality, where he is not causing any drama. maybe the other guy's just imagining things! that's really not marc's problem, is it now

lastly, you've got this notion of marc messing with other riders selectively, and specifically doing it when he's identified you as a potential threat. again, maybe you think alex is reading too much into it! but equally, it's worth noting that we have as much evidence for marc messing with rinsy as we do for, say, valentino messing with casey in practise sessions in 2006 (as casey's autobiography claims). it would have been completely competitively reasonable for marc to identify alex rins as one of his primary threats in the future... and it would also not be hugely surprising if marc wanted to maintain a psychological edge over him

incidentally, at 2020 jerez rins and marc had another little run in during a practise session - where alex was left 'visibly frustrated' after marc was slowing down on the racing line while rinsy was completing a flying lap, which he ended up having to back out of. this denied rinsy direct entry into q2 (though marc didn't end up being penalised for it). of course, marc's jerez race reached an unhappy conclusion and rins was too injured to even start it, and after that they've never been even remotely close to fighting for a championship. though there's still a little bit of needle between the pair of them, mainly resulting from how rinsy ended up joining lcr honda in 2023 after suzuki departed the scene. there's marc's reasonably innocent comments in 2022, on a day in which rinsy won another last lap duel for the victory in phillip island:

"I will not give any advice," said Marquez. "For me it is another opponent. It’s good that joining Honda is one world champion [Joan Mir] and one rider that is winning races with another manufacturer. "Like this we will see exactly the level. I’m working really hard for the 2023 project with Honda and they are working really, really hard too. I don’t say I wish [him] the best. Let’s just go and see. He is another opponent, if not it would be fake’."

or here, take this from before mugello 2023, again mostly innocuous:

By contrast, Marquez believes Mugello is one of Rins’ best tracks and he wasn’t surprised to see the COTA winner at the sharp end. “No [I’m not surprised], because Rins, even with Suzuki, had 5-6 circuits where he is very fast and then others where he struggles more. Normally here with Suzuki, he was very fast and very consistent,” said Marquez, whose only premier-class win at Mugello was back in 2014. “He is really good in fast corners so, for example, in Le Mans he was struggling more than me and here he is very fast. It is good for Honda and Honda riders that someone is faster because like this you have more chance to look and compare the things.”

love being told I have "5-6 circuits" where I'm very fast. or take rinsy's innocent surprise that marc didn't end up winning at the sachsenring, and how he suggests it was maybe because of all the pressure marc had been feeling:

"It's hard, it tastes very bad to me because Marc has a fucking talent and it's not being easy at all,” Rins was quoted by DAZN. “But hey, in the end you have to turn the tables, you have to win, you have to build a winning bike. "Damn, I thought that Marc would also win in Germany. What happened? I don't know, I have no idea. Pressure, extra pressure, I have no idea.”

and then, of course, there was always that little hint of tension that came as a result of rinsy being honda's only race winner that year, at marc's beloved cota of all places... which became a bit of a discourse point (not always propagated by rinsy) to say that, hey, maybe the honda wasn't so bad after all... anyway, here's what marc said when rinsy signed for yamaha:

Repsol Honda rider Marquez was asked about Rins’ departure and answered: “I had an interview, they asked me about this rumour. I said ‘I don’t think so’ because Rins won a race and he said ‘it’s a good bike’. “So I didn’t expect this move. But then the day after! I’m happy for him, it’s a good move, he’s moving from a satellite team to a factory team. Yamaha has power and energy from the past.”

marc had said 'surely not' but then the very next day he was left shocked and taken aback! he'd thought rinsy loved the bike so much! he'd thought rinsy felt it was actually a good bike! he'd thought rinsy would never want to leave! how unexpected this whole thing was to him!

(there was also talk about rinsy's unhappiness at how honda treated him and his development feedback - but as there is less than zero evidence marc had anything to do with that, let's leave it there)

did marc really behave differently towards alex rins because he saw him as a threat? probably! possibly? probably! but he hasn't really felt the need to say as much. sometimes, you can fuck with people by staying silent, and sometimes you can fuck with them just because you have a reputation for mind games - which marc, like valentino, has acquired over the years. ideally, your on-track plus off-track presence gets to the point where you don't really need to do anything and can let your opponents engage in shadowboxing while you can spend your time in more useful ways. think of that excellent clip from motogp unlimited where poor joan mir complains about marc's towing, freaks out when he realises the press has said he's complained about marc's towing, and then goes to explain to marc how he hadn't actually complained about marc's towing. and marc, with the air of a man who has been high on painkillers for the past week and hasn't given joan much thought beyond contemplating how well he'd pair with potatoes, graciously accepts this explanation - which joan is painfully, obviously relieved by. marc wasn't playing any 'mind games' in this clip, he was just standing there. but sometimes that's all you've got to do! call it a good return on prior investment. (partly this is also just a result of the status the sheer extent of marc and valentino's successes provides them and, relatedly, their power and influence within the sport.) here, from one of oxley's books:

Once you've established a reputation for trickery, you can confuse people without doing anything. At this year's [2009] German GP Casey Stoner accused Rossi of attempting to confuse his rivals by scrubbing the white sidewall paint from his front slick; the paint denoting Bridgestone's softer compound tyres. In fact Bridgestone had run out of white paint (no, really), but the reality didn't matter because Stoner was sat on the grid, convinced Rossi was playing tricks when he should've been getting himself in the zone, focusing on his race.

that's the ideal, right: you don't even have to do the dirty work yourself because it's the reputation doing the work for you. marc inspires a similar effect on riders, where he just gets them to the point where they're spending way too much time hyper-analysing whatever he's doing at any given moment. which means that he doesn't actually need to be trying to fuck with anyone for the effect to still be the same. free and easy, what's not to love

so, that's it, more or less. all the on-track stuff, from 'how to build up an intimidating presence 101', to just being extremely annoying in non-race sessions, to trying to mess with your teammate, to more generally how you go about handling disputes with other riders. managing your motivation, their motivation, everyone's motivation. of course marc's not quite scaled the heights (yet) of cursing another rider to never win another race again - which, hey, nobody's perfect, but I think he's built together a fairly decent resume for himself! there's plenty more stuff you could get into here, c.f. 'everything that's been going on with ducati internal politics this year'... but this post is more than long enough, and you can follow all that stuff while it's actually happening. a few more related topics I've deigned outside of the scope of this post include how he generally manages perceptions of himself and his performance potential in ways that aren't targeted at any specific rival, for instance how he talks about his injury and has a tendency to change his tune depending on what's convenient at any given time, or how in the past he managed perceptions of the competitiveness of his honda package. likewise, I also haven't discussed the actual success rate of these tactics: let's not forget that trying to fuck with your rivals doesn't... always produce the effects you want it to. (sometimes just in kind of dumb ways, like I get messing with the rookie sensation but please try not to crash when catching a tow, marc. "marc clearly tried to get into fabio's head and I think he hit his head himself quite big." "so, I think it's karma. fabio's on pole and I hope marc is uninjured of course. but he tried to get in his head because he knows fabio is fast." not ideal!) but, hey, the most important thing is he's trying hard and having fun. or something

because that's the thing, right. when you are attempting to exert psychological pressure on your opponents, when you're trying to weaken your rivals, inevitably this also has an effect on you. there are athletes who prefer to completely ignore their opponents and act as if they are essentially competing on their lonesome. neither valentino nor marc fall into this category. as a result, how you behave towards your rivals inevitably also becomes at least in part about motivating yourself. you are attempting to focus your mind in some way - whether it is to see your rival as an enemy or to simply distance yourself from them or otherwise. you may even be minded to treat your rival particularly warmly, knowing they are less likely to give you grief if you have ensured the interpersonal relationship has remained amicable... maybe even looking for a slight psychological edge if they are not sufficiently motivated to beat you. maybe that too is about managing your reputation and drawing a line under past unfriendlier rivalries, to distinguish your most beloathed rival from all the others. you may need to find a way to keep the fire within going, to reinvigorate yourself even in periods of relative competitive tranquillity by giving yourself something to be angry at, a reason to fight and to win out of spite... finding reasons to care, again and again and again. celebrating with exuberance not just because you are genuinely filled with joy but also because you need to be filled with joy - so that you can find it within yourself to keep fighting. there's never just one brain involved in the arena of psychological warfare. to succeed in sports the first person you have to play mind games on, after all, is yourse- *gets taken out by sniper rifle*

#funny editorial choice in marc marquez all in is that two separate bits of footage for the dani/marc segment are from sepang 2015 #plenty of nervous energy from marc that had fuck all to do with dani walking up behind him #tigerbalmpng #also thank you!! that's very kind #rosquez #//#4693 #batsplat responds #idol tag #has to be said my notes for seasons I actually watched live are wayyyyy worse... trying to google half-remembered controversies #if only I'd had the foresight in 2017 or whenever to keep a beef journal. tho I did have a useful ranking of my fave towing-related dramas #btw I find every single thing I put in this post good and fun. it's sports they're supposed to be assholes #'he ruined honda!!!!' good. he finished what valentino started #brr brr

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Pg. 1

Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The faelights gilded Elain's unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.

Pg. 2

"I….." He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. "I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier." Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She'd waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she'd leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. Elain closed the distance, and her breathing quickened as she again paused, now a scant foot away. She extended the wrapped gift, her hand shaking. "Here." Az tried not to look at his scarred fingers as they took the gift. She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year—a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he’d done every night he slept there. Or attempted to sleep there.

Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said “You might find these useful at the House these days”, and then opened the lid.

Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, “You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you…”

He chuckled, unable to contain the impulse. “No wonder you didn’t want me to open it in front of everyone.”

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Nesta wouldn’t appreciate the joke.”

Pg. 3

He offered her a smile back. “I wasn’t sure if I should give you your present.” He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn’t stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much.

Elain’s large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that. Just as he knew she was well aware of why Azriel so rarely came to family dinners these days. But tonight, here in the dark and quiet, with no one to see… He pulled the small velvet box from the shadows around him.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around.

The golden necklace seemed ordinary-its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. The golden faelight shone through the little glass facets, setting the charm glowing with hues of red and pink and white. Azriel let his shadows whisk away the box as she said softly, “Put it on me?”

His head went quiet. But he took the necklace, opening the clasp as she exposed her back, sweeping her hair up in one hand to bare her long, creamy neck.

He knew it was wrong, but there he was, sliding the necklace around her. Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture. Elain shivered, and he took a damn long time fastening the clasp.

Pg. 4

Elain bit her lower lip, and it took every ounce of Azriel's restraint to keep from putting his own teeth there. “I should go," Elain said, but made no move to leave. "Yes," he said, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

Her arousal lifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He’d beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. But Azriel just stroked her neck again.

Elain shuddered, drifting closer. So close one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. She looked up at him, her face so trusting and hopeful and open that he knew she had no idea that he had done unspeakable things that sullied his hands far beyond their scars. Such terrible things that it was a sacrilege for his fingers to touch her skin, tainting her with his presence. But he could have this. This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it. "Yes," Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. Azrie's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.

Offer and permission.

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domini-porter · 2 months ago

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Quick reminder for Americans: even if you don’t like either presidential candidate, there are so many more things to vote for on your ballot.

If you think president is too big and amorphous or too corrupt and rigged, what about the elections in your town? Everything starts small and local. Where you’re one of a much more tangible number than 300,000,000. Even in big cities things are broken down into smaller chunks where your vote counts with greater weight.

Also, you’re not obligated to cast a vote for everything on the ballot! Just the ones you feel like!

Okay.

I’m trying to be kind about this but it’s difficult. Voting isn’t difficult. People are asking you to choose between options and you choose the option that seems best. That’s it. People fight and die even now for your right to do this. To read a pamphlet (optional!) and fill out a form. That’s it.

The other thing is this: someone on that form will win. No matter what. One of those names will be in charge. Not because it’s rigged, but because those are the people you get to pick from, and one of them will win. That is how every election for anything works.

Anyway. This next part is for my purity-test leftists specifically, but who knows, maybe it applies to you too!

Who do you think you’re helping by sitting out a vote that could determine if I, personally—a real human person and maybe your friend or acquaintance or loved one—am branded a deviant and an undesirable and a criminal and imprisoned or worse? People in Gaza who are certainly drinking in your social media posts like a healing elixir and thinking wow, I’m so grateful Westerners are using my suffering to buff up their own moral purity, I’m really glad they’re refusing to participate in a free and democratic election, that’s so cool and helpful to me, personally?

The fucking gall of you. The privilege and heartlessness of you. The laziness and cruelty and selfishness of you. Just say you’re too invested in looking like a galaxy-brain iconoclast to give ten minutes of your time to help me not live every second of my life—which is happening next door or down the street or a neighborhood over from you, right now, every day—in fear and despair. Get just so absolutely fucked.

For everyone else: check your voter registration if you’re unsure or live in a state prone to purging its voter rolls! If you can vote early, vote as early as you can!

If you’ve never voted before but have decided this year’s the year, that’s so amazing and I’m so excited and it’s super-easy and honestly at least kind of fun; I guarantee your voter guide will have some amazing weirdos in it, because it’s America and everyone can try for it. But if you don’t vote—you, in your much-smaller voting pool than you might realize—those weirdos running to outlaw ducks have a distressingly better shot. And once they’re on the city council, maybe they run for mayor. And then state rep. And so on.

Please don’t be one of those people who claims their voice isn’t heard and decides to self-fulfill that prophecy by refusing to use their voice at all. It has real, lasting, immediate consequences for people you see every day. It has real, lasting consequences for you, too; consequences that really make spending ten minutes filling out a scantron seem a lot less difficult in retrospect.

Vote like your life depends on it. And if it doesn’t, you have my explicit permission to vote like mine does.

#get out the vote #kamala harris #election 2024 #nothing I say is quick #sorry

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bluemantics · 4 months ago

Note

do u have any fics u think are like REALLY funny

Oh my gosh absolutely I do have humor tagged fics. When I write fanfics I try to make them funny, so when I read, I definitely look for the same! I put stars next to my faves.

If you want to check out my romcom klance fics and support me, they're here (coffee shop au) & here (hsm-ish au) /nf.

1. skin hunger by hiuythn

Canonverse | T+ | 12.5K

Keith is touch-starved to the point of stupidity. Lance helps. Lance tries to help. Lance tries.

2. the meaning of donuts by Katranga

Canonverse | T+ | 14.7K

The next few days were filled with Lance informing everyone, multiple times, of their “new” friendship. “We’re friends now, did you hear? Keith and I are friends.” Over and over, big smile, loud voice. Looking between Keith and whoever he was telling like he expected a round of applause. Or confetti. Or a parade. What he usually got was somebody making a crack about bonding moments, which prompted a tight, put-upon sigh on Keith’s end. And Lance would look at him fondly, and Keith would have to bite his cheek to distract himself from how much he wanted Lance to lean over and kiss him.

3. The Open Space of Desire by Prevalent_Masters *

Modern AU (river giuide x climber) | E | 44.8K

Keith’s doing just fine, thanks. So maybe he dropped out of college and maybe he doesn’t have what one might call “direction” in his life, but so what? He’s got a job he doesn’t hate, he’s got enough friends for his liking, he’s got Shiro, he’s got climbing on the weekends, he’s got the hookups with closeted college boys every once in awhile, and he’s fine. Happy. He doesn’t need anything to change.

That is, until he almost accidentally gets into a bar fight with an infuriatingly attractive river guide and then starts seeing said river guide everywhere and it turns out he's less infuriating but still definitely attractive, and, well—maybe Keith hasn’t been doing that fine. Maybe one thing can change.

4. Eyes So Pretty by stormie2817

Canonverse | T+ | 2.8K

When the paladins and their friends gather for a night of drinking and relaxing, Lance indulges a little too much and says some rather interesting things about a certain paladin....

5. The Loverboy Trials by PM_Writes

Canonverse | M | 20.8K

He can tell Shiro is struggling to remain collected. “And why do you think Keith is your…sex…god?” And geez, that would be so much funnier if this wasn’t so disturbing.

The representative leads them to the back of the council room where she pulls aside a large curtain. Behind it, a huge mural stretches to the ceiling.

It looks exactly like Keith.

6. you’re lucky that’s what I like by zencetera

College AU | T+ | 4K

Lance rescues a hamster from certain doom.

or, Lance has Keith wrapped around his little finger and doesn’t even realize it.

7. Billy Ray is my boyfriend by VertigoReader101

Youtuber AU | G | 6K

It was moments like these that made Lance forget about his fears of telling everyone about his boyfriend. It was moments like these that he wanted to whip out his camera and share the love of his life with the world.

8. A Keithmas Carol by YouAreInAComaWakeUp (Nikanaiko) *

Bluemantics commentary: I adore Nikanaiko's writing more than literally any other klance author's. While I didn't laugh out loud while reading many fics, I always lose my shit for their work, SO PLEASE CHECK IT OUT.

Christmas Carol AU | T+ | 28.5K

Keith has read A Christmas Carol. Keith knows how A Christmas Carol is supposed to go.

This is not how A Christmas Carol is supposed to go.

9. suite on you by adelfie

College AU | T+ | 12K

Accident-prone Lance McClain learns that his grumpy suitemate, Keith, has one rule: to leave him alone. Lance would really like to follow that rule. Really. But his clumsiness has other plans.

10. It Never Rains on Saturday by TheLegendOfChel *

Video Game AU | T+ | 22.7K

In the magical kingdom of Altea lies an ominous tower filled with monsters. Every day, adventurers battle through the tower’s levels in a never-ending quest to slay the Demon King who lives at the very top.

Lance, a talented archer, is one such adventurer. However, Lance doesn’t want to kill the Demon King.

Lance wants to marry him.

11. Keith Kogane Tries to Keep Up With a Professional Chef | Back-to-Back Chef | Bon Appétit by eggyeggplant *

Bluemantics commentary: I'm in shock this one isn't more popular since it is one of the funniest fics I've EVER read for ANY fandom. If you read this one, please give the author extra love, comments, kudos, etc.

Youtube AU | G | 3.5K

Actor Keith Kogane appears in a YouTube video with an old friend Lance McClain in an episode of Back-to-Back Chef where they attempt to make simple carbonara but they keep getting distracted by flirting with each other.

Hope these make you laugh anon!

#lance mcclain #voltron #klance #keith kogane #vld #klance fic #keith vld #vld fanfic #vld fic #voltron fic recs #bluemantics recs fics #ask bluemantics #send asks #fic recs #vld fic recs #vld keith #funny vld fics #lance voltron

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bvidzsoo · 2 years ago

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Panic Switch

Author: bvidzsoo

Warnings: light swearing here and there, awful parenting, the use of ‘sociopath’

Pairing: Xavier Thorpe x female reader

Word count: 13,647

Summary: You descend from a famous and ancient bloodline of empaths. Since the moment you were born, your mother knew you were different than them and that you would wreak havoc. And she was right in a sense. You didn’t feel emotions like others and, thus, your judgement wasn’t always the best. You grew up being called a freak by your own family, who were afraid of you and kept their distance, never showering you with love. And then, at the age of eight, you met Xavier, who was different, considered a freak too by humans...he seemed to be a little bit like you. This quickly lead to a long lasting friendship, but was it always genuine? Or would Nevermore change everything for the two of you? Were you ready to unveil your secrets to Xavier and those around you?

A/N: Ohmygod! It feels amazing to be inspired again and to be able to write. Thank you Xavier Thorpe for your existence, you brought back the artist in me, hahaha. Share your thoughts with me, I love feedback, don’t be shy! I use the term ‘sociopath’ a lot and despite doing research, I might have gotten it a tiny bit wrong. But...don’t take my head off for that, this is a work of fiction after all. I might be a little bit crusty, it’s been a while since I wrote, but damn, does it feel good! I hope you enjoy this little story! Happy reading!

Nevermore Academy, a place for all the misfits, or what I like to call ourselves, freaks. This school is the only place where I don’t feel out of place or left out of things. Why would I say that? Because even to my family, I am a freak. I’m different than them, and they are scared of me. I am the black sheep of the family; somebody they refuse to speak of if asked. I’m half convinced I was sent to this academy because my parents feared what I would do at a regular school. After all, following my mother, I am the first one to attend Nevermore. I have four siblings, and all of them go to regular, normal, schools in our hometown. Our abilities aren’t something obvious as we aren’t prone to kill or turn into nightmarish monsters, so, we were deemed safe to society. Well…everyone, but me. We are, what one could call, an empath. Our abilities consist of recognizing others emotions and controlling them to a certain extent. When I talk about my family, they can only feel one’s emotions when they touch them and they can only induce calmness or happiness; their manipulating techniques are restricted. But when it comes to me…imagine it like this: there are mind readers, whom are able to constantly read one’s mind, and then there I am. I am able to constantly feel the emotions of those around me. I don’t have to touch them; all I have to do is be in their vicinity and connect to their frequency. If I’m accustomed to said person, it just comes naturally to me, without having to do anything. So that means: we intersect ways twice and from then on, I’ll always know what you’re feeling. And when it comes to manipulating one’s emotions, I can induce whatever feeling I’d like to. I’m not restricted like the rest of my family is, another thing which freaks them out. Over many generations, there hasn’t been someone like me in the family. And I truly think they would’ve accepted me the way I am, if I wasn’t a sociopath. Now, that is the part which freaks them out the most. The lack of emotions I experience and the lack of empathy I feel for others, which is quite ironic, isn’t it? And to top my day, it’s Parent’s Day. The day when our families come and visit us at Nevermore.

Everyone around me was feeling excited, the emotion so intense it was almost making me nauseous. Well, everyone except Xavier, who was feeling quite miserable and yearning, as he looked at Ajax and his family, who were hugging him and talking to him animatedly. Xavier’s father wasn’t coming this year either, and as much as Xavier would say he didn’t care, you didn’t have to be an empath to see how much his absence affected him. This boy almost always felt miserable and perhaps that is why I liked to stay around him, it wasn’t a cheesy feeling and it gave me comfort. Anything negative felt better than something very positive; if my parents were to hear that, they’d probably faint on the spot, especially my mother. I glanced at Xavier, who was leaning his weight on one leg than the other one, and sighed.

“Stop fidgeting,” I snapped at him, and gripped his arm as his hands were shoved into his pockets, “You’re making me nervous.” A lie, I can’t feel anything like it.

“Sorry,” Xavier cleared his throat as his deep forest green eyes found mine, “It just makes me anxious…seeing everyone’s families. My dad said he’d come, but…I don’t know, Y/N.”

“He probably won’t come.” I deadpanned and I felt disappointment seep through Xavier, truth was always better than lying. And I knew he hated people who lied to him, especially me. Someone who he considered a friend. Still holding his arm, I offered him a smile; one which was robotic, I had learned it a long time ago, and took a lot of time to perfect it so that it would look genuine; I felt a shockwave run through my body. I always felt that when I used my abilities, and as Xavier and I gazed into each other’s eyes, I felt him slowly calming down, my power influencing him. And what was fun in it all, was that they never knew when I used my powers on them. They always thought it was them doing it, but it was always me.

“No use wasting energy on him, right?” Xavier’s smile was half assed, until I felt a strong wave of happiness wash through him. I didn’t need to see the cause of it, I was used to my family’s auras and the feel of their emotions. Xavier saw them, that’s why he got so happy suddenly. I released my grip on his arm and turned my head forward, sighing quietly to myself. My parents were smiling sweetly at everyone who greeted them, they were quite famous therapists, and my siblings, who were walking after them very disciplined, were greeting people politely. One would say my family looked very fake at that moment, but they were actually genuine. They were always happy for the people around them and it was sickening. To me at least.

“Eliza!” Xavier exclaimed as he ran up to my mother and father, who were like his parents as well; we grew up together, “Brad!”

Mom and dad engulfed Xavier into a hug and greeted him with huge smiles, asking him how he was. Sighing again, loudly, I slowly approached them, plastering my generic smile onto my lips.

“Hello,” I spoke up, earning my family’s attention, “and welcome. How was your trip?”

My father smiled at me and was the first one to pull me into a hug, he genuinely missed me. However, my mother kept her distance and plastered on the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. She wasn’t feeling disgust at the sight of me, just…disappointment, how lovely. Not that it was anything new to me.

“Long and tiring, but we got here in time.” It was my mother who answered me and my siblings stepped forward, to greet me. Kevin, the eldest of us, rarely spoke to me. For some reason, he was the most afraid of me and his cowardly amused me. Gemma, who was considered the middle child despite me being it, and was always on her phone, greeted me with a nod and then looked away, far more interested in the academy than me. She was jealous that I got to go here, while she had to go to that mundane, boring, high school. Alec, the youngest of us, ran up to me and tackled me in a hug. The top of his head barely reached my abdomen, he was still growing. Since the moment of his birth he seemed to love me the most. My parents feared he’d turn out to be another sociopath, but I knew he wouldn’t. What they didn’t know, was that he was the most empathetic out of them all, and that he felt pity towards me for the treatment I got from the rest of the family. Oh, and he kind of happened to really love me, for some unknown reason to me. Jason, who was just a year older than me, looked at me with a smug expression and chuckled. But deep inside he was just as scared as the rest of my family, and the funniest thing was, that he could never hide it from me.

“What a freaky place—” He sniffed loudly and glanced at Xavier, Jason never liked him, “Perfect for freaks like you.”

For an empath, Jason was an asshole. Xavier went to say something, but my mother quickly reprimanded Jason, only because he dared to insult Xavier as well. Her precious little boy, I know she secretly wished to have him as her son. She would’ve given me away at any time while I was growing up.

“Careful, Jason,” I let a wide, psychotic, smile spread onto my lips, “We might just devour you in a dark corner.”

Alec, despite the morbidity of my words started giggling, and my mother’s glare could’ve killed me on the spot. My father just sighed and with his eyes asked me to stop the attitude or a fight would follow, and mom would hate that. She hated her perfect little image tainted. Everything had to be perfect, and maybe that’s why she disliked me so much.

“Why don’t you show us around, sweetheart?” My father’s smile was kind as he gripped Jason’s shoulder and pulled him into his side, giving his shoulder a subtle squeeze. My mother went and crossed her arm with Xavier’s, not waiting for me as she started walking ahead of us. I rolled my eyes and held Alec’s hand as he quietly asked me to do so.

“I’ll stay here, my legs will later hurt if I walk around too much.” Gemma whined and before anyone could answer her, she took off towards a bench. Nobody minded her, she was always allowed to do whatever, spoiled brat. Fear was oozing out of Kevin and I let my eyes fall on him as the others took off, leaving us behind. Despite my dad asking me to show them around, my mother decided she’d do it herself. Not that I was surprised.

“Kevin, please” I sighed as my nose scrunched up when he jumped at the sound of my voice, “if you’re so scared, just go sit in the car or something.”

“Mom asked me not to make a scene.” He said while he scratched the back of his neck, “You know how she gets—”

“When things don’t go her way?” I scoffed and looked down at Alec, who giggled again, this little one loved to cause mischief and I might prefer him more over the rest of my siblings, “Go sit in the car, I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well.”

A huge sigh of relief left Kevin’s lips and he showed me a small smile, suddenly his emotions changed and he was feeling grateful but incredulous at the same time, “Thank you, really, Y/N!”

For someone who was twenty-five years old, he really should’ve stopped fearing our mother a long time ago, “I’m not doing this out of kindness, I just hate the wrenched smell of the fear you’re oozing. It stinks, Kevin.”

Once these words, which some would consider harsh and hurtful just like Kevin, left my lips, disappointment seeped through him and he just turned around and walked off, sulking. I rolled my eyes before Alec and I started walking, trying to catch up with the rest of our family and Xavier.

I felt a light tug on my hand and I looked down at my little brother again, “You can actually smell the emotions we feel?!”

His exclamation and amazement amused me, I chuckled, but before I could answer him, he had more to ask, “What does my amazement smell like?!”

I acted as if I was thinking of it and just to amuse myself more, I sniffed the air around him, “Cotton candy.”

Alec’s mouth fell open and his amazement was replaced with excitement, “That’s so cool! I wish I could be like you, sis!”

Cotton candy was his favorite. And no, you don’t wish to be like me. I hummed as we finally spotted our family, who were just entering Ophelia Hall. I wish I was ready to spend the whole day with them, to feel like a freak once again. I hated acting nice, because it was fake, but around them I had no other choice. Unless I wanted mother to have a fit, which was always quite amusing. But not today, I promised dad I’d behave and show them the school had a good effect on me. Maybe it’s better if they don’t know about the attacks happening to students, I wouldn’t want to be taken to a normal school, Wednesday’s stories of them sounded horrible. I wouldn’t survive a day there.

My parents knew from the very moment I was born that there was something wrong with me. As a baby, I would rarely laugh when they’d play with me and I would often enjoy hitting Jason, who was an easy target. Whenever Kevin was asked to watch us, I'd somehow lock him up somewhere, so he couldn’t see us and I’d take Jason’s toys away and either throw them at him or hit him with them. But really, these signs could’ve meant that I was just an evil kid and I’d behave better as I grew, but whenever my mother touched me, she felt nothing. I would stare at her blankly and when I’d feel the horror of the thought of her daughter being an abomination, a smile would spread onto my lips. After a while she just stopped touching me, too afraid of my emotions. Or lack of them. It was quite pathetic, really, how a mother was afraid of their own child. A little child, nonetheless. I was harmless, unless you’re asking Kevin and Jason. My father would try and calm my mother by saying that I would develop later and that maybe I was just masking my feelings to annoy them, but the desperation in him each time he’d grip my arm or shoulder to feel the emotions coursing through me, said otherwise. I was a lost cause in their eyes. I think the final straw for my mother was when I had turned five and they attempted to teach me how to control my powers and how to manipulate others, and I just told them that I already knew how to do all of that. The feeling of dread oozing from my mother surprised me, that’s why I still remember it, and it was then when I realized she saw me as a freak. Something she’d hate her whole life. My father gripped her arm and attempted to calm her down, but my mother realized what he was trying to do and started screaming at him that whatever I was, was dangerous to the people around me and that I was a monster. They couldn’t control me and that scared her.

“Daddy is shocked,” I remember I said with a little smile, “but you, mommy, you are scared. Horrified. Disgusted. Do you not like me?”

My mother’s lips quivered as I tauntingly pouted at her, she was on the verge of crying, “I thought you were supposed to love me. Like you love Kevin and Jason.”

“I can not love a monster like you—” My father gasped and his shock quickly turned into anger as his head snapped towards his wife.

“Eliza!” He exclaimed and looked at her with an expression telling her she shouldn’t have said that, “How can you say that?!”

“Look at her, Brad! Does she seem normal to you?!” My mother’s voice was raising and I continued to listen to them quietly, blinking from time to time. Disgust mixed with betrayal was what my mother was feeling and my father was just shocked, angry and disappointed.

“At least keep your thoughts to yourself, she’s just a child!” My father hissed at mom as he gave me a side glance and mom just shook her head in defiance. Before a big fight could erupt, I spoke up as if I was clueless.

“Mom doesn’t have to speak; I feel whatever she’s feeling. And they are never very nice, especially right now.” I said quietly and my parents looked at me both sharply, questioningly.

“I don’t have to touch people to feel emotions, like you all. I can just simply feel them, all the time.” I continued talking and shrugged. They remained quiet and I walked up to them, looking up with no expression on my face. My emotions were always simple, what I felt inside, was calmness. Numbness or nothing. That was my usual state of mind. When triggered enough, I would get angry or irritated, or some other negative feelings, but other than that, I was just…calm. When Alec was agitated as a toddler, he’d always come up to me and hold my hand. When he learned how to speak, he’d always tell me I felt so peaceful, like nobody else.

“What—what is happening?!” My mother stammered as I let them feel whatever I was feeling, numbness.

“This is what it feels like if you’re me,” I chimed up with a fake smile, I didn’t know if it was a moment asking for a smile or not, “and I can make you feel whatever I’d like you to feel.”

I barely finished talking, when my mother turned around and stormed out of the room, taking her horrendous emotions with her. My father sighed and asked me to stop channeling my emotions onto him. He took my hand next and walked me to my room and put me to sleep, reading a fairytale about some princess who got saved from a big monster by a blonde prince, who liked to draw in his spare time. The whole time he held my hand, despite being just five, I knew what he was doing. He wanted to see the roller-coaster of emotions any kid my age would feel during a story like that, and got nothing in exchange.

A few years went by and my relationship only worsened with my mom. She barely spoke to me and started running some harmless tests on me. Kevin was getting more and more scared of me, to the point where he’d start crying if I looked at him for a little too long. Jason would avoid being around me and would call me all kinds of disgusting names. It wasn’t like all of that bothered me, but I knew a decent human being shouldn’t have treated one of its own like that. It was basic knowledge. I was eight when one day dad walked into my room and told me to get dressed because we were going hiking. I wasn’t a big fan of long walks in nature; but nature, which felt just as neutral as I, was always a blessing. Living in a household where everyone’s emotions ran high was exhausting; and Gemma was only four years old, her emotions combined with mother’s would give me migraines on some days. So, after getting dressed, dad and I took off and walked for about an hour. He knew there were some animal attacks in the area, but we were safe. Father’s special power was creating a protective shield around him and whatever else he wanted to, his family lineage was a mix of mind controllers and empaths, they inherited some pretty cool abilities. Apparently, only Alec and I inherited the mind control abilities, but I decided to keep mine a secret, I knew mom would’ve had a heart attack if I were to tell them about that too. Alec could control one’s body to his liking, meanwhile I had the basic ability of moving things with my mind, but only if I concentrated hard enough on them. My father was a hunter as well, he’d seen many gruesome things in his life, yet he’d always feel so awful when he saw a dead animal. During one of his trips, he discovered an animal sliced in two and he knew it must’ve been the werewolves from the outskirts of the town. He wasn’t a big fan of said pack, but as long as they stayed away from my father’s hunting territory he remained civil with them. I was enjoying our walk as I ran up a smaller hill, but soon came to a halt. A lamb was torn in two and flies and other insects were devouring it. I felt my father’s disgust and sadness before I felt his hand on my shoulder, and he sighed. It was hard looking away from the scene. It was nothing like I had seen before. Murder was such a fascinating thing. I was snapped out of my thoughts as my father turned me around and we started walking back as he asked me to hold his hand. My mind was still on the dead animal I had seen, curious as to what happened to it, and how. Whatever killed it, was ruthless.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, sweetheart, it was terrifying and disgusting.” My dad said and I could feel he was sorry. I shrugged and looked up at him with big eyes.

“It’s fine, this is how nature works, right? Kill or get killed.”

My father chuckled, but I felt him shudder. For some reason, he was really calm and that was unlike him, “It feels inadequate to hear something like that coming from an eight-year-old girl.”

I shrugged and followed him wordlessly.

“Aren’t you scared? That we could end up like that too?” My father asked and I took a second to think before I shook my head.

“No, because daddy can protect us with his shield, can’t you?” I grinned at him, finding his power quite fascinating. He could’ve used that to his advantage in so many cases.

“Of course I can, and I would at any given moment,” He cleared his throat and I felt him looking at me, “Can daddy ask you a few questions?”

“Sure!”

“When was the last time you got angry or mad?”

“I don’t know.” My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to remember, but couldn’t.

“What about feeling sad? Your grandma died just a month ago, it was really hard on all of us.” He was right, it impacted the family harshly. Well, not me, but to them it was awful. And thus, indirectly to me as well, because they made me feel miserable with their awful feelings.

“I know, all of you were grieving and hurting, it was really bad.” I grimaced thinking back, even though sometimes they’d still feel quite depressed, “It was very overwhelming to be around you, your emotions were making me feel awful. It was very bothersome.”

“You didn’t share our emotions?”

“Other than the headaches mom would get, no.” I muttered and ducked down as we passed by a tree which’ branch was hanging really low. My father hummed as we were nearing the road.

“And happy? When did you feel happy?”

“I can’t remember.” My answer was quick and honest.

“What about love?” Suddenly the calmness disappeared and hope washed over my father, as I looked up at him. What was he hoping for? That his little daughter was suddenly cured after a walk in the woods? After seeing a poor animal sliced in two? I didn’t care. I felt nothing. It didn’t impress me or left me with trauma.

“I don’t know what love is or feels like. I physically can not feel it or experience it. Every human being has a different definition for love and they all feel it differently, so I don’t have an exact answer for you.”

My father’s eyes got a bit teary as the hope he felt was shattered by my words, “You don’t know what it feels like to love.”

“I don’t, and I never will, because I’m a monster.” Maybe it wasn’t the right time to smile, but I did as I looked at my father. And he felt disappointed, not at me, but at himself. But at least now he was convinced of what I was. An empath with no emotions of its own.

“I will teach you everything you need to know to live a seemingly normal life between humans, alright?” There was a newfound spark in my father’s eyes, so I just nodded. And quite ironically, I met Xavier Thorpe the next day as his father came to visit my parents. It was funny, how Xavier met the me, who didn’t know how to mask its true self, yet he seemed to forget the real me as we grew older and older. Maybe it was because I was a genuinely good actress. My father kept his words and taught me everything I needed to know about feelings, emotions, and how to act around people. He helped me asses a situation and react accordingly to it. He taught me how to comfort a suffering person and how to make others laugh with stupid jokes. He taught me how to have a genuine smile and what being kind and sweet to others meant. He taught me when to be sad or even mad, and what to tolerate from others and what not to. I became an excellent body language reader and knowing what people felt around me, it just turned me into a master manipulator. It was funny how everyone who didn’t know the real me loved me and wished to be around me, yet all my family wished to do was run as far away as possible if they happened to come near me.

The day was turning out to be horrible. So much happiness caused an almost unbearable headache. I was feeling quite moody and my family was just making it worse, especially my mother. At some point I stopped paying attention to her and would’ve been grateful to Alec, if I were able to feel that, when he kept asking questions about the academy and whatever he found cool or creepy. The statues were his favorite and he told me he would come to this academy too once he grew up, it was a secret, but he actually disliked normal schools. Too much normality for such a curious and mischievous boy like him.

Currently, it was lunch time and we were sat at a table in the courtyard, supposed to have some pleasant conversations. We were sat close to Ajax and his family and it was quite hard not to overhear his mother, who was loudly praising Ajax and his cousins for their achievements. It was funny, how I was a top-grade student, yet my mother uttered not even one word of congratulations or acknowledgement of them. Oh, but Xavier, fear not, was placed on a pedestal. He was sitting right across from me, next to my mother, of course, meanwhile I was sitting between Alec and Jason. Gemma, who was sat next to Xavier, would bat her eyelashes at him in a sensual way, and I’m pretty sure that subtle emotion I was almost feeling could’ve been called disgust, it did look disgusting and it was hard to watch. Dad sat at the head of the table and Kevin on the other side of the table as he tried to make himself small, jumping at the stupidest of sounds. He was terrified and I seriously couldn’t understand why, but it was getting so bad, that as I bit into the crispy chicken wing, I decided to put him out of his misery. He visibly loosened up as a strong wave of calmness washed over him, meanwhile my skin tingled. Alec accidentally touched my wrist and a huge grin erupted onto his face. Mother noticed and her eyebrows furrowed as I sent him a wink, she was suddenly feeling worried. Probably because she thought I was trying to corrupt her youngest.

“Alec, you shouldn’t sit so close to Y/N.” Mother’s attention was suddenly on the two of us, I closed my eyes for a second, ready for whatever was about to come. Today I was easy to irritate and I could feel my heartbeat quicken, “How many times have I reminded you to stay away from her?!”

Alec placed his fork down loudly, and pouted at mom, “Does it matter? She doesn’t even have to touch us to use her powers. I think it’s whatever how close I sit to her.”

Savage Alec was always satisfying to hear and my eyes almost widened when I felt the satisfaction oozing from my father as he subtly looked at Alec with a proud, little, grin. Sometimes I was sure even dad was fed up with mom, and rightfully so.

“Don’t talk back to me, young man.” Mom snapped as she reached forward to put some more salad onto her plate. I felt something push at my leg from underneath the table and I slowly looked up at Xavier, knowing very well it was him. Out in the sunlight, I noticed the dark bags underneath his eyes. It made his complex look even more hollow. He probably wasn’t sleeping well due to the nightmares. I raised my eyebrow at him and he motioned towards the orange juice which was closest to me. Ah, he was just thirsty. He was awfully quiet ever since we sat down to have lunch and it was because he was feeling uncomfortable and guilty. My mother kept praising him for his good grades and exceptional behavior. Then started blabbering on about his father and how they met up last weekend for a barbeque and it was then when I felt a spark of anger. How could she sit there and talk about seeing his father, when he promised he’d come and visit Xavier today, just to bail out on him. It made Xavier feel horrible and the instant hurt that washed over him, knocked me breathless. Everyone looked at me weirdly when I managed to take a deep breath and it made me realize I was hyper-fixating on Xavier’s emotions so that I wouldn’t feel my family’s, which made me experience whatever he was feeling a lot more intensely. So I stopped doing that and everyone else’s emotions hit me like a roller-coaster, making my ears ring for a second. The warm hand on my wrist and the sudden calmness which washed over me made me smirk as Alec looked at me with innocent eyes.

“You felt troubled so suddenly,” He whispered to me as he pretended to reach for a napkin, “Sorry.”

I hummed and offered him a tiny smile as Xavier handed Alec the napkin. He took it with a huge grin and Xavier chuckled, looking at me again. I raised my eyebrows at him and before he could speak up, mother opened her mouth, again.

“The Poe Cup is coming up, isn’t it?” She sounded excited.

“Yes, in about a week.” She looked at me displeased that I didn’t let her precious Xavier answer her. I smirked at her and her jaw tightened as anger flared in her. She quickly averted her attention back onto Xavier and I heard Jason scoff next to me. Oh, how much he hated Xavier, it was quite hilarious. A freak like him stealing the spotlight from attention hungry Jason, who was desperately trying to get mother’s validation? Such a tragic story. One I can only laugh at.

“And what’s that?” Gemma spoke up sounding very bored, which she actually was. But as Xavier cleared his throat, she sat up straighter and her smile got sweeter. Oh, God, there was that feeling again. Fluster and happiness that Xavier’s attention was on her once again.

“It’s a game,” Xavier’s smooth voice explained and I smiled softly, I liked listening to his voice, it often brought even more calmness to my already numb state of being, “Where we race each other on water, in boats. There are no rules and the winner gets the cup and brings it to their Hall. Bianca has been on a winning streak for a few years now, it gets quite frustrating.”

“What is Bianca?” Alec perked up curiously.

“A siren.” I answered him and he nodded eagerly, “Which makes it really easy to cheat, they are in their natural habitat.”

“How can you cheat when there are no rules, sis?” Jason asked mockingly. My family was becoming more and more irritating, isn’t it just fantastic?

“It’s about having common sense, Jason. Just because there are no rules, you shouldn’t knock your adversary out.” Xavier snapped at my brother, the two now glaring at each other. Oh, their hatred was mutual.

“If I were to play, I’d knock your head off without resentment.” Jason snickered and my grip tightened on my glass of water. I didn’t like it when he disrespected Xavier. Xavier’s jaw clenched and he masked his anger with a quiet laugh as he looked at Jason with a sudden smirk.

“I bet you wouldn’t last a minute; you’d probably get knocked out while paddling.” I snickered and shared an amused look with Xavier as my brother’s hands turned into fists. You didn’t have to be an empath to feel the anger radiating off him. Now, that eased my irritation a bit, it was quite amusing.

“I’m afraid he wouldn’t be able to even sit in the boat—”

“Now that is enough!” My mother snapped, giving me a harsh glare. She gripped Xavier’s shoulder and sent a wave of calmness over him, pissing me off. I think my limits were tested today, and now I was actually mad at them. Why wouldn’t she let Xavier feel whatever he was feeling? Let him be angry and smug, did he hurt someone with that? No. I looked into my mother’s eyes as I allowed my powers to give back Xavier’s initial feelings, body tingling, as my mother gasped. Her hand flew off Xavier’s body and his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at my mother, realizing she was trying to influence him into feeling calm. The hatred my mother felt towards me would’ve made everyone else cry, but I couldn’t care less.

“Stop controlling everyone around you, mother.” I snapped, voice harsh and mask slipping for a second as I felt that terror wash over Kevin again. The calmness I induced in him didn’t last for long, I guess, “People were made to feel. So let them feel. Xavier’s feelings were justified, Jason is an asshole and we all know it. Maybe next time you should educate him better.”

“Your attitude is disgusting—”

“And questionable. Only freaks act like that.” My voice was raising, she didn’t want to cause a scene? Fear not, mother, I’ll cause a scene for you. “You should come up with something more original, something I haven’t heard before.”

My father was feeling uncomfortable and Xavier’s anger was amplified. Maybe now is the moment I tell you how much he dislikes my mother. I wasn’t the only good actress from this table, his acting skills are quite spectacular.

“This school was supposed to make you normal.” My mother snapped and my father’s head snapped into her direction.

“Eliza.” He warned, his voice deep as he glanced at me.

“I am normal in this school.” I fired back at mom, uncaring about the desperation in my father, asking me to stop adding fuel to the fire.

“Normal!” Mom exclaimed sarcastically, and her eyes fell on a short, dark-haired girl with two braids, pale skin and blank expression, as she just passed by our table. Our eyes met for a second and we nodded at each other in a silent greeting, but it was Xavier’s emotions which irritated me more. He was head over heels for Wednesday, it was quite sickening. The way he’d perk up around her and the instant happiness he’d feel at the sight of her. His quick heartbeat would make him blush sometimes and he’d even stammer. The most disturbing thing was the dreamy look in his eyes whenever he spoke about her, it was horrible, really.

“Look at that freak. You’re just like her, if she’s not worst.” Well, she shouldn’t have brought Wednesday into this. One, I enjoyed her personality. Two, she was nothing like me. Getting compared to her felt like an insult, or at least I imagined that’s what it is, since the sudden burst of anger in me made me stand up. I slammed my hands on the table, the loud sound made Ajax and his family look at us, as many other people.

My voice was low and menacing as I glared into my mother’s dark brown eyes. Terror overtook her body and I took the chance and amplified it, making her shake. Her lips were trembling and my father’s mouth fell open in shock as he stood up as well, thinking whether to approach me or not.

“She’s nothing like me, mother. Her feelings are the strongest I’ve ever come across. Don’t compare her to a ruthless monster like me.” Xavier was on his feet now too and he didn’t hesitate like my father did in approaching me, he was by my side in a second. He didn’t touch me, he just made sure to stay incredibly close. Kevin and Jason’s fear was fueling my rage and making me channel them more onto my mother, who had tears running down her cheeks now. Gemma was scared too, but she masked it well as she tried focusing on anything else but us. And Alec, he just watched without feeling much. He was actually happy that I was standing up for myself.

“St—stop!” Mom managed to whine out between clattering teeth and I started laughing, jumping a little when Xavier finally touched me. His hand came in contact gently with my cheek and he turned me away from my mother, his forest green eyes gazing deeply into mine. His calmness actually shocked me. My eyebrows furrowed as we looked at each other. How could he remain so calm in such situation? When he saw my mask slipping? Unknowingly seeing the real me?

“Y/N, please, stop it.” It was my father pleading with me, “I don’t want to force anything on you, so stop it right now.”

“You should teach her how to behave too, father.” There was spite in my voice as I looked at my mom disgusted before tearing away from Xavier and storming off. Enid, who was the purest person I got to know, jumped up from her seat when I stormed past her and wanted to take off after me, but thankfully Wednesday stopped her when we shared a glance. I wanted to be alone. I did not want to see my family for the rest of the day. I would not be seeing them off. Xavier will do that in my place, and I know everyone would be happiest if it was him instead of me. Well, perhaps not Alec, but I didn’t really care. He’d get over it. So I went to a place where I knew nobody would disturb me since only Xavier and I knew about it. His little shed, which he uses as his art studio. I had a few hours to spend alone.

Feet dangling off the table, I started counting the planks in the ceiling. The shed was a little wood construction. After laying down on a half empty table an hour ago, I was getting sleepy, so I started counting to keep myself awake. Around three hours passed since I left the courtyard and I was enjoying solitary. It was calm out here, the wind had picked up and it would rattle the branches of trees, leaves falling off. Chipmunks would run around from time to time, making the dry leaves crunch. Nature was quiet and after the accumulation of emotions, it was exactly what I needed. I was back to feeling numb, except this time, it felt emptier, hollower. Probably because I was drained and I needed a copious amount of sleep. The scrunching of leaves caught my attention again, but before I could think it was just another chipmunk, a wave of relief hit me. Somebody was approaching the shed, and it was none other than Xavier. He knocked on the door before he entered and he let out a long, tired, sigh.

“Hi.” He said quietly and awkwardly stood in the doorway of his own art studio. I smirked to myself, still laid out on his desk, still counting the planks.

“Don’t just stand there, it’s your own place.” I spoke up and it amused Xavier as he took slow steps, approaching me. I should’ve been disturbed by a few of his paintings, they were of a weird looking creature. I just found them really artistic and visionary. It had a different touch to it; some were foggier than others. As if he couldn’t see the monster clearly. And then there was the other painting, of Wednesday. Of course, it came as no surprise. Xavier, like I said earlier, was head over heels for her. Sickening.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” Xavier muttered as he leaned against the table, hip brushing my sock covered knee. I hummed as I felt his eyes on me, but continued counting. I was at thirty.

“Your empty table was begging me to lay down on it.” I said with a shrug and Xavier chuckled, looking around. I glanced at him and saw as his eyes stopped on the uncovered canvas. The one of Wednesday. His cheeks flared and he was suddenly embarrassed. He tried to compose himself and avoided looking at me, surely feeling my intense and teasing gaze on him.

“I assume you had seen off my parents, since you’re here now.”

“Correct,” he cleared his throat and crossed his arms in front of his chest, “Alec was quite disappointed he couldn’t say bye to you.”

“He’ll live.” I shrugged and sat up, back feeling a bit numb from laying on the harsh surface of the table for so long. I ran my fingers through my long black hair and looked at Xavier. He was still embarrassed and wouldn’t look at me, pathetic.

“I see you snooped around.”

“I merely looked at what was uncovered.” Well, that was a lie. But I figured I was trying to be funny…or sarcastic. I wouldn’t know which one, but Xavier took it as funny, as he chuckled.

“Right, like that one over there.” He pointed his finger at the one canvas’ of Wednesday and turned his head to look at me. One eyebrows raised, he acted as if he was hurt that I violated his privacy, when in reality he was just embarrassed and flustered. Of course, the thought of Wednesday made him feel many ways, and they all disgusted me.

“Oh, the one with Wednesday.” I said nonchalantly and he let his hand fall and rest on my knee, “I know you’re a great artist, but it surprises me how perfectly you were able to paint each detail. The facial expression is just…the same. Impressive.”

“I did get it pretty close, didn’t I?” His voice sounded dreamy and he looked at the painting of the girl. Xavier was feeling proud and love struck again. I rolled my eyes and pushed his hand off my knee before getting off the table. Xavier’s eyes widened just a little bit when I went to stand in front of him with my arms crossed in front of my chest. My proximity surprised him.

“You did, which is concerning.” I spoke up, faking confusion and worry, “You’ve been observing her really closely, haven’t you?”

“Sometimes.” Xavier shrugged, all of a sudden feeling uncomfortable. He looked into my eyes and pursed his lips, he didn’t want to talk about it, but I wasn’t letting go of the subject yet.

“I think, all the time, is more fitting, Xavier.” I chuckled and he rolled his eyes, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “You do know that she’s not into you, right?”

Xavier gulped and remained silent as he searched my face to see if I was sincere, which I was. I plastered on a blank expression and sighed loudly, as if I was tired of this subject. Which I truly was, but what I was about to tell Xavier, I haven’t told him before. Maybe it’s because today sucked and being alone for three hours hasn’t actually helped, but I was tired and annoyed by Xavier’s blind pinning on Wednesday.

“She doesn’t like you, Xavier. At all.” I continued speaking and his eyebrows furrowed, “When she looks at you, she feels nothing. Her heartbeat doesn’t quicken, like yours. She doesn’t get flustered, like you. She’s never embarrassed thinking she’s not looking her best around you. When you compliment her, it literally leaves her cold, Xavier. Sometimes she doesn’t even hear you. She prefers not paying attention to you and she finds you nagging and annoying. Sometimes even thinks you’re too soft, so that disgusts her. Maybe you should find somebody else, who appreciates you.”

Oh, Xavier was mad now. He was scowling and standing up straight, towering over me. I knew a few people who would’ve felt scared right now, but I just remained unmoving and unblinking as I looked up into his green eyes, which were glaring down into mine.

“And maybe you shouldn’t blabber around without being asked, Y/N.” Xavier snapped at me and I rolled my eyes.

“I just want to awaken you to reality and make you realize, that liking Wednesday won’t lead you anywhere.”

“How would you know?!” Xavier’s voice raised an octave and I clenched my jaw, I didn’t like being yelled at, “Are you a seer now too?”

“That’s funny coming from you.” I fake laughed, “You seem to forget I’m an empath, who feels the emotions of others!”

My voice raised a bit too as Xavier walked away, nearing one of the paintings of the monster. He was feeling hurt and angry. Well, someone had to wake him up to reality, right? I thought it was better sooner than later. It would only get harder later on for him to move on.

“And just because you’re an empath you can predict the future now?!”

“Oh, please, Xavier! She likes Tyler! A lot!” Xavier opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at me as if I told him I killed his puppy, he was beyond hurt. He felt betrayed, it almost made me laugh. It wasn’t even that serious, he just liked overreacting.

“Maybe you should get a life, Y/N, and stop being so obsessed with me!” I scoffed, but Xavier continued talking, “You follow me around non-stop and have no friends. Sometimes I feel like you’re forcing yourself onto me and the only reason we’re friends is because my father told me to keep you close to myself when we were eight, because you’re dangerous and you’ll hurt others.”

My eyebrows furrowed. That was weird, I knew nothing about that. I knew Xavier considered me his closest friend, but I never knew his father forced him into befriending me when we were little. Any normal person would be beyond hurt right now. I’m just surprised. Xavier has been lying to me for so many years, that’s quite impressive. Well…alright, maybe he didn’t lie, because his feelings were always genuine towards me. It’s just surprising from a command how far things got. I didn’t need friends, I was better off on my own, it was Xavier who needed me. And why did he stay around for so long if he knew I was dangerous? Maybe because I never let my mask slip around him, and made him believe I was a good person. That meant I was doing a great job. A smile spread onto my lips as dread oozed out of Xavier for the horrible things he said to me. I wasn’t affected, I didn’t actually care. If he’s had enough of me, I’ve had enough of him too.

“Y/N—” He quickly caught my hand when I went to walk by him, but I gently pulled it back and looked into his eyes, still smiling. I think this wasn’t the right moment to smile, but it was quite confusing. And it was making Xavier feel even worse. Seriously, we got here because I mentioned Wednesday, this guy needs to priorities himself. I walked off without a word, smile on my lips, leaving Xavier feeling horrible.

Three days passed since Parent’s Day. Three days since Xavier has spoken to me. I haven’t realized before how fast friendships could end. It was a weird feeling being alone all the time. It wasn’t something which made me uncomfortable, I welcomed it with open arms, it was just something new. I would always talk about random things that came unexpectedly to my mind to Xavier, who was always next to me. Now I had no one to talk to, so I would keep them to myself. I tried talking to a few students, but they were weirded out. It didn’t take me long at all to realize that the only reason I felt normal at Nevermore was because of Xavier. He never failed to make me feel human and normal. It was peculiar, really, and made me ponder about it sometimes when I got too bored with myself. Did I miss Xavier? Well, truthfully speaking, no. Would I have missed Xavier if I were able to? Honestly speaking, probably yes. But then I would’ve also been very hurt and maybe then there would be no turning back. But if I had actual feelings, than our friendship would’ve been genuine from the very start.

I blinked and shook my head, focusing on the painted target up ahead. It was pathetic how the thought of Xavier could distract me so easily from mundane things, like archery. I loved archery. My father taught me how to use a bow and arrow when I was ten. He is a hunter, so he’s quite experienced with various weapons. Sometimes, just to feel the terror and amuse myself, when dad took me out hunting with Jason, I would point my arrow at him and pretend to release it. He’d freak out and start crying loudly, alerting the animals we were close, therefore ruining my father’s hunt. He’d always get angry at Jason and when he’d explain the reason, our father would just shake his head, ask me to stop and use his power to calm Jason down so we’d continue the hunt. Fun times those were. I took another arrow and pulled it back, zoning in on the middle of the target. The red dot. Just as I released it, I felt a presence behind me. I was concentrating so hard that I failed to notice their aura and emotions until now. Remorse. Embarrassment. Guilt. Longing.

“Hello, Xavier.” I spoke up before he could. I felt him turn surprised that I knew it was him without seeing him. I was used to the feel of him and his emotions.

“Hi,” He cleared his throat, almost hesitating in saying my name, “Y/N.”

I took another arrow and pulled it back, releasing it as it hit the red dot again. There were two days until the Poe Cup. Enid and Yoko were doing their best decorating the boat. Enid was very excited and convinced this year we’d win. Ophelia Hall. And I had to agree, I consider myself a very competitive person, therefore I’d do anything to beat the other teams. No rules meant total freedom. And I loved freedom.

“Can I help you with something?” I raised an eyebrow as I took another arrow and concentrated on the target.

“I just want to talk to you—” I released the arrow and Xavier sighed, frustrated, he wanted me to offer him my undivided attention, “Please, can you stop for a second and look at me?”

I stopped for a second and turned around, to look at him, “Just did it.” My reply was cheeky, but Xavier found it annoying as he was dying to talk to me, before I could turn back around, he grabbed my wrist to stop me. His hand was warm and his hold familiar, he was always very gentle when holding me. I cleared my throat and lowered my bow, finally placing my attention on him. Xavier smiled timidly as he looked down at the grassy ground and cleared his throat.

“Can you get more awkward?” I rolled my eyes and Xavier gave me a look, asking me to shut up.

“Listen, I—I’m a horrible friend. I’m embarrassed and I hate myself for the things I told you.” Xavier’s eyebrows furrowed and the intensity of his honesty knocked me breathless again, “I should’ve never said something like that. It’s a lie! All of it—well, not the part where my father told me to befriend you, but I actually like you a lot! It was never forced or fake! I genuinely consider you my best friend, Y/N. And if you hate me, I totally understand and I deserve it, wholeheartedly! I’m an awful person and I don’t deserve you. If you won’t speak to me ever again I totally understand you and deserve it, but I—I just want you to know, that I am very, very, very sorry. And I hope one day you can forgive me, because not having you around for the past three days felt horrible and I realized how much you mean to me and I just—I don’t know, I don’t want to lose you, even though I probably did when I said those awful things.”

I remained blank faced just to antagonize Xavier more, prolong his suffering. It was really amusing. He was trying to hide the pain, but he couldn’t. If not his emotions, his eyes said everything.

“Well,” I sighed deeply, biting my lower lip, “I guess you’re very lucky that I even listened to that whole speech of yours.”

“Yes, I am!” Xavier exclaimed and suddenly took both of my hands into his and pulled me closer, gazing deeply into my eyes. What the hell? His gorgeous forest green eyes brought peace to my mind, in a normal scenario I could said, I probably missed them. “I am aware how lucky I am, Y/N, that you are standing here, looking me in the eyes after that day, and I just—”

“Okay, seeing you miserable is—” I took a deep breath and released it slowly, eyebrows furrowing, “annoying and quite pathetic, so shut up. I’m speaking now.”

I paused to let that sink into Xavier’s mind and he nodded eagerly. A spark of hope lit up in him, but his self-hatred was still stronger.

“Yes, you are a horrible friend for the things you said. And in a different scenario, I wouldn’t forgive you. But you’ve always been honest to me and our friendship was never fake, so I can’t be mad at you. Maybe your father saw something happening in the future and that is why he advised you be my friend, which was a wise choice if he stopped something horrible from happening. You are my best friend, Xavier, and I don’t want to lose you either. So, please, stop the self-loathing and smile. I forgive you…like, actually, truly, without feeling any resentment towards you, I forgive you.” I said all of that in one breath, meaning I had to take a deep breath by the time I was finished speaking. Xavier was speechless as he watched me smile at him.

“You—forgive me? Just like that?” He was confused. God, this boy could be so annoying. Anyone else would be kissing my feet for forgiving them just like that, but he’s here, questioning me after my half assed speech.

“Yes, Xavier, I do. You’re forgiven, now let me go.” I shook my head at him in an exasperated way, “I’m here for archery.”

“Okay, but I—I’m confused.” His eyebrows furrowed and I rolled my eyes, pulling my hands out of his hold as I reached down for my bow.

“About what? Seriously, just accept what’s happened and move on with your life.” I muttered as I went to turn around, feeling a bit irritated, but Xavier stopped me.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful—”

“I know,” I snapped, glaring at him, “I can literally feel it, Xavier. Remember?”

He just rolled his eyes and ignored my comment, “I’m grateful, however, I’m concerned.”

“About what?!”

“About how easily you forgave me!” He exclaimed and a few people glanced at us, Enid too. Lovely, create a scene Xavier. It’s not as if the whole school wasn’t already talking about our falling out or me, due to my stupid family.

“Why is that concerning—nevermind, you’re giving me a headache.” Xavier tsked and pulled me in closer, leaning his head down to be eye level with me.

“Because you like me…” The silence around the two of us was deafening. I think the right expression would’ve been: what the fuck?

“Uhm,” My eyebrows furrowed, “yes, because we’re friends?”

“No, no—” Xavier felt awkward and I was just weirded out, “I mean it in a way…like…you’re into me. You know?”

“So, you’re saying I’m in love with you?” I asked confused, because I think I was actually confused. And well, amused as well.

“No! Not in love! Just…you know…infatuated or something.” I hummed and bit my lower lip, trying to stop myself from laughing. Poor Xavier, “Are you…trying not to laugh at me?!”

Xavier semi-exclaimed and I finally burst out laughing, breaking our proximity as Xavier released me, finally. He just watched dumbfounded and confused as I laughed and laughed, almost getting teary eyed. Even my belly started aching!

“So, sorry that might’ve been insensible, but—” I cleared my throat once I was done laughing and straightened my stance, “I don’t like you like that, Xavier. Nor am I infatuated with you. We are best friends, and that’s it. Cross my heart and hope to die!” I held out my pinky for him, but he really didn’t want to believe me.

“Listen, it’s fine. I don’t mind it; we’ll still remain best friends—”

“Of course, we will!” I scoffed.

“No, listen to me, Y/N.” He was very serious, “Ever since Wednesday showed up you’ve been acting jealous from time to time. You hate it when I talk about her and I really didn’t want to believe you liked me in that way at first, but after our fight...which started from Wednesday and her not liking me back—I just figured you like me and it’s hard for you to accept that I’m into someone else.”

Now, just for effect, I would’ve loved slapping Xavier over the face. But again, that would be inappropriate. However, it might’ve slapped the illusion out of him! I was beyond irritated. I wasn’t in love with him! Or infatuated! Or jealous! I literally cannot feel!

“Xavier, stop embarrassing yourself. I’m incapable of feeling anything like that.” I snapped lowly at him, irritated. His eyebrows furrowed, but he seemed to disregard my words.

“Hey, I told you it was okay—”

“No, Xavier, I’m serious! I can’t feel a thing!” I huffed and turned around grabbing an arrow more forcefully than necessary, “Now, forget whatever stupid illusion you have made yourself believe and leave me alone. I’ll have class soon and I want to enjoy archery for a little bit longer.”

“Yeah, sure,” Xavier sounded unsure, he was confused, “I’ll see you in class.”

I hummed and listened to his footsteps as he walked away. Human emotions and illusions can be hilarious…and dangerous.

Our day ended with a thunderstorm. It was pouring down hard, the harsh wind rattling the hinges of my locked window. I didn’t have a roommate, my mother asked Principal Weems to place me in a solo room, so that I wouldn’t cause any kind of trauma to anyone from the Academy. It was quite irritating at first, but after a while I was content with staying alone. Saved me from having to deal with someone else’s emotions after a day full of just that. It offered me tranquility; therefore I could relax and thrive in the comfort of solidary. After taking a hot shower and combing my hair, I decided to sneak down into the Nightshades’ secret library and search for books which were written about empaths. I’ve been doing some research this past month, wanting to find out more about myself. I couldn’t be the only who was born like this, there certainly has to be at least one other person besides me. But so far I had been unsuccessful, and with a tired sigh, I grabbed the book which seemed most interesting and carefully, to not get caught, sneaked back up to my room. The lamp on my bedside table was the only thing illuminating my room, which wasn’t as big as Enid and Wednesday’s. You could define it the size of a bigger storage room, but it was perfect for one person. I made it feel homey, inviting, in case I had people over. I taped some green and red leaves against the walls, making it look like you were in a forest during autumn, creating the illusion of those falling on you. My desk was placed right underneath the big window. I had placed fairy lights all around it, and wall as well. A few sketches given by Xavier were taped above my bed on the wall, and I cut out quotes from books that I found interesting, or some would say, inspiring. Enid loved gifting stuffed animals to me, so in a corner of my room, I had arranged them nicely. Since I put them on display, she would always get happy when she saw them. The bookcase I had from across my bed was huge, reached from ceiling to floor and had a little bit of everything. All the books I owned, and little ornaments I gathered from around the world when I traveled with my family, and the jewelry boxes I bought not a long time ago from an antique store in Jericho. Next to it was my closet, and one of its door’s wasn’t working right, so I couldn’t fully close it. As you entered, right behind the door I had some plants which offered the room some fresh air and right next to it, in the corner, I had a dark green beanbag, placed in front of my body length mirror. Lightning struck again and illuminated my room as I finished reading the last sentence on the page. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was well past midnight, that would explain why I was seeing all the words blurry; my eyes were tired too. I sighed, closed the book and placed it on my bedside table, stretching my back, cracking a few vertebrae. Just as I reached for the lamp, to turn it off, there was a soft knock at my door. I turned towards it and pondered for a second who could be at this late hour.

“Yes?” I called out and my door was cracked open as Xavier stuck his head inside. Uneasiness and anxiety was racking through his whole being, “Come inside, Xav.”

He felt relief flooding through him as he swiftly slipped inside and closed the door, locking it. He was wearing his pajamas: grey sweatpants and a burgundy t-shirt. His hair was untied and the ends were still wet, meaning he showered before going to sleep. His eyes were a bit red and the bags still haven’t disappeared from underneath his eyes. Xavier looked very tired; he was in need of a good sleep at this point. There was another strike of lightning and Xavier jumped at the loud thunder following instantly.

“What happened to you?” I asked with furrowed eyebrows as I threw the blanket off myself. The lower temperature of the room suddenly hit me and I shivered. Wearing a tank top to bed, in the middle of autumn, probably wasn’t the best idea.

“Uh,” Xavier averted his eyes as he licked his lips, feeling a bit embarrassed, “I had a really bad—nightmare. And I couldn’t go back to sleep—not when I know that haunting creature will come back for me.”

I hummed and patted the bed next to me, asking Xavier to come and sit. He was quick as he got onto my bed, pulling the blanket over his bare feet. “These visions have been exhausting me pretty badly, I’m quite sick of them.”

“And the storm isn’t helping you either.” I added with a knowing smile; Xavier hated storms, especially the thunder. There was something very calming in the raindrops falling down and hitting the surface, I enjoyed it quite a lot if I got to stay inside.

“It really isn’t.” Xavier muttered and ran his long fingers through his soft hair as he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. I chuckled and leaned closer to him, resting my chin on his shoulder.

“Well, since I’m feeling generous—” I cleared my throat and Xavier was quick to smile, turning his head ever so slightly to look at me better, “I think you’re allowed to sleep next to me tonight.”

Xavier chuckled and I pulled away as he turned his head fully towards me, gazing into my eyes. He felt lucky to have me in his life in that exact moment and I saw his fingers twitching. There was this sudden new wave of emotion, something I couldn’t define, and it was getting more intense the longer I looked into Xavier’s eyes. He was also confused and his eyebrows were ever so slightly furrowed, but he quickly pushed the weird feeling away and became even more grateful that I took him in tonight. Besides, his fingers only twitched when he was holding back from hugging someone.

“It’s been long since we did this.” Xavier muttered with an amused smile and he looked around my room, his eyes stopping on the sketch he gave me this summer. We were out in the forest and found a flower clearing. While I was gathering some flowers for Alec, Xavier felt inspired and started drawing. The drawing was of me as I was leaning down and picking at a purple flower; his sketch was rather successful. I also admired it a lot ever since he gave it to me.

“Yes, because I thought you grew up and got over your fear of thunderstorms and the dark.” I teased Xavier as I pursed my lips and he rolled his eyes, pushing my shoulder playfully. The push wasn’t forceful at all, but I let myself fall onto my back. I huffed as hair got onto my face and stared up at the ceiling, feeling comfortable. I was really tired; I had a long day.

“Let’s go to sleep.” I spoke up when I realized Xavier remained sitting and just stared at me wordlessly. He seemed to snap out of his thoughts as he nodded and he gripped my blanket, pulling it over his body and mine as he laid down onto his back. We remained in silence as we stared up at the black ceiling for a few more seconds, nothing particular on our minds.

“Good night, Y/N.” Xavier whispered just as I reached out to turn off my lap. Darkness engulfed my room and my eyes needed a few moments to adjust to the darkness, which was lit by another lightning. Xavier turned onto his side, back facing me and blanket pulled up to his chin. He shifted around for a few seconds before settling down, inhaling and exhaling deeply. He got comfortable and I could feel his body releasing the stress he’s been feeling, letting his body and mind rest for the night. I bit my lower lip as I stared at the back of his head, his familiar scent, murky but sweet, made me feel weirdly tranquil. Without thinking much of it, I turned onto my side as well and scooted closer to Xavier. I pressed my forehead against his back and circled an arm around his waist, molding my body against his. We rarely touched each other, but falling asleep while cuddling always just felt…nice, sort of. Not that I could actually feel that.

“Good night, Xavier.” I whispered into his back and felt my eyes get heavier and heavier as the rain continued pouring and the lightning illuminated my room, thunder rumbling in the distance. Sleep came easier that night, to the both of us.

The day for the Poe Cup has arrived. And it was in full swing. Ophelia Hall managed to row through the river without hardships, all thanks to Wednesday, who stepped in for Yoko; she couldn’t make it today. I was more than sure that it was Bianca’s hand in it, but Wednesday, who also had the same hunch as me, remained silent and so we didn’t say a thing to Enid. We didn’t want to dishearten her before the race. Emotions were running high, adrenaline rushing through everyone as we were currently leading. We have pulled up with our boat to the deck of the little island, where our flags were. Wednesday was supposed to run for it, but she had hurt her leg the previous day, therefore the position was given to me.

“Go, run, Y/N, run!” Enid screamed loudly, excitement cursing through her veins as I got up and out of our boat. The team was cheering loudly for me, since we were leading, and with a chuckle I took off, just as Bianca’s boat pulled up to the deck as well. I didn’t want to disappoint Ophelia Hall, and Enid was so ecstatic about the whole thing, that I wanted to bring them victory. Even Wednesday, who obviously remained emotionless during the whole battle, was feeling excited and was enjoying the race. She was the most competitive one from our team and it made me grin. Enid having Wednesday and I in her team secured herself the victory. There were no rules, we could do anything. And I was more than convinced that Wednesday and I played dirty. Jogging through the forest, I heard another pair of shoes hitting the ground hard and realized Bianca was catching up. She was fueled with rage and desperation to get to the flag first and then row back to the shore. She really wanted to win, poor thing, I couldn’t wait to feel her despair once she loses.

“Hey, Y/N!” Bianca shouted after me, but I paid no attention to her as I started running faster. The latex suit Enid made us wear wasn’t very restricting and meanwhile it was a bit too much for my taste, I couldn’t say anything. The rest of the team were werewolves, besides Wednesday, and they wanted to represent that.

“Cat got your tongue?!” Bianca spoke up again, and I realized she was right behind me. I rolled my eyes and kept on running, feeling a weird change in the air. It’s like it got warmer, as if a sudden heatwave rolled in. Suddenly, Bianca was next to me and my legs felt a little sluggish.

“Oh, no, seems like your stamina isn’t as good as you imagined.” Bianca’s bright blue eyes stared deeply into mine and for a second, I felt mesmerized by them, “I think you should stop for a second and take a rest. Nobody would want you to get hurt or sick, Y/N, your health is more valuable to us.”

Before I could nod at her, I realized what was happening. I started laughing loudly and abruptly stopped, creating confusion in Bianca. She stopped too, to watch me with furrowed eyebrows.

“Well, I didn’t think it would be funny what I said, but you should totally just sit down now and wait until the race is over—”

“What you said isn’t funny, it’s what you’re trying to do is that makes me laugh.” Bianca was weirded out as she watched me pat my eyelids, I got teary eyed from laughing so hard.

“And what am I trying to do?”

“Your siren powers don’t work on me, Bianca.” Shock, is what she felt, and her eyes widened. It soon turned into confusion and I smirked as I walked up to her, getting all up in her face.

“To manipulate someone with your powers, the person should have emotions and feelings first. Next time, you should check who you’re trying to manipulate.” I was irritated, I always hated it when someone in my family tried to calm me down or make me feel happy. And Bianca tried controlling me with her stupid siren song power. I did not appreciate that, however, the confusion my words created in Bianca offered me enough time to jump on her. She yelped as my legs circled her waist and my hands went around her neck. Bianca’s eyes widened as I tipped her over and we fell onto the dirty ground, a loud grunt leaving her mouth. That must’ve hurt.

“You want to play dirty?” I whispered with a smirk, lips close to her ear, “I’ll show you dirty.”

And then I started squeezing. Bianca’s eyes widened instantly and dread started coursing through her as she desperately tried to pull my hands off her neck. Only problem for her was…that one’s intense emotions only give me more strength, therefore, she had no chance of getting me off herself. She was trying to desperately breathe as I was squeezing her airways, her nails digging into my wrists, as I kept smirking at her and squeezing harder. Relax, I wasn’t going to kill her, I just wanted to knock her out. When she started trashing her body around I got fed up and induced calmness into her, body instantly relaxing. Her wide eyes slowly started to close and I chuckled as she went limp.

“Don’t worry, Bianca,” I whispered and patted her cheek, “we’ll see each other when Ophelia Hall wins.”

I chuckled and as I raised to my knees, to get off her, a body tackled me to the ground. My left shoulder started throbbing as it took the fall and I groaned loudly, scrunching my nose at the uncomfortable body weight pinning me down. I looked up at Xavier, who was feeling conflicted and scared.

"What the hell?!" He exclaimed, eyes going to Bianca, who lay a few feet away from us, unconscious.

“Don’t worry,” I smirked, “I didn’t kill your lover.”

“She’s not my lover anymore, Y/N.” Xavier snapped, frustrated. This whole jester outfit made him look…quite handsome. The red lip paint stretched out his lips and when he smiled, the students around him felt creeped out. I didn’t have to look at Xavier to know that he was enjoying all the attention he was getting, I could feel his smugness. And there were enough people who were turned on by his outfit, that was the excruciating part that I wished to not know about. Plenty of girls were lusting after him, and even some guys too. Xavier and I shared a look before we each got into our boats and he was smirking at me. I fixed him with a glare and he bit his lower lip as he trailed his eyes over my body, holding back a laugh. He mouthed ‘hot’ to me and I flipped him off, straightening my back and turning my head away from him. But they were dressed as clowns, and suddenly, Ajax and him started fooling around, making annoying sounds. Enid was secretly enjoying the whole show and Ajax flushed when he noticed her looking at him, teenagers with their lovey-dovey feelings could get really disgusting. And Xavier felt triumphant when he caught Wednesday looking at him, except that she was just bored and judging his choice of outfit. I had to be honest, though, the colors he wore were a nice contrast against his skin color and brought out his deep forest green eyes.

“Don’t know how seriously I can take a clown, Xavier.” He huffed and his eyes went to Bianca before they fell back on me.

“Explain yourself be—because to me it looked like you were trying to kill her!” Xavier’s voice rose and he was panicking a bit, that’s amusing.

“And so what?” I raised my eyebrows at him and Xavier’s eyes widened.

“You—you can’t be serious, Y/N.”

“I already told you I have no feelings or emotions, Xavier, so why does it still surprise you?” I huffed and rolled my eyes as Xavier shifted a bit, finally taking his leg off my thigh, it was starting to go numb, “Get off now.”

Xavier shook his head, eyebrows furrowed, as he tried to understand my words, “No, not until you explain yourself, because I don’t understand you anymore.”

I sighed and stared up at the blue sky for a second before looking back at Xavier, who’s eyes were desperately searching for mine, so I gazed into his, “Fastest and easiest way to say it…I’m a sociopath. I have no emotions and the only things I can feel are basically irritation, anger, and rarely amusement. Everyone thinks I’m normal, because when I was eight, my father taught me how to act and react to the people around me. Besides, I’m an empath, I know what everyone fells around me, and it’s easy to act accordingly to it. People are very easy to manipulate, Xavier, even you.”

Oh, Xavier was very confused. His eyebrows were furrowed and he opened his mouth to say something, but I left him quite speechless, “Did you never notice I smile in situations which are quite inadequate?”

“I did—I just—I thought it’s because of your dark humor—” I chuckled and watched as Xavier tried to bring sense to all of it. I bet it was hard for him to understand me as he always thought I was just like everyone else. So I decided to show him. Numbness, my usual state of mind. Calm, and quiet. Xavier’s grip on me loosened a bit as I saw his eyes clear up, body relaxing a bit. I didn’t hold the emotion wave over him for long, I just wanted him to catch a glimpse of it.

“There…that is what it feels like to be me.” Xavier was, once again, speechless as he looked at me. He slowly shook his head and muttered a ‘no’. He was going through it, the denial and disbelief stage. It was fine, my father went through it too. Took him some time to accept it, however, I think it’ll take longer for Xavier.

Despite always expecting the unexpected, what came next is still something I never expected to happen. One would say I was shocked, which I probably would’ve been if able to feel. Xavier’s lips were against mine. He kissed me, out of the blue. What the fuck? Why? What—what is he doing?! And they started moving against mine, soft lips which tasted like berries. It took me a second to kiss him back, but just because I couldn’t decide whether it is alright to kiss back your friend, or you should pull away. And Xavier’s feelings weren’t a good guidance all of a sudden. He shut down. As if he built up a wall that I couldn’t sense through. I could still feel a hint of denial, but whatever the hell he was doing, was overpowering my abilities. And so I closed my eyes and pressed my lips more forcefully against his. One of his hand’s released my wrist and he cupped my cheek. He was still gentle, he always was, and despite me trying to dominate he kiss, I couldn’t. There was something in Xavier which always took the lead and so I gave up, following his natural rhythm. I was pretty sure that friends don’t kiss, but this didn’t feel so bad. He wasn’t a bad kisser and it was actually enjoyable. My hand, subconsciously, got tangled in his tied-up hair which wouldn’t bother his jester hat, but it was currently, quite irritating. I wanted to run my hands through his hair, but I couldn’t because of it. His hand slipped from my cheek to my neck and that was when it hit me. A wave of longing, quite powerful too, as Xavier pulled back for a small second. My eyebrows furrowed as I tried to understand what he was feeling, but he wasn’t sure either. So I leaned up and kissed him, less gentle and more needy as I gripped his nape firmly and pulled him closer, making him grunt. He released my other wrist and instead supported himself against the earth as my legs wrapped around his hips. Was I seriously making out with my best friend, on a muddy forest floor, during the Poe Cup? I probably shouldn’t even have allowed him to kiss me let alone make out with me, but Xavier’s emotions were intoxicating and it was making my head spin. His hand slipped back to my head and he gripped my hair, pulling away. Out of instinct, I wanted to follow his lips and kiss him again, but Xavier didn’t let me.

“And you have no feelings?” He asked breathless, chest rising and falling faster than before. I licked my lips as I looked into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed. His red lip paint got smudged and I was more than sure it was all over my face too.

“I don’t—” I cleared my throat when my voice came out raspy. We were in a forest, there are vines, right? “I don’t have feelings, Xavier.”

He shook his head feeling annoyed, “Well it didn’t feel like it when we kissed.”

I rolled my eyes and concentrated on the dead vines behind us, hanging off a tree branch, “Well…you’re the one to talk. Not only you kissed me, you were quite enjoying yourself too.”

Xavier got embarrassed and he gulped, averting his eyes from mine, “Well, I just—”

And I pushed him, my force taking him off guard as he fell onto his ass. The vines I have concentrated on so hard sprung forward and tangled around Xavier’s wrists, who was too shocked to react.

“What—Y/N—” When he realized I was tying him to a tree, he tried to stand up quickly, but I pushed him back down. He couldn’t even struggle against them, because with a flick of my hands, the veins clung onto him tightly, tying him.

“Sorry, Xav, I have a Cup to win.” I chuckled and winked at him as the vines secured my best friend against the tree, making him hiss when they tightened more around his body. Having basic telekinesis powers was quite handy in times like this.

“Y/N!” Xavier was feeling incredulous and just to tease him more, I walked up to him and leaned down. His eyes went to my lips first and I smirked, amused by his behavior and conflicting emotions.

“Bianca will wake up soon and well…it’ll take a few good minutes to get yourself untied, Xavier.” I smiled sweetly at him, “See you on the other side, loser.”

And to put the cherry on top, I pressed a swift kiss against his lips before taking off running towards the flags, which were visible from where we stood. I could hear Xavier’s frustrated screams, telling me to cut the shit and release him. Would I do that? Never.

After all, it was a battle with no rules, and I’d use that to my advantage whenever given the chance.

↳Part2

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caligvlasaqvarivm · 21 days ago

Note

I really love how you draw Karkat and Calliope. You've already talked about how the other relationships within the POABPCL, so I was wondering if you could talk about Callikar in more depth as well.

Heehee okay so the short reasoning is that first of all, Karkat is also highly reminiscent of Caliborn, so there's Calliope's natural attraction there. But also Calliope desperately wants to experience a flushed romance, and Karkat is a crazy person who can't keep his quadrants straight. Which, for Calliope, would actually be a plus instead of a minus????

But yeah, for the Caliborn similarities, apart from the grey text and (mostly) capital letters and general cantankerousness and candy red blood and random textual callbacks to shit Karkat says:

CG: OK I DON'T SEE HOW WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE BECOMING FRIENDS IF YOU RECOIL FROM MY OLIVE BRANCH LIKE I'M WIGGLING A GNARLED TREE MONSTER'S DICK IN YOUR DIRECTION. [...] uu: HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO BE BECOMING FRIENDS. IF YOU RECOIL FROM MY OLIVE BRANCH. uu: LIKE I'M FLAILING A WITHERED MUMMY'S SEVERED LIMB IN YOUR DIRECTION.

CG: THE FACT THAT YOU ARE DUMB CG: IS AN IMMUTABLE FACT I AM STATING FOR THE RECORD. CG: IT DOES NOT MEAN ANIMOSITY IS WHAT IS TAKING PLACE HERE. [...] uu: AND THE FACT THAT I MIGHT NOT CLuE YOu INTO YOuR FATE ALL THE TIME. uu: DuE TO MY AGGRAVATED APATHY OVER THE MATTER. uu: IS AN IMMuTABLE FACT. I AM STATING FOR THE RECORD. uu: IT DOES NOT MEAN THAT GIVING A SHIT IS WHAT IS TAKING PLACE HERE.

Did you know they both weirdly have a thing for right angles?

DAVE: i dont want to see your lines making any right angles do you understand KARKAT: IN MY MIND'S EYE I AM PICTURING A BEAUTIFUL LATTICE OF LINES AND COMPARTMENTS, INTERLOCKING WITH SUBLIME PRECISION AT NINETY DEGREE ANGLES. KARKAT: I IMAGINE THIS MODULAR RETICULATION AS AN ELEGANT VESSEL, IF YOU WILL, FOR THE GRAND SYNTHESIS OF OUR SHARED SHIPPING DREAMS.

So yeah, you know, they've got some similarities! Enough to fuel some initial cherubic romantic interest, I feel.

But obviously, cherubic romance is primarily - if not exclusively - pitch. Calliope expresses this in a way that makes it very much sound like it's a setup that her happy ending does, in fact, involve her finding a matesprit.

UU: thoUgh i trUly wish i were capable of those feelings. UU: perhaps the fact that i am not is why the topic fascinates me so. UU: and why i have been prone do indUlge in sUch... UU: fancifUl visUalizations. UU: of yoUr people's lovely bright red relationships. UU: they mUst be nice. u_u

Personally, I think that cherubs "can't experience redrom" the way humans "can't experience blackrom". In that, y'know. ;)

But let's move from Calliope's side from a moment and talk about Karkat. Hey, do y'all remember how he had a crush on a different Space player? (The fact that Karkat actually totally had a crush on Jade, and continued to think incredibly fondly of her for years after the fact, to the point of using one of her passwords as the password to his dream hive, gets lost in the melange of ~yaoi~ is honestly one of the reasons I'm not a fan of DaveKat).

CCG: I'M GOING TO VOMIT. CCG: I'M MAKING A MENTAL NOTE TO SLAP MYSELF THREE HOURS FROM NOW, FOR BEING ENOUGH OF A SAP TO START DEVELOPING RED FEELINGS FOR A DUMB ANNOYING HUMAN, IF I'M READING BETWEEN THE LINES CORRECTLY. FCG: I JUST SLAPPED MYSELF! I REMEMBERED MY LAME NOTE TO MYSELF FROM THREE HOURS AGO, AND THEN SLAPPED MYSELF SPECIFICALLY TO MOCK YOU. FCG: IT STINGS TOO, YOU'LL FEEL IT IN A WHILE. AND THEN THE GHOST OF PAST ME WILL CRY.

Hussie's commentary on this is also fucking hilarious, by the way:

First, by defending Jade like this, Future Karkat is virtually making the case to his own past self to give her a chance, and to try to acknowledge that his aggression toward her is masking romantic attraction. If that wasn't nuts enough, the altercation doubles as an actual confession of this to Jade, which she now has to bear in mind as she goes forward befriending this guy. Like most other shouting matches Karkat has with himself, it's a complete free-for-all of self-owns and eyebrow-raising psychological revelations. And yet, in the totality of this clusterfuck, it's probably about as sufficient as anything else he could have done to get her to start giving the friendship a chance. How do you sidle out of something like this? You don't. This miserable basket case needs all the help he can get.

But this is another example of Karkat's horrible problem with mixing his quadrants and sending out all sorts of mixed signals, which he lambastes himself for later RE: Terezi.

FCG: IS IT?? TELL ME, HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU TREATED HER IN A WAY THAT COULD BE OBJECTIVELY CONSTRUED AS A FORM OF BLACK SOLICITATION? CCG: THAT'S JUST CCG: NO, THAT'S HOW WE'VE ALWAYS ROLLED TOGETHER. IT'S LIKE CCG: SPIRITED PLATONIC CONTENTION. CCG: TOTALLY NORMAL TERRITORY IN A HEALTHY MATESPRITSHIP. FCG: YEAH, A *HEALTHY* ONE, NOT ONE INVOLVING A DEMENTED LOUDMOUTH WHO CAN'T KEEP HIS SHIT UNDER CONTROL. FCG: LET ME ASK YOU, HOW MUCH OF THAT ANIMOSITY IS INNOCENT "PLATONIC RAGE"? FCG: COULD IT BE THAT SUBCONSCIOUSLY YOU WANT TO PUSH THINGS WITH HER ONTO CALIGINOUS TURF, MAYBE SEE HOW THINGS WORK OUT THERE? FCG: SEE IF YOU CAN HAVE YOUR GRUB, AND CULL IT TOO?? FCG: THAT WAY YOU HAVE HER ALL TO YOURSELF!

And even his "confession" to jade has shades of this, as he basically forced her to auspicetize between himself and... himself. Just a really messy guy who can't keep his quadrants straight. I've already talked before about how this would be completely fine for Eridan, who is literally too bad at social shit to notice and is just happy for the attention, but... doesn't that seem like it would work for Calliope, whose fundamental attraction model is based in pitch?

And to really get into this, we should also talk about Karkat's taste in movies. The three posters he has hanging up in his room are for Serendipity, Hitch, and 50 First Dates. Between the three of them, it becomes really clear that Karkat is really into the idea of soul mates - of finding a romantic partner that just kind of perfectly clicks with you and all your idiosyncracies, with whom the romance is natural, and brings out the best in both partners.

Serendipity most obviously, as the entire movie is practically a treatise on destiny and fate (and also, if you're only going to watch one, watch this one - it gets namedropped twice in the comic and I genuinely think HS draws like 30% of its DNA from it). Hitch's A-plot couple is widely considered the worse one, but the B-plot couple turn out to be perfect for each other - all the guy's lame, embarrassing aspects just happen to be what she finds adorable, and he just needed a courage boost and chance to be noticed by her. And 50 First Dates features a guy in Hawaii who loves taking visiting tourists on whirlwind romances, but is terrified of commitment, meeting a girl who can't make new memories - functionally rendering every date their first from her perspective - and it's really sweet. It doesn't even make you want to punch Adam Sandler at all. Like, not even a little bit.

In any case, what this says to me is that, while he still needs to undergo character development to be ready for it, the romance Karkat should eventually end up with is one where he doesn't have to compromise who he is, warts and all.

A lot of Karkat's more common fandom pairings tend to downplay, or even outright forget about, how genuinely uncomfortable it is to experience Karkat's nutso vascillation. Even if the edge is taken off via moirallegiance, Karkat is still the sort of messy guy who tells his flushed crush to "set the table on [his] bulge for their candle light hate date." Jade clearly isn't a fan of being treated rudely, while Terezi eventually gets driven off by the mixed signals he puts off... but what if there was a species who primarily experiences pitch attraction, who would find Karkat's frequent dips into black-coded flirtation hot?

And also... Karkat is obviously Calliope's favorite character troll...I mean, she's got his symbol as her cufflinks. And also:

CG: I THINK THIS SUBJECT IS BEYOND A LOT OF PEOPLE'S GRASP BUT I KNOW A LOT ABOUT IT, NOBODY EVER REALLY WANTS TO TALK TO ME ABOUT IT THOUGH. AG: Whoa really? Oh no shit, REALLY???????? CG: OK, MOST PEOPLE WHO HAVEN'T HAD THEIR LOBE STEM CAUTERIZED ARE CAPABLE OF FEELING THE TWO PRIMARY EMOTIONS, HATE AND PITY. CG: PITY IS OF COURSE JUST THE TONED DOWN VERSION OF THE CENTRAL EMOTION, HATE. CG: AND ALL THE NUANCES OF PITY MANIFEST AS VARIOUS OTHER KINDS OF FEELINGS LIKE WHATEVER CHEMICAL REACTIONS TRIGGER MATING FONDESS OR THE MYSTERIOUS FORCES THAT ARE BEHIND MOIRALLEGIANCE.

And:

UU: actUally, i have written hUndreds of pages examining the striking differences between hUman and troll romance, as well as reprodUctive habits, as the comparison makes for a marveloUs case stUdy in xenobiocUltUral differences. UU: as long as i am sharing specUlation with yoU, perhaps yoU woUld like to read my essays? UU: i coUld even paste each page right here in sUccession, and allow yoU to read them back to back to back to back to back to back! ^u^ TT: Oh hell no. UU: ah. UU: yes, yoU're right of coUrse. i'm probably getting carried away as UsUal. UU: forgive my enthUsiasm, it's jUst that i so rarely have anyone to talk to who shares my passion for these matters.

They could both be SO ANNOYING about quadrants and romance together. It would be beautiful.

#homestuck #karkat vantas #calliope #calliope homestuck #callikat #and i personally think that it's like #pretty poignant for both karkat and eridan #the two most romantically hopeless trolls #but karkat especially as the trolls' leader and The Romance Troll #to not have his concupiscents filled until he gets to the new session #like just from a meta perspective there's this weird satisfaction to the idea that #paradox space had their perfect matches waiting for them this whole time #but they needed to cross two universes to reach them #that there was this grand and cosmic plan to bring them all happiness and love at the end of their grand voyage #which is a Very Serendipity thing to do #oh yeah also standard disclaimer #i dont care what you ship and im not interested in making anyone else ship this #be free be wild death of the author etc. etc.#this is just my own subjective opinion and it's literally not that serious

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nothing-ramblings · 8 months ago

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i DO think laios is "autism creature" autistic. I think he's actually a great example of that. Most of the time i see the autism creature associated with special interests and hyperfixations and there's no way you could argue that's not a trait he has, it's a major plotnpoint that drives the story forward along with his other motivation. Something I also see a lot is the austism creature being used as an example of cluelessness, because of its expression. How are you gonna point to his social awkwardness, the fact that he's literally completely clueless about making people uncomfortable unless it's explicitly stated to him, and say he doesn't fit that description. I'n not sure what "tumblr" autism is supposed to mean, the person was probably talking about the more palatable traits people discuss more openly, but do you really think people aren't socially awkward in this webbed site?

i saw a rlly good post reacting to someone else's rotten take, unfortunately at the time i was too tired to read the full post and i ended up losing it, so i don't remember what all it said but basically the rotten take was calling laios creepy (in a "funny haha way" to disguise it) due to his traits, and op of the post i saw was explaining how that's fucked up. I think from what I skimmed it was very personal, comparing their own experiences to laios and honestly that might be my favorite thing about him. He doesn't just have the "palatable" traits that people are comfortable seeing. He is clueless, he had no idea someone disliked him, he even thought they were close friends, because that person never let him know when he was crossing a boundary until it was too much. Soon after this almost the opposite happens, where he doesn't believe someone else wants to be his friend, because now he's aware that he can't pick up on social cues, and he also knows he caused this person discomfort before, so why would they want to be his friend? He's "messy" in that he has a lot of traits people like to avoid when talking about autism, because it's stuff neurotypicals don't like.

He's literally that kid who people would be like "oh well if i knew he was autistic i wouldn't have treated him badly" (which is stupid, you should treat people well in general and not be an asshole then apologize because someone is actually neurodivergent or mentally ill). And guess what? He has friends who love him. They know he's awkward and clueless and has "weird" interests and they still love him. He has people who will stand up for him even after coming to the conclusion that he's "a little creepy" because they know he's a good person, and they like his honesty. Someone explicitly admits they envy his ability to be so openly himself, even after that same person tried to frame that trait as a bad thing, because they realized what they hated wasn't laios honesty but the fact that laios is able to act that way, while most people feel trapped by social rules and don't have that same freedom to be themselves. Laios can be himself not because society accepts him, in fact the first assumption when the elves learn he likes monsters is that he must be prone to evil. Because that's weird and creepy. Society does not accept him. His friends do. His sister does, she loves him and looks up to him as an adult as much as she did as a child. He has a support system. He is loved. Even people who don't necssarily love him know he could never become evil, even if they also think his special interest is a bit creepy. Because they know laios, actually know him, and they know that in his awkwardness he's still a kind person. He misses a lot of social cues, sometimes he says things that are tone deaf without realizing at all, and his friends know he means no harm. He just struggles with these things.

I think laios is a very good example of how nobody is unlovable, regardless of how awkward or clueless you might be, even if your special interest is something perceived as creepy. To me Laios is a reminder for anyone who needs to hear it that you are deserving of love too. Maybe you just beed to find a better support system, and that might take a while, but there's people who will love you the way you are, and accept you the way you are

#dungeon meshi #laios #blank rambles

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l0ngschl0ngking · 2 years ago

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These hands were made for worshipping you

Francisco “Catfish” Morales x f!reader

summary: Frankie wants to show you exactly how much he adores you

warnings: SMUT (oral - f!receiving, pussy drunk Frankie, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, unprotected p in v, like 1 spit on the pussy, squirting -3:)- , body worship, size kink -kind of?-, dirty talk - Frankie has a foul mouth), mentions of reader being insecure about her body, mentions of postpartum depression, mentions of food, cursing, dad!frankie and it’s me so…fluff of course

word count: 7k (of filth)

A/N: Frankie is my fav Pedro character so I hope I did a good job writing him :)).

Francisco Morales is an observant man – punctilious dared you to say – he notices even the smallest of details. Whether it's about you, his friends, or the people he meets on the street. He notices the small crinkle of your nose when you smell something good or the way you squint your eyes when you are deep in thought. You guess it's from his times in the army – if you weren't attentive on the mission you were as good as dead.

So Frankie notices the way you quickly walk past mirrors now – or when you do look at yourself in one – your sad look as your eyes dance across your face, your body which changed after the birth of your baby girl. He sees the small frown adorning your face and the way you huff. When you catch him looking at you, you quickly smile and try to hide this look he cannot quite place – but Frankie notices. He wants to make you feel good. He always does. It's Frankie – your Frankie – who wants nothing more than to please you.

So an idea pops in his head. He has planned a nice romantic dinner at your favorite Italian restaurant – god knows he hasn’t taken you out on a date since birth and it's been almost 2 months now. His parents said that they would come and pick up little Gracie – you were adamant and not sure if that was such a good idea at first, you weren't apart from her before. But Frankie has a way with persuasion – all it takes for you to give in are his brown eyes paired with his fluffy hair and patchy beard and you are done for. So it's no surprise when you say yes to his plan to try and make you feel better – normal.

He read it once in this shitty magazine when you two were waiting for your doctor's appointment – that women are prone to postpartum depression, mood swings after birth…And he hated even thinking that you might feel that way. He tried to help as much as possible when he came home from work – exhausted most of the time than not. His soothing voice telling you to relax, his big hands paired with his calloused fingers massaging your shoulders, his hot breath on your skin when he kisses you so softly onto that spot on your neck – the smooth tone of his voice hushing your worries and the sweet nothings released from his mouth whispered in your ear.

So you feel even worse when none of his soothing words help and his gentle touch makes you feel even more anxious. When his hands make contact with your skin you want to pull away. Because he deserves better and you know that – you are disgusting. Your clothes don’t fit you anymore even when you try – emphasizing the word try as most of the time you are too tired - to work out. Your body has changed now and you feel repulsed by the way you look, by the way you walk and talk. You feel like you are not good enough of a wife, let alone a mother. You keep telling yourself that he touches you just because he feels obligated to – as your husband. Because how could he love this horrid-looking person staring back at you anytime you look in the mirror?

And what makes you feel even worse is the way he makes it all look so damn easy – the parenting. When he comes home from work he tries to take care of both of you and he never complains. He never has mental breakdowns – like you do - when Gracie cries to the point you just want to lock yourself in the bathroom. When she doesn’t want to latch on although you know she is hungry. But you think he knows – because it's Frankie – and he just doesn’t want you to feel bad, he never calls you out on it. And she seems like such a ray of sunshine with him – he makes her calm down immediately with his sheer presence. And you feel bad for Frankie because he really –really – does deserve better than this – than you. So you want to make it up to him – your behavior, your incompetence – and you dubiously agree to his proposal for a date.

You pack up everything for your daughter – and you also triple-check everything too, before you are satisfied. You packed her two bags and Frankie thinks it's too much for not even one day – he doesn’t say anything, however. He knows his parents are capable of taking care of his chiquita – after all, they took care of him and raised him. And he knows you don’t doubt them – you are just worried – and he understands. When the evening quickly rolls and you hear the bell , you want to go and get it but Frankie just shushes you and tells you to get ready – his patchy beard scratching you when he presses a brisk kiss on your cheek when you try telling him for the hundredth time where everything is and that they have to reheat the milk in the warm water. He takes Gracie from your arms and blows raspberries on her tummy – she laughs and he laughs along with her as he opens the door. You only hear the hushed voices of his parents as they greet their only granddaughter when you go upstairs to your shared bedroom.

Frankie is still dressed in his sweatpants and a soft cotton shirt which you got him as a joke before Gracie was born -Girl Dad written on it in a pretty cursive font, his signature well-worn-off cap sitting on top of his head when he runs up the stairs after he tells his mother the instructions you gave her and she just brushes him off and scoffs – as if offended - but he knows she meant it in a heartwarming “I know what to do, mijo” kind of way. He passes his chiquita to his dad and presses wet kisses onto her whole face - saying goodbye to her. She doesn't even seem to care though as she laughs at something Frankie's dad does and Frankie smiles as he softly closes the doors.

You and your mother-in-law get along well and she respects you – and you respect her in return. After all, she raised Frankie and he grew up into a pretty great man - in your opinion. She is also more like a second mother to you as yours lives in another state and you can't see her as often as you'd like. Opposed to Frankie's parents who live close by and help you with Gracie as often as they can. And you are grateful for that as you still don’t know how to navigate in this new role of a mother. Gracie loves them too – especially her grandad who calls her “mi little princesa”– and doesn’t she know it? Last time he bought her this pink princess-looking dress and even though she fussed when you try to put it on her she calmed down when her grandad almost cried and took thousands of pictures - while making the silliest faces at her - of her which he shows to all of his friends anytime he has the chance now.

When Frankie faintly opens the bedroom door, he stands in the doorway – leaning against the doorframe as he watches you stand in front of the full-length mirror you two bought when you just moved in. It's an old thing but you fell in love with it when you found it in one of these old antique shops you were passing by one day. Pretty hefty with the wooden frame adorning it and Frankie complained at least another week after he carried it up the stairs that his lower back was now killing him because of it.

So he watches when you smooth your hands down the material of the pretty floral dress you are now wearing – funnily enough Frankie’s favorite and the only one which you could actually zip up all the way. He sees the way your shoulders sag down and the way you shake your head at yourself. He sighs quietly and steps into the room – for a man his size he can be quiet as a mouse and he sneaks behind you – his hands making their way to your waist. He lowers his chin onto your shoulder. You meet his gaze in the mirror and he offers you a small smile – the compliment he wants to say sits on top of his tongue – but you beat him to it, the tears threatening to escape you, now stinging your eyes.

“I look like shit, Frankie.” It surprises him really – he knew you were feeling down, he could see it – but this is the first time you actually say something about it to him. He tried to talk to you but you always just closed off and he never wanted to push on the subject – not wanting to make you even more uncomofrtable. He grips your waist tighter and one of his hands brushes the unshed tears from your eyes. His thumb smoothing over the soft fabric of your dress. You feel the vibrations of his voice on your shoulder when he speaks.

“Baby, you are absoutely breathtakingly gorgeous.” He whispers and the way he says it – full of endearment and love, with the soft tone he only reserves for you makes it easy for you to believe him – or to at least try to believe him. You shake your head in disagreement and he grabs your chin – his thick fingers squeezing – making you look at him in the mirror. Really look at him. "And I don't know why you feel the way you feel but I do want to help you because I love you so fucking much it hurts me sometimes." The ghost of his whispered confession lingers in the air and you swallow thickly as he holds your stare. You can feel the way his chest heaves with every pass of his breath because he is so close to you - so fucking close. You feel his hard chest pressed up against your back and his soft stomach on your lower back, his bulge pressing against you. In the mirror, you can see how broad he is opposite to you - his shirt straining against his shoulders that you love to rest your legs on while he eats you out.

And for someone as attentive as Frankie he is also pretty unassuming when it comes to himself. He praises you every chance he has, he touches you anytime you pass by him. He's tall and lumbering and he doesn't even know the effect he has on you. You try to tell him constantly how much you love him - god and do you ever - and try to make him at least half as loved and appreciated as you feel. He always just shrugs you off with a shy chuckle under his breath and blush on his scruffy cheeks. You love him for him and it doesn't hurt that he is also the most gorgeous man you've ever encountered. With his brown eyes and curly hair, his patchy beard and aquiline nose and that stupid hat that seems to be glued to his head. And somehow he is yours.

You love the way he towers over you and how his solid chest now presses against your back when he hugs you from behind. Or fucks you from behind. And you miss it - god how much you miss it - the way his big fat cock feels against your walls and how it seems to split you almost in half - even after all these years together. But even though Frankie doesn't seem to be repulsed by you – he hasn’t tried any moves on you since the birth of your baby girl and the thought of him not finding you attractive anymore bruises your beating heart.

He can sense the change in your body language – the press of your ass against his crotch, your head bumping onto his shoulder and he digs his blunt nails into your hip, the hand that was holding your chin smoothing over the soft skin of your now exposed throat, down between the valley of your breasts and stopping on your stomach. He feels you tense and he places a delicate kiss on your neck – the feel of his beard sending shudder down your spine. A silent moan falls out of your lips when his tongue pokes out to suck on your skin and you feel him smirk against you – the scrape of his teeth making you writhe under his touch. You don’t want to feel this way anymore – unattractive and worthless – and it seems Frankie can read your mind as he meets your eyes when you open them and look at him in the mirror. A hushed: “Tell me what do you need” is said between the soft nips left on your nape and it's hard to concentrate with the way his deft fingers toy with the hem of your dress.

Francisco Morales is a patient man – he can wait hours for a target to show up or wait while you shop for new clothes -he especially enjoys when you buy new langerie. And he is equally as patient now as he waits for your answer. Basking in the way you just let him hold you after so long without tensing up immediately. You are now putty in his hands which explore your new body he hasn’t had a chance to really touch. And he absolutely fucking loves it. He loves all of the new curves and how his calloused fingers dip into your soft flesh. He traces it with a newfound adoration and appreciation for you. You birthed his daughter and he cannot believe you are so strong and perfect – his exquisite little wife. He wants to show you how fucking much he adores you – all of you. And so he waits for your answer – he roughly exhales when he hears the low “Just need you, Francisco” as you squeeze one of his hands holding your upper thigh.

He nods – once, twice – before he carefully unzips your floral dress which falls from your shoulders. He presses light kisses into the crook of them and he moves to kiss your shoulder blades, his fingers tracing the beauty marks adorning your back. His touch is electrifying and you whine his name pathetically when he squeezes one of your tits tenderly. The shiver that runs down your spine slowly makes its way into your limbs when he sinks onto his knees and drags your dress down along with him – you want to say that he shouldn’t – his knees will hurt tomorrow if he keeps kneeling on the floor but he muffles your protest when his teeth sink into the meat of your ass – his tongue smoothing the sting he leaves there. The words he says are slurred when he inhales your scent – his nose pressing into your cunt shamelessly, his fingers spreading your ass cheeks open.

“Missed this pretty pussy, querida.” You want to tell him you missed this too – his fingers digging into your flesh and his tongue on you. Frankie is not much of a talker – everyone who knows him knows that. He just sits and listens - sometimes he quipps something or joins the conversation after a while and he is content with that. But in the bedroom? That’s a different kind of Frankie – you call him “pussy drunk Morales” and it's pretty accurate. He can spend hours between your thighs and he is just as happy and content with it as you are – if not more. He is a talker in bed and when you first slept together it surprised you – and it was a welcome surprise for sure. “Gosh, I am gonna make you feel so good, hermosa. Want you to watch how I finger you in the mirror.” And he also isn't shy to tell you what he wants in bed.

You swallow thickly – your Adam's apple bobbing – when you can see his hands dip lower, smoothing them along your ankles and then back up – his thick fingers moving with preciseness. He knows your body like his own and he can map out every single sensitive spot on it with his eyes closed. Frankie wants to please and his mission is to do so - the inner pilot in him sitting in the front seat whenever you two have sex together. He knows which buttons to push at the right time and which not - to wait out. You whimper and try to push your hips against him – too impatient, to wound up. The small chuckle that cuts through the – other than that - quiet room makes you want to jump his bones right then and there. He enjoys it when you squirm in his grasp but tonight he is just as needy as you. It's been so long – too long – since he last touched you like this.

“I am gonna give you exactly what you need, baby.” You believe him – he always gives you exactly what you need – and more. His hands spread your ass cheks open once more and he fucking spits on your gaping hole. You jolt at the sudden action but he holds you close. He coats his finger in the spit, putting pressure on the tight ring of muscle whispering “another time”. And you are so so desperate – you'd let him do anything to you right now. Not that other times you wouldn’t - he proved to you over and over again that he will make anything incredible for you.

He is slow with it – as he enters you with one of his fingers, adding the second one right after and he hisses when your walls squeeze them. The thickness of them makes your eyes roll into the back of your head, closing your eyes you focus only on the feeling of being so fucking full and when he moves, your hand shoots back – tossing his hat off and gripping his hair. He fucking loves it -your fingers curling into his locks and he feels your nails scrape against his scalp. He wants more, needs more – and so do you. So he starts moving the fingers inside of you and the moans that fall out of your mouth are worth every fucking minute that was building up to this moment.

“Look at yourself, querida. Look at how fucking wrecked you look for me.” His voice is strained and you as he says – you always do. And the sight that you see makes your heart bit a little faster, and the muscles in your cunt pull tighter. You see Frankie's head poking out to watch too – his lips ghosting across your outer thigh while his fingers keep working inside of you. His hair is wild – and you grip him tighter by it– his face twists in pleasure and it makes him speed up, makes his finger hook and pat your walls with a newfound want. Your mouth hangs wide open, your brows furrowed, the bead of sweat running down your neck disappearing between the valley of your breasts. You see every reaction to his onslaught – every twitch in your muscles, every inch your mouth opens wider in pure bliss, even the way your breath picks up when Frankie presses against something incredible inside of you and you tell him to keep going.

You see the way the muscles in his neck strain – the vein on it clearly visible to your hungry eyes now. You spot the way one of his hands fists his cock that strains against the flimsy sweatpants. Every time he groans against your flesh quick “Fuck, so fucking pretty,” every time he whispers “Make me feel so good, want you to feel so good too, querida,” only brings you closer and closer to the edge. It's written all over your face – the hunger – carnal and selfish. And you want to cum, you feel the coil in your belly pulling tight but it's not enough and you sob in frustration. Your fingers flex in Frankie's curls and you plead for something – anything. You almost cry when he pulls away – his fingers leaving your fluttering cunt.

His fingers are coated with you and he doesn’t want to waste even a single drop – bringing them to his mouth he moans at your tangy taste, closing his eyes. He swats your thigh when you plead him “Frankie, Frankie, please, please. I was so close” and he just shushes you with “I know, baby, I know” after he pulls his fingers out of his mouth and stands up – groaning at the flash of pain that shoots through him. He turns you quickly and his hungry mouth is on yours not even a second later – the first time he kisses you tonight and you moan into his mouth as he “shares” your taste with you that sits heavy on his tongue. It's slow and soft and his grip on your hip doesn’t falter, his other hand bringing you closer – pressing against your lower back. Your fingers curl into the soft cotton of his shirt – holding him in place. Kissing his bottom lip first – your teeth scrape it and you give the same attention to the lower lip. The kiss makes you warm and fuzzy, it makes something in your chest bubble with an infinite love for this man - your man -in front of you.

He's warm and solid under your palms and his hand snakes onto the hinge of your jaw – opening your mouth wider, craving more. You hold onto him tighter, sighing deeply as his tongue explores your mouth. It makes your toes curl and when he pulls away you are breathless – your breath coming in short huffs. He doesn’t look much better – his hair is tousled, hair sticking in every direction and your hands try to slick it back but it's no help. You want to bury yourself in him, in the way he makes you feel so damn protected and loved. You chase his mouth again but he just gives you a quick peck and gifts you a broad grin that you want to kiss away.

“Go and sit on edge of the bed, hermosa.” You quirk an eyebrow at him but eventually turn – with a shake of your hips you comply with his request – sitting on the edge of the bed and crossing your arms over your stomach as you watch Frankie slowly undress. His shirt comes off first and you lick your lips when you see the expanse of his back, the muscles flexing deliciously when he grabs the mirror and brings it to you – and wait, why the fuck is he bringing the mirror to the edge of the bed? He places it in front of you and stands next to it looking at your bare skin – licking his lips and you try and shield away from his gaze – the nasty thoughts still screaming at you at the back of your mind – and maybe Frankie really is pretending. Maybe – maybe-

“You still with me, baby?” The term of endearment falling from his lips makes you fucking emotional and you nod when he kisses one of your hands – pressing butterfly kisses to each and every one of your knuckles– kneeling in front of you. He grabs your hands – pulling them away from your stomach – soft and flabby now with stretch marks adorning it and you look away because he is so close you feel the ghost of breath against it and he must feel so disgusted by you – you don’t wanna see it in his eyes. He grasps your chin and orders you to look at him – when you do you see no disgustment in his eyes – nor is he pulling away from you like you expected him to. “Don’t want you to hide from me, querida.” He mumbles against the skin on your wrists and he shifts on his knees – getting closer to you. He touches your inner thighs softly and then his hands move higher – sliding over your hips and onto your tummy. He moves you even closer to him. His lips dance across your belly now – the pads of his fingers dipping into the curves on it and he hums when he feels you slowly relax.

After he is happy with his efforts on you – pecking every fucking inch of your “So undeniably gorgeous” body as he whispers filth onto your skin – your brain stops working after a while and all you can think of is Frankie when hovers above you. Tucking your hair behind your ear he kisses your collar bone and his hand moves behind your head – his forehead bumps with yours and the other hand strokes your sensitive nipple – you whimper and your hot breath tickles his face. “Baby, you gonna sit on my face and you will watch yourself in the mirror while I eat you out, yeah?” It seems like a question but it isn't – at least not really. Frankie wants you to sit on his face and there's no room to argur about it. He is good at giving orders – and you are glad to follow them. Your inside twists in anticipation when you nod.

It's certainly not the first time Frankie asked you to sit on his face - because this man loves to eat pussy – for breakfast, lunch and dinner. From the back, front - on a counter, floor, couch. Pretty much everywhere and anytime. When you first started seeing each other and he told you he “wanted to eat your pussy” you just laughed – thinking he must be kidding. But when you looked at him you learned that he was completely and utterly serious and didn’t understand what was so funny about it. And god, he was incredible in it. He would spend days between your thighs if you'd let him.

He flips you both over – you are now on top of him and him under you. Your thighs lay on the side of his narrow waist. You feel him through the material of his sweats - feeling the wet spot on them - and you make an experimental roll of your hips – his hands flying out to stop your efforts as he groans. “Up, baby. Gosh, missed your pussy on my tongue. Come on, up, up. Please, querida, please -” His nails dig into the flesh of your ass when you start moving up his body – your nails scratching his nipples as you do – and his hips buck up, pleading with you “Please, please, baby, need that wet pussy on my mouth.” He is lewd with his words and you grip him by the hair when you hover above his head, his neck strains when he tries to reach your dripping core - just a little taste- but you push his head back down and look at yourself in the mirror – your hair is wild and so are your lust blown eyes. You look sexy - powerful- when you see how this man writhes under you and wants “Just a little taste, hermosa. Give me a taste. God, this pussy was made for my mouth.” Your chest swells with incredible need for the feel of his tongue, his touch, him.

He pulls you down on him and your hands fly from his hair onto the mattress as your fingers grip the cool sheets. The first swipe of his tongue against your folds makes your head fall back and Frankie watches with hungry eyes your reactions – his hands coming to hold yours in his. His palms are a little sweaty under you and he feels like he is on fucking fire while he licks into your cunt as you clench around his tongue. He muffles something against you and you look down at him – he looks so fucking blissed out that it makes you whine as you buck against his mouth. He squeezes your fingers between his and pulls away from your sopping folds, pressing wet kisses onto your inner thighs. “Look at yourself, baby. Fuck, this cunt was so fucking needy to feel my mouth on it. Wasn’t it?” You nod frantically and you look back into the mirror when his tongue swirls against your clit, your back arching.

The swell of your breasts calls for his attention and he pulls one of his hands away from yours – your free hand grips his hair when he toys with the nipple between his fingers –a trickle of milk beading from it and that makes him hungry for more as he mutters a quick “Fuck yes.” His tongue plunging into you and he fucking loves the sounds you make for him. The sweat on your skin builds up with your upcoming orgasm. You start grinding onto his face and he moans in agreement, his eyes closing in concentration because – fuck – he needs you to soak his face. “Yeah, use me, baby. Just like that, c'mon. Fuck my face. I want it,” He growls - you do as you are told and Frankie is unable to form any other words, his jaw locking as he tries to not let a single drop go to waste, brows furrowing. His hand slaps you across your ass and soothes the sting with his palm, it burns your skin and you plead him to do it again, again, and again-

If anyone tried to tell you Frankie doesn’t enjoy eating pussy you'd tell them they are fucking crazy. Because you feel it from the way vibrations come out of his chest, his fingers tighten against you and he is so fucking deprived to feel more of you, always wants more of you. And he is also the fucking best at this – all calculated swirls and licks of his tongue, efficient swipes of the pink muscle against your walls, on your clit. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum, Francisco. You are gonna make me cum!” You squeal and he doubles his efforts – his mouth sucking on your clit, and you look away from the mirror as you gaze down at him and he wants you to cum but also doesn’t want to this to stop, never wants to stop. It makes you keen under his touch. He doesn’t pull his mouth away from you to tell you to “Yeah, fucking soak this face. Want this needy little pussy to squeeze me tight.” he just keeps going and it only takes two or three swipes of his tongue against your bundle of nerves before you are cumming – soaking his face as he wanted.

You aren't sure which one of you is louder – your ears ring and you are pretty sure you passed out as white-hot pleasure shoots through your entire body – making your nerves feel like they are on a fucking fire. When you come back from your senses and feel he isn't stopping – wants to clean you up but it feels like too much and you try to push his head away and scramble from him but his hands lock on your hips as he holds you close. And then he kisses you on your pussy – butterfly kisses pressed against your clit, your folds as he breathes you in – your curls tickling him on a nose. You slowly move down his torso and he can feel how wet you still are on his skin. He slowly sits up and grins at you – it's a sight to behold. His beard is all shiny with your slick and he licks his lips as he holds you close – pulling you by the head to kiss your already awaiting lips. His hard-on presses against your bare core and you sigh into his mouth when you feel him twitch against you – grabbing him and he quickly pushes your hand away – breaking from the kisses. “Querida, I am gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that. I almost did. You make me hard as a fucking rock.”

“Would that be so bad?” You grin against his mouth and he whispers “cheeky” before his tongue enters your mouth once again – the taste of you makes your head spin. His fingers dance against your searing skin and you lounge in this moment of post-sex intimacy. His nose traces your jaw as he kisses you on it and he nuzzles against your neck when you kiss him on the top of his head.

“Hm, not really. It would just mean I'd have to eat you out again before I could sink my cock into this sweet cunt.” He says the dirty words as easily as he asks how was your day. It makes the tip of your ears turn a deep red color and you giggle breathily.

“You have a foul mouth. Has anyone told you that before?” He hums when you massage the back of his scalp – your nails scratching the spot behind his ear and he almost but purrs.

“I believe you did. Once or twice, or anytime we fuck.” He throws you a toothy grin.

He nips at the skin on the crook of your shoulder and suddenly the atmosphere changes once more – his hips buck up when you swirl your bare cunt on him. The press of his lips against you is now more urgent, dire and he whimpers when your hand takes him from his boxers – your thumb circling the red head as a bead of precum spurts out. He spits out a quick “fuck” before he is throwing you onto the mattress – shucking his sweatpants off of him and he is scrawling back to you seconds later. He handles you like a ragdoll – you face the mirror as he kneels behind you, your face smushed against the sheets as you watch his ministrations, his hands hooking under your hips to hold you as he pleases. His cock throbs against the back of your thigh and one of his hand tugs lazily on his cock – notching it at your entrance and coating the head in your wetness.

“I am gonna fuck you so so good, baby. And you will watch.” He reaches forwards and grips your chin making you look directly into the mirror – the soft belly of his pressing against your lower back as he does so and it makes you moan in concurrence. You see the flash of white teeth in the mirror before he is pushing into your already awaiting and fluttering cunt. The moans you both let out as he pushes all the way in are downright lewd. Your walls are sensitive and you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock. The thickness of him makes it feel like he is in your guts and you choke when shifts – the head of him brushing against something glorious inside of you. He notices when the muscles in your pussy squeeze him tighter and he focuses on the spot – not really moving, trying to find the right angle.

You cry out when he makes an experimental thrust of his hips and it never felt this way before. He chuckles in pure happiness because he knows he found it and he bends closer to you – his dick pushing deeper, deeper – so he can whisper into your ear. “Oh, baby. This will feel so fucking good for you. Fuck, let me hear you.” You don’t hear him as clearly because you feel like you are falling in and out of consciousness every time his cock passes through your walls. He pulls back away – his fingers tangling into your hair and pulling you back by it – the quick nip of his teeth on your ear making you look at him in the mirror. “Told you to watch, so you will watch, yeah?” You nod – not trusting your voice as your throat closes down on you. He grips you tighter, and the pads of his other fingers pet your clit. “I need to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what a girl you are and that you will watch as I fuck you on my big fat fucking cock.” You hear the snarl in his voice and he stops moving, his teeth sinking into the flesh on your shoulder. “C'mon, tell me. Tell me, baby.” He orders and you sob – you look and sound pathetic and Frankie loves everything about it.

“Yes, baby – Frankie, I will watch how you fuck me on your big fat cock. Please, just move. Please, please, please -” The breath is knocked out from your lungs when he does, his hands falling from your hair as he traces his fingers down your spine and you try to watch as he told you. You watch his face as he watches how he disappears in and out of your fluttering cunt, how his hair bounces with his every movement, how his hand now grips your hip moving you closer to him. You see the way you are completely fucked out, how your mouth opens wider with every pass of his cock – you see the way he bends down and slows his movement just so he can lick the salty sweat rolling down the base of your spine. All you can do is whimper when he pulls back and seems to only concentrate on his cock inside of you.

He angles his hips and when he pushes deeper inside of you – his balls smacking against the meat of your ass – you want to crawl away from him because it feels like you are going to pee. The calloused pads of his fingers circle your clit and he plunges his dick onto that spot over and over again – you plead with him to stop, it feels too fucking good and you don’t know if you can handle it. He smacks you once, twice, three times – his fingers digging on that spot where it stings and it's too much – all too much. You feel the coil inside of you snap and your chest falls onto the mattress, the intense pleasure crashes into you in waves and you faintly hear Frankie hiss as he pulls out of you as you soak him - his pubic hair drips in with your slick and the sheets are wet but he wants you to do it again.

“Yes, yes. Fuck, baby. You soaked me. Want you to do it again. Can you do it again?” He doesn’t wait for your answer before he plunges into you again and you keep repeating his name like a prayer when you feel another wave crashing through your body – you press your ass into him more and he hisses. You vaguely feel the wet press of his tummy against your lower back and he pulls away from you completely as you plop onto the mattress. You hear the slick of his fists on his cock and you muster the energy to raise your head to look into the mirror. He jerks of, the movements of his fists frantic and the muscles in his biceps flex with every pass of his arm. His neck is strained as he throws his head back and cums – the ropes of pearly white liquid falling onto your back. He falls right on top of you – careful not to crush you. It's quiet for a long while and then he slowly moves away from you – you whine in protest as you hear the sound of his feet against the tiled floor.

When he comes back you feel a warm towel on your back as he cleans you up – carefully swiping it between your thighs as well. You feel the bed dip under the weight of him – pulling you on top of him. You listen to the rapid beating of his heart slowing down as he draws patterns onto your spine, kissing you on the forehead. A hushed conversattion between you two as you open up to him - about the way you felt since birth - and he swears to you that tommorow both of you will look for help - so you can talk to a professional about it. And if it is possible - you swear your love for him grows after his quiet promise.

He grins then and you raise your head to throw him a questioning look.

“I made you squirt, baby.” He says it with smugness in his voice and you swat him on the shoulder, grinning too.

“Don't be so smug about it. We both know you are too freaking good in bed, Francisco. So really, it was only a matter of time.” After the sex fog in his brain fades away he is back to his sheepish self as one of his hands rubs his neck at your compliment.

“Was it good, though?” Only Francisco Morales could ask such a stupid question after he made you see stars.

“Yeah, baby. I thought I passed the fuck out at least three times. That’s how good it was.” You kiss his peck and he hums, stroking your hair and you start to feel hungry – your stomach rumbling and he laughs, and reaches for his phone on the bedside table.

“So, because we didn’t make it to dinner what do you want me to order? Pizza, sushi, chinese?” He lists and you think about it before you blurt out “chinese” and he nods, pecking your lips quickly. Before he calls to order though you say: “Love you, Frankie.”

A boyish smirk makes its way onto his face and he looks younger like this – like he has no worries in his life. The dim light in the bedroom makes his golden skin shine and you think about how the heck did you get so lucky. “Love you too, querida.” He says as he presses another kiss onto your forehead.

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