#along the lines of 'I hate that I'm so cruel. i hate being this way' but it was much too blunt. but secrets live in the tags so

[lucabyte]

i burned the bridges thoroughly but still everyone's trusting me again and i should be relieved but it happened so suddenly (and i know in my heart i haven't earned this, but everyone acts like my concern isn't a problem like nothing is wrong with my very involvement)

but i know how the song ends (x)

[sexbot300]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹  rival!gojo head-canons

contents: 18+, mdni. rivals to (maybe) lovers. slight fluff, suggestive, crack, slight angst if you squint, smut. gojo satoru x reader.

tw: mentions of sex. actual descriptions of it. suggestive talk. unprotected sex p in v. oral. pet names. degradation. humiliation. satoru being somewhat of an (loving) ass.

a/n: i literally forgot how much i love writing head-canons. i left this one on a cliffhanger on purpose teehee lolz. thank you so so so much for the followers and support i'm getting. luv to hear your feedback! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

rival!gojo who has his patience and ego tested the minute he found out who you were.

rival!gojo who finds it endearing that someone other than him is on par with being the strongest. if endearing meant slightly blood-boiling.

rival!gojo who only heard word that you can “maybe” beat him in a fight and he “maybe” holding that as a grudge.

rival!gojo who sees you for the first time and his brain does a hard-factory reset.

rival!gojo who only laughs to himself that the world is cruel for making his own “arch-enemy” the hottest thing he’s ever set his eyes on.

rival!gojo who was starstruck, he knew that he had to know everything about you, for “research reasons.”

rival!gojo whos first encounter with you went something along the lines of:

“heard you’re the strongest.” “funny, heard the same thing about you.” “try not to die.” “are you kidding? and hand you over the title like a fucking crown?”

rival!gojo who jokes with your own students about joining the winning side, leaving you to be taught by him.

rival!gojo who will never admit that he lovessssssssssss that someone is as strong as he is, contradicting any bit of “malice” he has towards you.

rival!gojo who won't hesitate to call you, “princess” to mock you. truthfully, he’s mocking himself knowing that deep down he wouldn’t mind calling you that in all seriousness.

rival!gojo who purposely sits across from you in important meetings, taking any and every opportunity to speak to you. arms crossed over his chest while smiling. “dont get why i'm here really. look at her, she’s a big girl. i probably can leave the jujutsu world and it’ll be just fineeeee.”

rival!gojo who knows that the world needs him, but wants to be showered in compliments that prove he’s better. he only glances your direction, “ah, but if i leave, who will keep you on your toes?”

rival!gojo who after many, many years has this “relationship” with you that consists of; sly comments, wandering eyes, and moments that leave you both questioning the other.

rival!gojo who knows your favorite color, season, show, drink, how you like your toast charred— what? he’s just getting to know his “enemy” a bit more, relax.

rival!gojo who knows that you’re both the strongest, so it’s a ticking time bomb of who caves in first.

rival!gojo who no one can ever tell if you guys fucking hated each other or were just straight up fucking.

rival!gojo who purposely turns off his limitless near you, making excuses that “you’re no threat” to him. he secretly wants you to touch him because it means he’ll get to touch you.

rival!gojo who will never miss the opportunity to pass snide comments:

“ms. superhero is here, everyone clear way.” “not enough room on this earth for your ego alone, gojo.” “please, call me satoru.” “hm? why is that?”  “just want you to memorize the name of the person who’ll beat you one day.”  “if you’re trying to be sly with your insults, doing a terrible job.”  “princess, it’s not classified as insults if it’s the truth.” “would it make you happy if i just infatuated your self-worth like everyone else?” “there’s a lot you can do that can make me happy actually. start off by shutting up, maybe?”

rival!gojo who is constantly told to stop provoking you as the higher-ups know if you both take it too far, an actual war will break out. “gojo, behave yourself.” he only pouts, arms crossed over his chest, “whattttt? I’m being as friendly as i can be!”

rival!gojo who overhears the higher-ups scold you for replying back to his comments that are on equivalent with his childish behavior. “don’t entertain that idiot.” you only blink dumbfounded, “he started it! i’m nothing but kind and he's just a dumbass with too much power.”

rival!gojo who actually knows every little detail he wanted to about you. If it was your technique, dirt on you, your weaknesses, believe he’ll already know. “still keeping tabs on me?” “i don't understand, even if i was, we’re supposed to be working together sweetheart.” he only snickers, “although, you wish you mattered that much.” eliciting an eye-roll from you.

rival!gojo who actually finds you funny. someone who can keep up with him in all categories? yup, he’s making you his one way or another. you’re either the greatest blessing to occur to him or the reason he believes love truly is a curse.

rival!gojo who does find out if you’re attracted to someone or not and keeps a bit of an eye on who you’re interested in. by no means will he stop you from pursuing who you want, you deserve to feel happiness even if it isn’t with him. even if it means if it’s short-lived happiness, it was enough for a sorcerer who’s life-span is a guessing game. but he’s greedy. he’s selfish. he doesn’t want anyone else to take you, and he won’t directly interfere, but don’t think he isn’t pulling ropes in the back. 

rival!gojo who’s been your secret admirer for a while now, making sure to purposely get you gifts no man outside of his own status can ever top off. even if they were in his own status, he’ll quickly prove that he IS the Gojo Satoru and no one can top that off. if he can't outright admit he wants you, his pseudo-identity will. who do you think bought you those bouquets that swarmed your house that one valentine?

rival!gojo who notices that you’re wearing the pricey bracelet he bought you, snickering softly, “wow? the evil witch managed to successfully cast her spell in making someone like her?” glancing his direction, noticing a smug look on his face as his chin rests on his palm. “dunnooo gojo, maybe you’re not the only one here people find attractive.” you state, eyeing the handsome face of a man who would eat that shit up if you admitted it out loud. with a shit-eating grin, he spoke, “oh so you find me attractive?” unamused in a softer tone, “never said that, never will.” clicking his tongue, a deeper grin stretched out his pink lips. “you’ll come around eventually.”

rival!gojo who noticed that the bracelet didn’t have a cute necklace to accompany it, making a mental notice.

rival!gojo who isn’t actually your rival, he knows that you know he doesn’t have a big ego that you use as a cheap jab. there’s an unspoken mutual solidarity between you two, maybe the faux rivalry and self-worth being tested was a result of a fake relief you both fell in. maybe you can both pretend that all is well in this world. labeled the title of the strongest places all the responsibilities on both of your shoulders. he feels for you that this life isn’t kind to you or him and he feels a pang of guilt knowing that what’s expected of him, is expected of you too. does he hate you at all? never. does he hate knowing that someone else is burdened with the same path as him? more than anything.

rival!gojo who doesn’t understand why you’re still fighting. he has wealth, good looks, a huge dick, a sense of humor and is the not only the strongest but is a clan head. why don’t you just let him take care of you instead? why don't you end up in his arms at the end of the day? why don’t you let him massage the knots in your back and clean up dried-up wounds? why don't you unravel in a bath with him as you lay on his chest, playing with his fingers? why don’t you let him try the same sweets he really likes? why don’t you just let him occupy your world like you have with his?

rival!gojo who won't simply go at it with you like teenagers, he wants to see who will fall into the trap of falling for their rival first. he notices the way your eye lingers on his lips for a split second, or your face that paints that you feel tempted to bite the apple that god forbade you to. he wasn’t an idiot, and neither were you. he wasn’t physically keeping a distance from you more often because he was repulsed from you, no, it was quite the opposite. he knew that if given certain stances, he’d lose all control. but gojo didn’t want that, this was a game. he had to win. It wasn’t about a title anymore, it was about you. he had to win you.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ 

rival!gojo who has sexual tension with you that can be cut with a knife, making everyone in the room shift in their seats.

rival!gojo who just eyes you up and comments under his breath that you’re probably so tense from the lack of dick you’re getting. “what was that satoru?” “nothing at all princess, you’re hearing things. get your ears checked out maybe.”

rival!gojo who doesn’t want to get under just your skin but under your sheets too. 

rival!gojo who wants to dominate you in every aspect, especially in bed.

rival!gojo who wants to pummel your pussy into the ground whenever you catch an attitude with him, which is mainly all the time. this one particular time when taking down a curse led you both on thin ice. “satoru, you’re supposed to guard me. the curse could’ve easily escaped. what the fuck were you doing?” you state walking close to him, arms out in disbelief with furrowed eyebrows. “huh, well maybe if you knew what you were doing you wouldn’t be relying on me.” he looked down at you, voice brattier than usual. “rely on you? i’d rather be thrown on the ground right now and have a special grade eat me whole.” faces only inches apart, he tugged his blindfold above one eyes, face growing cold. “I doubt it would remotely even want to eat something as vile as you.” your eyes only glued to his somber face, looking beautiful when disparaging as if it was double the taunting. clearing your throat, “as if it would want to taste you.” a gust of wind escaped his nose in disbelief, “please, it wouldn’t be the only thing here that would want to taste me.” pupils dilated, eyes directing staring in each others souls, you only scoff. “and who’s to say that you wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to throw me on the ground?” his once stern face, had a hint of lust wash over in the form of a slight smirk, “not really a fan of wrestling someone so weak, i’ll just feel bad for you. really.” given the circumstances and the hoards of curses making way, he actually regretted not taking you right then and there. his idea of wrestling equating to absolutely demolishing your guts.

rival!gojo who wonders what it would be like to shut your soft, plush mouth up with his own.

rival!gojo who wonders if the bitter insults that roll off your tongue taste sweeter in his mouth.

rival!gojo who is more than giddy to hear that you’re assigned together to train, because he’s not just thinking of physically fighting you. his mind trails off to training you to take his cock instead.

rival!gojo who wants to test your strength in seeing how many rounds you can go with him. this isn’t about training.

rival!gojo who imagines taking you in for the first time; raw, ass up in the air, back arched inhumanely possible, large hand gripping at your hair follicles, and the harsh slapping of skin filling the room. he needs to take you in the most humiliating way, he wants to make you feel all sorts of ways while all he does is snicker about how good you clench on to him in a lewd position.

rival!gojo who often thought about calling you his cum-slut, while he’d make your pretty tongue lap up and down his thick dick groaning about making sure not to be an ungrateful whore and to swallow every last bit of him.

rival!gojo who can’t tell if he wants to fuck the shit out of you or if he wants you to fuck the shit out of him.

rival!gojo who encourages you to wear shorts and tight clothing while sparring. he literally just wants to make you comfortable, nothing at all hidden underneath.

rival!gojo who just takes his sweet time trailing his eyes all around the curves of your body before smiling softly.

“something caught your eye satoru?”  “ohhhhhhh, nothing. just studying your technique.” “is my technique my ass?” “what? a man can’t make sure you have good form?”

rival!gojo who can sense with his six eyes that he gets you wet, he knows that you know which makes it all the better. 

rival!gojo who laughs at you making comments about him probably acting all high and mighty due to a lack of “something.” was it sex? was it his dick? “wouldn’t you like to know pervert?" oh how he wish he can just make you feel the depth of his dick by making you look at the bulge he'd make in your tummy.

rival!gojo who actually does get in a heated making out session with you; hair gripping, tongues slick against each other, moans trapped in each others mouths, dry humping like a bitch in heat, lips engulfing one another. “who the fuck knew that gojo satoru was a needy bitch?” you say breathless, a string of saliva connecting your shameful lips together. “oh please, i was doing the world a favor by shutting you up.”

rival!gojo who finds himself panting as well, dazed out expression, foreheads still touching one another as noses nudge. he huffs slightly, rosy hue scattered across his face. “one more time.” he states breathless, eyes half-lidded. “kiss me one more time,” his voice continues off while you snake an arm around his neck drawing fingertips up and down his undercut. with his eyes shutting softly a sudden gulp, “need to make sure i hated it as much as you did. yeah, yeah, something like that.” he murmurs off before your heads are titling slightly, eyes both shut tight as lips press together on a soft impact. juxtaposing the messy, down-right nasty, desperate exchange of saliva masked as a “kiss.”

rival!gojo who finds out himself that your lips were indeed, soft and he liked the feeling of them pressed against his more than off.

rival!gojo who has to hold himself back from absolutely demolishing your pussy in the middle of combat. through growing pants, you squint your eyes at him from a distance. “g-growing weak satoru.” he’d only blink slightly, shaking his head mentally, the thought of having you pant for other reasons goes on in his head. while staring at your face, “huh, guess i am.”

rival!gojo who jokes that one day he’ll make you cry. unaware of what he meant by that, you only roll your eyes at his statement. although he would kill to hurt you, he wasn’t lying, he would kill even more to see your precious eyes drown in tears of pleasure when taking his fat cock in inch by inch. 

rival!gojo who has you pinned with your hands above your head as he pushes his muscular upper body into yours, feeling every rigid of muscle on your own. “are you purposely trying to be weak or do you just want an excuse to be used as a rag-doll?” pressing more of his body weight on yours, the clothing unable to hold a barrier of the heat and desire emitted off you two. He grinned, voice dropping an octave, his breath hitting your nose, “you disgust me.” quickly flipped the narrative so he was underneath, arms pinned up above his head while your bottom half straddles his groin. a thick, rock-hard sensation felt underneath you, clothing still having a hard time masking your pulsating clit and his dick that’s twitching. staring directly into his cerulean eyes, “clearly, not enough.”

rival!gojo who just knows your pussy is tight and lethal. he knows you’re practically walking around with a pool drenched between your legs waiting to be spread out by him. it’s even worse knowing that he is right. he thinks he can fix that nasty behavior right out of you with a good ol’ lesson on his cock.

rival!gojo who wants nothing more to completely get lost in your pussy, spending hours either making you cry from his dick or convulsing on his tongue.

rival!gojo who is still patient. patiently waiting for the day you slip up before he thinks of casually slipping his 8 inches in your silky folds. little does gojo know that day will be approaching sooner than later.

[thisblogisaboutabook]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

Azriel x Reader - Fluff - One Shot

While getting over a breakup, a performer in a Velaris tavern catches the attention of a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Alcohol, Implied hook-up

The notes flowed effortlessly through my fingers onto the ivory keys of the tavern’s antique piano. I’d played the song more times than I cared to admit over the past several months yet the angst of it had yet to be lost on me.

Tonight was particularly lively as the High Lord and Lady’s inner circle made their way into the tavern. One of the nicer pleasure halls in Velaris yet not as alluring as Rita’s, which was closed this week as they install an updated dance floor and modernize the bar’s serving area.

Once word spread of the prestigious guests, a plethora of onlookers flowed in the front doors. It had been a while since the bouncer actually had a line to attend to.

Attendees made requests, many tunes of a more risqué variety in hopes of a sultry dance against THE Morrigan. Who could blame them? She was lovely. Not in a soft and gentle way - but in a powerful, warm, seductive sort of way. Those that didn’t want to be with her, wanted to be her. Males and females alike tried and failed to get close enough for a dance but she stayed close to the remainder of the inner circle on the dance floor, so lost in the music that she hadn’t even noticed the desire flowing around her.

The Shadowsinger had also come out tonight. Though he evaded the dance floor, guarding their corner table diligently. An emotionless, bordering cold stare plastered on his face as he monitored the place. Ever the watchful friend, ensuring nobody stepped out of line. Many patrons gazed from afar, whispering words of encouragement as to who could work up the nerve to approach. The more brazen guests going as far as to take a few steps closer before being put off by his intimidating presence without him even making eye contact with them.

After a recent break up - recent putting it lightly - it had been months but who was counting? I’d taken to spending my weekends in this tavern. One evening, after far too many shots of liquid courage, I began playing on the piano while singing raunchy limericks and catchy tunes I’d picked up over the years during my travels through Prythian. Despite his odious reputation, some of my favorite limericks came from the High Lord of the Spring Court whom I’d never met personally. The poems coming in slurs from drunken participants of the Great Rite many years ago, the Calanmai where I met my former lover.

We’d connected instantly - literally and figuratively - and spent several wonderful years together. Until, damn the cauldron, he found his mate earlier this year. What are years together in the face of fate? Fate having a wicked sense of humor. How lucky for me that his mate dwelled in the city that I had introduced him to, MY city. They’d come into this very tavern shortly after the breakup, kindly leaving just as abruptly they came in. A futile effort of sparing me the heartache. Truthfully, he wasn’t a cruel male. He didn’t know I played here - and I didn’t hate him. But I resented it. All of it.

Which lead me to the song I was currently belting out at this piano. The song I’d written immediately after arriving back to my apartment that night, whiskey in one hand, fountain pen in the other.

“…And you're sitting in front of me at the restaurant, when I was still the one you want

Cross-legged in the dim light, everything was just right.

I, I could feel the mascara run. You told me that you met someone, glass shattered on the white cloth

Everybody moved on

Help, I'm still at the restaurant, still sitting in a corner I haunt, cross-legged in the dim light

They say, What a sad sight"

Despite the angsty, brooding lyrics, the tone was catchy and very easy to move along to. The more frequent patrons of the establishment had come to know this as a staple in my evening set, belting out the lyrics right along with me.

The song was my closing for the evening as I packed up, ready to head out. One of the attendees brought a glass of my favorite whiskey to me, nodding to the beautiful brooding male at the Inner Circle’s table.

Interesting.

I nodded a thank you with a brief raise of my glass to the Spymaster, as a little shadow swirled around my wrist with a gentle tug in his direction.

Who was I to turn him down? Aside from a steaming bath and smutty novel, I had nothing waiting for me to return home.

I casually strode to his table, giving a little smirk before sitting in front of him. Licking my lip before raising the glass to my mouth, lifting an eyebrow as I locked eyes with him.

“I didn’t realize Spymaster involved sussing out a lady’s drink of choice.”

A cool, bemused expression settled on his face as he took a sip from his own glass. “While my skill set is quite impressive, I asked the attendant for the bartender to send you a glass of your favorite.”

“I see. Well, thank you.” I replied, giving him time to continue the conversation or bid a farewell.

“You wrote that song.” He stated, not a question. Spymaster indeed.

For emphasis, I threw back a large swig of my liquor. “I did. Did you like it?”

He met my gaze with a contemplative glean in those hazel eyes, “Yes, no. Yes, the song was good. No, I did not like the truth behind the words. It felt too… relatable.”

I ran my fingers back through my hair letting it loosely fall back into place, and sighed. “Looks like we’ll both need another drink then.” Turning to the nearby attendee and signaling two fingers.

Two drinks turned to three, and four, by the end of the night we had laughed, one-upped eachother on who was unluckiest in love, and I was practically in his lap as we boisterously toasted a cheeky “Damn, the cauldron!” to which a nearby couple audibly gasped. We both muttered quick “apologies” turning away as we muffled our laughter into each others shoulders. He graciously sent the pair a shot with our next round of drinks.

The place started clearing out as the lights brightened and the keep yelled out a last call. Both of us hesitant to call it a night as we stepped into the brisk cold. “Walk me home, Shadowsinger?”

“Azriel. Call me Azriel.” He smiled. “I actually have something better in mind. Join me for a night cap?” He extended a hand.

Holding my hand out to squeeze his reassuringly, I replied, “Y/N. I’d be delighted.”

He eagerly swept me into his arms and darted into the sky, aiming for the House of Wind. The city lights quickly fading into twinkling stars.

Our pulses fluttered with anticipation as I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck. When I pulled back to meet his eyes, he gave me a mischevious grin and briskly swooped down then back up. I flicked his nose to which he laughed, tilting his head downward to plant a kiss on my forehead.

I finally left the restaurant…

And my dress on his bedroom floor.

[fivewholeminutes]

there’s a part in take me back to Eden that says “i’m in a waking hell and the gods grow tired.” do you think it’s referencing the origin of vessel and sleep? as in, vessel was in “a waking hell” (reality/earth) before he shifted away from his previous life to believe in sleep (a ‘tired’ god)?

Hello there, Anon! This is a goooooooood one, let me roll my sleeves up for an answer-

This is a delicious perspective I have not considered before, however! I do believe he says "I'm a waking hell" there and I will explain later why, but for that I would have to leave the interpretation of the whole song here. And it will kinda mix the being in waking hell and being a waking hell, because I overdid it again. Apologies in advance.

For me, this song refers to the beginning of it all, to an event which was perhaps the final straw for the trilogy (or even the general idea of Sleep Token) to exist. There are parts of this song that feel like a reminiscence of a catalyst for the whole sleepy business and parts that describe the present, after Vessel got a taste of what the whole sleepy business is about. I'll try to explain that now!

I dream in phosphorescence Bleed through spaces See you drifting past the fog But no one told you where to go

We dive through crystal waters, perfect oceans But no one told me not to breathe And now the weightlessness recedes

Okay, for me, the first verse is him dreaming of the times before, of his Eden (a person, a "better" time in his life, whichever suits you). He bleeds through spaces (in the Dreamworld?) to see what he has lost and craves to come back to. But the dream turns into the moment it all went wrong, where they got lost/drowned. He comes back from the dream-turned-nightmare to the present with the chorus:

My, my, those eyes like fire I'm a winged insect, you're a funeral pyre Come now, bite through these wires I'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired Reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher Grow back your sharpest teeth, you know my desire

(Oh god let me be feral about the chorus for a second here, ok. GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH, HOW CAN YOU WRITE POETRY LIKE THIS AND HAVE THE AUDACITY TO DELIVER THOSE LINES SO DELICIOUSLY. WHO GAVE HIM THE RIGHT. IT'S BEEN ALMOST 8 MONTHS AND I AM STILL EXPERIENCING EMOTIONS UNNOWN TO HUMANKIND WHEN I HEAR THIS- okay I am back to being normal now.)

He wakes up and remembers how cruel being under Sleep's influence is. That no matter what he dreams of (hello, The Apparition), he is always waking up to the reality, which is still terrible, despite Sleep's promises. The eyes (probably 6 of them huh) are Sleep's. Sleep continues to lure Vessel in, even when Vessel knows, after being with/serving/worshipping Sleep for quite some time now, that Sleep is going to be his downfall. But he stays, cause he has no better options, mayhaps?

And we're finally getting to the waking hell part which you've asked about!

He is in waking hell still, even if he thought he's going to escape from it. He knows he cannot/will not separate from Sleep now, but it's not like he's going to make Sleep's life easier with completely giving up. He:

isn't happy about the sleepy business (anymore);

has an attitude and WILL bite back;

will make his suffering everyone else's problem now.

Which brings me to the gods - in many interpretations I've seen, Sleep is an outcast in some sort of pantheon. He needed Vessel as much as Vessel needed him and together they are more powerful. Sleep helped Vessel in his lowest moment and Vessel, while gathering more and more worshippers, gave (and is still giving) Sleep enough power to make other gods' lives miserable as a revenge or something. Or just, you know, grow in power in general, it doesn't have to be a revenge. The other gods will be pissed off either way, because one thing all gods hate is other gods/entities growing in power.

The symbiosis with Sleep has worked for a while, but due to various reasons (Sleep getting too greedy, as gods do, not all Vessel's problems being magically fixed by Sleep's presence, miscommunication, different expectations, broken promises etc. etc.) Vessel started to rebel. He's in waking hell still (despite Sleep's promises that lured him in in the first place), so he will become one for the ones he can lash out on now (Sleep and the other gods). He embraced the become ungovernable meme. Isn't there a saying "hell is other people"? He took that literally. While he's awake, he is insufferable to all who he thinks is at fault for his current state now.

I will travel far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden

And he's happily going to continue to be insufferable to get what he wants (what Sleep has promised him when they've made their pact or whatever it is they did tbh), even if it's not reasonable to do so. He's beyond caring at this point.

And we're back to flashbacks, baby!

Well yeah, I spit blood when I wake up Sink porcelain stained, choking up brain matter and makeup Just two days since the mainframe went down and I'm still messed up Room feels like a meat freezer, I dangle in it like cold cuts Missed calls, answered phones from people I just don't trust Mirror talk, fake love But I'll take a pound of your flesh Before you take a piece of my paystub White roses, black doves, Godmother, rise up I need you to see me for what I have become

I really think this depicts the catalyst for going under Sleep's influence and the very moment they became entangled. Something happened (accident, death? and the aftermath of it, the lowest point, depression, becoming wary of people around him, aggression etc.) and that's when Sleep took an opportunity that would benefit them both (with the hidden agenda for later, of course). Now imagine the magical girl transformation with the roses and doves flying around and from Just Some Guy he becomes a Vessel and in the last moment of realisation of what he has done, he's crying out to the Godmother (whoever she may be!) that he's changed and probably irrevocably so.

Back to the present!

I guess it goes to show, does it not? That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it And no amount of love will keep it around If we don't choose it And I don't know what's got its teeth in me But I'm about to bite back in anger No amount of self-sought fury Will bring back the glory of innocence

He's realising that no matter what, he cannot turn the time back. Not even with Sleep's "help". He's not going to give up though, just for the sake of having something to do out of spite.

I have traveled far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden

Ok, with this one I am frankly not sure if it's "I have travelled" or just a repetition of the previous one. Can't hear it clearly and we don't have official lyrics (i am side eyeing Vessel so much rn). But. If it's "I will", it's just repeating of the things he'll do to piss the gods off. If it's "I have travelled", then maybe he's just confirming the past won't come back, even though he tried everything (has travelled far beyond the path of reason) or maybe he is still hoping the possibility to get back there physically, when everything was fine, and will fight for his Eden still. And not just out of spite.

[fandoomrants]

So I have this love-hate thing for the whole Hunger Games because while I've seen the movies and read the books and I've been hyped and I've waited for each movie, gone to see it, etc, and I usually don't like First POV in books yet everything in them is so brilliant... It gives me chills. Because I can't say the writing itself is a masterpiece in terms of language used, although it's brilliant because it fits the perspective of a teenage girl, it's raw and doesn't sugarcoat anything, the way everything is presented is amazing and that's the whole appeal actually.

The Capitol, for example. They're shown almost as the bad guys, not just Snow but all the citizens because they find the games interesting and don't do anything to stop them. And District 13, which was believed to be destroyed and then we find out it's not and in the beginning this is like some light in the tunnel but then we slowly realise that Coin and Snow aren't too different and they're both power hungry and cruel in their own ways while at the same time we meet people from the Capitol who aren't bad and genuinely want to help and change this reality. And all the layers that get revealed until we reach these conclusions along with Katniss...

But what really scares me is that... This isn't entirely unlikely to happen in the future. Like, we already have distopian novels that have influenced real reality shows and we have way too many shows about survival and all of that, the only difference is that people aren't dying there (but you know what, there have been death cases in some! They cancelled one season or Survivor in my country years ago because someone died) so really, the line here is thin. And if it's not really about the games really happening, then there's the political situation. That's even more likely to happen one day. These thoughts have always been holding me from truly getting in this fandom.

And now revisiting it when I'm much older, I see other sides of it. And I think I dislike some things even more but at the same time... I can't help but find some understanding of the Capitol citizens. And no, has nothing to do with TBOSAS and young Snow. If anything, this scares me even more because what do we see there? A character we already know and despise that suddenly people start liking him because he looks good (no judgement here. I admit he looks good. I just can't simp), and people finding the games boring in the book/movie itself and then also people seeing the movie complaining about the same part with the games because it wasn't as interesting as the ones in the OG trilogy? The Capitol is basically the same as almost every one of us.

And let's face it - we see the Capitol and its citizens as bad because we get to see it in the OG trilogy through Katniss's eyes, a girl which was brought up in poverty and knows what real hunger and dealing with this life is but this is almost like comparing a third world country to... Almost every other country. Because the Capitol is loud, it's obsessed with crazy things, shows, fashion trends, etc but this is not too far from our own lives. And we as an audience are shocked by them just because we see them compared to the Districts and their life but in fact, we're living in a world which is so much closer to the Capitol than it is to any of the districts. And it's the same thing happening with Snow. He's charming and uses it to his advantage, and is played by a good-looking actor and people like him just the way people like Snow in TBOSAS.

And another thing I've already seen people commenting on but I still wanna add is that we have these movies which I believe are good adaptations but most of the characters are played by older actors. Like, go look at some actual teenagers and imagine them in these scenes where children are killing and dying... (When's the last time y'all saw a 14yo? Imagine this being an actual victor of these games...)

So yeah, these things really make me think how it's a brilliant story but the concepts we see there are so messed... (And a good proof is how I have way too many thoughts of the games and their making and wanna know more despite how wrong they are...)

[myminecraftstyff]

I love listening to Bad, Tina, and Tubbo's rant about the purgatory event because I feel like it parallels what Charlie said day one. I don't remember word for word but he said something along the lines of, one day you'll see what this place is really taking from you maybe not today maybe not tomorrow but one day you'll see and then come and find us. Because he was right the whole time. On day one red learned what this event was it was getting your teeth kicked in no holds bar, friendships abandoned at the blink of an eye and a chance for blood shed. No one wanted to talk or negotiate day one for red so they changed. Anyone approaching is a threat to be eliminated they don't travel alone they are in constant communication because they learned the hard way how bad it can be. Red team has been willing to be whatever they had to be for the event from unhinged barking gas mask wearing murders to homeless drifters begging to spared because they have nothing. They have adapted to survive purgatory in their own way and it's working. Even if they don't really think it will.

Now I feel like blue and green are learning that in a different way by having their hard work and grinding mean absolutely nothing. They are working hard playing by the rules of purgatory, and they're losing! That's the point! This place sucks it hates you it isn't fair because it's not supposed to be. Red team is leaning on each other because it's the thing keeping them somewhat sane and alive. I personally can't wait to see Blue become more vicious and cruel because they've had two wins stolen or Green pull together to have a come back after being third twice now. They have to adapt to purgatory and when they likely will soon and when they do it will drive red to do worse and worse things to stay sane and the cycle will continue. Purgatory is about breaking you. Breaking your morals and friendships and hopes.

The rules are unfair because they want you to be unfair. Purgatory is hell and to survive it, to win it you have to be willing to be cruel or callouse or even cowardly. I entire point of the purgatory event is that everyone is supposed to come out having done something terrible, or they come out feeling like they didn't do all they could to save their children so there is no win. You either cross that line or accept that you are forfeiting your kids life. From a narrative stand point it is a great idea because it's shaking up the hornets nest and severing relationships once thought to be rock solid. *cough* Eitole, Fit, and Phil *cough* I don't even know where I'm going with this anymore I just think Purgatory was such a neat idea and makes for such an interesting rp senerio where role-playing is nearly impossible due to nature of the event.

[rowanaelinn]

Illicit Affairs - Chapter Fourty-Eight

Masterlist

A/N: I absolutely hate this chapter, but I hope you guys won’t share the feeling! It’s bad, like very bad, but I did promise you all the chapter today so here it is! If you feel like it, I can rewrite it, as I'm unsure if this actually makes sense or not.

Also a good news I wanted to share... I'm going to study in the US next year!!!! I'm so so happy, really. I can't wait to learn more English

Warnings: talk of death | Word Count: 5,000

The only thing she felt was the sour, metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Maybe it was because she kept biting her inner cheek, or maybe it was from the way she kept anxiously assaulting her hand with her teeth. Tears had long dried on her skin. It was as if she was stuck in a haze, and no matter how much screaming her brain did, she didn’t move or speak. She knew the man driving was speaking to her, but she couldn’t comprehend the words. 

All she wanted to scream at him was to drive faster and faster. He wasn’t going nearly as fast as she needed him to. If he’d let her drive, things would have been better. But he didn’t. She had no idea how she ended up being driven to Doranelle by Sam, but she remembered closing her eyes once on that sidewalk, and the next time she opened them she was in her car, Sam on the driver’s side. 

She had to snap out of this. Snap out of this terror that had paralyzed everything but her mind. She wished the fear had paralyzed it as well. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel like she was dying.

Which she would if they didn’t make it in time. Or if Helia… Or if that little bundle of joy and sunshine didn’t make it at all. Aelin would rather end her life than live in a world so cruel and joyless. 

She had no idea what happened, only knew that her little girl… She was hurt. She wasn’t alright. This… This wasn’t right. 

She was going to be sick again. She didn’t know where her phone was. She had to call Aedion, she had to tell him. If things turned badly… She needed her cousin with her. 

And yet, she made no moves to find her phone. 

Because it felt too much like the last time. 

It felt too much like the time she called him, announcing that Celaena had passed away. 

Aelin couldn’t make the calls anymore. She’d lost that strength along the way. She wouldn’t be the bearer of awful news anymore. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t imagine the way Fenrys had felt, making calls in the stead of—

Rowan. 

Why hadn’t Rowan called her? 

Oh, Gods—

What if he’d—

He had to be okay. He had to be fine. But if he was—why had Fenrys been the one to—

Someone grabbed her hand, stopping her movements. She hadn’t even realized she was moving, that she was doing something. 

“Aelin, you need to calm down,” Sam said, eyes on the road and one hand on the wheel. “You’re scaring me, you’re breathing weird.”

“I need my phone,” she breathed, looking everywhere for it. “I need to call him.” 

“Call who?” 

“My phone,” she snapped, ignoring where the fire came from. “Where is it?”

Sam frowned, but he dug in his pocket and handed her the device. “We’ll be in Doranelle in just a few minutes.” 

She said nothing. Her hands shook as she typed her password and called Rowan’s number. The line went dead right away, and her heart dropped. She tried again, and the same thing happened. Had he… Had he blocked her number? For the last six months they communicated through Fenrys or another one of their friends, but if… Even if that option broke her already mutilated heart, she rather that than him being hurt. If he was… The sheer idea of it made tears burned her eyes. 

“C-Can I get your phone, please?” 

Sam didn’t ask questions, only typing in his password and handing her his phone. She almost didn’t catch it, but she gripped it hard, dialing the number she knew by heart. But once more, the line went dead immediately. His phone was off. 

She hid her face in her hands, trying to keep her breathing regular but… He could be hurt. Helia was hurt. She thought that if she lost one of them, she’d die. But if she lost the two of them, how was she supposed to hold on? 

She startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder, “We’re there.” Sam said, voice hesitant. Aelin looked out to see they were indeed parked facing Doranelle’s hospital. She hadn’t told him where to do, but he’d taken her phone… Fenrys must have told him. 

Aelin allowed herself one breath. One deep, focused breath.

And then she was out of the car, rushing toward the entry. She wasn’t wearing her coat anymore, she had no idea when it’d been taken out—

On her heels, Sam was there. He asked her to slow down, to tell him what was wrong. How was she supposed to explain that? She couldn’t, she had no information… 

Cold air hit her skin as she entered the hospital, walking toward the receptionist who had her eyes wide open. Aelin must look awful. She forgot how cold it was in this goddamn hospital, especially during the summer. 

“Miss, are you alright?”

“Where is Helia Whitethorn?” she asked, her voice barely human. She wasn’t in the mood for any small talk, or even just a polite conversation. 

The woman frowned, “Miss, you look distressed, is there anything I can—”

Aelin’s tempter rose, “I just want to know where—”

Sam’s hand cupped her shoulder, “Listen, we just heard that she was here tonight. We would really appreciate some information.” 

“Are you family?” The woman asked. 

“No, but—”

“Yes,” Aelin cut him off. “I’m family.” 

She frowned, looking conflicted. “It’s policy that I cannot give you information about a patient if you’re not a family member.” 

“Can’t you hear? I am family.” 

“Can anyone prove that?” 

Aelin’s entire body tensed. Her—Helia. Helia was waiting, and this woman was wasting her time. This wasn’t right. “Do you have any idea who I am?” She hated playing this card but…

“Excuse me?” 

“My father is the chief of surgery, Rhoe Galathynius? You know him, I suppose. Tell me where she is before I call him.” 

Her face paled, and she typed something on her computer. 

“What the fuck was that?” Sam asked, voice barely louder than a whisper. He was frowning, looking at her as if she was thing strange thing. 

“It’s me loving people,” she snapped, turning back to the woman. 

“All I can tell you is to go into the fifth waiting room. I don’t have any other information.” 

Aelin only thanked her, and then she was running. Even in the stairs. The elevators were too long, too slow. She needed to be there. She took a turn right, then left, then right again until she reached the room. The door was opened, and she stopped in the doorway, breathless. Heads shot up, all familiar but only one mattered. She could have drowned in the sadness and despair of these beautiful green eyes. She let out a quiet, painful sob when she saw his arm in a sling and the scratches and bruises on his face. He stood, as if compelled. 

She couldn’t take it anymore. She ran, throwing herself at him. He groaned, and she realized she must have hurt his arm, and yet she was wrapped into the most bone-crushing hug she had ever been in. She could barely breathe with the way he squeezed her. He was alright, he was in her arms. She squeezed him harder, almost as a way to realize that indeed he was right there. He was with her. His hand cupped the back of her head, pressing her harder into him, as if he was also trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she was there.

She pulled out a little, a little unwillingly, and she only realized then that she had started crying again. “A-Are you okay? You fine?” 

“You’re here,” he breathed, surprise and shock hon his face. “How are you here?” 

“Fenrys,” she answered, still breathless “H-He called me.” 

She turned her head to Fenrys, and her heart broke at the sadness in his eyes. If she had more will, she would detach herself from Rowan to wrap her arms around Fenrys, but as if he knew what was on her mind, he shook his head. “We’ll get some coffee,” Fenrys said, and after that, all of his friends left, Connall squeezed her shoulder on his way out, and she smiled at him weakly.

There was just Rowan and her in there now. The moment she heard the door close, it was like it started something in Rowan. His body started shaking like a leaf, and worry spread through her veins.

His breathing sped up, turning irregular. “Hey, Rowan,” she breathed, hands on his face. “Look at me, look at me,” she begged him to do, having to force in face in the right angle. 

The distress in those beautiful green eyes when they met hers was nearly enough to bring her to her knees. But she fought. Because so many times he’d stood in her shoes, so many times he’d helped her when she needed. She would do the same, because it was the least he deserved.

“It’ll be okay,” she said, weakly. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“The car came out of nowhere,” he said, voice shaking. She’d seen him bad, but she had never seen him in such a state. 

It terrified her.

She was supposed to be the unstable one. 

“It hit her side, and I-I couldn’t do shit, Aelin,” tears escaped his eyes, and Aelin’s entire heart shattered. 

“Where is she?” 

He closed his eyes, more tears streaming down his face. He fell into a chair, leaving her cold. He passed a hand through his hair, then looked up at her. It was defeat on his face, as if he was accepting that life had screwed him up. Again. “In surgery. Her brain—it was swollen and bleeding. Too much. Two of her ribs were broken and they punctured her lungs.” 

Aelin sat in the chair beside him, her whole body shaking. Almost as a reflex, her hands shot out for his, grabbing it tightly. He was hesitant at first, and then his hand closed around hers. Good. They would need each other tonight, more than they perhaps ever did.

It was as if her brain knew that she had to focus on him, because the mess turned into quiet. She angled her body toward him, “Hey, Rowan,” she breathed, and her free hand gently grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. “Everything will be fine.” 

He shook his head, trying to shake away her grip. “You don’t even believe that yourself.” 

She swallowed. “And you said it yourself, I have a track record in being wrong.” 

He cursed, his face falling in his hand after he let go of her. “I’m sorry, Aelin.” 

She shrugged, even if he didn’t have his eyes on her. “It’s okay,” she breathed. “I have said worse to you.” 

He shook his head, sighing heavily. 

Worry kept eating her from the outside, and she had to hold back from heaving for air. She needed more information, needed to know all the details. But she knew that Rowan was in shock right now. That asking him to relive the accident would only hurt him, if he could even recall what had happened. “How long has she been in the OR?” 

“An hour and twenty-four minutes,” he answered flatly. “Twenty-five, now.” 

And the fact that he counted, that he was counting what could be his last minutes in this world with her… She was going to be sick. 

“H-How long does it usually last? The neuro part.” He knew that more than her, and maybe taking his mind off his worry to switch it toward his job, the thing he loved so much… 

He looked at her, and he was quiet for a while. She thought he wouldn’t answer, that he’d leave her question pending in the void. But then, he said, “When there are no complications, around seven hours.” 

“And when…” She breathed, not even voicing the rest of that sentence. 

Then, she knew it hadn’t been a good idea to ask the question, because his voice was nearly frozen as he answered, “When the patient doesn’t die on the table, which happens in more than sixty five percent of cases for children under six, it can take up to twelve hours.”

She had the urge to tell him she wouldn’t die, that she would be fine, but the words died on her tongue. He was right, she didn’t believe it. She had a bad track record with keeping loved ones around. 

Oh—

Oh, Gods. What if it was her fault? 

She’d known. Known that she should have stayed away, that she should have never let herself in Helia and Rowan’s life. She’d made jokes about it, but it was very real. Aelin had brought her curse and miserable existence on Helia. She’d hurt her. Not only with the accident, but with everything else. 

She’d wormed herself a tiny space in Helia’s heart, and then started to take more and more space. And then, Aelin got selfish. She took off, because she was scared of facing her love for Rowan. She’d hurt Helia, and the girl had been too good to be angry at Aelin. 

If she died tonight, Aelin would never get over it. 

Never. 

Two dead around her was a coincidence. 

Three was a pattern. 

If this was her fault… How was she supposed to keep on going? She couldn’t. This wasn’t fair. She hadn’t… She had never hurt someone on purpose, she’d always tried to please people. Was that… Was that how life repaid her? By snatching away everyone that she loved?

Her aunt, her sister, maybe her daughter. 

Who was next? Aedion? Rowan?  

She rather it be her. In that moment, those dark thoughts she’d always fought to keep at bay, to keep silent, they came back. And she knew, that even if a miracle happened tonight, these thoughts would keep eating at her slowly. Maybe they had never disappeared, maybe they carefully waited the right moment to come back. 

Ever since the night Rowan left in his car, leaving her in her parents’ parking lot, she had felt them come back. They’d somehow disappeared in the months prior. But she’d fought harder than ever, for Helia. But now that they are in once more… 

Maybe they’d never disappear. They would always come back. 

Just like ivies. 

She was thorn away from that train of thought, from falling deep into that well of self-hatred by the door opening. 

She supposed she and Rowan looked rough, if the look on Lorcan’s face was any indication. There was sadness in his eyes, obviously, but pity, too. If she hadn’t been so… lost, she might have huffed. Getting pitied by Lorcan Salvaterre. Great, her life was just getting better and better. 

“A nurse just came by,” he said, and Aelin was at the edge of her seat, waiting for the rest. “There was a complication, more bleeding than they expected. But she is stable.” 

And even if the pain didn’t ease, breathing became a little easier. “Thank you,” she nodded. 

Lorcan’s eyes stayed on Rowan for a few seconds, until Rowan gave his best friend a slight nod. Lorcan left, then. She looked at him, at the man who had meant everything to her just a few months ago, the one who might still do, and he looked absent. 

She understood more than anyone perhaps how he felt. The utter despair, the fear of being left alone. She urged to show him that he wasn’t, that even if everything turned to hell today, he wouldn’t be alone anymore. But it wasn’t her role anymore, was it? He’d moved on. But if she could help…

She stood and grabbed his phone on the small table in front of them, pocketing it. “I’ll get us some coffee, and something to eat.” 

He looked up then. “You don’t have to.”

She only shrugged, and opened the door to then close it behind her.

Rowan’s friends were all talking outside of the room, quieting the moment they saw her. Sam was there, basically with them but still withdrawn. She was surprised, if she was honest, that he was still there. “Hey,” she breathed, crossing her arms for more warmth.

Lorcan opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she was wrapped in Fenrys’s arms. For a second, she stayed motionless. With carefulness, she slowly hugged her friend back. It didn’t have the same desperation as her embrace with Rowan had, but it felt nice. Good. 

“Thank you for calling me.” 

His eyes were red when he pulled back, and her stomach dropped. She looked around and realized, it wasn’t just Rowan and Aelin. These men loved Helia, too. Everyone was worried.

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

Sam took a step in her direction, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

No, she wasn’t. She shrugged, giving him a barely-there smile. She turned to Rowan’s friends. “H-He said something about a car. Are the other people involved here as well?” 

They all threw a look at each other. “He didn’t say a word to us, you’re the first person he talked to,” Lorcan answered. “But from what I heard, only his car was found.”

Dread filled her veins, her heart. “They just left them there?” 

“Oh, Gods,” Vaughan breathed, grabbing his partner’s hand. 

Aelin’s shaky hand covered her mouth as she tried to regulate her breathing. She wanted to lose it, but she couldn’t. She’d done it already; she could do it now. She could be strong for Rowan. 

She nodded a few times before saying, “I need to call his, hum, their insurance. Fuck, Helia’s grandparents too and hum,” she through, her brain hurting. “Aedion too.” 

“Aelin,” Sam breathed. “You already asked me to call Aedion.” 

She frowned, “Did I?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “When we got in the car, don’t you remember?” 

She shook her head, passing a hand through her hair. Was the floor shaking under her feet, or was it just her legs? She was hot all of a sudden, her cheeks and chest burning. 

“And I called him before that,” Fenrys added. “Just after I called you.” Right, it would make sense that Fenrys called Aedion. They had this… thing. How could she forget? 

Rowan’s phone was taken from her hands, and she looked up at Lorcan. “Get your ass back in that room, girl. You’re not making the calls thing time.”

“I-I need to, to help him. You don’t get it.” 

“I get it. You know I do,” he said. “What you don’t get is that you’re not alone anymore. You have a support system, you have us. You let us to everything, and you just wait for your daughter to get better, okay?” 

Tears burned her eyes, and she wiped them away as quickly as they appeared.

“Daughter?” Sam asked, surprised in his voice. 

Right. He didn’t know about Helia. She never knew how to explain that situation. Fenrys, always here to help her, answered: “It’s a long story.” She looked at him and hoped her eyes conveyed her thanks. She didn’t feel like explaining how her path crossed Helia’s. 

“Get back in there, Aelin,” Vaughan said. “Rest if you can.” 

“We’ll bring you two something to eat.” 

And Lorcan was right, she wasn’t alone anymore. Hesitantly, she nodded, allowing them to care for her. 

---

The light was shining through the window, warming up the skin of her arms as the sun’s light hit directly on it. She hadn’t slept at all, fear too present to even think about closing her eyes for an instant. She sat next to Rowan in silence for the whole night. 

Aedion had arrived last night, worried. Somehow, he’d known that saying anything would have no impact on the way she felt, so he stayed quiet. He sat beside her and held her hand, Fenrys sitting on his other side. The room had filled with Helia’s family, though her grandparents weren’t there as they were keeping an eye on Loren. She was sure that it was better for them to babysit a hyperactive boy instead of waiting at the hospital in silence, doing nothing and only awaiting disaster. Especially after they… After they lost their daughter. Lorcan kept them updated every hour, Elide there to hold his hand. 

Marion was there, too, as well as other nurses. The woman she’d nearly always known threw her a knowing look, as if entirely unsurprised to see her there. Maybe Elide had told her, or maybe she had known before. Her father had said that many people voiced their concern. As careful as they’d been, it had not been enough.

She was lost in her thoughts when she snapped back to reality as someone new entered the room. Her father. Her heart leapt out of her chest when she saw his tired face, a woman surgeon next to him. 

He’d been the one to perform surgery on Helia. That much she understood right away. 

As if in sync, she and Rowan stood at the same time, taking a step toward the two surgeons. Her father’s kind eyes were on her, but her own gaze must have been pleading enough that he didn’t address her first. The woman spoke first. “She’s alive.” 

Everyone in the room let out the longest breath they had, and Aelin wasn’t an exception. The relief, it was almost as hard to take as the worry. Or maybe she was just feeling physically weak. She held on Rowan’s uninjured arm to keep her upright as the woman went on. “I could repair the damage done to her lungs, and there shouldn’t be too serious consequences, though she will need regular checkup throughout her whole life now. But this is a brave little girl you have, Dr. Whitethorn.” 

Tears socked Aelin’s cheeks as she nodded. Yes, she was so, so brave. And she was going to be fine. Rowan seemed to realize the same thing as he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pressing her against him. Helia was going to walk out of this hell of a place, and she would—

“She is brave,” her father said, though his voice… It didn’t sound right. “Her brain was more swollen than we anticipated, it was pressing hard against the bone. The whole area was flooded with blood. We could repair most of the damage done, but even know, her brain remains swollen. More swollen than it should be.” 

“W-What does that mean?” Aelin dared to ask. 

“That we don’t know how much damage we are looking at until she wakes up by herself, which could take time. Especially after such heavy trauma on her body.” 

“How long?” Rowan asked, though she suspected he already know. Maybe he needed someone to confirm was he dreaded to hear, or maybe he asked for her… But anyway, her discomfort didn’t only come from the way he squeezed her shoulder. 

“In the best-case scenario, hours, of course. But… More realistically, days. Maybe weeks. If she… If she even wakes up,” her father said, his voice slightly quivering. 

It was as if the floor fell under her feet. What did he mean by that? Would she never wake up? Would her little body grow older and taller, all without the sparkling soul inhabiting it? “I don’t believe it will happen,” her father said, and she didn’t understand how she ended seated on her chair, her father’s hands holding hers as Rowan still stood motionless. “But it’s a possibility I must warn you about, even if it’s impossibly slim. I promise, love, the past isn’t repeating itself.”

She knew it didn’t mean anything, that her father wasn’t God, and yet she breathed, “It always repeats itself, dad.” It felt different to tell him such a thing, no matter how true it was. She shook her head, her breathing quickening. She couldn’t stand to be there anymore, she couldn’t stand to wait for the next bad news. 

She tried to stand up, but her father pushed her back into her seat. She didn’t understand, there was almost no one else in the room. Only she, her father, Rowan and Aedion. Rowan was standing, still staring into the void, but this time Aedion was standing in front of him, hands of his shoulder, trying to speak to him but he was perhaps too gone to hear anything. Maybe she was too, because the buzzing noise in her ears faded as her father’s rough voice woke her up. “You are not running. You will stay, you’ll go into her room and take her hand. No. Running.” 

“You,” she breathed, a sob escaping her. “You ran.”

“And you’re not me,” he almost hissed. “Everyday of your life, you’ve shown that you are better than I could ever hope to be, baby. You carried this family, you always were so, so strong, Aelin. I ran because I’m weak. You’re not, and right now, I need you to strong again for little while. What I did to you wasn’t fair, life was not fair to you, but you have the power to make it fairer for that girl. For your girl. We can’t change the past, but you can forge your future.” 

Then, she voiced what scared her. What had been eating at her for months, for years even. Her voice quivered as she asked, “What if I’m not enough?” 

His face hardened, “Never say such a thing about yourself. You stepped up when you didn’t have to, you’re more than enough Aelin. Don’t overthink it, just let your love speak. Remember? There’s no such thing as loving too much.” 

She nodded, trying to breath in deep. Told to get a hold of herself. He was right, she’d already stepped up.

And Helia… When she woke up, because she would, she didn’t deserve to feel the way Aelin had years ago. No, when she will open her big, green eyes… Gods, Aelin was going to hold her so tight. 

And because she knew she could, Aelin gathered all her strength. She stood, and took the three steps needed to be at Rowan’s side. With no hesitancy, she wrapped her hand around Rowan’s, and he looked up at her. And maybe he saw something in her eyes, something that hadn’t been there before, because he squared his shoulders back. “Let’s go see her.”

---

She didn’t run, but she cried. It was crazy how she could still cry even after all these hours. When she saw Helia’s small body, bruised and that tube in her throat, helping her breathe, it’d been hard. But she tried to ignore it, she made attraction of all these things. What she focused on was who was under these tubes and bruises. Her beautiful Helia, and she couldn’t stand to see her on that bed too big for her all alone. It seemed as if Rowan had had the same thought. 

Without saying a word to each other, they both sat on chairs at opposite sides of the bed. They each grabbed one of Helia’s tiny hands, and they didn’t let go. 

Hours passed, and Aelin never said a word. When Aedion, Lorcan, her father or even Gavriel came, offering her and Rowan any sort of things, whether it was food, drinks, fresh clothes, they refused. She didn’t want to leave Helia’s side for a second. 

But when the sun started to set, fatigue became stronger than her will. Keeping her eyes open was a struggle, and when she looked at Rowan, be looked bad. Exhausted. But he didn’t look at as if he was going to fall asleep in the next second. 

His eyes shifted to hers, and his face softened slightly. “You can sleep, if you want.” 

She shook her head, “No, if she wak—”

“Then I’ll wake you up,” he assured her. 

She stayed silent for a few seconds and asked, “Are you sure?” 

He nodded. “Rest Aelin, you need it.” 

“So do you,” she said, her voice turning raspy. 

He shrugged, “You’ll do the same to me when you wake up.” 

She almost wanted to smile at that, she lowered her head so it rested on the side of Helia’s leg. “Deal,” she whispered, before she fell asleep in a breath. 

---

Maybe minutes, or maybe hours later, she felt something being deposed onto her back, covering her. She wasn’t exactly awake, but she felt an heard what happened around her. She also felt warmth spread through her, thanks to the additional weight on her back. She was almost falling back asleep when she heard someone ask, “Are you her boyfriend?”

Rowan. 

Rowan asked that, she was pretty sure. 

“Why would you think so?” Another man answered, his voice less familiar. 

There were a few seconds of silence until Rowan answered, “She’s wearing her date shoes, and you arrived together.”

“Her what?” 

He’d noticed that she always wore the same shoes whenever she was on a date. How had he noticed such a small detail? She felt as she was seen whole, and it nearly sent a shiver down her spine. But still, she didn’t move, her eyes not opening. 

“It does not matter,” Rowan answered, his voice slightly raspier than it usually is. Maybe it was because of the fatigue, it must be. “Even if you already treat her well, treat her better. She always deserves more.” 

Silence, and then, “What is between me and Aelin is none of your business.” 

Maybe the conversation kept on going, maybe she did hear a door close. But she would never know, falling back asleep as quickly as she did earlier.

••••••

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @elentiyawhitethorn // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @danibutterr // @endlessdaydream // @thegreyj // @gracie-rosee // @acreativelydifferentlove // @cretaceous-therapod // @louphantomdragon // @mis-lil-red // @backtobl4ck // @whoever-you-choose-to-love // @lemonade-coolattas // @mad-madeline-ace // @the-introverted-bibliophile // @leiawritesstories // @emilyoftheshadows // @anniesbookshelf // @rainbowcheetah512 // @astra-ad-mare // @story-scribbler // @superspiritfestival // @wordsafterhours // @rowaelinrambling // @black-daisy-water // @fireheart-violet // @livsdriverslicense // @charlizeed // @ladykreads // @mariamuses // @autumnbabylon // @justreadertings // @highqueenofelfhame // @earthtolinds // @bowdawn // @psychopath-at-heart // @ginnyweasley06 // @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks

[billpottsismygf]

And I've finished Dead Boy Detectives! I'm sad it's over, especially as it's been really nice taking my time with the episodes rather than bingeing the whole thing. So much happened in this episode, but I'll try to keep it brief.

Crystal's revelation about her parents was devastating and so well played. The same goes for her memories more generally. I loved her chat with Jenny - who finally knows everything - about it being best to know your own life, even the bad parts. Kassius Nelson did such a great job portraying the range of emotions Crystal goes through in this one.

Esther! She's so much fun and I love how big a part she had here. Obviously, she's terrible and her downfall was very satisfying, but I just enjoy having her on screen so I will be sad if there's another series and she's not in it. Her showdown with Crystal was good, and I loved the neat twist that it's Lilith herself who brings her down. Although they don't explicitly say it, I like the detail that it's a "harmless memory", but this is still an image of Lilith and she can be contacted through any image of her.

I also really loved resolution with the higher authority from the afterlife. I reckon the Night Nurse will come round, since she did in fact come to like them before they (well, Niko) got one over on her in the last episode. I wonder how this will affect the jobs they take on now, as they'll presumably have an incentive to investigate cases more likely to lead to ghosts moving on.

Now, Niko. I love her so much. Her and Edwin's friendship is one of my favourite things about the whole show, and yet again I loved their little rooftop talk. The way her death happened feels simultaneously quite cruel and ineffective. In that, I was in a weird limbo where I didn't get emotional over her death because I knew she had that charm, but was worried it was going to just end without confirmation that the charm had done anything, especially since the sprites were gone. Mick's line about the good you do coming around being said by the lady from the afterlife gave me hope and, indeed, we did get that final shot, but I'm left feeling frustrated more than anything.

What does it mean for her to have survived? Her body is being shipped back to Japan. Will she be a ghost? Fully alive again? Something else entirely? Will she be able to keep living her life, maybe finishing school and finally talk to her mother? Or will she be like the dead boys, only able to communicate with particular people and otherwise barred from normal life? I know these are questions we are meant to ponder through the medium of the cliffhanger, but again it's this weird limbo of sadness. It doesn't feel emotionally satisfying.

Ah well, apart from a couple of bumps along the way, I've really enjoyed this show. I've streamed it a couple of times through while doing other things as well, which I hate that I feel the need to do, but we can only hope that it will get a second series. I have no faith in Netflix that it will get renewed, so I'm prepared for disappointment, but I will definitely be very sad if my pessimism turns out to be accurate.

Small things

Crystal had literally lost her marbles.

I'm still iffy on the unrequited love confession between Edwin and Charles, so I don't know what I think about Edwin saying it's made them better friends than before.

I loved Edwin's farewell conversation and cheek kiss with the Cat King.

Monty got to help them in their mission! Now where is he?

[retrodreamgirl]

social etiquette for a beautiful stranger | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: the wonderfully complicated ordeal of your ordinary becoming his special OR the time steve wouldn't go with you to a zombie festival but did read The Feminine Mystique and liked it [wc: 8.6k]

warnings fem!reader, steves pov, pining steve, fluff, slight hurt/comfort college au, friends to lovers, reader is poetic as shit (very me coded so sorry bout it), ft. dustin and robin being the best friends, cruel college girls, slow burn, not really proofed, lmk if i missed anything!

i'm actually incredibly obsessed with this and am begging you all to talk to me abt it (asks, reblogs, replies, ANYTHING) bc i love them and also if you hate it you must hate me bc this reader is so me coded its crazy (that last part is a joke...no it's not)

⤜♡→

In the interest of nostalgia everything remains as it were, traced with the faint dusting of fingertips too fearful of a future unsure. You never knew what it would be like in a room that’s not altogether yours, one that’s nearly taped down the center with an invisible line as if to claim “Don’t touch my stuff and I won’t touch yours.” Your bedding and the pictures plastered to the adjacent white cinderblock not seeming half as interesting as the pale blue Cindy Lauper on the other side of the room. 

It’s difficult to catch the moment you surmised your strain of voice and reclusive behavior made you just like everyone else, that is to say, no one at all. 

You aren’t the girls two rooms down who nearly exclusively leave their door open, the lip caught on a piece of wood shaped like cheese to stop the hinges so anyone could come in. You’re far too unagreeable to get on with the ones who knock on each other's doors for sport, picking at the knick knacks on their neighbor’s dressers and playfully pocketing the ones they seem most fond of. There never seems to be any conversations in the lounge that catch your attention long enough to have you considering an off the cuff response, sidling up to casually insert yourself between tweed skirts and turtleneck sweaters. 

It appears to you as if you’ve been cast out with the ease of cruelty only girls seem to possess at this stage in their life. The one they attribute to the horribly difficult situation of being here, a place characterized by the nebulous flutter of a manicured hand.

But if you were to crawl out of your own skin and materialize as someone of new name and face, if you were to ask “What’s with the girl in room 302?” they would all guide you with a vague cast over their shoulders as if said girl is lurking in the far corner, the one with the uncomfortably wobbly armchair, advising that she’s simply too interesting to bother with. 

But as it were you’ve yet to configure the idea of this momentary abandonment of self and you’ve failed to find your way across the room where Robin Buckley leans forward along the fuzzy brown loveseat and whispers this very question to a junior who’s taken pity on her wide eyed uncertainty about the whole thing. 

“Too interesting? That doesn’t seem right because I mean wouldn’t you wanna know more about her? I know when I was into…—well anyways I’m just saying has anyone actually tried to talk to her?” The disinterest in the subject is nearly driving Robin to madness. 

The urge to pelt Steve with the change from her can of coke is the reason she’s perched on the edge of the sofa, because she’s positive he’d agree with her if he paid a lick of attention where he sits to one side flipping through an outdated Vogue. Especially taking into consideration his secret infatuation that led them to the sleepy lighting in her dorm's lounge area.

“Look.” Robin can tell the girl—she’s only slightly guilty she never bothered to ask her name because certainly if she wanted them to know she would’ve said—wants this conversation to be over but still leans forward intent on her next words. “It’s nothing against her, but haven’t you noticed the way she’s so…obscure?” 

“...obscure.” Steve’s paying attention now, bored with the magazine and ready for the pizza Robin promised. He glances around the room then, always on edge when he visits her, like he’s stepped into a world he’s not altogether prepared for. When he finds you in the corner he realizes the topic of conversation is more to his interest than he thought.

“Not in like a bad way but I mean, have you seen her? Even her room is just so involved.” 

“You’ve been in her room?” Steve is minutely throttled by a tinge of jealousy, always curious of what lies behind the twin door. Wondering if it’s the same as his own, bed pushed beneath the window and everything else thrown up haphazardly, or if you’re more precise in your decoration. 

“No, no I was in Clara’s room but Y/n is her roommate—that’s hardly the point. What I’m saying is she’s very smart and romantic but in that difficult way no one understands.” 

The way Steve tilts his head stupidly, ignoring the split ends dangling in his peripheral, is imploring enough for further explanation. He’s not sure whether he should be sheepish or maintain insistence that nothing he’s heard in the past few minutes makes sense. 

“You know, like…Sylvia Plath.” The citation is meant to mitigate the addled crease in his forehead, but as far as Steve’s concerned this girl has never seriously read Plath in her life. Not that he has either, but that’s far from the point. “It all sounds pretty and melodramatic but what is she really saying?” 

“What is who saying?” A new girl materializes before Steve can think of something smart to say. Her hair is pinned up and she’s wearing a dress the color of a wilted banana.

“We’re talking about Y/n.” Steve wants to say that they aren’t talking about you, rather he had a curiosity that was now nearly as confused as when they’d sat down. Though that would require the intense dissection of an innocent question. One guided by intentions that he couldn’t begin to explain as the effect of an identity hindered by the misguided moral high ground of newly adult teens in the nineteen-eighties.

It would also require their willingness to let him participate in their mind boggling repartee. Neither of which pose themselves as viable options as it stands.

“Oh she’s so smart.” The new girl drops her bag, pushing into Steve’s side when she plops on the couch. “Kathy, isn’t she just so smart?”

“So smart. I’m just too embarrassed I’ll make a fool of myself if I even try.” Kathy giggles, like it’s absurd that anyone could have that effect on her. “Heather talked to her once at the beginning of the year. Tell them, Heather.” 

Steve has failed to deduce whether their periodic inflections of voice are a result of unnecessary emphasis or some secret amusement he’s yet to catch onto, but Heather appears overjoyed to have been asked about her run-in with the obscurity taking up residence on the third floor. 

“Well it was just a second, but it was at the start of term party one of the frats was throwing. Now that I think about it, I can't even believe she was there.” Not that he would agree, but Steve couldn’t believe it either. The only reason he was there is because he all but dragged Robin so he could scope the place out. “Anyways, I asked her if—”

“She asked her if she’s a virgin!” 

“Kathy.”

“Well you did, Heather.” 

“Yeah, but it’s just a thing you ask frosh! You make it sound like I was being harsh.” 

“No one’s asked me that…” Robin hushes to herself, but both girls crowd her all curious eyes and sly smiles. She burns beneath their perfectly winged liner, attention drawn to the condensation of her can resting on the table. 

“Well are you?” 

It seems a ritualistic task to stand scrutinized by these upperclassmen. To allow them to dress her down until it becomes impossible to deny them the truth. Steve begins to wonder if it were her fate all along to wander unawares to the uncomfortable sofa, whether this is the moment she either proves herself to be worthy of the attention they’ve so generously showered her with or not. 

He knows she doesn’t need them, she has her own friends and her own interests, but he understands her desire to be accepted in this new place. To be regarded as more than a band geek slinging ice cream at Scoops Ahoy or rewinding tapes at Family Video.

“I’m…I only did it once.” She relents, perhaps too easily they both decide afterwards. She’s flustered and unprepared for any string of questioning that might follow, the abundance of words she has constantly balanced at the tip of her tongue either gearing up to be her greatest ally or her worst enemy and Steve only hopes it's the former.

“Sure, that’s all it takes really.” It sounds patronizing but Kathy sobers quickly when she and Heather burst into another fit. “Was he your boyfriend or just convenient? My first time was with my boyfriend but sometimes you just take what you can get.”  

“Oh uh…” Steve’s prepared to cut in when Robin seems to shrink into the cushions.

“Kathy, don’t be so crass.” Heather shrieks, rolling her eyes at the question that is somehow more invasive than its precursor according to her. “You’re a good sport. Y/n wouldn’t even answer, outright refused really.”

He can tell Robin feels stupid. Of course you wouldn’t answer, maybe she shouldn’t have either. It’s clear Kathy and Heather are getting more out of her than she’s getting out of them. Steve regrets her bothering in the first place, but stows the impending nausea over time wasted and truths easily spilling over in favor of letting her talk herself out of this. 

“You know, I have to go actually. We’re gonna grab pizza and I wanna call my friend before it gets too late. He doesn’t live on campus, too young really. Sometimes he doesn’t answer the phone the first time so I have to make sure I have time to call more than once because I don’t wanna miss him again—”

“Chill! We totally get it, go call your friend. Be sure to tell him about your new friends Heather and Kathy.”  

“Smooth.” Steve jests when she tugs him from the sofa. Her shoulders relax and she growls in the direction of his boyish grin releasing him at the threshold.

“Shut it, dingus. I swear you better make me your best man after this shit.” 

“What!? You didn’t even get anything out of them!”

“Whatever, pizza’s on you.” 

~*~

The next time Steve sees you, you’re lounging by the lake in the center of campus. He takes careful care to consider your position, a healthy distance from the water with the back of your hand resting across your forehead to shade yourself from the afternoon sun. It’s not too pretty out, the trees taking on the shape of almost dead rather than the delightfully golden hue that kicks in mid-September. 

This far back he can still see the purple of your knitted turtleneck, tucked into the dark corduroy skirt rising above your mid-thigh to create a tantalizing expanse of bareskin leading to your shiny black oxfords. 

He takes a turn, dipping to glance at his blue jeans and the Hawkins High hoodie he probably should’ve left to rot in his closet back home. It seems pointless to change completely, so he shoves the hoodie over his head and wraps it around his waist. 

It’s uncharacteristic. The way he strolls over, hands snug in his pockets like he’s just interested in the murky view of the pond and straggling geese enjoying the frigid stillness atop the surface. He doesn’t know if he’ll say anything, completely unprepared to wow you with the impressiveness that only seems to appear in times in need of immediate action. 

He’s feet away now, glancing at you every few steps. You’re still unmoving and he wonders if you’re sleeping. If you’ve found the lake to be the only place fit for such things. There’s a book resting in your other hand, thumb nudged between the pages to hold your place. 

“The Feminine Mystique.” You sigh, startling Steve into nearly tripping over his own feet. Your voice is so pastel and ethereal that it caresses his ears on its way to settle into his brain, slowly permeating like spilled paint. “Woe to misogyny and all that.” 

“Oh, yeah...fuck misogyny.” A cringe follows, his mind conjuring the idea that Robin’s found a new method to tally his defeats already. He stills watching you center yourself on the palm that previously shaded you and lifting the book to regard the teal and creme cover. 

“Have you read it?” Steve is startled by your subtle disregard for the invasion of privacy. It’s an emotion furthered by the frayed paperback extended toward him . “Here.”

“But you’re only halfway—”

“S’not as good the second time. I was so put off I got distracted by a bird flying just there, it was watching me too I think.” You shrug, dropping it in the grass when Steve doesn’t immediately take it. Your finger lifts to guide him to a cardinal perched in the nearest tree. You don’t say more, guiding your attention to the lake, neither a dismissal or an invitation so Steve takes the initiative to lower himself, grabbing the book.

“Thanks.” A gust of wind shoves against the pair of you, Steve perfectly clear on why you’re the only person out enjoying the weather. “It’s pretty chilly out here.” 

“Well you did take your sweatshirt off before you came over.” You hum, grazing Steve’s hand when you lift yours to tug at the hem of your skirt and he swears he can smell vanilla and chamomile. You don’t allow him time to be embarrassed about it, already onto the next topic. “Wanna go see a movie?”

“A movie?” He reddens, placing the novel aside in favor of rubbing his sweaty palms against his thighs.

“They’re having a festival at the theater, ‘Zombies Through the Ages’.” You say ‘Zombies’ like you think it’s a ridiculous concept, but there’s a delighted rise in octave toward the end of the phrase that says otherwise. It’s difficult for Steve to sift through your intentions and settle on anything more than your desire not to sit alone in a darkened theater watching corpses tear into flesh. 

“I…well you don’t even know me.” It comes out more accusatory than he intended, and Steve is kicking himself with his ratty sneakers when he sees the way your muscles flatten at the words. You sober rather quickly, standing from the grass and swaying on your feet. Steve untangles himself from the criss-cross that held him so perfectly in place like he had no intention of rearranging the words to shape them into his true meaning.

“Right.” 

There’s a moment of silence then and Steve supposes that perhaps both of you are trying to think of something to say. It seems silly to be sitting in the grass, making a fool of himself in front of the only girl he’s really wanted to talk to since Nancy but somehow there’s no other choice. 

He’s accidentally framed you in the obscurity with which they’ve all painted you as, because now it seems to have leaked into his brain and taken hold of his speech without his knowledge or consent. It feels bitter and lofty in the back of his throat, especially when he remembers how it felt to be that person to some extent.

He hadn’t noticed it before but you reach to secure an olive green messenger over your shoulder, the straps of faux leather already beginning to peel near the buckle. He watches you reach halfway toward the discarded copy of The Feminine Mystique but retract almost immediately. He wouldn’t blame you if you took it back. There’s a dreamy look in your eyes when you finally manage to find him with them and it’s hard for him not to think about how you’re so pretty. 

You’re so pretty and he’s mortified when your lips kissed beneath the cold and injured by his harmful speech attempt the baseless ruse of a thoughtful smile. 

“I have to go now, Steve.” 

~*~

“I’m an idiot.” 

“Well yeah, but it’s not your fault. Are we still on for next weekend? I’m not driving all the way there if you’re just gonna ditch me like last time.” 

“First of all don’t say it like you’re the one driving. Second, for the last time, I didn’t ditch you! I’m positive the words ‘Dustin don’t come’ left my mouth about ten times before you showed up anyways.” Steve currently stands with his back against the wall, leg propped up with the payphone tucked against his ear scoffing. 

Robin’s still in class for another twenty minutes he waited forty for a phone to clear up after you traipsed off and Dustin isn’t being the least bit sympathetic after he relayed his glaring miscalculation. 

Steve wouldn’t know that you pulled yourself from the reality of that moment by imagining it hadn’t happened at all. By pretending that perhaps Steve Harrington was nothing more than a figment of your imagination sent to prepare you for the harrowing realization that you aren’t meant to separate from the unhappiness that clings to you so desperately for a while yet.

“Whatever. Are you seriously panicking? You were nervous, I’m sure she didn’t take it personally. Just apologize.”

“Are you missing the part where she got up and left? I’m pretty sure she took it personally!” He draws the attention of a group of upper class girls known for scrutinizing every little thing. He offers a weak apology, too caught in his own detriment to really feel any remorse.

He wonders when it got like this. The whole thing really.

Constantly curious about everyone around him, yet ignoring it all the same. The choice to keep walking when sniffles echo beneath the doors, questioning his own importance when giggled whispers pass in the halls. The confounded hopefulness when girls who seemed too out of reach offer just a sliver of kindness, some untamed humility to guys like himself. Unsure which ones to trust and which ones to fear. 

An unkindness, all of it. 

“Steve?” 

“What?” 

“Were you listening to anything I said, dumbass?”

“Not likely. Forget it, she’s too real for me anyways. Gave me a copy of The Feminine Mystique.” The copy is currently laying atop his desk, right next to the battered copy of Lord of the Rings Dustin gifted him for graduation. He stared helplessly at it for thirty minutes before peeling himself from his desk in search of a phone. 

The book smells of faint traces of your perfume and looks almost as if it’s never been read at all. Almost. The laminate coating on the permanent jacket is only slightly creased near the binding and there’s a sticky scuff where it looks like you poorly pulled the price tag from the back. He hadn’t dared open it, too worried to face whatever overwhelming sense of you rests beyond the front cover but the pages are the color of old parchment and he thinks it makes sense it belongs to you.

“I don’t know what that means, but you’re crazy if you think you don’t deserve her. You’re the realest person I know…” He trails, as if considering the strength of the words in relation to every person he’s ever known. He imagines it's fairly simple for Dustin to deduce when considering his social circle for most of his recent adolescent years. “Well you might be tied with Max but that’s not the point really. Do you like her?” 

“Dust—”

“Do you like her?” It’s a simple question, and something he hasn’t been able to admit to anyone since the feeling slithered into his chest and coiled around his blood-pumping organ so that it oozed something deeper than the unoxidized thickness. Robin wasn’t an idiot, but even she had to dig to surmise the reason for his frequent insistence they hang in her dorm rather than anywhere else on campus.

“Of course I do.”

“Well that’s really the only thing that matters. So you can either keep whining to me or you can try again and this time don’t say something stupid when she asks you to hang out with her.”

It was easier said than done, the extra mile to see your face again without fruition most days. It seemed as if you’d forgotten the instance altogether and with it any interest in Steve at all. It wasn’t that you lacked the quiet courtesy to offer the tilt of your head or a soft acknowledgement when you crossed paths in the hall, but rather you seemed set not to relinquish to him any attention beyond it. 

He’s even stooped to the low of an uncommon interest that’s perhaps more common than he thought, cozying into one of the moth eaten loveseats in your dorm’s lounge and propping the novel you’d given him between his palms. Though he thinks he should be embarrassed it’s the first time he doesn’t feel like he’s performing but rather burrowing further into you and the curiosity of your person. His intention was to wait for you to walk through the lounge, hoping you would notice him in the corner nearest your usual spot, that wobbling armchair. He had no reason to believe he would find investment in the novel and forget about you entirely. 

“The Feminine Mystique.” Steve is startled by proximity of your body on the adjacent cushion, glancing toward the corner you most frequent, assuming someone must’ve taken it. It’s completely free. “I seem to have misplaced my copy.”

“Oh…you loaned it to me, remember?” Steve slowly slips a shred of paper through the pages, settling the volume in the space between you, measuring the distance between your thighs.

“Oh, I suppose I did. I must’ve forgotten.” 

“Do you want it back?” 

“You keep it, it’s not as good the second time I don’t think.” You repeat, digging into your bag to free a leather bound journal and a black ink pen. You open to a blank page and jot something down, lowering the book to your lap and slightly raising it again before speaking. “What do you think of it, this place? Does it give you a burning alive feeling or have you learned to step in the cold places like puddles of water? I think I’ll be burning for a long time yet, but I don’t mind. I think I’ll find an ocean eventually, I’m just too troubled by the waves and the unknown.”

The words are poetic in a way that sounds like you’re serenading him, the blush rising to his cheeks an homage to the rapid cycling where his chest pulses relentlessly beneath his polo. It’s clear you don’t think much of them, pen already scratching at the page again like you’d said nothing at all. 

Where Kathy found obscurity Steve finds awe in your speech. A constant string of words he dreams of understanding to their fullest extent because he dreams of understanding you. 

“I think in some ways it’s the same as Hawkins but also totally different, so I’m not really sure what to think yet. I miss my friend Dustin, but I’d never tell him that.” 

“Hawkins. That’s where you’re from?” 

“Yeah, it’s not very big but you’d be surprised how it feels like the biggest place in the world sometimes.” 

“That’s good. That you don’t know how you feel about it yet. I only just realized recently how to feel anything at all about such things.” You declare thoughtfully, Steve’s eyes following the way your pen traces the opening of your lips as you speak. “It’s how I found out those cool places exist, before I would just burn completely. Now I’ve taken to taming it periodically.” 

“Hey, I’m really sorry about the other day. I was being kind of a jerk but it’s only because I’m not used to people actually wanting to hang out with me. I mean, I met my best friend Robin working at an ice cream shop so she basically had to be around me all the time and the rest of my friends are a bunch of teenagers so—”

“The other day?”  

“When you asked me to go to the movies.” 

“Ah. Don’t worry, I understand it completely now.” Steve’s not sure what you understand, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from assuaging its hold around his midsection. “You should tell Dustin you miss him, I decided it just now. It might seem like a small thing but to him it could be the whole world and you would never know it.”

“He’s coming to campus next weekend, maybe you could meet him.”

“Maybe. I would like that a lot.” 

~*~

The week passes faster than Steve would’ve liked, his newest routine leaving his nights free to spend with you on the comfortably uncomfortable sofa or lounging beside the lake, with blankets and a sweater each at his insistence. He finished The Feminine Mystique (“You were so right, misogyny sucks ass!”) and you dared him to try it a second time, he only made it to the twelfth page. 

On the fifth day, it was raining and most of the girls from your building were crowded in the lounge watching Sixteen Candles when the two of you stumbled to the entrance dripping in your raincoats and galoshes.

“Wanna go to my room?” You suggest when neither of you seem interested in the camaraderie of it. “Clara’s gone home for the weekend so she won’t be around if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve’s sure you’ve misinterpreted the funny dangle of his lip half open to one side when you explain yourself but he’s also not certain why you thought you had to or if you just said it. He’s still not good at reading you and he's not sure he ever will be. 

“Yeah, that’s cool.” He follows your dreamy gait to the stairs and ignores the way your hand finds gentle security around his wrist, just your pointer and thumb guiding him the rest of the way until you’re both standing before the elusive 302. Your key is dangling beneath the waxy pink of your raincoat, secured by a sturdy chain.  

“I’ve always found it easy to forget these little things, especially when I’m never sure I actually want to come back.” You lean forward enough that your waist brushes against Steve’s front, he’s standing at an angle like he’s making sure the key actually goes in. He watches you struggle to trick the lock, endeared by the way your teeth puncture the flesh of your lower lip and your brows furrow. “And certainly I often find myself thinking it’s the room that doesn’t want me.”

“Can I try?” He nudges your arm to the side, chained key dangling from the lock. 

“You think you’re stronger than me.” You huff, minutely put out by the suggestion. “Fine. But I do think it’s terribly off putting to say so when I’ve tried my hardest.”

“No, I think you’re very strong.” He shifts so he’s standing in front of the door, your breath fanning against the shell of his ear where you peer over his shoulder. He thinks the lock must be rusted because it’s not as easy as he anticipated, the mechanism taking three sharp jerks of his hand to turn completely. Moving to the side, he  allows you to enter the space ahead of him passing you the key with a lopsided grin. ���But sometimes your strength isn’t always where you need it to be and it’s okay to ask for help.” 

He follows you closely, unprepared for the arrangement of polaroids framing your bed lengthwise. You’ve ordered them by color so they span a rainbow along your wall and when Steve is close enough to make out the actual images he sees that they’re stills from films spanning decades. 

Your desk is an arrangement of more books than he’s ever owned sorted neatly within the cubbies. Journals of every color to put to use the impressive collection of stationary arranged neatly on its wooden surface. Your bed is a haven of knitted blankets and patterned throw pillows complete with a well-loved blue puppy and a brown rabbit with accents of pink dotting its nose and ears. 

It feels an intimate sort of thing, you allowing him into the place you’ve fashioned as a home away from home. A hideaway from the haunting realization of everything beyond the unreliable door adorned with a chalkboard currently scribbled with hearts around the border. 

Steve finds you’ve migrated to the far side of the room, slowly removing your galoshes and placing them against a bare stretch of wall near the closet and he follows suit. 

“Did you take all those?” He asks of the photos, flicking a piece of hair from his eyes and passing your extended hand his sopping raincoat.

“Oh yeah,” You have a way of speaking that makes everything seem like it’s the most uninteresting thing in the world. It’s the breathy tone and the way you don’t actually look at him when you say it, always waiting until the last possible moment to find his eyes. “I dated a guy who worked at the theater. I think the nicest thing he ever did for me was let me use one of them after closing to capture stills. It took forever and he broke up with me after.”

“He sounds like a jerk.” 

“I don’t know, I don’t remember him much really.” You consider it for a moment, walking to the shelf nestled in the corner. “Sometimes he was there but even when he was he wasn’t…or maybe I wasn’t and I just never knew and he never said. You’ll tell me when I’m not here, right?” 

“Of course.” He whispers, satisfied with the way you smile over your shoulder at him, like it was a shy admission, your ability to drift away. 

“We should listen to something if you want. You can pick, unless there’s nothing you like, then we can just be quiet.” You motion to the lining of cassettes and Steve hopes your taste is more refined than your roommates if her bubblegum posters are any indication. 

You float away, gliding towards your bed and pulling your legs to your chest while he roots through your collection, peeking over his shoulder periodically. It’s innocent the way you rest your head against your kneecaps in your jeans cuffed at the ankle and your pink t-shirt tucked in at the waist. 

You’re staring at the downpour beating against your window and Steve finds himself wondering how you manage in a place like this, without even a hint of the antagonistic streak coating the tongues of most of the girls he’s come across. 

“Find anything?” You catch him staring and the heat of it builds beneath his collar when he turns back toward the shelf. 

“Do you and your roommate get along?” The difference splitting the room is what guides him to the topic, a reminder of the moment Kathy mentioned Clara in passing but never any regard for your relationship either way. 

“She’s fine. She doesn’t disregard me like most people anyway.” Steve isn’t quite sure what to say, the thought of you noticing the disparaging way that people consider you is enough to shatter him completely. “I really think she must be glad to get away though.” 

“Why?” 

“Wouldn’t you be glad to go far away from here?” You fall against your mattress, your arm flailing over the edge displaying a variety of charms and string wrapped around your wrist, your other hand lifting to shield your eyes. It's an exasperation Steve’s not heard from you. “I dream of going away!”

“You can, you know.” Steve pulls a mixed tape from the pile and moves to your radio. “Where do you wanna go?”

“I don’t know where quite yet, I still don’t know how I feel about my own dreams but I fear someday they’ll come true. Where do you wanna go, Stevie, perhaps I’ll just hitch a ride.” The nickname is saccharine on your lips and he almost forgets the question, especially when he tucks the tape into your player and the first song is True by Spandau Ballet. You free yourself from your cage of darkness, rising on your elbows with a sardonic smile between helpless laughter. “Oh, this is a love tape! Are you in love with me, Stevie?”

He finds it horribly unpleasant that you expect him to deny it the way he’d deny forgetting to rewind returned tapes when he worked at Family Video. He stalks over to the bed and you hold your hand out to him. He takes it and allows you to pill him to the mattress to sit with his back shoved against the wall. It’s not unwelcome when you take up your previous position, this time your head nestled in his lap with your eyes swallowing him entirely.

“Would that be so bad?” 

“Where do you wanna go, Stevie?” He’s grown used to your ability to shift, certain that you’ll cycle back eventually. It’s an admiration to him, your ability to hold off the inevitable until you feel ready to face it. Even the simplest of questions deemed a significant task of dissection. 

It doesn’t set him any less teetering on the edge in this instance, but there’s a comfort that finds the anxious pit rolling over in his stomach. 

“I don’t know. For the longest time I just wanted to get away from Hawkins, but now that I have I realize I’m not ready to leave all of it behind.” 

“The kids?” He can tell you're always fond even if you haven’t met them. He’s usually embarrassed when he slips up, used to his ego being deflated by the ones who built it in the first place. High school “friends” or flings more interested in his money than him. But your hands always settle over his when he starts to trail off and you ask so many questions that he thinks you must know them as well as he does by now.

“Yeah, I’d miss ‘em too much if I just left, ya know?” 

“What about your parents? You don’t talk about them.” 

“They’re one of the reasons I wanna get away, my dad mostly. He was always a hard ass but it got worse when I didn’t get into college. And when I did get into college he wasn’t proud or anything, just happy I’d be gone.” It wasn’t something he expected to have such a hold over him, the way his parents seemed more delighted he was leaving than happy that he made it. “He’s probably wondering how I even got in.” 

“I don’t think anyone’s ever told you Steve, so don’t laugh when I say it or you’ll hurt my feelings, but I think you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met.” 

“Don’t you think it’s a little mean to say something like that and expect me not to laugh? It’s okay, I know I’m not a genius or anything.” He can see that you mean it and he hopes that you go on if only to trick him into believing it as strongly as you.

“Don’t you know all those things you did were more important than anything you’ve ever thought you should’ve done? It would’ve been so easy for you to go to college and forget Hawkins, forget all of it when you graduated but it wouldn’t have made a difference and you would’ve never known it.” 

“You think so?” 

“I know it. I know that if you did things the way people think, you wouldn’t have found family and experienced life in a way that some people don’t believe exists.” You’re pleading with him, eyes glistening with something he can’t quite reach. A climactic bridge soaked in devotion now the soundtrack to your sudden speech where it floats from static speakers.

“Maybe that just makes me lucky enough to have been chosen by them.” 

“You told me that strength isn’t always in the place we need it most, well intelligence is not always where we think it should be. Your intelligence is the way you manage to shape yourself into such an affection that people don’t realize they’ve been touched by it until they’ve fallen horribly transfixed in a way that doesn’t make much sense but it feels whole. You put so much thought into the way you cherish those kids and I don’t think you even know it really, how important it is that you stayed.”

“Well my dad—”

“Your dad doesn’t know it either, Steve. I think, and it’s a tragic thought but, I think maybe he forgot you a long time ago and now you just can’t trust him because he doesn’t know anything at all.

”It is a tragic thought, but I think you’re right.” Steve is glad there’s music because the silence would’ve been deafening. To have someone find the words to explain the emptiness that filled the length of his childhood in a way not riddled with a false hope for change.

Steve isn’t in charge of his own body when his hand flutters against the skin of your cheek, tracing the softness down to the curve of your chin. It’s pretty to think about calling you his and the ability to feel you in all of your gentle caresses of touch and speech. The song is Groovy Kind of Love Phil Collins when you look up at him with a new determination, almost knocking heads when you sit up and turn towards him.  

“We should kiss.” You’ve leaned far enough forward that the subtlest of movements pushes the tips of your noses together.

“I–what?” 

“Just to see. You never said if you were in love with me and I think I just might be in love with you so we should kiss…just to make sure.” 

Steve is positive he’s always loved you, even when you weren’t more to him than another person existing somewhere without his knowledge, but his hand rests against the warmth of your cheek and he leans in a little further, breathing you in now.

“Are you sure?” He whispers, wondering if you’d been chewing bubblegum before and he hadn’t noticed. 

“Sure.” Steve could scream, an agonistic sort of sound when someone knocks on the door just as your lips brush. You’re drawn to the sound and Steve is drawn to the way your eyes widen a half step. “Oh, it must be someone for Clara.” 

You stand, pulling at the places where your shirt especially clings and go to open the door. Sure enough, Heather steps through the threshold as soon as it’s wide enough and scans the room like you’re not the reason she’s here. She finds Steve and Phil Collins and suddenly it's all wrong. 

“Clara isn’t here, gone home for the weekend.” You inform her, the door still agape in your anticipation of her immediate departure. Steve would love nothing more. 

“Oh I know, but she said I could stop by for this new red nail polish she has because absolutely nothing else would do.” The pair of you watch her navigate the other half of the room, sifting through Clara’s things and spending too long in some spots. Steve swallows hard when she looks at him, a glint in her dark eyes. “You’re that freshman’s buddy aren’t you?”

“Robin, yeah.” 

“Robin, of course. I wondered why she was asking all those questions about Y/n. You should’ve said you were interested, ‘What’s with the girl on the third floor’ sounds so accusatory.” He doesn’t dare look at you, horrified by the sudden intrusion and no less by the revelation of his transgression. “I’m glad you decided to find out for yourself! Phil Collins is so sweet for these kinds of things and I guess I have my answer now, right?” 

“The nail polish is in the drawer in her nightstand. You better just take it or I’ll have to tell her you were going through her things.” It’s strained when you speak, Heather looks at you over her shoulder and struts to the nightstand pulling the translucent bottle free. 

“Oh course, I wasn’t snooping, Clara is always rearranging her things. Thanks so much, hun. Have fun!” She slips a wink in Steve’s direction, and he doesn’t miss the extra skip in her step before she disappears leaving everything all wrong.

“You know, I’ve only met her once and I think seeing her again was far too soon for my liking.” He tries to make light of things, but the way you still stand with your body bleeding into your door makes him nervous in a normal way, no comfort to be had in the way you’re thinking. “She doesn’t know when to shut up.” 

He speaks mildly, but remorse seeps in by the end. 

“I think I’d like to be alone for a while.” You wrinkle your nose like it’s never occurred to you that you might be unsure. It gives Steve a modicum of hope.

“Listen—”

“No, it’s okay, I’m not mad. I just…I like to tame the burning, remember?” He nods and he leaves, not because he wants to but because he thinks it's better than anything he could think of saying. Especially when you couldn’t find it in you to say that you’re upset.  

It doesn’t feel fair.

He doesn’t see you at all over the course of the next week and he thinks it’s the worst time of his life. Is positive he understands the burning now.

~*~

“Don’t take it personally, he hasn’t paid any attention to me all week.” Robin assures Dustin, fresh in from his mother’s Volvo. The trio is the same as they always were in their small town, stuffed into a booth talking about everything and nothing. “I think he’s sick.”

“Yeah, lovesick.” Dustin flings a fry across the table, striking Steve in his left eye. 

“Hey, you little shit, cut it out!” He flings it right back, missing entirely much to Dustin’s amusement. “Do it again and your ass is grass. It’s a restaurant, not a playground.” 

“Come on, dingus, he’s just messing around. You could at least pretend you wanna hang out with us.” Robin shoves a fry into the glob of ketchup on her plate and shoves it in Steve’s face. “You’re being a bummer.” 

He is being a bummer, but he can’t help it. Not when you’re supposed to be taking up the empty space beside him, excited and nervous. You’d talked incessantly about finally meeting Dustin, delighted to be introduced to one of his kids. He can imagine the way you two would be going back and forth, Dustin with his scientifically analytical mind and you with your poetic way of thinking. He always thought you’d find common ground in the fantasy of it all, told you you’d love D&D and Dustin would love nothing more than to teach you all about it. 

But you’re not here and he wishes it were as easy as blaming Heather for the whole thing, but he knows that on some level it’s his ability to constantly be his biggest liability.

“Sorry, I’m just not in a great mood at the moment.” He relents, shoving the remainder of his burger into his mouth. It’s Friday night and Steve promised to take Dustin to a theater in town, they’re having some festival according to Robin. He doesn’t mind it but would rather a night in like they used to do at home. He flicks the leather band of his watch slurping at his soda. “What time do we need to get to this thing? I’m not getting stuck with a lousy seat just because you think you need to clean out the concessions.”

“What time is it?” Dustin grabs at his arm, ignoring Steve’s hard stare when he clocks the greasy stain smeared along the glass. He considers a moment, a tactful glance to Robin “We can go now, right?” 

“Oh yeah, now is perfect I think.” Robin chucks a thin band of cash to the table and nudges Dustin out of the booth. 

Steve is too caught by the seamlessness of the whole thing and remains in his seat with his hand already shoved into his pocket. “Wait. Why are you paying? You never pay.”   

“I’m being a good friend, thought it might cheer you up a little. Now come on before we're in the front row breaking our necks like a bunch of zombies.” 

He’s no more an idiot to Robin’s uncharacteristic chivalry when he spots you meandering outside the theater in a skirt that flows around your knees and a collegiate hoodie. You don’t see them coming and Steve is half content to lower his head and keep walking, but when Robin points you out Dustin bounds over without a second thought. 

“Hey!” Dustin calls, but you don’t immediately reply. Your eyes have drifted to a particularly rowdy group of students, Steve hopes they aren’t in the same theater and wonders if you’ve thought the same. He can’t imagine you did, probably something more existential that he’d take in with a kind smile but still tell you if they’re anywhere near your seats he’ll throw a fit. “Hey, Y/n!” 

“Oh…Robin, I was wondering if I got the time wrong.” You smile, not entirely acknowledging them yet. You're unsure and that simply won’t do in a group like this, one that thrives on the ability to read each other so perfectly.

“What are you doing out in the cold?” Steve manages, taken aback when  you find him so exposed beneath the lights of the theater. It’s only been a week but the loss of you was more potent than he realized, like a missing sense, something that’s horrible to live without.

“Just thinking.” 

“What are you thinking about?” Dustin offers when Steve seems suddenly short of speech. 

“I’m wondering what it would be like if I were the only person in the world. I think I would be perfect, you know. I would be perfect and then I would die, perhaps earlier than I should, and should I die there will be no one left and that’s just fine.” 

“That’s deep.” You crack a smile and Steve can tell Dustin is proud of himself. 

“You must be Dustin. It’s very nice to meet you.” 

“You too! I’m glad you’re here, Steve has been moping around all night.” Steve knocks Dustin’s signature cap from his mop of curls, the kid goes spirling after it before it becomes a casualty of the masses scaling the sidewalk.

“Don’t be a jerk, Steven, he’s not wrong.” Robin so dutifully sprinkles the last bit, holding her hand outward expectantly. “Give me your wallet, I’ll buy the tickets.” 

“What happened to being a good friend?” He challenges, still freeing his wallet from his tight denim jeans. 

“Oh, I’m being a very good friend.” Robin snags Dustin by the collar of his shirt and drives him through the entrance with careful consideration for the bodies piled outside the doors. Steve sees you reaching for your wallet and slots his hand over yours. 

“I got it.”  

“Oh that’s…” You must calculate the way his lips cave because you stop yourself and glance toward the other half of your party. “Have you really been moping? You were so excited for him to come, don’t be dull.”

“I’m not trying to be.” He sulks, pulling you toward one of the towering alcoves where no one is close enough to hear or interrupt. “I need you to be upset with me.” 

The concept seems foreign to you, like there’s no reason for such an idea to even transpire in the darkest part of your thoughts. Your fingers bunch in the fabric of your skirt, it’s solid white and Steve is wondering how many you went through before you realized no other color would go. 

“Why would I be upset?”

“Because of what Heather said, about me asking around about you.”

“Heather doesn’t know when to shut up.” You mumble, reaching for the hand hanging limply at Steve’s side. “I was never mad about it, I just—I know the things people say about me and what Heather said about knowing the answer…I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted, to use me and then tell everyone.” 

“That’s not what I want, please don’t think that. I wanted to know you before I heard all that stupid shit they say.” 

“I don’t, I promise.” You extend your pinky, Steve hooks it through his own and brings the connection to rest against his lips. “I wasn’t sure if I should leave you alone after what happened. You never came by or anything.” 

“I wasn’t sure if I should leave you alone and I didn’t wanna push.” 

“You shouldn’t. Don’t leave me alone.” You manage, rocking on the balls of your feet with your lip between your teeth. Steve is just about to suggest a pact, the kind established with his lips pressed against yours beneath the cover of fluorescence but he’s interrupted by Dustin rounding the corner with his arms thrown wide. 

“What the hell!? The movie is about to start and Robin and I made sure to get the best seats so hurry up!” Steve is about to tell him to get lost but you give him a terribly expressive sort of look: don’t be dull.

“We’re coming,” He doesn’t give you space to get too far, taking you by the hand and leading the way through the throngs of people, trying to keep track of Dustin bouncing amongst them. 

The seats they found were perfect, right in the center of everything, and when you stole the seat between Steve and Dustin the lights were already lowering. Robin passes along Steve’s wallet and a bucket of popcorn to share, Night of the Living Dead, the first film of your evening slate.  

It hits Steve then, with your bodies separated by the thin armrest and the pointless dialog between siblings projected on screen. A moment comes full circle, his earlier rejection taking mercy on his lapse in judgment. 

“Didn’t you already see this?” He leans close enough not to disturb anyone enjoying the film. “A few weeks ago you asked me to come.” 

“You said ‘no’.” It’s simple really, the way Steve feels in this moment like you were wrong. 

Like he’s the dumbest person in the world. 

He recalls the photos plastered along your wall, and the way it struck you as odd when he likened you to strangers. You spent hours taking those photos, pondering over the coordination of colors to paint the perfect picture of you. Steve had done nothing more than invade your privacy but in that moment you deemed him worthy of knowing some of the deepest parts of you and he only seems to understand it now. 

It’s so much more than a desire not to sit alone in a darkened theater watching corpses tear into flesh. It’s the burning. The feeling of so slowly burning alive and hoping the other person will notice just how much effort goes into that feeling of turning yourself to ashes until you find an ocean to tame it completely. A bonfire waiting for the waves to lick the sand. 

“I’m an ocean.”

“What?” Your attention had gone back to the film, the first of many zombies hiking across the screen in search of an unwilling victim. 

“We should kiss.”

“Steve, we’re in the middle of a theater and I’m not sure it’s that kind of film.” You think he’s joking until you turn, his eyes focused on you entirely. You lean in, close enough to touch, both of you hoping Heather is as far away from you as possible. You pause, the whole thing feeling fundamental at this stage, but so horribly important all the same. “...just to see?” 

“Just to see.” 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I'm just waiting for the Episode of Savanaclaw to show little Leona and the little lion getting his hopes and dreams crushed by everyone around him.

Also, this might sound weird but I always thought Leona and Dominique from The Case Study of Vanitas were kinda similar. Their both the youngest child of high-standing families and were viewed as inferior towards their older sibling(s) (In Dominique's case, 2 older half siblings and deceased older twin brother). But in the end, Dominique realised that her cryokinesis is actually way more powerful than even her older half siblings' because hers aren't violent like those of her half-siblings.

Now, I'm not saying Leona's parents are abusive/cruel (though it could be a possibility) and told Leona "You're brother can already do this, why can't you?" or "Falena's already unlocked his Unique Magic, why're you so slow?" (that's the servants' job) but it wouldn't surprise me if they did accidentally said something insensitive (or Leona misinterpreted what they were really trying to say) to Leona that crushed his already crippling self-esteem issues.

Maybe Leona tried to tell his parents how badly he wanted to be king and they said something along the lines of "You're brother's already going to be the king, so stop whining. You've been given everything you wanted." or "Falena's going be the next king and you can't change that." And maybe that finally caused him to snap and start being apathetic towards everything.

Again, this is just a theory I have and it may not happen. Hell, I probably got a few things wrong about Leona's character and backstory.

I’ve only read like one volume of The Case Study of Vanitas I won it in a raffle haha and I don’t know if I’ll continue reading it so 😅 not sure if I 100% get all the details about Dominique and how she parallels Leona. I like Vanitas x Jeanne only because Jeanne hates his guts while Vanitas simps for her and it’s so funny—

Personally, I've never thought of Leona's parents as playing a particularly significant role in his trauma (mainly because the game never showed either of them in his flashback, nor did it indicate the parents as being the center or the “trigger” that made Leona lose hope in himself). The focus of the flashback was on servants and Farena/Falena. The other boys' OB flashbacks also obviously feature major sources for their trauma such as Mama Rosehearts, Azul's bullies, the Viper parents, etc. so if Leona’s parents did play a big role in him being the way he is, it’s strange that they didn’t show up in his flashback.

Leona's parents are barely even mentioned; I only ever recall one instance where it was said that his dad is ill enough to the point where he cannot lead their country, thus Farena/Falena has to act as king. There is no mention of Leona's mother as far as I can tell, and neither parent has been really characterized. Maybe they'll actually get mentioned in the manga adaptation's telling of Leona's flashback?

I don’t doubt that maybe the parents may have said a few insensitive things here and there offhandedly (because everyone naturally makes missteps), but I don’t know about outright telling Leona to “stop whining” or “why are you so slow”. That’s just… very blatantly rude to tell anyone, let alone your own child. I’m not saying it’s not possible for a parent to say such a thing, but I think it’s a bit of a leap in logic to suggest that parents we barely know about would.

I totally buy that Leona would get pissed off and lash out at his parents for misinterpretations on his part though. When his self esteem is already low and he believes the world is against him, it’ll skew his perception of others’ words and actions as negative too. We most clearly see this exemplified when Leona acts bitter towards Farena/Falena, in spite of his older brother showing actually showing Leona a lot of genuine support. I’m more inclined to believe that the parents were also pretty supportive and well-meaning (if Farena/Falena is of any indication), but that Leona interpreted their good will as pity and/or backhanded compliments, or that they could never understand his plight. I’d at least like to think they were a little more tactful/wise with their wording rather than sound annoyed every time Leona expressed a grievance 😔 Alternatively, the parents were probably just never around much due to royal duties, so maybe Leona felt like he never got that social support from their end.

The nature of Leona’s struggle is also something that’s generally seen as more cumulative, rather than there being a single turning point that made him give up on trying. I don’t think you can really point at any singular instance and say, “yes, this part of his past is what made him ‘snap’.” It’s the constant rejection and being beat down by the world and the people he’s trying to get validation from that wears away at his spirit.

[umbracirrus]

WIP Wednesday 💛

Happy valentines day to everyone, not much to report on this week other than my only WIP this week - besides working on tweaking little details in the next chapter for The Perfect Storm, as well as the cross stitching progress I posted about earlier in the week - being smut. Even then, I think I've already posted a line of this WIP a few days back, just without any of the context.

That's about it. It's honestly just something that I've been working on to treat myself after a shitty start of the year, and of course, it's my beloved Balgruuf and Elyse... I'm aiming to get it done for my birthday next month. 😅 It's based a good four, five years after The Perfect Storm, and these two have been married for a while by this point.

Tagged by @thequeenofthewinter this week and @bostoniangirl21 last week!!

Needless to say, this is smut - don't feel obliged to read if you don't want to, and don't read if you're a minor.

------

“Are you certain?”

Elyse could feel her heart racing as Balgruuf’s finger rested against her lips. Forget any battles against dragons or her enemies over the years, this was most certainly her hardest battle – keeping quiet as he fucked her at such a slow, near torturous pace, all whilst he toyed with her in a way which made her want to cry out loud in ecstasy. In these brief few moments, she could only curse her dear husband for knowing her in the same way that a bard would their instrument, in that he knew exactly what strings to pluck or notes to play.

The sound of grumbling echoed off the walls. “Yes, Proventus. Elyse was training in here until he came along and asked to train with her too. His sword is right there, so they can’t be far.”

Balgruuf faltered for a moment, though it was not enough to dissuade him from continuing.

“What if they catch us?” she eventually let out in a breathy whisper, though she received little more than a smile back at first.

“They won’t. Not if you stay quiet, dearest.”

Her lips curled into a pout, at first through his response, but then through the empty feeling as he pulled out of her. “Balgruuf, why do you choose now to be such an ass- Fuck!” She had to bite her lips as he plunged back in, her entire body writhing as he now moved his hands to her hips, her back arching. Tears were pricking at the corner of her eyes, not because of the cruel yet sweet torment that he was putting her through, but rather through the agonising pleasure that was coiling up inside her as her beloved filled her up again and again and again.

“Hm. They don’t appear to be here though. Perhaps they retired to their quarters? The Lady Dragonborn does tend to steal away the Jarl at the most inopportune of times...” Proventus sighed. “Thank you anyway. I am certain that I will find him eventually.”

The sound of the porch doors opening filled the room, as did two sets of footsteps.

“She hates being called that, you know.”

“Well, as the wife of a Jarl and technically still a Thane, I will address her with the due-“

The doors slammed shut, and barely a moment had passed before her jaw slackened and the moan which she had been holding in was let out. As much as she wanted to chastise him for doing that to her – to them both – she simply couldn’t find the words and instead pulled his face towards hers and claimed his lips.

[applebloomer1]

I absolutely adore the relationship between error and pj in loyal servant

Oh, I'm going to do a deep dive about this one...

The relationship between Error and Paperjam was both fun and heartbreaking to write. Primarily because their story isn't one that gets a truly happy ending. Its not a "I'm going to completely change my personality and be a better father, and everything will be perfect." sort of ordeal.

Error loves PJ, but he is unable to express it. He's too wrapped up in the reputation he's made for himself to believe he's capable of being a father. He says; "I left. That's what I did for you, PJ. That was the only thing I could do for you." Which is a testimate to how he cares but believes his child is better off without him. In his mind, being around would only make things worse for PJ.

On the flipside, Paperjam never understood this. They grew up believing that the only reason either of their parents were distant and/or downright cruel was because of who they were as a person. They're too much like Ink, or they're too much like Error. That definitely helped to breed PJ's desire to find balance. The desire to destroy the other gods didn't truly stem from hating what their parents fighting did to others, but more so what it did to them. In their mind, the feud between Ink and Error was to blame for their lack of family ties.

To hear Error tell them that's not the case flipped a switch. It told them that the reason he wasn't there wasn't because he hated Paperjam's very existence, but because he was afraid to hurt one of the few things he loved within the multiverse. His hands have caused pain and suffering throughout the entire multiverse, so how was he supposed to use them to be gentle and kind? He wasn't sure, so he kept his distance. It was out of love.

Then theres my boyfriend's reason for liking the dynamic.

Error tells them: "You are like me." And: "It was for your own good. I had to keep you away." which could also be read as Error's way of trying to prevent PJ from ending up like him. Error believes himself to be this source of evil. Everything he's done has been for a selfish and cruel reason. If Paperjam were to see him; were to look up to him, they might just end up the same way. He doesn't want that for Paperjam.

He became especially hostile towards Paperjam during the whole Book of a Thousand Souls incident, possibly because of some thought process along the lines of: This is something I'd do. I left so you wouldn't become this way. Why are you still being this way? Why aren't you better than me?

Point is, Error has a very difficult time with expressing love. Him telling Paperjam that he only wanted what was best for them is probably the closest he'll ever get to sounding like an actual father, which he notes in the story.

When Error admitted these things to Paperjam, they stiffen and go quiet yet still end up with watering sockets. There's so much relief and pain that it overwhelms them. All they ever wanted was to believe that somehow they were loved. And Error finally made sure that they knew it. Perhaps not in the way PJ hoped, but it was clear enough for them to understand. They know Error loves them, and thats that matters to PJ. Anything else is a bonus.

....Sorry I like talking about characters. Asks like these will get long responses out of me.

[quicksilverdrabbles]

A Monster in Chains, A Healer in Pain

Courier: Oh, hey there! I've got a notice for you!

Merlyn: Have you? Let's see it, then. What's it for?

Courier: Some shifty man. Said to give this letter to anyone who might be seeking a monster for a bodyguard.

Merlyn: Whyyyyy on earth do I look like I fit that bill?

Courier: *looking at her party behind her* ... Just a hunch.

Merlyn: Right. Well. *digs into her purse and gives him 50 septims* Y'know, you should really stop accepting deliveries from suspicious people, who knows how it could go.

Courier: Duly noted. Have a nice day, ma'am.

Lucien: A monster? How intriguing.

Inigo: What does the letter say?

Merlyn: Let's see. *ahem* 'For Sale: One monster for any adventurer's needs. Can serve as a carrier, a warrior, a healer, or...'

Kaidan: Merlyn?

Merlyn: '... Or as a punching bag, to let put the day's frustrations.' ... Who the hell wrote this?

Caryalind: Whoever they are, they certainly lack the required eloquence to make a good sale.

Merlyn: But even so, this is.. What sort of 'monster' are they talking about anyway? It couldn't be a troll if it can heal... 'If interested, please make your way to the location indicated at the bottom of this letter. The recipient of this letter is sworn to secrecy upon reading and, if we happen to hear of our operations being leaked, will be punished severely. Price to be negotiated upon arrival.' Egh.. That's unnerving.

Kaidan: What do you think? A black market operation?

Merlyn: Something like that.. It doesn't feel like a regular monster they're talking about.

Xelzaz: No, typical monsters cannot act as healers. Unless they've somehow taught Spriggans to use Healing Hands, or something along those lines. There's something odd about this.

Merlyn: Hm. I say we check it out. Play the part of a buyer in order to get information, then shut it down if need be.

Lucien: You're the boss, boss. We're right behind you.

~

Lucien: What do you mean we can't go with her?!

Slaver: If she's the one buying the product, it needs to only be her to see it. You all can wait out here until the purchase is complete.

Kaidan: That's bullshit! I'm going in there!

Merlyn: Kaidan, stay here with the others.

Kaidan: What?!

Merlyn: I'll only be a moment. Shouldn't take too long.

Kaidan: ... Fine.

Slaver: Ha. You've got your guards well trained already. I must admit I'm surprised. *leads Merlyn inside the cave and shuts the door behind them, locking the others out*

Merlyn: *playing along as a cruel master* I have experience with difficult types.

Slaver: A good skill to have, with this one. He's a recent capture, so he's not very well tamed. Been very eager to meet a new master, though.

Merlyn: Shall we hurry this along? I'd hate for my men to get antsy.

Slaver: Of course, right this way, miss.

Merlyn: *eyeing several guards they pass as they move through the cave* Quite heavy security for one monster.

Slaver: Ah, you know how it is. Can't have the Jarl getting on our asses if they find out about this little operation. We like to keep things under wraps around here. Besides, it can be quite hard to subdue such a beast, as I'm sure you know well enough by now.

Merlyn: Well enough, yes. I apologize for asking so late, but the notice didn't exactly specify what sort of monster you were selling, and I'd like to know what I'm dealing with before I negotiate a.. price.

Slaver: Ha, smart woman. Allow me to introduce you to our monster. Only one of the fiercest beasts in all of Skyrim, hell, probably even all of Tamriel. Wild and barbaric, and especially vicious, but this one seems to have a soft spot for healing. I present to you... *stops in front of a hollowed out cell in the rock, with a figure huddled amongst the growing ferns*

Merlyn: ... An Orc.

Slaver: That's right! Such terrifying beasts, but they can be exceptionally loyal if properly trained. I'm sure for a.. beauty such as yourself, that would hardly be an issue.

Merlyn: 'Train'? *steps away from the cage, eyes wide with shock* Monster- Orsimers are not monsters-! They are an intelligent race! What on earth makes you think you could just sell one?!

Slaver: The same way the Dark Elves would sell Khajiit and Argonians in Morrowind to the Great Houses, I'd assume.

Merlyn: This is not an age of slavery anymore! Nobody deserves this!

Slaver: ... Are you saying you refuse this offer? Even with your own slaves outside? The Khajiit, the Argonians, that big brute and those elves?

Merlyn: They're my friends! My family! I've never once seen them as things for me to control!

Slaver: Hm. That's quite a shame. *draws his sword, pointing it at her* I'm afraid we're going to have to kill you now, pretty miss. You and your 'family' waiting for you outside. See, you're not the first to refuse this offer. And every time somebody tries to escape, they threaten to tell the authorities. At this point, we've simply stopped taking chances.

Merlyn: *gasps, looking around rapidly at the men surrounding her now* Shit..

Slaver: Any last words?

Merlyn: ... Maybe. *raises a hand, electricity flowing from her fingers. Some of it rebounds, and burns her own skin* I'm going to save that man. And kill all of you. *her eyes glow as the lightning grows to surround her*

Slaver: Haha! You really think you can kill all of us?!

Merlyn: I think I'll take my chances.

Yaksha: *looks up to investigate the light flooding the cave, crawling away from the lightning enveloping the iron bars* What..?

~

Lucien: ... It's been quite a while, hasn't it? How do you think it's going?

Xelzaz: I don't think she's in grave danger. If she was, Roovi would have found us by now.

Kaidan: I don't like this. It's just another den of snakes.

Caryalind: Perhaps, but Merlyn's always been good at acting. Surely she's playing her part in this well enough that they haven't discovered her intentions yet.

Inigo: *ears perking and twitching, angling in several different directions* ... There is fighting in the cave.

Taliesin: So much for playing a part.

Khash: Let's go!! I wanna make sure Lyn's okay!

Xelzaz: Hold on, now. Inigo, how does it sound?

Inigo: Like she is fighting with lightning. Several people run at her, but fall to the ground seconds later.

Kaidan: With lightning? But Destruction magic hurts her..

Lucien: We should go see what's happening. Is the door still locked?

Taliesin: Obviously. That man locked it as soon as he had Merlyn in his grasp.

Kaidan: Don't say it like that, gods- I'm breaking the fuckin' thing down.

Caryalind: I'm not opposed. Shall we?

Khash: Come on! Lyn is going to kill all of them by the time we get there!

~

Merlyn: *panting, standing in the midst of dozens of dead bodies, magicka completely drained* Shit... *holds her hands to her chest, wincing at the electric burns littering her hands and forearms*

Yaksha: *watching her from behind a plant, frowning nervously*

Merlyn: *sighs* ... Alright. *looks up into the cell* Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?

Yaksha: ...

Merlyn: I'm going to come in, alright? I saw you were injured. *picks up a key from the dead slaver and unlocks the cell door* ... Unless you don't want me to come in? I can just leave it unlocked and leave if you want.

Yaksha: ... Don't.

Merlyn: Oh shit you can speak- Great! Um- *walks into the cell and kneels down near him* My name is Merlyn. What's yours?

Yaksha: ... My name is Yaksha. Are you.. my new master?

Merlyn: What? No! No no no- T-That was all a lie, I promise! When I got the notice from them I thought it was strange they didn't specify what 'monster' they were selling, so I was acting the part of a buyer to investigate.

Yaksha: So you are not here to buy me?

Merlyn: No, the primary goal was kinda to.. save you.. *trails off, staring at him with a worried frown* You really are injured. *reaches out and gently brushes his cheek, careful to avoid the remnants of his black eye* I have some potions, but we'll need to get you out of here before we can take care of you properly.. I can't even begin to imagine what they did to you.

Yaksha: *leans into the gentle touch unconsciously* ... You are injured too.

Merlyn: Hm? What this? *holds up her burned hand* Nothing a bit of Snowberry salve won't fix when we get outta here, don't worry about me. Hm.. speaking of which, it'll be hard to carry you myself. I just learned the Telekinesis spell, but I doubt I can carry a full grown man yet.

Kaidan: *kicking the door of the lair down* MERLYN!

Merlyn: Ah, there's our solution. Over here, Kai!

Kaidan: Gods above woman, you seriously scare me sometimes. Inigo said you were fighting off all of them at once and- who's that?

Merlyn: *shifts so Yaksha is resting his head on her shoulder, falling unconscious* The 'monster' they were selling. His name is Yaksha.

Xelzaz: They were trying to sell you an Orc?!

Merlyn: Evidently. Help me get him up, we've gotta get back to town before his injuries get infected. I can't imagine laying in the dirt in a disgusting cave like this will be any good for him.

Kaidan: Got it. *lifts Yaksha up, carrying him piggyback with Inigo and Lucien's help* Gods, he's heavy. All muscle.

Merlyn: Poor guy, he's exhausted. I bet-

Yaksha: *grips onto Merlyn's sleeve weakly* Don't.. leave...

Khash: He spoke! Is he awake?

Merlyn: ... *reaches up and takes his hand in hers* No, he's asleep. Let's get out of here.

Kaidan: Aye.

Caryalind: You've hurt yourself, dove. *takes her other hand and examines the burns carefully*

Merlyn: I'll be fine. It was worth it if he'll be okay.

[ramonag-if]

english is not my first language the way i see it (at the very least the way i made my MC) its not that we think that Irus is gonna run away with Rana (which would be terrifying, because like that other anon pointed out, Rana is just a baby 😭 (if something like that were to happen my MC would suddenly be super protective of their sister)), but more along the lines of disliking Rana (nothing against your writing, everything against Salyra) because of the context depending on the MC, her very existence can be both triggering and offensive ,Rana (through no fault of her own) for my MC, is kind of a walking flashy billboard that says "I DONT LOVE YOU, YOU ARE WORTHELESS, YOU ARE FORGETABLE, YOU DESERVE NO CONSIDERATION, YOU DO NOT DESERVE RESPECT, YOU ARE TO BE USED AND DISCARDED, DID I MENTION THAT I DONT LOVE YOU?- Salyra🥰" if it was some random kid who was crushing on Irus my MC would find it adorable, if the situacion with Salyra was different my MC would find it absolutely precious that their younger sister has a crush on Irus…and would feel kind of guilty because what if them being with Irus breaks their baby sister's heart 😭 it is actually very funny (in a tragic way) because if someone had told my MC that in Ishari they would hate a child with passion just because they exist, they would not have belived it, there is no reason for it! there is no logic! but…this is not about logic, this is about emotions, its about the absolute heartbreak of a little child who was left by their mama (for their own safety) many years ago who since they finally got to reunite with their mama who they loved and adored more than anyone, has not stoped howling in despair and misery at what reality looks like personally at the very least with my MC, the sibling relationship is pure tragedy and its not fair to either sibling, my MC does not want to hurt Rana, they just wish she didnt exist, my MC does hope though for Salyra to take good care of her second child so that Rana whom my MC is bitterly jealous of, doesnt have to suffer the way they did. ….oh no, SORRY FOR ALL THE RAMBLING 🤣

Your English is perfectly fine, so don't worry about it 😊

Rana is a fun reminder of the childhood the MC could have had and I must admit, writing options for an envious MC of Rana does hit all the right, angsty notes for me 😅

I'm glad you can feel so much regarding Rana! The whole point was to drive in the differences that the MC goes through that Rana doesn't. Call me cruel, but I tend to enjoy exaggerating certain aspects of broken/complex family dynamics and it made sense to add in a new child AKA Rana to the mix 😂

Rana will have a better childhood and experience with Salyra than the MC did and you'll need to decide how to feel about that because it's an unfortunate reality for the MC.

[ashilrak]

20 Questions Writer Meme

I was tagged by @skywalking-through-life! This is super fun omg, thank you!!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

210!

2. What's your total ao3 word count?

1,670,384 words, which feels insane

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, Percy Jackson! I tend to be pretty one fandom at a time, but in the past I've written for Hamilton, Harry Potter, and Marvel to name a few.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Electing Strange Perfections (1,951)

If You Ask Me For My Fire (1,842)

See The Beast You've Made Of Me (1,769)

On Each Other's Team (1,656)

Come Loaded With The Safety Switched Off (1,604)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! I'm a huge believe in fandom as a community, and fanfiction as an avenue for that community vs just 'content'. I love answering questions and talking about the fics, and I've honestly made some amazing fandom friends in comments on fics. I think commenting is a really valuable part of community-building in fandom, and I think that replying to comments helps with that :)

6. What's the fic you wrote that has the angstiest ending?

I think this is all a matter of perspective, but I definitely have a few that are regarded as angsty even if I don't necessarily see them that way? Picking one, I might have to say See The Beast You've Made of Me.

7. What's the fic you wrote that has the happiest ending?

This is harder to answer lol, a lot of my happier fics are more moments, rather than a having an ending with build-up. But, Love Has A Way To Find Ya (Sneaks Up Right Behind Ya) is the first one that comes to mind!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have actually been very fortunate in this regard! I've had a few negative comments for sure, but most are more along the lines of "stopping reading here" or just poorly worded. I have several fics I've been more worried about, but locking the fics has seemed to discourage anyone who wants to be senselessly cruel! A lot of what I write isn't to everyone's taste, so some less than perfect comments come with that territory.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I absolutely have lmao. I haven't been in the mood for it recently, but I have my fair share. As for what kind, it depends on the ship and dynamic, and how seriously I'm treating it lol. I've written daddy kink to casual pegging to sweet losses of virginity.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Not really? I have a few ideas that have broached crossover territory, but I don't make a habit or it!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, though not recently. I'm sure there's a lot more out there in all honesty, but I've only stumbled across it once or twice on random websites when I've had the thought to google my username.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I've been fortunate to have a couple translated, and it's always the most amazing feeling ever.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, I've co-written quite a few! I've done round-robins as well as more formal collabs where both authors are working together and writing together throughout the process. I really enjoy doing them and have written some of my favorite fics with others! They're definitely challenging, but I think I have the benefit of being pretty adaptable.

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

So one thing you need to know about me is that I'm really bad at favorites. I think my favorite canon ship amongst my fandoms would be Percabeth, but my favorite ship for reading fanfiction for would, historically, be Tomarry/Harrymort/whatever you want to call it.

15. What's a wip you want to finish, but don't think you ever will?

I am actively determined to finish the ones first coming to mind, but honestly the one I doubt I'll ever do anything with is the AU lovingly referred to as Percy French Whore lmfao

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think my adaptability is my greatest strength. I definitely have themes and patterns I fall into, but overall I try to keep an open-mind to ships, aus, and more. I've gone back and forth between past and present tense, I've written over 25 ships for PJO alone. There's very little I look at and think I can't write, even if it takes some time to come around to it/make it work for me.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I think my biggest weaknesses have to do with managing a story as a whole. I have these grand ideas, but I struggle to bring them to Completeness. I'll have dreams of showing a realistic development of a character from the one we know and love to something twisted and taken advantage of and miss a few beats, and drop a few characters and plot points along the way. I'm also not the best at worldbuilding. I'm a pretty low-context type of person, and it's highlighted in a fanfction type of environment. I'll get questions about worldbuilding in fics--and they'll be GOOD questions--and I'll sit there with my head tilted at the screen wondering why anyone would think of that 😭

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I like the idea of it, but would definitely need help from a native speaker. I got overly confident with my high school Spanish classes and made an attempt and I will never be doing that again.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Twilight. First fandom I read for, first fandom I posted for. Twilight was how I discovered fanfiction.net and started me down this path.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

This is almost impossible to answer just because there are so many factors at play, but the first two (very, very different fics) coming to mind are both collabs: HAUNT ME, THEN— with @mrthology and The Murder Monologues with @theinevitablesense

I tag @sappho-of-space 💛

[thewertsearch]

Asks Compilation 23/10

Done and done. I'm surprised I didn't already have a tag for them, to be honest!

Oh, fun! I always wonder if people are reading for the first time along with me. I'm sure you've overtaken me already by now!

I don't think I'd have as much fun with the blog if it was less blind. Even the knowledge that the trolls existed was enough to heavily influence my theories.

Aren't they thirteen?

Granted, we don't know if trolls mature at the same rate as humans, but they certainly seem to be in that age range to me.

Nepeta, resident matchmaker, seems unsure about the current status of the Sollux/Aradia relationship, but she'd definitely drawn a heart there before. Plus, Aradia immediately identified the '8oyfriend' as Sollux, so there is something going on with them.

If it does, and he did, then that's pretty clever - but unfortunately for him, it's probably futile. There are surely a million other ways she could manipulate his desires.

I know Homestuck is controversial, but I always had the vague idea that, like Undertale, its reputation had a lot more to do with the fandom than the property itself.

I'm surprised there's that many people who say the comic is bad. The comic is great. Even if, worst-case-scenario, it jumps the shark on the very next page, there's still so much to love.

I guess this is a good explanation for why his name is so close to Lord British - thus, their similar invincibility schticks really are coincidental.

The former works well - although, I've just noticed on reread that he hasn't actually referred to himself as a doctor. He's just 'Doc'.

That said, I have reason to believe that he is, in fact, a real doctor.

Maybe he really is a gambling man.

Well, Terezi is referencing his comic before Earth even exists...

So it's like the SBaHJifier gag, but for the whole comic?

That sounds ambitious, but interesting, especially if it's doing everything you say it is. Any fanwork that people think was written by Hussie must be something special.

It's fun, getting both of these messages in the same week. Glad you're enjoying it!

Yeah, I didn't consider Equius as an option, back when Aradia was talking about this. I don't think I'd have picked him at the time, though.

Both Equius and Vriska convinced themselves that they had an arrangement with Aradia.

In retrospect, her own statement - which came after the two above - was, indeed, deliberately vague. It's supposed to make you wonder which of the two options she was talking about. As far as I can tell, there was no reason to assume it couldn't be Vriska - she'd even told Karkat that she was going to be the 'real leader', so we knew she was planning a power grab.

Anyway, I defaulted to her, since she'd talked about her co-leader arrangement only a couple of pages beforehand. I don't think I even remembered Equius was an option until he spoke to her later. Can't catch 'em all!

Pop! Team! Nepic!

Thank you! Yeah, Vriska's attitude is completely understandable at this point. Would she really have survived if she wasn't cruel?

I was skeptical about that line initially - but Vriska honestly doesn't seem to be much of a liar, so I think part of her really did see Aradia as a friend.

I personally doubt Aradia ever felt anything positive towards Vriska - she's a blue-blood, after all, a hateful sn0b - but that doesn't stop them being friends. After all, the same could be said about Karkat, towards Gamzee. Trolls just seem to see friendships differently.

I try to avoid queueing stuff - gotta put the live in 'liveblog', after all!

There are occasional exceptions, though. For example, if I answer a lot of (non-compiled) asks at once, and don't want to fill up people's dashboards, I might queue them to space them out a little - but never more than an hour or so in advance.

Really, the answer to your question is 'neither', since I don't have a schedule. Lately, I've been posting about four days a week, and each liveblog session will last for two to four posts - but that's all subject to change, depending on my mood, my energy levels, random life stuff and, frankly, the phase of the moon. Properly scheduling this blog has proved impossible, so I'm just embracing it at this point.

If there's one thing that Aradia and Vriska can agree on, it's that an Equius-made arm is good for only one thing - rippin' out hearts!

Sorry - no breaks longer than a week? Since Act 1?

I suppose if your website pays your rent, you don't really need a day job - but still, I'm surprised that no life stuff got in the way in all that time. Hell, it's already happened to me - and this comic is surely way easier to analyze than it is to write!

Well, I'm only on 2300 now, so I haven't seen much!

I'm just curious as to why he's seeking out Karkat, specifically. Jack seems to work independently, not taking orders from his Queen - so what's motivating him, this early in the game?

No reason it can't be both, right? This is probably one of the most emotionally intense things to happen to her since her death, and it just so happens to coincide with her 'resurrection'. Frankly, I'd have been more surprised if she didn't lose her shit.

Also - damn, I didn't notice he was mirroring her '0k' catchphrase. No, Equius. No one was 0k with that.

Welcome! You can thank a few of my readers for helping me optimize my tagging system, too. I think it was @krixwell who first suggested I add a tag which included asks!