#because again. she's the one ultimately paying for it and that's just sad

[yellowloid]

whats up with the way matt and amanda frame their posts?

let me start by saying that i really appreciate the fact that they stand up for her and defend her against haters; it's sweet that as her friends they show support to her and all that stuff. she gets a lot of unnecessary hate and it's good that they have her back.

however. amanda has a tendency to hyperbole that makes everything she says seem so exaggerated, always calling her by superlatives, an angel, "woman of my dreams", amelia "worshiping" her, "everyone's favourite", both her AND matt calling her his sister??? you end up not being able to take her support that seriously lmao. i get that she's trying to do good because they're friends, and it's nice that she does what she does, but she's so dramatic and passive-aggressive with it sometimes

and then matt... idk wtf happened to him lately because he was always so silent on drama regarding their social circle (he was always kinda lowkey on his socials in general) and then over the past year he's been so adamant on putting her on a pedestal like amanda does. it's not the first time he calls her his sister either, but again if they're close it's nice that he supports her. the only thing that kinda annoys me (and that has absolutely nothing to do with louise) is the "you know i'll get off of here again" shit he pulls every time. i just find it so childish of him because why are you punishing all your fanbase for something only a minority of people does. and why are you holding it over your fans' heads, threatening them to log off at the first chance you get. it's just a poor way of dealing with the problem that does nothing to actually solve it. just show her support without being bitchy with the passive-aggressive threats lmao

[serpentandlily]

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

We Should Stick Together - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate. (Part I)

Warnings: angst, death, self-harm

A/n: An epilogue of sorts to Birds of a Feather - Read HERE. Thanks for all your love!! 

• ───────────────── •

I want you to stay

'Til I'm in the grave

'Til I rot away, dead and buried

'Til I'm in the casket you carry

• ───────────────── •

It was dead silent in the Temple. Many fae had come today to pay their respect and to honor the female that died during the war with Koschei—the female that had bravely lured the Death God to his demise and had ultimately met her own in the end.

Azriel had watched the service from the shadows, consumed by his shame and grief. Grief over losing his mate, his best friend, and the chance at a long life with her. Shame from not being able to protect her, from not realizing the mating bond between the two of them until it was far too late and for those last few words he had spoken to her that had only pushed her further into a suicide mission. 

You just want me to continue being miserable. Because that’s always been why the two of us got along so well. Both lonely and so unhappy and now that I’m finally not, you want to drag me back down. Maybe one day someone will love you the way me and Elain love each other. But just because no one does right now, does not mean I have to give up my happiness to keep being miserable with you.

The words haunted him. 

She haunted him. 

Azriel had always been good at ruining his own life. But saying those words was single handedly the worst mistake he had ever made. He hadn't meant them. Of course he hadn't meant them. He loved Y/n. He had since the day he had met her. She was his closest friend—someone he had felt comfortable with. But he had been so blind...blinded by Mor and her vivacious personality...blinded by Elain and the sunshine she had brought to the Night Court. 

All along his mate had been right by his side. The one person he had been searching for all his years of living had been right in front of him and he hadn't even noticed. 

Azriel walked down the long aisle towards the casket that was displayed on the dais. His footsteps echoed in the now silent chamber—not even his own heart beat could be heard. No, his heart had stopped beating the second hers had. 

He fiddled with the flower in his hand, swallowing the tears and sadness that threatened to consume him. He owed her this. He wasn't going to run and hide himself in the shadows as he'd been doing the past week. He needed to be here today. 

Azriel finally stopped in front of the casket and choked on his own bile as the sweet, comforting scent of his mate reached his nose. This felt all too much like a nightmare—one he was stuck in with no way out. Cursed to repeat this day from beginning to end for the rest of his existence. 

She would never stop haunting him.

And he didn't want her to. 

If the ghost of her was the only thing left of his mate in this world, he would cling to it for the rest of his days. 

Azriel placed the spirit lily on top of the casket, the glowing silver petals matched the marble stone. He had searched day and night to find this flower. It was your spirit lily. The one that had bloomed when you died. 

"I'm so sorry," he cried, the tears finally falling. "I'm so sorry." 

He fell to his knees before the casket, one scarred hand sliding along the cold marble as he continued to repeat those words over and over and over again. 

"I am so sorry."

• ───────────────── •

If you go, I'm going too, 

'Cause it was always you, alright

And if I'm turning blue, please don't save me

Nothing left to lose without my baby

• ───────────────── •

Azriel's ears were ringing as he sat at the kitchen table in the cottage that Elain and he had purchased a few weeks before their wedding. It was the first time he had stepped inside since the war with Koschei. It was the first time he'd even been in the Night Court since the loss of his mate and best friend. 

"I understand that you need time to process this, Azriel, I really do," Elain pleaded with him. "But we made vows to each other the day we married. Vows that were supposed to transcend any mating bond." 

Azriel's shadows wailed from the corners of the room. They had started searching for Y/n the day she died and hadn't stopped their cries of panic since then.

It had been a month already.

A whole, entire month had passed by without you. 

And here he was—dark circles lining his eyes, stubble on his hollowed jaw and a song he'd never hear again playing on repeat in his mind. His mating song. His soul's song. His soul that was desperately crying out for its other half. 

"I can't do this, Elain," he spoke, voice hoarse from disuse. "I'm sorry." 

"That's it? That's all you have to say?" Elain questioned, crossing her arms and leaning on the kitchen counter. "Azriel, I rejected my own mate for you. I...I thought we were in this together. We talked about the day you might find your own and we agreed that you'd reject it too." 

"I know," Azriel whispered, his forlorn eyes stuck on the cracks on the floor. "But I didn't know what I was giving up the day we made those vows, Elain. I'm sorry. I truly am. But this...this is different. Lucien was a stranger to you. I thought if I ever met my mate, she'd be a stranger to me as well. But Y/n was my best friend. I've loved her for centuries."

"All that time together and yet, you still never went after her," Elain argued. 

Those words landed a heavy blow in his gut. Elain was right. He had known his mate for years and years and never once did he think of her as anything more than a friend. But that wasn't because of her. No, he had done that to himself. 

He had found a companion with Y/n. She saw him in ways no one else did. He'd be lying if he said that hadn't scared him. For someone to see through him—through all the good and to the rotting, decaying bad that existed in him. He was a monster hiding in plain sight and she had seen that. She had seen all of that and loved him anyway. 

And he had ran from it—from her. It was his own self-hatred that caused him to never see Y/n that way. She reminded him of everything that he was because she was all the same. She was the missing piece to his broken soul. But she had been beautiful in her darkness, hauntingly exquisite in her shadows. And he had been a brutish beast who thought that someone could vanquish the darkness that surrounded him.

What he hadn't realized was that he was never looking for a light to cast the shadows away. Not really. He had been fighting a storm whose tides had only been trying to bring him home to her. To his mate. His soul and heart and mind.  

And now she was gone and she had taken all of his love with her. 

Azriel stood from his seat, barely present in this reality. "I'm sorry, Elain. No words will change my mind nor my heart. I belonged to Y/n. It is only my fault that I never saw that." 

And it was his fault. 

All of it was his fault.  

• ───────────────── •

And I don't know what I'm crying for

I don't think I could love you more

It might not be long, but baby, I

I'll love you 'til the day that I die

• ───────────────── •

"Papa, who is that?"

Nyx's innocent voice caught Rhysand's attention. He followed Nyx's gaze to the corner of the room where Azriel stood, wreathed in his shadows. It had been years since any of them had laid eyes on the elusive shadowsinger. Years since he had been so consumed with his grief that he had disappeared from this court, from Prythian entirely. 

But there was one day he always returned.

The anniversary of Y/n's death. 

Cassian had ambushed him before he made it to her gravesite and all but dragged him to this family dinner. It broke Rhysand's heart that his son didn't recognize one of his uncles.

"That's Azriel," Rhysand answered, clearing his throat. "He's one of your uncles. He used to be around a lot when you were just a baby." 

"Oh," Nyx said, tilting his head as he looked at the shadowsinger. "He seems...sad. Why is he so sad, Papa?" 

Rhysand's heart snapped in his chest. The loss of Y/n had been felt by all of them, of course. But for Azriel...it had destroyed him. None of them had known about the mating bond between the two of them. They had been caught off guard just as much as Azriel had been. Rhys had felt an inkling that she might've been in love with him due to her slowly distancing herself once he and Elain had gone public with their relationship.

He had only thought she needed space and time. He hadn't realized that she had been slowly wilting away. And no one had done a single thing to help her. They had all failed her. 

Sometimes he felt a fire-burning rage towards his brother. He had tried to steer him away from Elain that Solstice night but Azriel hadn't listened to him. Perhaps if he had, Y/n might still be here. Perhaps the mating bond would've finally snapped in place for Azriel. But instead he had stubbornly doubled-down on his feelings for Elain. 

"He lost someone he loved," Rhys choked out. "We all did. Do you remember the stories about Y/n?" 

Nyx clapped his tiny hands together with a smile. Gwyn had made sure that Y/n's name had been honored and recorded in the new books about the war with Koschei. A story that was being passed down through the years. A story Nyx had read time and time again because it was his favorite. 

"She was the warrior who faced a Death God all on her own!" Nyx exclaimed. "She led him straight to the trap where he was ambushed!"

Rhysand smiled, patting his son on the head. It had been too hard to speak her name after her death but slowly, they had all started talking about her more and more. Perhaps it was finally time to tell his son the whole story. Rhys glanced at Azriel again, who was a shell of his former self. Perhaps not the whole story.

"Well, before all of that," Rhys started, "Y/n was our friend..."

• ───────────────── •

Birds of a feather, we should stick together, I know

I said I'd never think I wasn't better alone

Can't change the weather, might not be forever

But if it's forever, it's even better

• ───────────────── •

Azriel was kneeling on the grass, his hands grasping the beautiful stone marker of your gravesite as his eyes combed over the engraving: 

Here lies Y/n

Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend

The stars will shine brighter with you among them 

Rest in Peace

"I have tried to go on for your sake," Azriel murmured. "Because I know that is what you would've wanted. But I can't...I can't do this without you. I relive every day I've shared with you and it is still not enough to make me miss you any less. I am sorry that it took your death to make me realize just how much you meant to me." 

Azriel had gone through it all in his head time and time again. Always reliving moments where he could've seen what was right in front of him all along yet didn't. Your last words to him constantly looped in his mind. 

"I'll find...you...again. Maybe...maybe I'll be...good enough...then."

Those words could not be more untrue. It was always him who had never been good enough for you. Not you. Never you. You had always been as beautiful as the moon reflected on the sea, alluring and mysterious but peaceful. So peaceful. Despite the darkness the two of you shared, you'd always been so soft and kind to those around you...those who had never felt the kind of pain you'd gone through. 

You lured people in because of your grace. You gave people a safe place to exist in. Your shadows had felt like a warm blanket on a chilly night. Your smile had rivaled the moonlight. 

You had always been far more special than you knew. 

Your mistake had been thinking you could out love his hatred for himself. 

But the mating bond had opened his eyes. Although he had only gotten a few seconds with his mate, its song had told him everything he needed to know. He no longer hated his shadows or the anger he felt inside. He no longer hated himself. How could he? How could he hate himself when part of him was you? 

And he could never hate you. 

Gods, he could never be without you. Your souls were intertwined. 

But living in this world without you was something he could not bear. He was consumed by your memory. He looked for you in everything. In the sea, in the breeze, in the faces of random people, down alleyways and behind every door. But you were not here. You were not here and so he decided he could not be here, either. 

"You said you'd find me again," Azriel whispered. "You said you'd find me again but that is not enough. I cannot sit here and wait for you. I will crawl through Hell and everything that is ready for me when my life ends to find you. This life means nothing to me without you in it. You were my heart, Y/n. I love you. I've always loved you. And I am ready to prove that in our next life."

Azriel slid Truth-teller from its sheath and turned it over in his hand, pointing the blade directly as his own heart. He closed his eyes, tuned out all noise except that of the leaves gently rustling in the breeze. 

"I love you, Y/n," he murmured, gripping the blade tighter. "And I can't wait to see you again." 

His dagger pierced through skin and bone until it reached his heart. 

Until all life was spilled from inside of him. 

Until his final breath carried with the wind. 

Until he could finally see his love again.

• ───────────────── •

I knew you in another life

You had that same look in your eyes

I love you, don't act so surprised

[hitlikehammers]

Steddie Wrong Blind Date AU 💜

what if you meet the wrong love of your life?

He doesn’t know how the fuck he got here. At a very nice bar in a very nice restaurant.

Sitting alone.

Or well: he knows. It’s more that he can’t believe he let it happen.

Again.

Because Steve had finally (finally!) made sufficient enough threats logical arguments to curb Robin’s attempts—well-meaning, dingus, well meaning attempts!—to set him up with so-and-so’s cousin or whoever-the-fuck’s roommate. The blind dates had actually been his first successful method to ultimately shoot down, on the basis that they weren’t just fucking humiliating: they were goddamn degrading.

For reasons such as his current situation.

And of all the things Robin desired for him, they both knew she’d never knowingly cause him pain. So that left him working with awkward introductions at parties, sometimes at completely random places even, like too-weird-to-be-coincidence run-ins at the grocery store and shit, where Robin just so happened to be shopping when both her targets were there. It was borderline frightening, but. It was very Robin. And Steve adored her more than anything and struggled too much to stay mad at her—he’s definitely tried his damnedest, more than once—so. He knows her intentions come from the heart, regardless of how disastrously they pan out in reality.

Which is why Steve is allowing this once—and only once—because he’s not stupid, but. He appreciates the ingenuity.

And getting your girlfriend to make the blind date pitch was…technically honoring his rules.

So. He’s allowing this to slide once. Once. One time.

One. More. Time.

And he’s already got his justification, fucking iron clad too, to call it on sight. Failed attempt, the guy’s already twenty minutes late and that’s…that’s past fashionable, really, especially for a set up like this. He glances at his phone, just to see if he’s got anything from Chrissy as an update—Steve loves her, and Robin adores her, and that’s the only reason he’s not spending the minutes he waits, sipping stupidly-slow at the same tequila sunrise, plotting revenge against her for being so gullible, so willing to not merely enact Robin’s last-gasp efforts but to participate, actively, because apparently tonight’s ’perfect match, he’s so your type!’ was Chrissy’s suggestion—but there’s nothing. Just the last message from an hour ago reassuring him against backing out in the first place:

he’s tall, dark, handsome, 100% your type. maybe a little *theatrical*: you’ll LOVE him 💕

Steve didn’t, and still doesn’t, understand what she means by theatrical, and honestly he’s kinda wary for it—he doesn’t like playing games when it comes to romance: he’s too all-in, and too quickly, for any of that.

Which also means that, as much as he thinks it’s a fucking laughable sham to have agreed to this, and as much as he’d walked in knowing that, knowing he was entertaining the farce against his own will: it still…doesn’t sting, exactly. But it definitely squeezes uncomfortably in his chest for no good reason that he’s been fucking stood up and yeah, yeah, that means it’s time to—

He reaches for his drink and notices it’s empty. Just another sign, really, so he move to gesture the bartender over to pay but—

Someone’s got a better angle, actually gets the guy’s attention before Steve can even try—a someone sitting two empty chairs down who lifts his glass for another, then gestures the exact same way with an empty toward Steve’s sad glass of ice.

“On mine,” he tips his chin Steve’s direction before the bartender grabs Steve’s glass along with the stranger’s and makes for refills, then it’s just the stranger turning the whole of his body around on the stool to face…Steve.

“For the handsome nobleman,” and he says it with a stilted lilt that’s somehow not disingenuous, and it’s odd, to put it mildly, paired with a little bow of his head that definitely matches the affected voice but also definitely gives the stranger a perfect window to run his gaze up and down Steve’s seated frame—it’s a good move, Steve can’t even deny it, no matter how…weird.

But…also, there’s a warmth in it? Maybe in the gaze, something that’s not just heat, or maybe in the tone that’s not just putting on a show.

Something.

“In fact I do say the very handsome nobleman doth sit alone beyond comprehension,” the stranger seems to correct himself, and the way his lips curl, wider and then pull back a little, like he hesitates, like he’s maybe bolder than this in other situations but is reserving himself just a touch for here and now—and goddamn but this is pretty fucking bold already, whatever it actually is:

“And he deserves plentiful libations,” and Steve didn’t even notice the new drink on the counter until the stranger reaches, tips precariously on his stool, and slides the glass closer before nodding toward it, almost like another little bow: “in his tarrying.”

Steve stares wordless for a second because, outside of that weird fucking Renaissance Fair thing the kids dragged him to, he’s never heard anyone talk like that. So the setting’s all fucked up because this is Manhattan, at a not-particularly-inexpensive bistro type venue, definitely devoid of turkey legs.

Plus the guy in question doesn’t quite look the part—gorgeous curls to the shoulders, facial structure to kill a man, legs for days draped down the stool and dressed in shades of black top to bottom, from the button up in charcoal fucking silk, to the weirdly-suited boots that might have a steel toe hiding or might just be playing, the only color on him the pout of his lips and the slight flush visible in the low bar light brushed over his cheeks before he leans a little closer, eyes maybe the darkest thing about him and kinda goddamn mesmerizing for it, especially for how they somehow tiptoe along a fine line between almost disorienting focus on Steve and Steve alone, and something close to hesitant, or maybe more bashful when he clears his throat and asks:

“Perhaps this very handsome nobleman would also enjoy some company,” and his tone’s not even playing coy about being hopeful, before he full-on lays a palm to his chest in old-fashioned apology as his lashes flutter a little and he goes all self-deprecating, and genuine in it, as he adds in that same bashfulness:

“Even if only that of a humble bard, such as myself?”

And Steve’s not above being wholesale dumbstruck for a good second, like his hearing goes tunneled and his pulse echoes for the narrowing: this man is unreal.

Very…theatrical. One-hundred percent his type. Two-hundred percent, even. Jesus.

So Steve’s quiet for a second, but he’s not known for his charm because he can’t bounce back quicker than average, certainly quicker than risking that gorgeous face falling for the dashing for the hope painted open all over it, not a stroke of artifice in sight.

Steve’s not even trying when he fucking feels his own automatic walls start to slip as he leans, meets the man move for move so they can hear each other close as the bar starts to fill a little more:

“Only if I can get the next round,” and if Steve purrs it, it’s a reflex; if it darkens those already depthless eyes, well. He’s close enough to appreciate the swell of the pupil, the deepening of the flush on those cheeks.

If Steve’s heart jumps a little, there’s not a soul who can call him out for it; tree in the woods with no one to hear it fall.

But it does. It so does.

The man does an adorable little shimmy across the seats between them, taking the one closest to Steve and then doing a little scootching of even that to settle all the closer, and it shouldn’t be endearing, but Steve feels like he can bet on his ribs being sore by the end of whatever this is, or ends up being, just for the swelling beneath them already underway.

“If my request is being so highly honored, so as to join you,” the man takes a little bundle of his curls and drags them across the corner of his lips before tucking it back and…Steve has the immediate urge to have done it for him instead, what the hell, too fucking soon, man—

“Does his majesty have a name?”

It takes Steve a couple long seconds to register that the man means him, though it doesn’t escape Steve that the reference, while it took a while to land? Never for an instant felt like it did in high school, or even shortly after. It felt…warm.

“Steve,” he says with a smile, more twisting his palm than extending his hand to shake given their proximity; “and you, my,” Steve licks his lips then presses them tight around a grin before choosing his words: “very odd but very endearing bard, was it?”

“It was, indeed,” the man lights up near fluorescent; “I’m Eddie.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, or the way he takes Steve’s hand. But…Jesus.

It’s…a really good name.

“Then tell me, Eddie,” Steve doesn’t let go of the hand in his, their touches just slowly slide apart and it feels…like a loss but not a crushing one, Eddie’s still close enough to feel the heat of him.

“Unless I’m totally off, I think I know from exposure, not playing, that a bard’s a musician, yeah?” Or is it a storyteller, or maybe both, there’s a good fucking reason he never have in to playing the nerd game—

“Tell me what makes you introduce yourself like that right off the bat, then.”

And Eddie glows for the opening, the invitation, and the thing is? He doesn’t stop; he’s like a star unto himself, shining and bathing Steve in the glimmer as he talks about music, about growing up in a house of it, about it being tough sometimes but his mother took him to live with his uncle, the three of them and then it was easier and there was also more music, new music, and he tells Steve about bands he’s played in, joined and left, guitars he’s loved and lost, the whole shipping boxes he has piled with full notebooks of lyrics and ideas from years upon years; and then he pivots, or maybe that’s not even it, because what he really does is test the waters around where Steve thought the bard reference came from in the first place—the nerd game. Steve confesses he was a mostly an unwilling bystander but it was probably more because he didn’t get it, and honestly his reluctance was more for show than anything, he loved what his kids loved at the end of the day, what made them happy—which left Steve explaining the kids, explaining Robin, explaining his family in a way Steve hasn’t done in relationships that lasted months, let alone first conversations on very first dates.

He should be terrified. He isn’t.

He should be terrified of the isn’t. And…and yet.

“My turn for a question,” Eddie fills the first soft lull in conversation, one that stretches taffy-sweet and almost kinda giddy; Steve doesn’t even know what he’s feeling because he doesn’t know if he’s ever felt it before, like, ever—all he knows is that it’s kind of fucking fantastic, like something he already never wants to let go of. So of course he nods, welcomes Eddie’s turns for a question even if it doesn’t seem entirely necessary; the back-and-forths sliding so natural, so balanced.

“Why the choice of drink?”

Eddie nods at the glass almost empty in his hand while Steve squints and laughs a little.

“What?” Steve asks because he doesn’t understand, sure, but also because the unpredictability, alongside the sheer earnestness of this man is…it’s disarming in the best fucking way. Like maybe Steve’s falling but he never wants to stop and—

Too soon, too fucking soon even if that’s not what he meant, exactly; he thought it, and it’s too fucking soon—

“Everyone has a reason for ordering a drink,” Eddie explains with a grin that pops those delicious dimples; “habit, by which there’s a story of the first time you tried it,” he ticks off on his nimble looking fingers, the rings on them catching the lights; “spontaneity, by which there’s a tale of what inspired it,” and fuck, they’re so long, those fingers, Steve kinda wonders how many knuckles he could fit in his mouth; “memories, by which there’s something poking at them.”

Eddie pauses, takes Steve in, no doubt sees Steve hanging onto, damn near salivating over his every word even as he swallows and takes a breath to collect himself as discreetly as he’s capable; it just makes those dimples divot deeper.

“I could go on,” Eddie offers, a little sly in his smile, the knowing kind, but his tone is soft, like maybe Steve’s not the only one feeling…things. And maybe Eddie wants him to know it. Maybe so that he’s not alone. Maybe because they both fucking like it. Maybe—

“Habit,” Steve answers, unable to keep from smiling around the rim of his glass when he takes a sip. “I got sick on shots and swore off straight tequila, but I was always up for the, y’know, frou-frou drinks,” he swirls the maybe-two-swallows left for show: “so long as it tasted good I didn’t give a shit, y’know, and then a,” Steve pauses a second, wonders how best to describe that particular figure from his past before settling on:

“An old friend, told me once,” and then Steve pauses again, this time because he can feel the rush of heat to his cheeks because oh, shit, now he’s backed himself into having to say it—

“Oh, now you have to share,” Eddie coaxes, a singsong in his voice and a wide-eyed wonder to him, something like genuine investment in what comes next, what’s next in something solely about Steve, that almost soothes the embarrassment;

“Unless you’re displaying the answer with this,” and Eddie only just brushes the flat of his fingernail to Steve’s cheekbone, too quick to appreciate the shiver it sends down Steve’s spine, through his fucking veins, that’s not helped one bit by Eddie murmuring, a little sensual, but somehow also a little dazed, a little starry-eyed when he breathes out:

“Blush like the sunrise.”

And if he wasn’t already, fuck knows Steve is now.

He misses Eddie’s touch against it, too. Even so fleeting. Wishes he were bold enough, or foolish enough, to grab Eddie’s hand and let him feel what he’s doing, the heat in him. The way his blood rushes.

He’s not, because that’s fucking insane and way too much too soon, but.

Wanting doesn’t play by those rules.

“Almost,” Steve picks up the glass and swirls it again; “he said I was like sunshine,” Steve recalls with a little grin—it’s a softer memory now than it used to be. He laughs a little and downs the last of what’s left of his drink. “Think it was more because of a yellow sweater I wore way too much at the time, but,” and he places the empty down and so he doesn’t see it coming until it happens: Eddie’s hand. On his hand, on the glass.

“No.”

Steve looks up, barely breathes. Eddie has soft hands.

“No, I think it was more than that, Sunshine,” Eddie tells him, honest and certain and a little breathless and Steve’s of two equal minds: he’s never been so aroused. But he’s also never felt so seen.

And wanted.

“Another?” Eddie asks, but his eyes don’t leave Steve’s to look at their drinks, to be anywhere but in this moment, here with him.

“You’re sure?” Steve makes himself ask it, doesn’t bother forcing himself to sound anything but pulling for one answer and one answer alone. “Don’t have somewhere better to be?”

“Wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Eddie does look away then, but down at their hands, strokes his thumb a little down where Steve’s wrist starts to curve. “And I’m struggling just now to think of anywhere better than right here.”

And then Eddie’s placing his fingers between Steve’s, just resting them in the middle spaces: they’d fit. So well.

They…will. They will fit fucking gloriously.

“My round, then,” though Steve’s lost count if they’re even, how many drinks they’ve actually had—not too many, he’s pleasantly buzzed at best and maybe more on the company than anything else if he’s honest, but he likewise doesn’t know how long they’re been there, sipping between baring their fucking souls in the most mundane ways that…

That Steve thinks have started to kindle something in him. Started to breathe life into a part of him he didn’t know was dormant, forgot he could feel until it started unfurling like this, deep in his chest.

“Need something to cut through the sugar,” he says idly, but he doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s breath catches when Steve tightens his fingers to catch Eddie’s before letting go, sliding the glass forward so the bartender can see and then he orders: “The Glenlivet 14,” he points; “neat,” then he glances at Eddie’s glass of melting ice—he’s been on Black Russians the whole time;

“Keeping at it, or something new?”

“You make a compelling argument for easing up the sweet,” Eddie cocks his head, taps his chin consideringly; “especially when you’re agreeing to remain as my company,” he shoots over a heated glance and a smile too big to be as wicked as Steve thinks Eddie might have aimed for but it doesn’t matter, it has the same bewitching, pulse-stuttering effect either way.

“Bulleit Rye, on the rocks,” Eddie taps his glass with a certain finality.

“A man after my own heart,” Steve comments with a nod; it’s a good order. He doesn’t think about the words themselves before they come out.

“And if I wanted to be?”

And then Steve thinks about the words with every goddamn cell in his body, like his blood repeats them and the electricity that works his brain as much as his heart is making little lightning storms around the comment, then the question, and then the implication because Steve…

Steve’s never wanted anything more. Steve’s never been offered anything even close and here’s this man? And he can’t be saying what Steve..thinks he has to be saying because what else can those words mean—

“Too quick?” Eddie pulls back the slightest bit and Steve misses him immediately; “I usually am, I’m so—“

Steve misses him, and will not have him doubting because Steve knows that feeling intimately, knows this man deserves none of it, and knows it’s anything but warranted when Steve’s heart, the one Eddie might want to be after, just took up leaping in his fucking chest like a goddamn gazelle.

So Steve doesn’t think, at all, when he grabs the hand Eddie placed on his a few minutes ago and cups it to his chest, the best proof he knows that can’t be overthought, or rationalized away.

Eddie’s eyes are confused, for a second, until he feels it.

And then: but, fuck.

Steve’s never watched a flower blossom all at once before but…that’s all he can think of with the slow crawl of a smile, the bright gleam of something like wonder in eyes that get impossibly wider, a chest that rises and falls heavy abd quick under the silk Steve wants to unbutton a little, see more of that milk-smooth throat save now that he’s looking, he can see enough to take note of Eddie’s pulse there: riotous.

It’s too good. It’s too much.

But Eddie feels it with his own hand. Steve sees it with his own eyes.

Here they are.

“That’s usually my line,” Steve finally exhales, tries to make it a joke between them, an understanding and maybe it works, maybe they’re both too distracted by the hinting promise of maybe never needing to have such a joke again:

“Not too quick.”

And Eddie stays there, riveted, beaming something blinding and Steve just…feels his own heartbeat. Under a hand that doesn’t seem inclined to want to move.

Not too quick.

Eddie blinks at him, almost like he’s waking up from something he wasn’t even aware he’d been sleeping through, or walking through half-dazed. Like he’s seeing something real for the very first time. His breaths are fast, a little shaky, and then he’s standing, pulling Steve’s hand from his chest up to Eddie’s mouth and kissing his knuckles, watching Steve every second as Steve’s own breath hitches, and then pulling away, but not letting go yet. Like he’s reluctant to.

“Let me hit the head real fast, throw some water on my face to make sure I’m not dreaming,” Eddie whispers to him, breathless still and looking almost like he’s trembling; “while he gets those poured,” he tips his head toward the bar where their drinks are still waiting their turn.

Then Eddie’s brining Steve’s hand to his lips again and whispering there, and yeah, the man’s shaking a little as he breathes, almost shy:

“Don’t go anywhere?”

As if it’s even a question.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve promises with all he’s got, because he thinks…it’s insanity, but he thinks maybe he walked so reluctantly into this bar however many hours ago and somehow, by some act of benevolent fate, he’s…found the man who’ll prove to be the love of his life?

Steve could not be moved for anything.

Eddie walks half-backward for how much he turns to look back at Steve, and Steve waves a few times, makes a few stupid faces just to see Eddie struggle not to giggle, and it’s…

He did say his chest was gonna be sore by the end of the night but, Jesus. He doesn’t know if he even has ribs left, or if they’re all broken, crushed to smithereens, for how full his chest feels. Nothing so common and simple as the bones of him could stand up to this and not be changed.

He smiles as he pulls his phone out—when was the last date he had where he didn’t look at his phone? Has he ever been on one before?—and he registers they’ve been sitting here, sharing themselves in a way that feels more like laying a foundation, deliberately, and that’s, that is…

Steve’s spent a very long time wishing for someone who’d want that, with him of all people. He was pretty sure he’d made his peace with never finding it. And then: here he is.

He bites his lower lip, lest his grin crack his face, when he thinks of texting Chrissy real quick and just…thanking her. Because, yeah.

Steve did, in fact, end up loving him.

Like…too-soon-but-for-real-pitter-patter-heart-skipping-beats shit.

So he thumbs open the chat and sees…unread messages.

He doesn’t full-on frown, too high on, just, everything, so he opens the texts before he can assume the worst of someone texting him during a date they, you know. Played a key role in setting up:

he may be running late for traffic, if you haven’t left please STAY I promise he is WORTH IT 🙏🏻💞

Steve’s not even sure Eddie was late, maybe they’d been sitting a few stools away for twenty minutes: it feels like a lifetime ago, now, and—

Then Steve sees the timestamp. Sent…like two hours ago.

He’d been at least two tequila sunrises in, with Eddie versus on his own, by then so, what was Chrissy even talking about—

He scrolls to the most recent message.

Seventeen minutes ago.

omg Steve I’m so sorry and *he* is so sorry, he’s absolutely cut up about this he’s still in traffic but he says he’s determined to try, he’s got flowers for you and everything he’s SUCH A GOOD GUY STEVE I swear I wouldn’t have done this if if I didn’t think he’d treat you like you deserve and this isn’t his fault, I even checked waze and it’s a mess but he understands if it’s too much and—

“Everything okay?”

Eddie’s already taken his seat, and is looking at Steve with polite interest, not leaning to see what’s on his screen like so many people do on instinct, but there’s actual concern underneath, and investment in it. Like whatever’s wrong, Eddie wants to help fix it.

Steve, reeling over the way the puzzle pieces are slotting into place—namely that, by all accounts, the earliest his intended date could have arrived was maybe ten minutes ago—looks up at Eddie, turns his phone screen-down on the bar and clears his throat, bites the bullet.

“This may seem like a,” Steve takes a deep breath, because he has to ask even if he is almost dead certain of the answer; “a kinda out-of-nowhere question but.”

And then Steve meets Eddie’s eyes square on, lets them wash over him and fucking hell: they steady him. Already, they’re an anchor for him in the worst of storms.

“Were you, by any chance, here for a blind date?”

Steve watches Eddie’s face cycle through maybe the five stages of…shock, more than grief given the context, he guesses, but they’re somehow closer to one another than Steve would’ve thought, definitely considering they only just met, though then he’s gotta consider that it feels like Eddie’s burrowed safe in his chest amidst all the blossoming joy, all the warm fullness like he lives there to be kept inside it always and also to maintain it, preserve it, as its sole cause and reason to be: but Eddie—Eddie looks at him with eyes that go wide, that fall with the rest of his face and then shutter a little, and that tears into Steve the hardest, to see something come up like barrier when Eddie’s the reason Steve feels so raw right now, and alive for it; he can’t let Eddie feel less than that, feel the need to pull back from that, from him—

Then he’s placid. Calm. Accepting.

But he deep wells in his eyes: they’re wet. They’re devastated, somehow.

And…no.

But before Steve can move, can speak: there’s a bright, colorful thing that stands out in his periphery—he catches it, flowers near the hostess stand—and his eyes flick to the person holding them, looking dismayed and definitely out of breath; attractive, brunet, weirdly familiar, and then he’s gesturing just so and…

Oh. Oh, that’s…

Steve made the comment two weeks ago, after the show he and Robin had gone to at the Gershwin, that he’d climb the lead like a goddamn tree. She’d groaned, pushed him into a nasty-ass wall that’d earned her the bill for dinner and drinks—but she’d had that look in her eye. And he’d ignored it but now—staring said lead, out of costume, still very handsome even while so fucking distraught, wilting more by the second as Steve tries not to stare too obviously, but then add in that Chrissy knowing half the standbys, that her being the reason they even got tickets, and Robin’s look—well.

“Theatrical” being…fucking literal, like a little clue, suddenly makes a whole lot of sense.

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says it under his breath but there’s…way more disappointment than their objectively-brief encounter should merit as he processes, eyes already having followed Steve’s, and puts the pieces together: no matter how late, Steve’s very-probable blind date’s entered the building.

Which—if Eddie answers the question the way the resignation making its home on his face suggests he will—makes Eddie…

“No, sweetheart,” and Eddie’s gathering Steve’s hands slowly, gently, and his face is mostly lax and his mouth tries for a smile but it’s just this side of a grimace as his eyes, god, they’re so bright, like maybe if you can’t stare you won’t see the hurt but Steve doesn’t have to look long for it to burrow into his own chest and flay at his beating fucking heart.

“No, I wasn’t.”

And Eddie looks down at their hands, like he did before, and the tenor to the staring is wholly different, now, subdued and mournful, and Steve’s mind’s already made up but, if it hadn’t been?

The unthinkable reality of witnessing this beautiful man’s heartbreak would seal the deal entirely.

“You know what?” Steve grabs Eddie’s hands back, and squeezes them tight as he makes to stand:

“Neither am I.”

Eddie’s lips part, and his brow furrows, eyes cutting to the front entrance, to the flowers, to a man who isn’t him as if that man could ever somehow be preferable, be more…more anything—

“But,” Eddie tries to protest, confusion undergirding the heartbreak, holding it still. Like…like breathless waiting, held in a frightful uncertainty, like weighing hearts against feathers: some cosmic importance in the balance.

Steve honestly couldn’t agree more. He just already knows how this scale tilts.

“You wanna get out of here, continue this conversation at any of the hundreds of other bars nearby?” Steve says, buttoning his blazer and reaching out a hand, hoping it stays steady; praying Eddie will read his conviction, his certainty, his heart and want to reach back.

And all the slow-rotting sickness in his stomach trying to climb upward and puncture all the buoyant joyful wonder in him for for every second that ticks by without Eddie’s hand in his, it’s all wiped away, burned by the flame of wanting and then getting, of Eddie’s hand in his properly held and Steve was fucking right.

They fit together gloriously.

“It would be my heart’s-sworn honor, my liege,” Eddie breathes, like maybe he’s afraid to hope and Steve won’t have that; and he thinks he knows what Eddie’s saying, knows what the fanciful words mean but he needs to be sure, so he lifts a brow and waits until Eddie grins again so his dimples start to show and he huffs, relief in it:

“I’d fuckin’ love to.”

They down their drinks in one go, gather their things and leave double their bill, barely paying anything so much as a glance when they could look at each other and marvel instead. They walk out opposite the flowers, paying neither the blossoms nor their holder any mind. The thing blooming between them, in Steve’s chest all the bigger and full and brighter for every step he takes with Eddie’s hand in his: it’s so much more than anything with stems and leaves, that grows in the ground. Like Eddie’s glow is more than a star could even hope for. Like the sunshine that’s maybe not Steve at all, that’s really just this feeling, and the way that it grows—it’s beyond explaining. It’s held between their hands alone.

And maybe Steve will text Chrissy and explain, ask her to send his regrets to the theater guy. Tomorrow.

Then Eddie tugs him closer unexpectedly, his laughter all music as he brings Steve’s hand to his lips again, then to his chest where this time, Steve catches the wild gallop of his pulse as proof.

He doesn’t think either of them have a fucking clue where they’re headed. They have every option in front of them, and want nothing more than the touch of the other, and the promise it holds inside.

So Steve does the tugging, now; curls one hand around Eddie and draws him in, his hand caught between their chests so perfect and tastes the coffee liqueur beneath the rye on his tongue and thinks of nothing else, not texting, not set-ups, not waiting: because he’s here. Right here.

And Eddie’s heartbeat feels like home somehow already; the taste of him is nothing short of divine. They’re fully clothed on a New York street and this is the most intimate thing Steve’s maybe ever felt, after the most meaningful evening he’s maybe ever spent with anyone. At a bar. Drinking tequila and grenadine.

He starts laughing, right against Eddie’s lips, right into Eddie’s mouth, so maybe some of the joy will trickle down into his chest, inside his heart so he’ll know even just a fraction of the joy that’s making Steve feel not lighter than air, or dizzy with the speed of it all—but again, maybe for the very first time: real. Solid. Worth something this momentous.

And maybe—increasingly likely, even, as if that’s not the most incredible, unfathomable, heart-starting thought he’s ever entertained but he thinks maybe he might just actually have a shot here, or can even already say just a little bit that he’s—

Loved.

Fuck. Fuck.

Scratch maybe sending a text by tomorrow—he’ll process getting ahold of Chrissy (and that conniving girlfriend of hers) to invite them to the goddamn wedding.

Because right now? Steve’s kissing the man he’s gonna spend the rest of his life with, the man he’s going to live and die learning to love better with everything he is and ever could be: one hand pressed between both their chests, and it’s not too much because Eddie’s pressing them together tighter, body to body and hanging on like he’s trying to hold Steve’s heart in from the back of his ribs just in case; and it’s not too soon because it feels like every single goddamn thing he’s waited for his whole life, beating and clinging and gasping and melding into place finally, finally because it’s…everything. This is everything.

They are everything.

For @starryeyedjanai, who requested 'Wrong Number/Wrong Blind Date AU' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST and incidentally also for @steddie-week for the Day Three prompt 'Long' (which is employed in a couple of abstract ways here)

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher @lawrencebshoggoth

divider credits here

ao3 link here ✨

[upsidedownmvnson]

fell off the moon | eddie munson

summary: jason carver threatens to hurt eddie if you continue seeing him, so you let him go. but eddie doesn't want to let go.

a/n: i loved this when i wrote it but im not so sure anymore... take it anyway :L

Eddie didn’t understand why you suddenly hated him.

Everything had been going so well. So he just… didn’t understand. It had been a few weeks of secret dates, of stolen kisses, and longing looks across the cafeteria. And then you just stopped. Stopped answering the phone, stopped letting him take you out, stopped talking to him at all. And it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad and he deserved an explanation. But you just wouldn’t budge. 

All he’d managed to get out of you in the hallway was, “maybe it just wasn’t meant to be,” but that wasn’t good enough for him.

You told him all your secrets. You were facing for him just as much as he had fallen for you, and you couldn’t just, just leave after making him fall so deeply.

What he didn’t see how you were hurting just as bad. How you were in agony because of all the pain you were causing. But you were doing it for him, you didn’t have a choice in the matter. Jason was powerful. Jason was rich, and white, and powerful, and he promised that if you continued on with the town freak, then Eddie would be the one paying the ultimate price. He all but promised that Eddie would be seriously hurt, or something. Jason already had it out for Eddie, for no reason, and you just… you couldn’t be the reason it gets worse. 

You weren’t totally sure why Jason even cared who you were with. You're sure it's something to do with Eddie’s misery, but it was steadily causing your own...

You were sitting in the cafeteria, painfully aware of how Eddie was trying to catch your eye, but you kept your focus down on your tray, poking at food you had no intention of eating. Your two close friends, Alex and Emma were talking about something, a movie they went to last night, but you didn’t care, you were so lost in your thoughts. You wanted to catch Eddie’s eye, but you resisted. 

“Are you ever gunna talk again?” Alex asked, frustrated and concerned at your sudden invisibility in the group. “You’ve been ghost all week.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, “we’re just worried. You were like, over the moon and then you just, I don’t know, like fell… off the moon.”

“I fell off the moon?” you asked, looking between the two of them.

“What Emma is trying to ask, is what happened? We thought you met someone, and then you just spaced out, but still haven’t spaced back in.”

You looked back at your plate, trying to telekinetically make them look away from you. Or maybe make their heads explode. Or your own head explode. But both of your friends continued staring at you, not letting you go without an answer, heads unfortunately unexploded. 

“I did meet someone, but, he ditched me,” you lied, slinking into your chair. “You know how it is.”

“Hmm,” Alex said, eyeing you suspiciously, “Who was it?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does,” Emma said, “we need to know you to hate.”

“I don’t hate him,” you whispered, sinking deeper into your seat and into yourself. “I wish he didn’t hate me.”

“You are being vague and cryptic, and we can’t help unless you talk to us.” Alex, always the voice of reason, and Emma nodding along like the loyal friend she it. But you can’t. You can’t and you don’t want to.

Betraying yourself, you looked over at Eddie’s table, catching his eyes for only a moment before you dropped them to your lap. He looked so sad. If you had kept watching you would’ve seen his defeated sigh, and his shoulders sink in disappointment. You kicked yourself mentally, you shouldn’t have to do this. You should be allowed to be happy with whoever you want. But… you also couldn’t let Eddie get hurt because you couldn’t let go.

“You’re going to have to fess up sometime,” Alex said, “you can’t keep going like this, it’s sad.”

“We’re just worried,” Emma reiterated, “because we love you.”

“Yes,” Alex nodded, “because we love you.”

And then they finally let it drop, clearly they wouldn’t be getting anything out of you. You peaked up at Eddie again, this time letting your eyes lock, and you didn’t look away, neither did he.

“Eddie,” Gareth said, “hello? Are you listening?”

“What?” Eddie asked, looking at you across the cafeteria. Your eyes were locked, and he was looking for something, anything, that would explain your painful change of heart. As far as he could tell, you hadn’t started seeing anyone different. And he had already recounted every last thing he had said to you the last time you had hung out, and between him, Gareth and Jeff, they couldn’t find anything wrong with any of it.

“Man,” Gareth sighed, “It’s time for tough love now. She’s not interested, I’m sorry dude, but…”

“But look at how she’s looking at me,” Eddie said, “she’s sad, I can see it.”

“Maybe it’s unrelated,” Gareth argued, he was compassionate but he was also slowly getting tired of hearing about you. He was also tired of how hurt Eddie was, and how you seemed to not care at all.

“I don’t know…” Jeff was looking at you too, “looks like longing to me.”

“Don’t encourage him!” 

“I’m going over there,” he said, loudly pushing the chair out, letting it squeal against the linoleum.

“Look at what you’ve done,” Gareth said, hitting Jeff on the arm.

But Eddie ignored his friends. He confidently walked towards you, catching the attention of Alex and Emma immediately, but you kept your eyes on your thighs, refusing to look as he stopped a foot away from your table.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, and his confidence shook as all three pairs of eyes locked onto him.

“We’re kinda busy,” you whispered, desperate for an escape. You hadn’t really anticipated him just marching over to you and your friends. You had been a secret, secret meet ups, secret kisses. This was not secret.

“Actually,” Alex said, scrambling to get up, and Emma just watched the scene, confused as ever, “Emma and I have to go talk to the music teacher, about hum, music.”

“What?” Emma asked, and Alex glared at her. 

“About our song? Remember? We didn’t know if it-" Alex huffed, “will you just get the fuck up, please?”

When they were gone, Eddie took a seat across from you. Your palms started to sweat, and you looked around, trying to see if Jason could see you. The whole freaking basketball team was looking over here, so they would definitely tell him. What would they do? Hurt him? What the fuck did Jason want with you, anyway?

“Please,” he whispered, leaning his chin on interlocked fingers, elbows digging into the cafeteria table. “Just tell me what happened? And I’ll beg you for forgiveness.”

You looked shocked. “You’ll beg me for forgiveness? I’m the one who…”

“Don’t care,” he interrupted, “don’t care, I just want you back in my life. As my friend, girlfriend, study partner, I don’t care.”

You blushed, not knowing what to say. But Eddie did, “whatever I did? I’m sorry,” he stood up, leaping over the table and taking a knee in front of you, he scooped up your hand, kissing the knuckles five times fast, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, tell me what happened and I’ll never do it again.”

“Eddie stop, you didn’t do anything,” you whispered, heart breaking at the sight of his vulnerability, what were you supposed to do here? You considered the truth, and then you considered the consequences. In every scenario, it was Eddie that suffered them, not you.

“Well then,” Eddie took a seat beside you. People were staring, whispering. “Did you just not like me anymore? Because that’s fine, like really it’s fine I’d be happy with a friend too.”

“Eddie…” you sighed, shoulders slumping. You were thinking so hard, Eddie could see your gears turning. He watched, forcing himself not to brush your hair behind your ear. It was torture. “I do like you,” you finally said, breaking a minute long silence. “But, we can’t… I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

“Who’s gunna hurt me?” he asked, relieved to finally get a few answers out of you, even if they were basically a riddle. “No one’s gunna hurt me.”

“Yes, he is.” 

“Who is he?”

“Eddie, I…” you looked around, suddenly full of fear, and Eddie could see it. He could see the fight or flight take over and he had to act swiftly. He took your hand again, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, and the warmth that radiated off his skin was incomparable. You were just as desperate for him as he was for you.

“You can tell me anything,” he said, calming and sweetly. Sincerity dripping from every word, and you believed him, you did. But you loved him, you loved him enough to leave him, and make his time here easier. Jason could ruin you, but not Eddie. He wasn’t allowed to hurt Eddie.

“He made me swear,” you said, “and I can’t let them hurt you, so you have to go now. Go away and don’t bother me again.”

“I’m not going away,” he said, “not when you need me most. I see that now.”

“You don’t see anything,” you said, fear and bitterness taking you over, and anxiety cast itself through your body. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me to understand,” Eddie begged, still tightly holding onto your hand. “And then I can help you.”

Eddie didn’t know what to think. He was so fucking worried, it drove him insane. Here you were, babbling about people hurting him with tears in your eyes, but you were so scared you couldn’t share it with him. So frightened by someone that you felt you couldn’t even talk to him. Eddie’s eyes scanned the room, and stopped on the basketball table, filled with lingering stares. It had to be them, obviously, but you just wouldn’t say what the hell they were doing. He had nothing.  

“If they hurt you because of me, I would never forgive myself.” 

And Eddie was back to you, eyes locked on you as tears fell, the anxiety of it all taking over, leaving you a mess in the middle of the cafeteria. He tried to calm you, but you pushed him away, freeing your hand and making a swift exit out the door. 

Eddie was stunned, could barely process what had happened before you were already gone. He wanted to chase after you, he wanted to go to the basketball table and ask what the fuck was going on. But he didn’t know… he had no idea what the right thing to do was. You seemed more important, so he tried to find you in the halls, but you were gone.

He wandered the halls, totally lost in thought. Gareth and Jeff found him a few minutes later, asking what the hell had happened, and when Eddie explained, they were no less confused.

“So, what? Someone’s not letting her see you?” Gareth asked, arms crossed with apprehension.

“I told you it was longing,” Jeff said, hitting Eddie’s arm. “She does like you, she just needs… something.”

“Yeah but, what? What are they doing to her? Why can’t she talk to me about it?”

“She said they were going to hurt you?” Jeff asked, “that’s probably the answer. Someone is threatening you and she feels guilty.”

“She did say she would never forgive herself,” Eddie said, “you think she’s doing this to protect me?”

“From who?” Jeff asked.

And suddenly Gareth got it, he was back on your side and he understood. “Who do you think?” He pointed down the hall behind Jeff and Eddie, where Jason Carver was angrily staring back at them, arms crossed with a scowl.

“That guy?”

“Hasn’t he been in love with y/n for like, ever?” Jeff asked, “it all makes sense.”

“Oh my god,” Gareth said, snickering, “remember when she rejected his homecoming proposal in the ninth grade? In front of everyone.”

And it all made sense. Jason Carver was the he. He wanted you to himself, but you didn’t want him. So he tried to ruin what you did have. It all made perfect sense. And Eddie was pissed. Furious that someone would toy with you like that, for what? Jealousy? Mad that the freak can get the girl that the jock wanted. Well, jokes on that asshole, because Eddie didn’t think of you as something to get, you were someone to love, cherish, admire.

“That weasel’s going down,” Eddie said, voice low and rough and unlike anything Jeff or Gareth had ever heard. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Gareth asked, and Eddie said nothing. Eddie just smiled.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Id love to see how DOG! Konig actually first saw Reader or even when he knew he fell in love with her <3

König saw reader first time on TV :)

It was one of those boring moments when the latest mission was done and he was coming down from his adrenaline/testosterone/cortisol high, channel surfing at the base with a blank stare.

He passed this one channel that never had anything worthwhile to watch, except this time—wait a minute—there’s some cute girl whipping egg whites there. He changed the channel out of habit but immediately changed it back again, his eyes boring to the screen where this woman was making lemon tartlets.

He pays attention to the nice voice… Nice lips… Her hands, very delicate when she decorates each tart with raspberries and mint leaves. It’s always hot in his opinion when a girl prepares dinner or dessert, and this cutie is doing both. She has a sad smile and a pair of depressed eyes, her body language reminds him of tortured prisoners on the brink of confession. The despair in her eyes resembles the look on women just before they cum, and it drives him fucking nuts.

She’s fucking perfect… So weak, just a poor little thing who’s trying to hide, probably hates the camera and her audience, every small prick she has to work for and with.

König binges her whole show within a few days from some streaming service, even faps during or after watching – just a few times because in a few episodes, they filmed her breasts and hands a lot, although it must be said it’s that helpless look in her eyes that truly makes him cum hard… He fantasizes about arriving at her studio with his guns blazing, wondering how she would react when he stains her cute little tarts with blood. How she would react when she sees a big, able man come to take what’s his – would she kneel and beg him to save her life, or would she gasp and look like a stupefied goldfish when he pulls his dick out after the bloodbath and tells her to give it a kiss?

Next thing he does is he googles her, finds a few articles in some lousy girl magazine where she mentions she has “learned to make peace with solitude” and that “time spent alone feels good nowadays”. Ja, sicher! Poor little thing is lying her eyes out, anyone can see that. She tries so hard to be brave, looks so fuckable when she sighs and looks down at the food she just made like it’s the only thing in this world she can do right. Just cook some food and decorate dumb pastries, looking like a spoiled little princess while she’s doing it.

He gets his hands on the actual, physical articles and keeps them in his locker because they include pictures of her. Finds her on social media and looks at her Instagram feed first time in the morning and last time before bed, chuckling to himself from how pathetic she is, so fucking desperate to get attention... He has a collection of screenshots on his phone: one of his favourites is, surprisingly, not a picture of her delicious ass, trying another dumb hobby that’s supposed to be trendy. It’s the one where she’s smiling at a big mug of coffee in front of her, looking like a cute little kitten who’s been offered a treat. Or her on the beach with a big straw hat on her head, looking at the waves and smiling a big, silly smile, her worries forgotten for a moment. Her at a party, all dolled up and practically begging to get fucked, holding the waist of some weak civilian he could kill with one punch.

But his ultimate favourite is a selfie she took while she was out on a walk. She’s without her makeup, wearing a simple old faded t-shirt, looking up at the camera with a fake smile and those sad, pleading eyes, silently begging for someone to take the pain away. She’s unprotected, and lonely, so pitiful that König would do anything to teleport beside her right now and haul her away like a sack of whimpering potatoes thrown over his shoulder.

Is no one going to fucking come to her rescue and spoil her to bits, is no one going to fuck those dumb little thoughts out of her head? What the fuck is wrong with men these days, he doesn’t understand, but he’s not going to watch this ridiculous shit for a moment longer…

(If you asked König when he realized he was in love with her, he would answer it was love at first sight. Or… maybe… that one time when she asked where she put the cream. She was talking to herself while the cameras were rolling, looking helpless, lost, and dumb because she literally had one job... König found that very endearing.)

[iamnmbr3]

I hate it when people say Ginny "deserved better" when it comes to the way she was written and portrayed in canon. I'm sorry but no she didn't deserve better. She was a barely there Mary Sue character who existed primarily to be the future wife of Harry and link to him joining the Weasley family. She was also supposed to be this very powerful witch but again it never paid off. She didn't amount to anything. She turned out to be a big nothing burger of a character.

Idk. I do think she deserves better, though I definitely get where you're coming from. Ginny as a character really annoys me from book 6 on. Book 6 and 7 Ginny feels like a shallow and annoying Mary Sue and also is just kinda mean and I hate that she never gets called on her bad behavior. As soon as I feel like a story is trying to shove a character down my throat and insist that I love them and that they are flawless, I kinda feel turned off by the character and I want to hate them out of spite. Ginny's pettiness and stuff like her being pretty awful to Fleur and getting angry at Harry for even saying something nice about Fleur even though he has no romantic interest in her just really rubs me the wrong way. Especially bc these flaws are ignored and even glorified by the story. Plus there's not much there with her character.

She feels like this kinda wish fulfillment empty vessel. And I hate that she gets touted as this perfect girl for Harry when their romance feels so empty and her character feels so un-compelling - which is honestly pretty unusual because generally the characters in HP are really interesting, even the ones we only hear a little about.

Now that said, I still do actually feel that she deserves better. What do I mean by that? Well, first of all, in-universe she ends up with someone who frankly, doesn't pay much attention to her. Harry barely knows anything about Ginny and never makes her his priority. Even in the epilogue it feels like he barely even consulted her on naming their children. He never really views her as an equal or respects her opinion. And she seems to feel pressured to act a certain way to please him. Like not crying in front of him because it might bother him, but apparently having been extremely upset after their breakup according to Ron etc. I don't think they are really compatible or have a deep or substantive relationship and I think that's sad and she (or anyone in that situation) deserves better.

Also from a more Doylist POV she deserved better because her character had so much potential. I actually loved Ginny in book 5. She has a lot of growth but also still feels connected to who she was in the first 4 books. She doesn't need to be amazing and perfect at everything. She's human and real. She catches a snitch by luck because it was slow and her competitor looked away at the wrong moment - and she has the humility to notice and admit this. And it doesn't matter. Harry's professional-level good at Quidditch. She's good at other things. Also Harry and Ginny actually have a deeper and more trusting relationship in that book than in book 6, but I digress. She doesn't need to suddenly be an amazing seeker and an amazing chaser and be #NotLikeOtherGirls and super into Quidditch (even tho she wasn't in book 4) to be likable but book 6 makes her all these things and it just takes away from the real and human and flawed and empathetic and actually funny Ginny we have in book 5.

Also her whole backstory from book 2 was really promising. She and Harry could've bonded over both having had Voldemort inside their heads. She could've provided critical insights about Tom Riddle since she spent a year essentially being pen pals with him. She could've had an epic arc where in book 7 she took on a more central role in the fight and ultimately got to face her childhood monster and destroy a Horcrux. Also there was just a lot to explore with her dealing with the trauma from book 2. She could've done so much. But nope. She just gets reduced to Love Interest TM. So yeah we had this really great character who was just coming into her own in book 5 and had all this amazing potential and then gets absolutely torpedoed by JKR bc she doesn't know how to write romance. And I do think that's a shame.

Now I ship drarry and I think that's always going to be the most interesting and well set up relationship for Harry to be in. But I think Harry and Ginny getting together the way they did is realistic but I think they would then realize they aren't really a good match - they don't know each other and both are more attracted to the idea of each other than anything else. I think them realizing this and working through it would be something interesting to explore in an 8th year fic.

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Oof so it looks like the director of Chimp Crazy could only drag out 4 episodes of content out of their "target". All of it feels so yuck to me.

Like obviously the welfare of the primates living in people's houses or locked in small cages in basements is going to be bad. But to seize the chimp and never let the only family he knew in to visit is really nasty.

Not just for Tonia Haddix, but for the chimp. There's a reason zoos will transfer animals to other facilities with people that animal knows and those people will stay with them for at least a few weeks - it helps them transition.

We get so little insight into how the chimps even adapted to sanctuary life. We're just told "it's fine they're in a sanctuary." And that is so disingenious. The footage we do have never shows Tonka integrated into a social group, but rather just wandering alone and detached from the group.

PETA also saying they don't want to destroy people's lives one moment, and then turning around and providing an ultimatium to Tonia of either paying them $240,000 to cover their attorney costs or saying she'll never own an animal (even domesticated animals) ever again is wild. I understand saying she shouldn't own any exotics but not even a dog or cat??? Jfc, PETA. She wasn't an animal abuser. She cared, she just had a very warped understanding of what was care for primates.

I just felt super uncomfortable with how this documentary exploited this woman, creating deliberately intimate close ups that were clearly meant to repulse the audience - did we need to see her get her botox injection? We really didn't.

Overall, the whole thing was a wild ride but I can only feel pity and sadness for Tonia Haddix. Even though I don't agree with anything she was doing - especially brokering exotic animals. And it really just affirms that no matter how much PETA says they "want to help" people and "they care", they ultimately just want to stop people from having animals in their lives.

No one in this documentary are the "good guys". And the only reason it exists is because of very unethical means to "get a story." Which sours the whole thing and just leaves me feeling sad about the whole affair.

[soleminisanction]

I think it’s so fundamentally telling of what sort of person Stephanie is when her reaction to Greta potentially being killed via 10,000 megawatts of electricity isn’t to be sad or devastated or beat herself up about it/ be disappointed in herself (like I think maybe Tim or Batman would be) it’s purely fear of punishment via Robin being angry at her. She did not care whether greta lived or died. She’s never been overly concerned with whether someone died or not and this has been a consistent characteristic of hers, but that’s usually only in reference to criminal characters who you could justify ‘had it coming’ and whatnot. This was just like. Greta read her diary? And Steph then tried to kill her for it? And did not feel any regret upon trying to do so? Tf??

You're not wrong, anon (aside from comedically exaggerating the voltage of a suburban powerline). I considered calling that out in the post and decided it was a tangent that would've distracted from the actual point, which wasn't so much "Yikes, Steph is an asshole" so much as it was, "And this is why you shouldn't always take characters at their word; with good writers, there's often a lot more going on when you pay attention."

Although looking back over the post now, I really have to wonder if the whole issue wasn't Peter David's way of, in part, criticizing how Chuck Dixon was handling the whole Steph-hunts-Tim's-secret-identity storyline.

Peter David is not shy or subtle about working his opinions into his comics, YJ especially, and he definitely knew where the story was going -- the last page of the issue, the one I didn't include on the post, includes a direct reference to the way the arc would soon end, with an editorial note pointing readers to Robin to find out more.

Throughout the fight Secret specifically calls Steph out on invading Robin's privacy multiple times; it lines up with the way David had, for example, negatively portrayed pair of sports hunters in issue #7, or how he wrote Cissie's "It was the guns you idiot" rant from issue #15. Whereas Steph's responses are mostly comments on the immediate situation and personal barbs that deepen Greta's arc, ie, the bit questioning whether she's even human.

And even though YJ was working with the exact same themes and narrative elements, there's never a comparative incident where a member of the team tries to learn Robin's identity behind his back. Again, despite the fact that Secret could do so easily, and despite all the tension the identity issue ultimately ends up causing on the team. Because even if they don't like that he's keeping secrets, they respect that they're his secrets to keep, and Stephanie doesn't. Or rather, Chuck Dixon doesn't, at least not when it comes to his precious pet character.

Heck, there's also the fact that the "lecture" Tim gives at the end, the one hinting towards the storyline's conclusion, hinges on how Batman and Robin is a relationship built on a bond of implicit trust... and how the relationship doesn't work if that trust is broken... and it's hinting at the end of a storyline in which that implicit trust is broken in a way that arguably took Bruce out of character and turns him into the bad guy while not only excusing Stephanie's behavior but rewarding her for it with her first round of actual Bat-training...

Of course, I have zero way of knowing what Peter David was thinking so this is 100% just my analysis but... I could see it. It's a way to professionally express his displeasure without publicly criticizing a colleague or sabotaging their plans. David's a good writer, I wouldn't put it past him.

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

Oooo anyway I just remember why I Hate and Loathe the big High Lord meeting in ACOWAR and why it fully cements SJM in my Worst Authors category for like a billion reasons

1. Feyre refuses to bow to the Dawn Court. Weird choice and completely fucking awkward to read - I guess this is meant as some kind of Girlboss Moment - like "no, I won't bow to the stinky old fashioned MEN!!!! who run this world. My super hot boyfriend gave me this title and I'm the master of the universe now." But it's... childish. Also? Way to disrespect Thesan but this is going to become a pattern because of course the gay Asian High Lord has no special powers apart from super good healing that literally every other character can accomplish, and of course he's gentle, and passive (ultimately willing to "bow [to Rhysand] if the other [High Lords] will") and of course his lover has no name and never speaks. Great! Hate it.

2. Morrigan and Vivian. On paper this seems interesting as far as a relationship goes like - what kind of interesting Court relations did Night have pre Amarantha and can those bonds be salvaged? But instead of asking those questions the scene decides to immediately undercut Vivian's character as a badass general and warrior who defended Winter in her childhood friend/future husband's absence by making her squeal like a literal 13 year old when the Night Court - who is suspected of murdering 24 children - shows up. Vivian proceeds to throw a fit and snarks about wanting to be a High Lady. Rip Vivian we hardly knew ye.

3. Do I even need to talk about Helion being the worst bisexual rep. Do I even need to say it. Good lord.

4. Do I even need to talk about Fantasy China and Helion being allied with the Faerie Confederates. Do I even need to explain this. It gets worse, somehow!

5. Tamlin and Tarquin actually have a case against allying with the Night Court given literally everything that happened in the last two books but this isn't painted as reasonable distrust of a group of lying backstabbing sycophants who purposefully play up their cruelty and keep secrets from the other Courts. No, of course not. Tarquin immediately forgives the Night Court because he has no backbone whatsoever apparently. Tamlin is considered unreasonable for not trusting Feyre and Rhys, who have continuously tried to hurt him and his people and undermine his authority as High Lord.

6. Everyone immediately forgets that Rhysand worked for Amarantha for 50 years and distrusts Tamlin, who has worked for Hybern for all of five minutes and also brings tons of information on their troop movements and positions, confirming that all of his so called alliance was a fraud and he's been spying on them the whole time.

7. Literally the whole fucking deal with the Winter Court. Like I'm sorry that Rhys is so sexual traumatized by Amarantha but children fucking died in a horrible, gruesome way that now, nobody can be accountable for. This is on my top 3 of most egregious SJM retcons because I'm supposed to believe that some daemati we've never heard of before, is never mentioned or seen again, is supposedly the missing link to absolve Rhysand of the fact that he murdered 24 children in book one and devastated the Winter Court. Give me a fucking break. And Feyre gets so SAD and hurt when Rhys says he was confined to Amarantha’s bedroom, but I guess dead kids in Winter and Spring are just the price you pay for loving a morally gray bryonic hero uwu. I'd say, "Get fucked," but i think Rhys and Feyre would enjoy that too much.

8. When the Autumn Court says mean things it makes them irredeemable, but when Azriel and Feyre break all the rules of magic and physically retaliate and hurt other people, it's a-okay, and totally justified! Oh, the Lady of Autumn (another unnamed, sad silent [white] victim who only exists for Helion to angst over) gets hurt by virtue of being a bystander? Totally cool and normal, and since she's been a victim of domestic violence before, it means that she's a secret good guy who will totally understand and forgive Feyre for her totally justifiable outburst. Fuck off.

9. Feyre speaking to and ordering Azriel around like a literal rabid dog. Do I even need to explain this and why its bad. Do I even need to say it.

10. This scene was a joke and everything about it was a stinking trash fire.

[rekino2114]

Can I ask for Project of Eden characters x reader who reveals they’re the mastermind of the killing game and their reactions? (most likely takes place around the last trial) Thx!

P.e.g. girls with a masterminds reader

Eva tsunaka

Eva couldn't believe it, she literally couldn't, of course, partly was because you were the mastermind but mainly because she couldn't figure it out before.

Even with her ultimate, she couldn't hide her shock. How did she never see it before? Did love really blind her this much?.

You were the only one she truly trusted and you betrayed her like this?.......no she could only blame herself for making an exception to her rule to not trust anyone. She was a fool and now she payed the consequences for that.

Cassidy amber

She was in disbelief. At first, she thought you were joking or were lying for some reason, but the more time passed, the more she realized she couldn't keep lying to herself like that.

She was angry and sad at the same time. Why would you do this to everyone here, especially to her?

She couldn't look at you the same she felt shame that she had ever loved you, even if she didn't know your secret.

Eloise taulner

Of course, she was confused and maybe angry too even if she didn't show it but the main emotion Eloise felt was sadness just pure unfiltered sadness.

And she showed that a lot. crying her eyes out for so much time no one could comfort her, and even she herself wasn't sure she could ever smile again.

She had a lot of questions why did you do this? Why did you kidnap us and force us to kill each other? But all of them came muffled through tears

Wenona

She had only a sentence to describe how she felt when you revealed being the mastermind: what the hell?

It just wasn't an option in her mind that you were the one behind the killing game she had already planned your escape together, and this wasn't supposed to happen

She was incredibly angry at you not only for doing all of this but for toying with her heart as well. She promised you she was gonna make you pay somehow

Grace madison

Grace was pissed no beyond that she was absolutely furious, she swore to absolutely beat the shit out whoever stuck her in this game and it was the one person she tolerated?

Her past love didn't stop her though, she got up from her podium, clenched her fists, and started to walk towards you only stopping when Mara pointed her gun at her.

So she resorted to verbal violence, she insulted you so much and called you all the names she could think of ignoring the fact that her heart felt bad that you betrayed her.

Diana venicia

Diana just stood in her podium when you revealed the truth, her brain just couldn't process it, you were the one who forced all of you in this game? You? Her sweet partner?

She cried for the first time in the killing game, she tried to be strong but she just couldn't, she felt incredibly guilty just for loving you even if she didn't do anything herself

She was completely heartbroken and couldn't bring herself to talk to you or listen to your reasoning she just kept crying and blaming herself.

Ingrid grimwall

She was also really shocked, but there was almost no anger towards you. For some reason, even if you did all that, she couldn't bring herself to completely hate you.

She tried to protect everyone from the killing game and the mastermind but the discovery that the person she was trying to protect everyone from was her own lover made her feel like she had failed.

She said nothing to you or anyone else she needed time to process this.

[lancerfay]

Holy carp the way I played Citizen Sleeper ended so impactfully

I basically chose every single route where I stayed behind, letting someone I was getting close to leave because there were more people I could and wanted to help on the station. I felt sad when I abandoned Lem and Mina on the ship dock, I most was torn over letting Bliss and Ankhita leave without me, but every time I was thinking I could still do more here, there was still someone that I could help. I also figured at least I'd have a place at the bar with Tala.

Then I got to the very end of the DLC stuff, where the station is evacuating and lo and behold everyone's insisting I should leave, that the only ones staying behind are either occupied with their own lives (like Feng, Sabine, and Rabiah) or were leaving themselves, like Tala.

I get pretty into the roleplaying sometimes in games like this where I get to make my own choices and dang did I have a Moment when I realized that my character was only living for other people and now that they're all going to be gone she would have chosen almost *anything* different.

I cried ngl.

In the 11th hour I chose to leave, I had insisted to Peake that I would stay the whole time, and betrayed them as I left, didn't even have someone with me, just gone and alone again. Had I known I absolutely would have gone sooner.

Roleplaying situation aside...

I feel a lot of what I felt about the people and situations in The Eye to be really well mapped to a lot of larger cities people move to for work, which is absolutely in line with the game's tagline because places like here in Seattle are 100% like this. Most people feel like it's just where they are for now "until their luck turns around", "until I pay off my debt", "Until I get a new job somewhere else". The people from here can't stay because what it is has been slowly crawling towards inhospitable, and it's future is constantly directed by the whims of outside forces that only want to exploit it.

I see parallels, too, in people I've met and characters in game, if you strip away the scifi trappings. I've met someone stuck with a kid they didn't have a say in raising but love nonetheless who wants nothing more than to leave to a new promised start because this one failed. Desperate that this time it'll work out. I've spent a brief time with a professional who's on the run from themselves, looking for an escape but finding themselves falling back into bad patterns, needing to give up everything of themselves to feel cleansed by it. I've definitely met folks that have some semblance of roots laid, and want to just gently fade away into the pocket they've secured, giving to others if they can, but ultimately alone.

Makes me personally reconsider my reasons for moving up here and into this city of transience and if I'll find what I'm looking for, and I think that's so cool that this game evoked that thought in me.

[yuly]

angst idea: bau!reader and hotch have a secret relationship but he breaks it up (bonus: he regrets it but thinks she's now dating morgan or reid because they're always together when truly he is just trying to cheer her up after noticing how sad she has been lately) just regret, jealousy and P A I N (hahaha sorry)

-> hi lovely! not sure if I did this amazing idea any justice but it was fun to write ♡ 

cw: none really, just angst, both reader and hotch are toxic

Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

No Second Chances

Your relationship with Aaron was short-lived, you had loved and admired your unit chief for years. You cared about him and found him to be an incredible agent and a strikingly handsome man. 

Aaron was surprised at your interest in him. He adored you and felt warm on the inside with every kind gesture you made toward him. On a professional level, he respected you greatly, in fact, he sought you out to join his team, and your reputation preceded you. He knew he wanted, no needed, you on the team. Your skills, work ethic and professionalism were unmatched. But he was slowly drawn to the other side of you, the sweet and caring side

But looking at the optics, it didn't look good, Aaron sought you out, and now he was sleeping with you. He didn't want that stain on either of your reputations. His fear of being vulnerable and allowing someone to love him again was another contributing factor. Ultimately, he decided it was too messy, too hectic, and simply not worth the headache.

You just returned from a 72-hour-long case, and the two of you had a special date night planned. His tense body language and nervous behaviour throughout the evening gave you goosebumps. You let your tired mind run wild, thinking he might finally want to take your relationship to the next level. So far, the two of you were unlabelled, and Aaron insisted on keeping everything hush-hush. Anyone would think you were just friends with benefits. You were hopeful that Aaron would man up and officially ask you to be his girlfriend.

He cleared his throat, leaning forward and resting both arms on the table.

“Y/N, I care about you, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”

You look at him, startled, “what are you talking about Aaron?”

He sighs, “ It doesn't look right, I don't want us to regret this someday.”

“So what have we been doing for the past 5 months, Aaron? First, you want to keep me a secret, and now you're dumping me for optics?” 

Your heart is thumping wildly in your chest, and you can feel the burn of tears forming in your eyes.

“Y/N, one of us has to operate with a clear mind. This is what's best for both of us.” 

The rest of the night was a painful blur. You felt like a toy he grew bored of, and it was time to put you away. 

After a weekend of moping, your toxic side comes in full force, and you were going to make him regret his decision. 

The next day, you come into work looking your absolute best and pay him dust.

“Damn momma, what's the occasion?” Morgan smirked, sending you a flirty smile. 

“Nothing Derek, just the usual, y’know” you giggle and offer him a wink.

Truthfully, Derek has been your rock for the past few days. He had no idea who broke your heart, but he was there for you regardless. Knowing how vulnerable you were at the moment, Derek was attached to your hip. He made it a point to constantly check in on you and crack jokes to distract your wandering mind.

Aaron felt betrayed and angry to see you so close to Derek. When you first joined the BAU, Derek had been the biggest flirt towards you and now, in Aaron’s mind, he finally had his shot. Although he was the one that initiated the breakup, Aaron’s ego was bruised at the thought that you moved on so quickly. From his perspective, you hadn’t even mourned the relationship.

Aaron decided to bring a date to the next BAU dinner to patch up his ego, a bubbly brunette named Beth who had the hots for him for nearly a year. Aaron brought her along solely to get a reaction out of you, to see you flinch, but to no avail. You were very pleasant towards Beth but did not show any further emotion or interest in their relationship. In your mind, she was not a threat by any means. You saw right through his pitiful attempt to make you jealous. You enjoyed yourself, laughing and looking stunning all the while. 

“I’m here to apologize for taking you for granted. I’m sorry for how things ended, I want to make it right.” Aaron was at your doorstep looking like a wounded puppy holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers.

And for a moment, you considered it because your love for this man ran so deep. But he disrespected you and broke your heart without a care in the world. He reaped the benefits of having you buy his side but was unwilling to make a single sacrifice to make you happy. He broke up with you claiming it for the greater good, then had the nerve to parade his new arm candy in your face. His cruel actions were a stark contrast to the sweet gentleman you initially fell for. 

“Sorry Aaron, but I don’t believe in second chances.”

[tired-reader-writer]

Chapter 131 Rapid-Fire Reaction

I feel like I'm gonna be skipping over some stuff but here we go!

@innerchorus' reaction post here

Very happy to spot you, bud!

This was really cute. Jaswant on babysitting duty loooool.

This panel evoked similar feelings in me as Bodin's death scene. It's just this visceral, horrifying, and harrowing sort of feel that creeps up your spine. The contorted limbs. The blood-stained grass. Every aspect of it is just... yeah.

Considering how Andragoras' court was filled with corruption, the Temple a cesspit, and the person who tried to fix both issues essentially got chased out even if he left of his own volition... yeah. It's definitely self-flattery and delusion on Andragoras' part— Pars' capital and politics were rotten with a shiny veneer/mask on top. He did not care. He has no right lecturing Arslan on being “a strong King”.

This is definitely the first (and only) time Tahamenay initiated touch with Andragoras, just look at the shock in his eye. But it's— well.

I'm glad this change was made in the manga— it gives Tahamenay some measure of catharsis and closure, even if it's still painful in the end, she would never reunite with her child. But still. She got revenge. She got revenge for her homeland. At least there's that. Looking at this scene, I can't help but think this is a fitting end for a man like Andragoras. My brain is a bit fried so I can't put it eloquently but it's just. It fits. She even throws his words back at this situation. A farce.

Reordering the scenes a bit, at first I wondered if the manga was trying to hint at something with this panel (Tahamenay's talking about Estelle here) and I know I'm not the only one— but ultimately I don't think Arakawa will go this way. Their palettes are too different even if they're equally light-haired and light-eyed in this black-and-white manga form, and even outside of that... There was no indication or hint that Estelle was adopted (they were in the anime, but there's nothing about that in both the manga and the novels) and if Arakawa wanted to hint at Estelle being the lost daughter, I'd think she would've planted the seeds for this early on.

Rather, I believe this is like closing a door for Tahamenay, coming to terms with the fact that she'll likely never see her daughter again. Either this realization was what allowed her to kill Andragoras, or she's coming to terms with this after she'd killed him.

She looks so tired and sad.

Alfarīd is someone who inspires other people and lights a fire in them— Estelle needed this. This is where her priorities should be. The civilians. The innocents. I do believe that Alfarīd is in the know about how Arslan asked the three merchant boys to keep them safe— but whether she knew or not there's an element of uncertainty here, it's a gambit. They could've still died but she has to find something, anything, to snap Estelle out of this guilt spiral and redirect her emotions. And at first it seems like the gambit didn't pay off but no, no! It did! They're all safe! Estelle is rewarded for their efforts.

Estelle struggles with guilt of having been the one that escaped, the one that lived, the one that was always late to save people, and I'm so glad that the streak has finally been broken. They've been through a lot.

I can't form a coherent thought on this but I think there's smth about their growth and Arslan's kindness and how things pay off buuuut my brain is not cooperating.

Look at that! I think Isfan's smiling! That lil fang! He's happy for Arslan!

This panel is particularly ominous even without featuring Shapur (which it does, I just cropped him out) because like. Isfan was shown smiling in literally the previous panel. But here the speech bubble obscures his face, there's a tension to it here, and the sense that something is incredibly wrong.

Which, of course, is entirely correct because there's an undead Shapur literally looming in the back.

To map out the absolute journey my brain took upon seeing that last page:

Not Registering That It's Shapur → Oh Hey It's Shapur! → Wait Why Is He Here He's Dead → Realize His Eyes Are Different → OH NO HEART ATTACK in the span of like five seconds 😭 Like, it did NOT intellectually register at first and then the dawning horror catches up.

[explosionshark]

Also: it was lost on me as a teen viewer why Faith goes back at the end of 4x16. I kind of got it but it genuinely hit me in this recent rewatch like

FAITH wants to run, but she knows Buffy wouldn’t and so she has to go back because she’s BUFFY now and Buffy is better than Faith. Buffy is a good person. Buffy would never leave it as someone else’s problem. Faith refuses to run because she’s In Buffy and she refuses to make Buffy as bad & disgusting as her!! I’m blowing myself up!!

She goes into full on panic when Riley is trying to be like actual-intimate, not quickie intimate. And like part of that is ABSOLUTELY her trauma & the fact that people have been “kind” to her so often to take advantage of her. But she’s also freaking out because this guy is trying to take advantage of BUFFY. Faith is used to sleazeballs saying & doing whatever to get to her & she tells herself she’s fine with it. But like having to be on the receiving end of genuine intimacy & kindness (especially from someone she doesn’t know how to say the right thing for, ie telling Joyce she’ll visit & Willow she’ll protect her)?

Like her instinct is already to be nasty and keep people at bay ie Tara, but someone trying to make HER be vulnerable & melting down and then in turn freaking out bc this guy MUST be taking advantage of Buffy?

Bri she loves her so much. Bri I’m crying. Bri she goes to such ridiculous lengths in her Crazy Girl Arc in Sunnydale. on some level it’s because she needs Buffy to hate her as much as she hates herself. But there is no way her LA Sequel moment is not in some way influenced by feeling Buffy’s residual emotions when they swap back & going “oh yeah wow I’m literally so bad, I can’t be fixed I need to die” and then goes of the handle AGAIN and tries the same tactic on Angel who recognizes it immediately.z

I’m rambling but ugh oh my god. I need a minute. I can’t take this. I can’t take Faith doing the absolute most to try and push everyone away & make them hate her even more as herself! And then doing the inverse as Buffy both because Faith doesn’t want to feel alone AND because she doesn’t want to ruin Buffy the way she ruined herself?

Evil. Evil!

Yeah it's definitely really tragic and deeply interesting that faith's view of herself by that point is that she's SO fundamentally Bad that she needs the pretense of being someone else (and BUFFY specifically) to do good.

There's lots of good meta out there about faith's implied sexual trauma and how that intersects with her violation of riley. I think that definitely one of the most fucked up and sad parts of it is how it's literally riley saying he loves buffy that makes faith freak out. "who are you? what do you want with her?" the stutter in faith's voice, the breathlessness. it's sheer terror. and it's horrible. and it ends with faith, in buffy's body, beating her own face bloody, in tears, "you're digusting," she screams at her own face. "you're nothing."

and promptly runs off to LA to try to get herself killed.

god, the whole arc is just brutal and devastating and gorgeous. even faith's ultimate decision to turn herself in and go to prison is rooted in what she imagines buffy would want.

faith's arc of how can i make buffy like me -> how can i make buffy hate me -> how can i make buffy kill me -> how can i make buffy pay for not killing me -> how can she ever forgive me -> how can i help her is SO good. i wish we'd had so much more faith in s7. the parts we get are tantalizing but i could have done with an entire season of weird divorced reconciliation vibes and pining. alas.

[bearfully]

A non-exhaustive list of moments in the Apothecary Diaries light novels that have made me lose my mind.

Spoilers up to volume 6 under the cut. For reference, the anime is on volume 2, and the manga is on volume 4.

Jinshi biting the fuck out Maomao's neck for no good reason??? Possessive dog behaviour.

Jinshi making a big deal about how he's disgusted by the thought of eating grasshoppers, and then eating some in the very same chapter just because Maomao spoonfed them to him (as a joke that she didn't expect to pay off). All in full-view of multiple witnesses.

Maomao betting herself in a drinking contest for 300 silver and Jinshi leaning over to whisper in her ear that she's a good deal (and Maomao's subsequent internal monologue about how Jinshi needs to learn how to haggle because she isn't worth that much). Sir, you've already bought her once.

Maomao's cousin/step-brother asking her if she'd ask Jinshi to impregnate her

This entire passage:

“Do you know why the Emperor’s younger brother specifically chose to bring you here?”

“I assume because I’m so useful.”

Rikuson placed one of his hands on Maomao’s hip and held her hand with the other—she saw that this was the western style, but it would have been unthinkable in the capital. Strange that it felt so ordinary here. Funny, what the right time and place could do. “True enough. But I think you could stand to have a slightly clearer sense of your own value,” Rikuson said, carefully maintaining his polite mode of speech. “It demonstrates the power of the La name at court.”

“I’m a base apothecary born in the pleasure district,” Maomao said bluntly. She didn’t know how much Rikuson knew, and she didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, this was the truth.

“That’s well and good. Just one thing, though.” Rikuson smiled again and glanced to the side, in the direction of the crowd. The beautiful man at the center of it was looking directly at them. “Please remember that you aren’t a disinterested third party. Never forget the import of what you wear on your head.”

Does he mean the hair stick? she thought, but Rikuson was already taking her hand; he brought her fingers slowly to his lips and kissed them.

Jinshi STRANGLING Maomao before telling her he wants to marry her. Freak4freak.

Also Maomao's panic response to this entire situation apparently being to kiss the man and run

Jinshi bribing and tickling Maomao to get her to marry him??? I wasn't expecting the light novels to touch on marriage (or romance at all aside from Jinshi's massive crush) so that fact that he just comes out and begs Maomao to marry him is insane. Ultimate sad little meow meow of a man.

[evenfall-au]

Between The Ones I Love

Rating: T TWs: Wholesomeness Prompt for Frans Monthly November: [Cuddles] Word Count: 1,422

Cross posted to Ao3 here!

@frans-monthly

Frisk’s feet ached, and her back felt as tight as a violin string. 

Night had fallen, but Frisk found herself content to stay in bed or rather compelled to. Golden cast irises darted up to the blood bag currently suspended above the edge of the bed and trailed down along its length as they finally followed a thin tube down to her wrist where Alphys had so delicately taped it to her skin.

Frisk was in the second trimester of her second pregnancy, however it was no better than the last. Sans had said as much—had warned her that it would be another risk just as Elys’ had been, but she’d not listened. They’d spent hours, weeks going back and forth on the issue.

She’d never seen him lose his temper before…

The way his eyelights had terrifyingly flared, the viciously crooked downturning of his grin as he’d shattered what had been considered a valued treasure in his bare hand.

Frisk had trembled, scared.

But then he’d taken a moment to close his sockets, to breathe, before smiling again as he always did. Only, she’d then seen the sadness in his expression, his concern as he’d finally agreed and pulled her close to hold her while listing off all the precautions they’d need to take—fully supportive. 

That small, monumental, interaction was what made her certain that she’d been making the right choice. Because the more they’d talked about how to handle it, the more he’d softened, and even arrived to the point where he’d cracked a good joke or two about future plans together as a family.

Sans had been so worried…

Frisk stared at the IV rather grumpily and the crimson liquid inside it.

He still was.

Despite that, she still so desperately wanted this child. 

Not just for her to dote on, but for the look on Sans’ face…he so enjoyed being a father. She never would have believed it from how everything had gone before Elys had come along, but she ended up loving the effect their little girl had on him almost as much as she loved the skeleton herself. She knew this would be worth it, and they’d love this one just as much as Elys, and Elys would have a friend, someone she could hopefully play and grow with through the years.

Frisk had so many hopes and dreams for this.

Ultimately the aches and pains she currently felt were nothing in the grander scheme of things. She didn’t regret all the hard work they’d had to invest into making this happen, especially so soon after their first when compared to other vampires who’d take centuries at a time if that at all to produce offspring. 

She just wished she could’ve been spared the complications that came with it.

Knock

Knock

Slowly she lifted her head, curious and a bit excited at the prospect of company. Whereas normally she would’ve asked who it was as a preemptive measure of setting up a joke, she was too eager to see who had come to pay her attention, and so gave a happy, “Come in!”

The creaking of the door as it opened echoed around the room as a sliver of darkness exposed the shadowed hall beyond in a thin slit barely large enough for a mouse to prod through.

Frisk blinked, confused.

And suddenly the crack opened wide and a snowy white head of hair popped in.

“Mom?”

Instantly Frisk grinned as she met the cool blues of her daughter’s eyes. Gently she eased herself up to lean against the headboard of her bed, trying her best to ignore how dizzy the action slightly made her, and waved Elys on in with a small pat to a spot on the bed beside her.

That was all that was needed as the little girl’s own smile widened—so similar to her father’s—and she padded in with happy steps until she was swinging herself over the edge of the mattress and tucking in beside her mother. Frisk made a joyful sound as Ely’s arms came around her and returned the embrace.

“Dad said you couldn’t come down to eat.” Elys huffed.

Frisk felt a drop of sweat on her brow. “Yes, I was a bit light headed this evening and out of concern your father fetched Alphys. I’ve been ordered to spend the next two days in bed to make sure I have enough blood for the baby.”

At that Elys glanced down at the slight protrusion of her stomach and hummed. 

“Brother eats like Uncle Pap.” 

Frisk raised a brow as she chuckled. 

“Brother? Why do you say that? For all we know it could be a sister.” 

Elys shook her head as she nuzzled closer, content in her mother’s arms. “No, brother.”

Frisk decided to not speak further on the assumption. She never understood how children could sound so confident in what they thought or felt, she could barely remember how she was at such an age. The idea that Elys wanted a brother of all things rather than a sister to sow or learn to cook with actually sparked warmth in Frisk’s soul. It wasn’t common to see a child wanting a sibling of the opposite sex. 

But then again…

Children did have an uncanny ability when it came to making predictions…

“A brother then,” Frisk giggled. “And yes, he has quite the appetite.”

Another knock, and this time Frisk looked up to spot her husband standing in the doorway with a cheeky smirk across his teeth. Elys beamed as she stuck her tongue out at him before making a show of wiggling impossibly closer into her side.

“i’ve been beaten to my own room, the shame.” His baritone rolled as he entered and walked up to the side of the bed.

“You were racing?” Frisk asked as Elys snickered. 

“no, i was finishing an important discussion. elys was racing, by herself, after declaring there was a race to begin with.” Without preamble Sans slid onto the mattress at Frisk’s opposite side and wrapped an arm around her waist, tucking her close against his chest. Even now the contact still sent a flush to her cheeks.

“Hey!” Elys cried. “I won! I get the cuddles!”

Frisk bit her lip as she did her best not to laugh at the girl’s outrage. Sans on the other hand openly chuckled as his brow creased in an uptick and his eyelights flashed briefly with amusement as he purposefully nuzzled Frisk’s cheek, turning her primrose blush a deeper shade of scarlet.

“you forget, there’s such a thing as a consolation prize.” Sans winked. “and that prize is that i get to cuddle both your mother and the winner.” 

Elys’ expression dropped into a deadpan as Sans’ other arm came around and encircled her as well, completing the collection of their immediate family as he placed a light press of his teeth to the top of her head.

“That sounds more like a first prize.” 

“maybe~” He drawled. “but surely you don’t want to run over my feelings by denying me the cuddle pile, do you?”

There was no hesitation as Elys shouted, “Yes!”

“the betrayal.” Sans huffed. 

Frisk sat happy and silent as they both went back and forth; Sans with his teasing and Elys with her indignation. This went on for sometime before the three of them had migrated to fully laying down beneath the covers and Elys fell asleep against her mother’s side. 

Smiling gently she ran a tender hand through her daughter’s hair. 

At the same time a warm hand glided up and down her arm, slow, unrushed as it came to a stop and a thumb brushed over her shoulder. 

Sans’ voice was a whisper against her ear. “how are you feeling?” 

Frisk took a second more to stare at Elys' sleeping expression, content and warm between the two greatest things of her life. She couldn’t help smiling as she pressed further into him and pulled Elys closer.

“Better than ever.”

And it was true.

These were the moments Frisk lived for, and what she so desperately hoped to have so much more of when their family grew. Sans didn’t say anything, merely moved his hand to her stomach and gave it a gentle stroke with a low hum on his teeth, just as he’d been doing from the start, and let his gloved phalanges rest there as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her temple.

“pleased to hear it love.”