#if he could get away with it without it being explicitly romantic

[seagreenstardust]

What’s wild is that you can write a story that revolves around two male characters and make it sibling-coded or as obviously platonic as you want, but Hori didn’t do that. Right up until the finish line he fed the bkdk’s when given the choice.

He didn’t have to give Katsuki an 11+ year hang up about holding Izuku’s hand. He didn’t have to make Izuku so possessive, or have him go feral anytime Katsuki was looked at wrong. He certainly didn’t have to give Izuku the “I’m gonna hurt your loved one to hurt you” trope or have Katsuki use Izuku’s kiddie nickname for himself in front of the biggest bad.

He gave Izuku the “control your heart” complex that centered entirely on Katsuki

He had Katsuki literally die and come back to life thinking only about Izuku

He gave them the big eyes-meet-across-the-battlefield moment and that voiceover about how their feelings were finally one

At every opportunity, right up until the epilogue chapter, Hori chose to write Izuku and Katsuki like you would the main hero and heroine in any action story and it worked

[pomefioredove]

Hii! Can I request for Jamil where his s/o helps him with cleaning dishes after Kalim made another big party? My boy needs some support</3

SO I didn't read the s/o part until after I'd finished but you can imagine that I think? Jamil is reseved and wary enough for it

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a white lie

type of post: fic characters: jamil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, not proofread

Suffice to say that Jamil had not enjoyed the party.

If he ever enjoys Kalim's parties is another question, but there were a few things that made this one particularly insufferable:

#1 Jamil had explicitly told Kalim not to have this party, since he had failed his last alchemy lab and needed to study before the retake #2 Kalim had agreed to not have this party and Jamil was already in bed when Kalim threw his door open to announce the party was back on #3 unprepared for this party that Kalim was not going to have, Jamil had run across campus in the cold to pick up food from Sam's before it closed #4 on the way back, one of those weird nocturnal bugs scuttered across the path in front of him

...And so now, at half past one in the morning, with all of the confetti vacuumed and glitter still stuck to his skin, Jamil was washing dishes.

He's fantasizing about the sad look on Kalim's face when he would inevitably fail the alchemy lab on Monday. Again.

Just a little something to keep him awake.

A squeak of the door. Jamil tenses, praying to any god that would listen, that that is not Kalim, come to ask for milk and cookies.

"You're still up?"

Your soft voice releases some of the tension in his shoulders.

Jamil sighs. "Yes. Is it late?"

He asks that as if he doesn't know. Better to play dumb than to look pitiful. He doesn't need your sympathy, after all.

"Yeah," you say, letting the door squeak shut behind you. "Why're you still here?"

He shrugs. "I don't know the time. I suppose I lost track,"

Which is a little white lie. He's been counting every minute.

Without asking, which is so insufferably like you, you stand beside him at the sink and begin washing dishes.

"You don't need to do that," Jamil says. "I'm almost done."

Which is another white lie. There's still dishes in the lounge he hasn't even collected yet.

"Then you'll be done faster,"

An almost intolerable act of kindness, but with that knowing look in your eye. He hates that you can tell when he's lying.

"...Very well," At least you're competent.

He knows you won't break anything. And you might even wash something, too. Much different from Kalim.

"...Did you enjoy the party?" he asks.

"I didn't go,"

"Didn't you?"

You respond to everything he says with this calm, soft voice, so unassuming, so innocent, but the way you look at him says something much different.

"I didn't," you repeat. "I didn't want to."

Jamil almost smiles. "So, then, may I ask what you're doing here? You surely didn't just decide to take a stroll through Scarabia at one-forty in the morning,"

"You know the time, now?"

Damn it. How do you manage to get him so tongue-tied???

Jamil steps away from the sink and dries off his hands just to put them on his hips.

"What do you want?"

"I want to help,"

And there's that cuteness again. You must have an angle here, something you need from him, but what could he possibly have to give?

He scoffs. "Surely, you'd have better results sucking up to Kalim. Or perhaps Azul. Or anyone but me,"

Your hands never stop working, shining each dish with a gentle efficiency he almost admires.

"But I want to suck up to you,"

Jamil crosses his arms and glares. It's frustrating just how good you are at this. Playing cute. You already have everyone on campus wrapped around your finger, don't you? The housewardens, the vice housewardens, the princes, the celebrities.

What would you want out of him? What good would being in his favor do you?

"What exactly are you implying?"

You look back into the murky depths of the sink. "I like you,"

"You like me?" As if he'd believe that.

But Jamil can't deny how honest you had sounded. And from what he knew, you hardly went around saying such things in such ways. Even to your friends.

"Why?"

You hesitate. As if you genuinely don't have an answer for that. An answer he'd like to hear, anyway.

"Because... you're like me, I suppose,"

Jamil's eyes widen. A lot of feelings suddenly go through him in hot flashes- shock, anger, resentment, jealousy- but mostly...

Confusion.

You continue. "Not in a literal sense. Just that... well, you know. No one helps me, either. They look to me for support and I'm expected to just... coddle them. I can't ever be upset or angry or resentful,"

He has no response. That's...

...Not untrue.

Jamil says nothing, letting the silence be broken only by his own loud, restless, thoughts, and then he slowly returns to the sink.

He takes each plate and glass from you with trained silence, rinsing each before setting them to dry.

And he looks only at the water. He doesn't want you to see how his expression has softened.

When you're done with everything, lounge and all, he walks you to the door.

"You're fine walking home on your own?"

You nod. Jamil isn't exactly sure why he asked that, but it felt like the right thing to say.

You both linger at the door. Looking at each other. Saying nothing.

"Thank you," he finally says. "For your help. It... meant a lot to me. I probably wouldn't have finished before sunrise without you."

Again, he's not sure why he said that. It felt right. It felt good to be good to you, he supposes. And his intentions were honest, even if his words were not. He certainly wouldn't have taken that long on his own.

But a white lie has never hurt anyone.

[beneathitall-thesame]

chapter 474: how did we get here?

or: a long-winded rambling on how the fight in the current chapter was (unfortunately) bound to happen; the slow, inevitable result of two people loving each other fiercely but failing to meet where it matters most: in honesty, in timing, in vulnerability.

*I’m assuming He Tian had to leave Mo twice (or more times). While not explicitly stated in the story, at this point I strongly believe this is what happened.

The first time we see He Tian coming back on Christmas, He Tian forces himself on Guan Shan’s life (well, it’s for only a night, but the point stands). He Tian bother Mo at work (but Mo doesn’t react violently), he invites himself to Mo’s apartment (Mo doesn’t mind giving He Tian a ride on his motorcycle). Yes, Mo is angry, but he’s also incredibly vulnerable and with some gentle prodding and alcohol he admits to He Tian -and to himself- he’s missed He Tian dearly. Mo accepts the “engagement” ring and, I think most importantly, understands that He Tian never actually wanted to part ways with him and all he did during his absence was for the sake of reuniting with Mo.

Hard cut to the future-future timeline, where we find ourselves in a (at first) shockingly similar situation. Tian again forces his presence in Mo’s life, crowding him at work, pretending to be his boyfriend and then breaking into his apartment. You can tell Mo was very vexed with He Tian, but he still cooked for He Tian, was this close to reciprocating/accepting an intimate moment and was okay with waking up beside him.

He does understandibly react badly to He Tian doing renovations to the place he bought with his hard earned money without his consent, but he seems to mellow up just a tiny bit to the idea when they arrive at He Tian’s place.

One thing I find very interesting about this chapter: we are shown Mo to be uncomfortable without him being vocal. There’s a tension in the air we’re not usually privy to, almost as if we’re witnessing the water flowing backwards before the wave hits. We wish they could go back to the brief flashes of domesticity we got in the She Li arc or the ones we didn’t get to see when He Tian first came back.

But in their current state, it’s very difficult. For both of them.

It’s obvious Mo is terrified of He Tian leaving him, but cannot even acknowledge that even in the privacy of his own damn mind because leaving himself open like that incurs a risk of actually dealing with the feelings he’s been running away to protect himself. However, seeing that He Tian comes back acting all non-chalant, as if nothing happened… I think this is what ultimately makes Mo the most uncomfortable. Mo Guan Shan longs for He Tian’s touch; blushes when he’s at the center of He Tian’s attention and feels uneasy when he thinks He Tian has left their shared bed.

Subsconsciously, however, he may have been waiting for He Tian to take the first step; not necessarily a romantic one, but a vulnerable one. What would that have looked like? That’s not to say that Mo hasn’t made it close to impossible for this to happen, by telling He Tian he’d have forgotten him if he hadn’t come back.

I mean in his heart of hearts; the core of his trauma. I am talking about how he felt abandoned by his father after he was arrested in a very traumatic event for the child Mo, and how, as a result of that, had to receive the brunt of a violent system who punishes children of convicts and shuns them into marginalization.

(Violence is present at every level of his formative years: institutional, interpersonal and, sadly, internalized. What good -and I’m saying this from Mo’s POV- would feelings do in this situation, if all people see of him is a delinquent and no other bothers to look beyond that? I could write tens of paragraph about why He Tian, Jian Yi and Zhan Zhengxi are so important to Mo’s breaking from this outlook, but I want to focus on the future timeline).

For how big a wall he builds between himself and He Tian in the adult timeline, I’m sure Mo would have come to terms with whatever He Tian told him, as long as He Tian was being honest.

On the other hand, He Tian, who we know absolutely hates having to leave Mo behind, comes back speaking to Mo very casually. He keeps flirting with him, seeking reactions from him and taking everything because even his anger is a side of Mo he likes and reminds him of the Mo whose memory he must have kept in his heart all the time they spent apart. Better to have Mo “mad” at him, or cursing at him, than nothing.

The only times we see him react with anything but his usual cool is when Mo tells him we would have forgotten him, had he not come back to pester him. That feeling of dejection only lasts so long, though, and he comes back (coughcough breaks into coughcough) to Mo’s apartment.

The other time we see underneath He Tian’s mask is when he finds Mo’s box with trinkets that remind him of He Tian. Mo refuses to talk about his feelings, but this shocks He Tian to the core and practically recontextualizes Mo’s attitude towards him. He already knew that Mo missed him, but wasn’t fully aware of how much hurt he unintentionally caused in Mo after leaving.

A while back I said that He Tian is on damage control mode, and I still strongly believe that. His behavior suggests an attempt to (perhaps excessively) compensate for what he imagines Mo experienced. But he himself makes no effort whatsoever to bridge the gap or offer a reason for his disappearance. True, part of the reason is Mo’s lack of receptiveness. But it’s also rooted in He Tian’s upbringing — in a household where vulnerability was dangerous, and concealment was essential for both self-preservation and protecting those he loved.

This guy cannot be vulnerable for the life of him. Whatever the reason for his departure is, it's clear that it's been weighing down on He Tian for a long time. And even if it's not the reason itself, it's the fact that it stands between him and his goal: living with Mo and giving him the life he deserves.

Now, chapters 472 and 474 are finally this wave I mentioned coming back with a vengeance. He Tian asks Mo to kiss him, but backtracks immediately. This is a first for him. Every time he has teased Mo, he’s done so unapologetically because he adores Mo’s reactions. But maybe because of the uncomfortable silence, He Tian says it was only a joke. This makes things worse; we have been shown time and time that Mo can get mad over things that don’t really bother him in the long run. When something REALLY bothers him, though… that’s another whole story. He doesn’t yell, he stays quiet. Frozen.

To me, Mo for a second takes He Tian’s words seriously, but feels betrayed at the thought that He Tian is playing with his feelings when he takes them back. And why wouldn’t he come to that conclusion, seeing the things He Tian has done in the last chapters?

We, the readers, know He Tian does all this out of a need for things to be back as they were, because he loves the only boy who truly understood him. But their teenage love can’t (and shouldn’t!) stay as it was. They have both changed without the other, and must learn to accept it and move on to truly start over.

I love and hate chapter 474 (this seems to be a trend with the newer chapters lol). On the one hand, it seems like He Tian will finally fucking fess up. However, the way we got there… Well, to say this confrontation reminded me of these two in their “earlier days” would be an understatement.

He Tian provokes Mo with a statement he KNOWS will rattle him. Mo, in a fashion resembling his teenage-self rather than the adult we’ve been seeing, reacts with a level of violence we haven’t even seen in a comedic light for a LONG time now. In fact, it gets so out of hand that He Tian has to resort to using his strength when Mo is about to punch him.

One might theorise that He Tian is giving Mo an outlet to vent his anger, but then… why does he mock him? Why the attitude? Honestly, I’m not too sure. Maybe it’s finally sinking in that he has no choice but to explain himself, and at the same time, he’s slipping back into old habits because they feel safer. Hm.

(this is just an incredibly biased aside, but He Tian intentionally ragebaiting Mo and then telling his very visceral reaction is a mere “tantrum” consitutes a certified Asshole (tm) moment. Goddammit, He Tian!)

Then again, we see this panel where he gazes upon the utterly defeated Mo, and… somewhere deep down, He Tian has to know that what he’s doing is not right. This is the moment. The tipping point between clinging to the status quo and finally giving them a real chance. Because if they keep going like this, it won’t be a relationship; just another on-and-off mess, looping back on itself until there’s nothing left.

It’s a shame that it took this to get this conversation going, but the moment we saw these two back in the first chapter of the adult timeline and how they acted around each other, something was bound to give.

I, for one, am excited for what the next chapters could bring to Tianshan's story!

[least-carpet]

yu ziyuan screams, cont.

One of the things that irritates me is when people aren't thinking about motivation when translating characters from one context to another, ESPECIALLY women. Specifically, I'm thinking about Yu Ziyuan, and how her anger about her life is so often reduced to romantic jealousy or just chalked up to her being "violent and abusive¹." Like, okay, yes, she's often angry and really mean about it. Why is she angry and what does that look like in a different time and place?

Here are some reasons for Yu Ziyuan's anger in canon that aren't just "she's jealous" (gag):

Feeling devalued and disrespected in her marriage, which is also her job.

Not wanting to parent a child she didn't agree to adopt.

Being an extremely talented and strong cultivator who is restricted by society's expectations for women / her gender role, which she resists (such as by continuing to nighthunt, being called "Madame Yu" rather than "Madame Jiang," etc.).

Wanting a secure future for both her children and wanting them to appear strong in order to access that future—which is why she's so angry about Jiang Yanli peeling lotus seeds and Jiang Cheng coming in second to Wei Wuxian. Her children are "lowering themselves" in relation to a person she doesn't consider a member of her family and who is continually a source of public shame. She feels like this might damage their prospects, all for a person she doesn't personally care about!

Feeling pressured to secure that future for her children by herself, because her husband doesn't seem to like one of them, and furthermore often doesn't seem to be acting in their best interests.

So if I was going to translate to a modern!au, that could look like:

Feeling devalued and disrespected in her marriage (still happens).

Pausing her career to have children, then returning and having to fight hard to make up ground.

Wanting a secure future for her children, pushing them aggressively to achieve (in concrete ways such as test scores and extracurriculars). Likely a source of conflict with the more hands-off Jiang Fengmian.

I do think she could get divorced, but obviously wouldn't if it had severe social, financial, and/or professional consequences—in canon, she maintains a separate household, she's addressed by a title that separates her from her husband, and she spends a lot of time away from him, but she hasn't left. Really depends on the era and milieu she's operating in. She wouldn't do it if it would damage her or her family, or unless the damage had already occurred and couldn't be mitigated.

The threat of divorce might change the dynamic between her and Jiang Fengmian, though? If it didn't, why not? Is there a specific reason they both feel like they can't leave?

Like, you don't have to do all of that for there to be conflict between her (authoritarian, concerned with society's values, high standards, definite Tiger Mom candidate) and Wei Wuxian (rebellious, mischievous, high-achieving but not particularly well-behaved), regardless of whether or not he's a part of her household. They disagree about a lot of fundamental stuff! There's always going to be friction, even without canon's complex social/household arrangements! You simply do not have to reduce her to a misogynistic caricature of a jealous wife, even if part of what made her so angry in canon is gossip about her husband's feelings for another woman. That gossip doesn't exist in a vacuum! It has a political dimension! The power of gossip is literally a theme in the book! Many of her complaints are explicitly political, especially in relation to the Wen! I'm cool, it's cool, we're good. I'll stop yelling now.

(I also think that the person most likely to be critical of Yu Ziyuan's parenting—or Jiang Fengmian's parenting, for that matter—is Jiang Yanli rather than Jiang Cheng or Wei Wuxian, especially after she's had a child, and, in all cases, any individual member of the trio is more likely to be indignant about the others' treatment rather than their own. But that could be a post of its own.)

I'm not particularly interesting in rehashing the discourse about whether or not her treatment of Wei Wuxian constitutes abuse. I think this is a good summary of how it's treated in-story. I think it's fair to still read it and think it's unacceptable, but the original construction of it in canon is relevant if you're trying to translate their relationship to a modern setting.

[marstons-angel]

i lose control (when you're not next to me.)

javier escuella x reader

✧ tags : afab + fem!reader (gendered language + wearing dresses etc), established relationship, religious imagery (maybe sacrilege)takes place in ch.4 of rdr2, submissive!reader, soft dom!javier, some spanish petnames (mi amor mi vida, and hermosa i think), pillowing humping, penetration, very lovesick sex lol, veryy established dynamic, praise kink, written like. sooo explicitly for @nanamimizz, 18+

✧ wc : 5.2k (after editing mind you)

✧ a/n : this is fucking nuts LMAOO. i wrote this like. no bullshit in a day. i don't know how that happened. mentioned in the tags that this is for my beloved best friend but i think it's still okay to post. im losing it a little. i have hw due in an hour

✧ synopsis : javier can't help but feel some ways about the way you miss him. so dreadfully obedient. so apparently needy. how could he not adore you?

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

There’s something a little pathetic in the way you pine after Javier that makes him a worse man than he is. 

He’s good to you though. Always. Down to his bones, the core of him. The soul of him. It’s hard to be anything but good to you. 

In all of his life, across lovers, men and women - he doesn’t think he’s met a single soul who simply likes him as much as you do. Who preens so pretty with so little, who doesn’t need much at all. Never met a woman who tucks and folds herself into corners just to be polite. Never thought he’d find it so fascinating, either - but you prove him wrong often. 

It’s testament to Javier’s adoration that he can’t help but notice you anyway. That even when your featherlight footsteps and darling voice fall off and get caught on the wind and blown away - Javier will still manage to find you. Even with all of your attempts to make yourself small and unrecognizable, his sharp brown eyes will still catch on the linen of your skirts and the threaded gold of your cross necklace. Javier’s own body betrays him in his love for you, in his wanting. 

Even though he’s not interested in pretending he doesn’t love you, his eyes and mouth and hands would look and call and search. They’d never give him the opportunity to be anything but in love. 

It’s important that he makes that known. He’s only ever interested in being a good man to you. Holding you and kissing you and worshiping you until you’re melty between his fingers. Javier loves loving the resistance out of you and you always make it so easy for him. 

He’s a good lover by nature and by practice. Passionate and maybe a little conceited, it’s not his first brush with romantics. He can only hope it’ll be his last. 

Even so, he’s never been liked the way you like him. 

You like Javier in a way you seem embarrassed by when you remember. It causes you to act in ways out of character on the surface, emboldened. Maybe just needy. Enough to bask in his praise and affection once a little liquor has touched your mouth. You like Javier in a way that makes you lovesick and puppylike, all honeyed gazes and pouty lips. He’s never met somebody who likes him the way you do, without grandstanding. Just pure, puppy love. Almost innocent if you don’t look too long. 

Almost being what matters most. 

Javier knows the way you were raised, after all. Knows the intimate ways in which you fold yourself and tuck your wants between the pages of your diary and slip your requests under your tongue. It’s hard for you to want for anything too much because you’ve been told your whole life that wanting at all is a sin. Wanting may even get you killed. A good woman should want nothing but salvation. Anything more than that is indulgence and there’s nothing good about that. It translates in the way you carry yourself. You’ll stop and fumble and shy away before even fixing your lips to ask, like you’re planning on being rejected or told no. 

A good girl like you being told no so often, it’s made you all sacrifice and empty prayers. Javier often feels grief about your lives before each other but nothing makes it so evident as that. A good woman, a beautiful and kind and soft one like you should never hear the words no without the best of reasons. That’s what Javier believes for all of his lovers, but you’re special. 

And that makes it worse. 

For you he’d do anything. No price he wouldn’t pay, no place he wouldn’t go, nothing that’s too far out of his reach. He thinks maybe he’s so eager to give it to you because he knows you don’t have it in you to take it yourself. You won’t whine greedily even if Javier tells you too, so Javier’s giving is only a partial virtue. It’s mostly pride, after all. It hurts his ego a little when you refuse to bask in the love he so enthusiastically wants to drown you in. 

Despite his complaints though, it’s a part of you that makes him so weak to you. That you want with such desperation but don’t allow yourself to take - so it makes you pliant and willing and terribly, adorably pathetic. You’re so weak for Javier. Just for him, you always say. Always with a hand in his, or wrapped around his bicep. All yours, Javi. Always his. 

That’s the thing. Javier wants to give everything in the world to you. He wants to be good to you, and he so often is. But you do things sometimes, all collapsed under the weight of your own desire that drive him insane. Make him act in ways he normally wouldn’t dream of doing. Depraved and filthy and unromantic in all senses of the word. 

It’s really not very polite for Javier to stand and watch you at his door - humping his pillow with weeps and huffs. It’s not kind to embarrass you. He’s a good man, and a good man would cover you with his coat and maybe smile about how much you care for him. 

But there’s just something about the look on your face when you do it, something about the tear stains in your lashes and the way your cheek is pressed in his jacket. Something about that needy, incessant little ache in your voice as you call and call and call for him. As if you’re hoping you’ll answer despite him not being there.

Javier is a good man to you. Maybe he could be better. Maybe he’s not good enough.  

He stands in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a soft, gentle grin. There’s no question he’s behaving a worse man than he is. Than he ought to be. 

He’s quiet as he shuts the door, balancing his weight to remain noiseless. 

Javier doesn’t particularly like being all the way out in Saint Denis nor is he fond of intel missions. The city is loud, the people unfriendly - though he likes the music and art. He prefers staying in camp if he can help it, but this big bank heist has everyone busy. He’s at least thankful that it’s given him an excuse to be with you. Your knowledge of herbs and poisons and the like have been helpful to gathering information. Been a lot of slipping things in drinks and making people forget. The sort of dirty work he’s accustomed too, while also getting a chance to be with you in a place with four walls and a bath. A dream for the future, maybe. 

It’s been nice, but he’s been out now for two days - out in the streets gathering information about Bronte’s people. A bunch of lowlifes just like them, but with their hands in the pocket of the city. He’s only been gone for two days, so there’s no reason you should miss him this much. And yet he hears it anyway. And it pleases him, truthfully. 

He takes off his coat as he listens to you at the doorway. Shrugs the middle-weight material of his sheen suit jacket over his shoulders and lays it on a chair, takes off his wingtip-gaiter shoes, undoes the yellow puff tie from around his neck. Nothing but a white linen dress shirt and the dark black slacks he’s been wearing for days now, some parts covered in bloodstains he only barely managed to wash out in the river not long ago. 

He’s thankful he took a bath before getting in now, listening to you moan. His hands being clean feel like a blessing - just his luck. 

He manages to remain quiet as he steps into the main room - a single bed in the center. Javier finds you there in a heap as he rests his body along the wall of the entrance to his right. He crosses his arms over his chest as he takes a minute to take in the scenery, admiring the soft lowlights and the way they cast shadow on your body. 

The wooden bed frame creaks slightly as you rut your hips. You’re out of it, Javier can tell, since you’ve yet to sense the fact he’s come in. The paintings along the back wall click against soft red walls themselves, over and over in an arrhythmic tic. Javier tries not to laugh. Gives himself a minute to admire the moment for what it is, the vulnerable desperation of your lust. He has to get over the disbelief, too. Over the fact your face is buried in the open part of his bluecoat and that you’ve got a hotel pillow(his hotel pillow) between your legs. One that you’re humping so frantically he can’t help but feel sorry for you. 

You’re making a mess.

You are a mess. The way the white chemise falls over your back and hips, and the lack of finesse in your gestures. If Javier had to bet money on it - he’d bet money on the fact you probably didn’t start this way. He figures you nested with his coat and pillow to go to sleep and then worked yourself into something senseless and desperate. And he’d figure if he didn’t show up, you wouldn’t cum at all. You’d go to bed all frustrated and tired and just wait for him like always. 

Any man would be pleased by it, he thinks. And a good one would never embarrass you about it. Javier tries his best. Weighs his options, but the words slip from his mouth before he can think to stop them. 

Pure elation in his words wrapped up in a smug delight. “Aye, hermosa - you’re gonna ruin my things you know?” 

Your reaction is what he expects. You jump out of your skin first, sitting straight up. Javier bites back a laugh as you do, big wide eyes like a deer caught in the scope of a rifle. You look around the room, worried you’re imagining him. Once you’ve come back to reality enough to realize he’s real and tangible - all the neediness washes right back into your expression. 

“Javier,” You sniffle and god. Javier hopes the heavens are more merciful to him than he is to you. “Javi,” 

“I’m home,” He voices in a partial tease, walking towards you. He can tell you want to run to him. To crawl into his arms and lap and collapse there forever, but the dull throbbing between your legs is stopping you. “I would ask if you missed me but, somehow I get the feeling you did.” 

You let out a soft, sniffly whine as Javier sits in the bed next to you. He turns his body to face you a little better but keeps distance. You turn your face towards him. Javier cups your cheek in his palm, eyes tracing your features. Your lips are bruised like you’ve been biting on them to keep the noise down and your eyes are wet with tears, red stained in the waterline. His thumb brushes along the thin skin of your lower lip, clicking his teeth at you. 

“Look at you,” He reprimands, his voice tender as he leans in to give you a little relief. You kiss Javier too eagerly, impatient and lacking your usual timidness. It’s how he knows how far you’ve fallen. How simple and easy your reactions are. “You’re going to hurt yourself pushing so desperately,” He laughs again, a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Does it feel good, at least?” 

“It’s better when you do it,” You admit, falling forward. Javier doesn’t let you drop, but he doesn’t comfort you right away either. He laughs and lets a hand rest on your lower back, relishing in your reaction. You shiver, sensitive and overstimulated with so little at all. 

“I know,” He coos with as much faux-sympathy as he can manage. “Couldn’t wait for me a little longer? I’m hurt.”

“Nooo,” You draw the words out, pitiful and upset “I’m sorry. I missed you,” 

“It’s okay,” Javier says, knowing he wasn’t mad in the first place. Not even a little. “Ahh, what should I do with you now, do you think?” 

It’s hard not to laugh at the immediate noise of disapproval. He’s sure you’d be able to ask him for what you want if he coaxed you into it. One whispered word of tell me what you want, and you’d be begging for his cock with ease. Filthy words from such a pretty mouth, he likes the idea. 

But he’s feeling… something. Something on the border of sadistic and loving that has him instead thinking. 

Pretending to think. 

“Maybe you should keep going, hm? You’ll think clearer once you’ve let it out, don’t you think?” 

“I can’t,” You bemoan, pleading with him. “I’m trying but it’s—it’s not enough, Javier, please.” 

He shakes his head. “Oh, man. What am I gonna do with you? Should I help you, mi amor?” 

You nod your head rapidly. As if he’d ever leave you out to dry when you look all pretty helpless. He doesn’t mention it to you. “Please,” 

“Yeah? I’ll help you then.” He offers, taking your hand and guiding you to his lap with his legs stretched out. He sits you over his thighs, glancing back at his jacket and pillow, brows raised when he sees how sticky they both are. Your habit of drooling and your cunt soaking his pillow case, he laughs just a little seeing the state of them. You must notice because you hit his shoulders weakly. “So needy,” 

“Javier.” 

“Alright, alright,” He laughs again, kissing your cheek as he brings you to him. You frown but comply with his handling of you, strong hands pulling you over his thigh. He sits you down until your bare cunt is pressed against the clothed muscle. It dawns on you what he’s doing as he’s doing it, a noisy little whimper sounding as Javier pulls you close. Close enough to wrap your arms around his neck. He puts a hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to bury his face into the space of his shoulder. He can feel the relief in you when you do, slumping into him a second time today. “You have to move on your own, you know? I won’t help you.” 

“You’re being awful,” You say with no real malice or bite. 

“I’m a little hurt, that’s all. And I’m helping you aren’t I? Is that not what you want?” 

You groan against the skin of his neck. “I want your…ngh,” 

He hums against you, decides to be merciful since he’s teased you plenty and he’s going to tease you more. 

“Wanna feel me right here, don’t you?” He puts a hand between your bodies, pressing the back of his hand into your stomach. “I know, I know. But I want you to cum like this first.”

“Can’t do it by myself,” You sniffle. Don’t even try to push back, so obedient and willing. Javier hums sympathetically. 

“I’m here right? I’ll help you, mi vida. I’m not that mean, am I?” 

You shake your head no. He most definitely is, but maybe he can keep that a secret from you a little longer. 

“Here,” He says. Javier pulls your chemise up until it’s pooling at your waist. Strong, tan hands hold at your hips, squeezing the soft skin with a warm sigh. You keen immediately. He pushes his thigh up just slightly to give you the right kind of friction. Hiccuping in his lap, he sets a pace for you to grind yourself on him. A slower back and forth. When you get too wet, too needy - you get sloppy. Sometimes he can give it to you hard and fast but you’re sensitive. Sensitive to the point it’s easy to make you hurt, make yourself hurt if you’re too clumsy. 

You’re always chasing pleasure but you don’t know anything about build-up. For a girl who tends to keep to herself and is always so meticulous - there’s something about seeing you get so sloppy that turns Javier on. When you’re wet and can’t think straight “Not too fast, okay? You’re sensitive, need it slow at first to make it feel good if it���s like this. Did you forget?” 

You nod, then moan hotly against his throat. Javier shivers at the way your tune changes. He can feel you breathe in his scent and relax as he guides your hips. He eventually stops touching you. Lets you take control of the pace just like he shows you. You manage to pace yourself despite how much you want to cum. Javier can feel how pent up you are. The fabric of his slacks going sticky, tacky from cum and arousal. 

You smell nice and soft, like baby powder and something floral. 

Javier’s been hard since he got in the door, but it’s starting to fog his mind up. Feeling your tits press against his chest, feeling your skin against his. Soft and pliant and beautiful. He kisses against your shoulders as you slowly start to build your orgasm up again. Not that it’s hard. 

You pull away from him, briefly - and your face makes his dick twitch. You’re always pretty but you’re especially pretty like this. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth, eyes lidded and barely blinking.

“Javi,” Your words are slurred. Javier laughs but doesn’t clean you up. “Kiss me,” 

“Sure,” He replies, though he’s all too happy to do it. Javier kisses you with tongue. He knows it’s what you want. Your hands curl up at his chest as he brings his own to cup your head and pull you to him. His tongue in your mouth is invasive but precise, knowing all the ways you want him to nip and kiss and suck on your mouth. You whine in complete pleasure, drunk from the sensation and he’s hardly touched you at all. 

He thinks of how he’ll fuck you as he kisses you. He’ll touch you more than he is now and you’ll fuck like lovesick rabbits until sunrise. It’s less something Javier decides and more something he knows. Like once he opens the door to pleasing you like this, it’ll be tough on him to close it again. 

“Javi,” You keep calling his name. It might be the only word you remember. Always seems to be when you get like this. “It feels so good. Feels so good when you touch me,” 

Javier kisses against your bare shoulder and neck, teeth scraping soft against your clavicles. “Mm. You’re doing well. A very good girl today,” 

You shudder at the praise, all the hairs on your neck raising from the drop of it. Javier laughs. You whine his name again but he doesn’t reply. He can feel you more than he can see you. Your body is twitching against his thigh and your muscles are tight where you hug against him. Javier calms you. 

“Gonna cum soon, huh?” 

You nod over and over, but can barely keep your head up to do it. And he laughs, full of fondness and affection as he peppers your face with kisses. He doesn’t have it in him suddenly, to tease you about it any more. He encourages you instead, hand on your hips to give you more friction as you start to grow erratic in your breathing. You pant hard against his ear, like you’re chasing something. Little bunny rabbit, he thinks. Your voice is little more than a croak. 

“Oh,” You moan, loud and helpless and needy as you cling to him. Your hands fisted in the back of his shirt as you cry out his name one more time. A prayer, maybe. Or a curse. Something in between. “Javier, oh,” 

“Shhh, that’s it. Just like that. Good girl. You’re so good to me.” 

You weep into his neck as you cum, your whole body tightening before breaking out into aroused shakes. You’ve completely lost it in front of him. On the brink of insanity with nothing but pleasure filling your empty-head. You hump against him thoughtlessly as you ride out your high, then finally lean against him when you’ve managed to reach the end of it. You don’t move. Javier can feel how big the wet patch of his pants has grown and tries not to laugh. 

You’re only barely coherent when you’ve finally pulled away. Your pupils are blown out and your face is flushed, sweat making your hair stick to your skin in the places it’s not tucked away. Javier laughs at the state you’re in, brushing his thumb along your cheek just beneath your eyes. 

“Are you with me still, do you think?” 

You nod, seemingly exhausted. He laughs again and kisses your temple. 

“Want you,” You say, despite your state. His eyes widen again at how soon after you’re asking him. He was planning on taking his time, but that plan might just be out of the race. He’s not above you begging him so sweetly. “Please, Javi. Need you, need you so bad.” 

You sound like you’re about to cry. He speaks in soft murmurs. “I thought you’d be too tired to keep going right away.” 

“No,” You mumble and shake your head. “Please. Please, want you so bad.” 

“You’re exhausted, mi vida.” 

“Please,” 

He chuckles. “Okay. Okay, don’t cry. Whatever you want, remember. Unbutton my shirt for me, mi amor.” 

You sniffle, your hands shaking as you fulfill his request. You’re exceptional at listening. Javier smiles at you, your eyes meeting as you do. You flush and pout, only barely managing to maintain his gaze without looking away. You unbutton his shirt dutifully. He puts a hand on your arm and rubs it soothingly. “You must’ve missed me a lot, huh.” 

You nod. “It’s bad, you know? Two days shouldn’t feel so long. It didn’t use too.” 

“Just means we love each other,” Javier assures, a safe place for you to express your neediness. “That’s nothing bad,” 

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “That’s true,” 

“See? And it’s nice you know. Having someone miss me. Wait for me. Makes me want to come home instead of, I don’t know.” He feels his throat tighten at the sincerity but pushes through anyway “Dying for the cause. Or even just because.” 

It’s the first time you’ve smiled all day and god. Might be the only thing that’s ever mattered. Above all forms of love prior and past. Above revolution. Above god. Just you. You smile, happy and elated and keep unbuttoning his shirt with a coquettish-ness to you. Comfortable and safe. 

You help Javier out of his shirt, and wait for his approval to go after his pants. Undoing the buttons, you free his cock from the confines with a soft gasp. Javier laughs at the reaction, cat-like grin on his features. 

“Nothing you haven’t seen before.”  

“It’s so big,” You say, your hand wrapping around it briefly. Javier swears, head against the headboard. 

“Careful,” He warns, laughing thickly. “I’m pretty pent up too,” 

“Want it inside me,” You say so easily it startles him. You blink up at him through your lashes, too pretty for your own good. “Please?” 

“Should open you up a little.” 

“Want it to hurt,” You reply instantly. Javier feels his breath hitch. 

“Oh, fuck.” He breathes, trying to keep himself from cumming in your hands. “We’ll go slow.”

You nod quickly, not wanting to wait any longer. Javier curses himself for not being more polite. 

He guides your arms around his neck, his own arm around your waist as he lays you down on your back. You look up at him, surprised by his handling of you but not upset by it all. You mumble something he doesn’t catch, but it sounds pleased. 

Javier finds that he’s fond of missionary. He didn’t think he was the type, but there’s something about seeing you laid on your back that he likes. Likes being able to look at you and be close to you, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you curl into him. He lays you down gently on his spine, laughing at the way your legs wrap around his waist the second you’re comfortable. His hands go up under your knees but don’t push you too far. You spread your legs for him naturally, eyes fluttering with exhaustion and leftover stupid want. He looks down at you and smiles. 

“One more, okay? Just the one.” 

“I can’t,” You whine “Too sensitive. Just want you to cum on me,” 

“Are you doubting me?” He challenges, only partially. Your eyes widen and he chuckles. “Of course you can. One more,” 

You whimper, suddenly realizing you had no choice in the first place. But you nod, relenting to him like you so often do. Javier kisses you. It means more things that he’s comfortable telling. Means thank you, and that he’s sorry, that he loves you. He kisses you one more time after that, and smiles at how happy you seem because of it.

Finally, when Javier lays you down on the sheets beneath you - it feels like finding religion all over again. The loose material of your chemise has given up on covering you, exposing the soft mound of your chest and hardened nipples. He can see your neck and shoulders and everything else above and below. You’re so beautiful his cock twitches again, hard. 

He sits back up on his knees and takes a deep breath as he lays his cock against your puffy folds. You breathe soft, an aching sound from the back of your throat as you pull your skirt up to give him better access. He laughs gently at that, examining how nearly seven inches measures up to you and feels a little dizzy in the process of it. He’s done this with you so many times now, practically trained your body to take him without too much trouble. A welcome change from when you could barely fit the tip, too inexperienced to do it but even more determined. 

Even still some part of him worries about it. It’s not enough to stop him though, not nearly. His cock twitches against hard, wanting for you. He looks down at you and sees you stare up, admiring his figure. He laughs. 

“Like the view?” 

You nod. “Mm. Uh-huh.” 

“I’m glad,” He replies, then adds “Deep breath,” 

So you take a deep breath, and Javier pushes the tip of his cock into you with a loud grunt. You’re so soft. Wet, and pliant and soft around the swollen head of his cock, he can’t help but shudder with relief and desire. Can’t help but grit his teeth and grip onto your hips to steady himself. 

You breathe like the air has been punched out of your lungs, saying his name dreamily. “Oh, Javi,” 

He swears under his breath, something incoherent as he pushes the tip push into you evenly. It’s not easy. The resistance is there, but you don’t whine in pain right way - so it means it’s not too hard on you. Perhaps loosened by the previous orgasm, or simply so needy that it doesn’t bug you. Still, Javier makes sure to keep himself tight. He rocks, back and forth, ignoring the agony of that sensation to keep him from thrusting up into your soft, welcoming cunt. If he listened to what he wanted, he can’t be confident it wouldn’t make you ache. He already knows you will with this much. 

It takes a few minutes, and some whimpering from you before he finally manages to bottom out. 

You feel good. God, you feel good. 

He can’t imagine heaven, but he thinks being inside of you might be close enough. There’s certainly all the makings of religion when he makes love to you. You, a soft and loving deity, and him - a man laden with sin who longs to be saved. It makes sense to compare you that way. And it feels just as euphoric as the always described, being wrapped in you. Being part of your completion. What's religion without worshippers, anyway? 

Javier groans as he bottoms out inside of. When he manages to peel his eyes open and look at you, you’re debauched. He’s debased you this completely and he doesn’t know if you can even tell. He laughs, leaning down to kiss your neck and run pecks against your jaw. 

“Feel good?” 

“Feels so good,” You moan, then hold him tighter. “I love you. Love you Javier,” 

“Me too, mi amor. Para siempre. ” He hums, kissing your forehead before looking at you. “Can I move?” 

“Please,” 

“Touch yourself for me,” He tells you patiently. “Make yourself feel good.” 

You nod, dazed - a hand between your bodies as Javier sets a pace to fuck you. He knows you in and out. At least well enough to know exactly the ways to make you feel good. Only a few thrusts for him to find the perfect pace, perfect rhythm, perfect spot. You make a noise like a songbird, deep in the back of your throat and Javier can feel you pulse around him in pleasure. 

You stay like that, with him. Javier fucks you to his hearts content in deep, long thrusts - angled against the softest parts of you and wanting to make you feel good. He whispers sweet nothings as your nails dig into the muscle of his back. You feel good for him. You are good for him, wet and perfect. It takes all of his strength to fuck you consistently, the bed rocking underneath you both as he gives it to you hard. 

“I’m close,” You whimper, not seeming to believe yourself despite. “I’m so close, oh god, Javier.” 

“That’s it,” He whispers, chuckling against your skin “One more. Just one more and I’ll give it to you.” 

It’s the promise of his cum that drives you over the edge. You gasp and groan, shuddering as Javier pounds you through your second orgasms. He groans as he feels your pussy spasm and tighten around him, practically begging him to put it inside. He’s nearly lost his sense enough to do it, unhelped by the way your sweet voice begs him for it. He practically has to pry himself away from you, out of you to keep himself from cumming inside as deep as he can possibly go. 

He manages, barely, to stave off his own orgasm. Long enough pull himself out of you with a broken gasp and cum outside of you. Making a mess of your stomach and your soft, swollen cunt with his seed. He paints you in thick ropes of whites as he swears loud in the process, euphoria rumbling through him uninterrupted. 

“Fuck,” He moans, finally getting to the end of it. A little embarrassed by how much of a mess he’s made right along with you. “You do something crazy to me, you know that?” 

You stare at him, bleary eyed and giggly despite your exhaustion. “I know. Me too. I missed you,” 

He laughs, and can’t find the words to say anything but the same back. Of course Javier is a worse man when you’re around. 

Any man loved this much is bound to be a little ruined. 

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

[formulafanfics13]

hiii!! i love your fics so much!

could you write an oscar one with a best friend and she’s getting married to someone else but for whatever reason isn’t really happy in the relationship (which oscar can tell even if she’s never explicitly said) and at the wedding he objects which means it can’t continue that day and his objection turns into a long-winded confession thing

I Object - OP81

Masterlist

Summary: On your wedding day, just as you're about to marry the man everyone thinks is right for you, Oscar Piastri — your best friend — stands up to object. He confesses he’s been in love with you for years, that you're not truly happy, and that he can’t let you marry someone else. Overwhelmed, you walk away from the altar and kiss him in front of everyone.

Warnings: Angst, public confrontation, runaway bride trope, emotional confession, disrupted wedding. Romantic drama.

The church was beautiful. Golden, blooming, ridiculous. A cathedral of candlelight and fresh roses, drenched in silk and violin music. Every pew was full. Every breath hushed.

You stood at the altar, veil pinned delicately into place, eyes glossy and unfocused as the officiant read words you weren’t really hearing.

The man beside you smiled. Your fiancé. The one everyone said made sense. The one who ticked all the boxes. The one who wore the right shoes and said the right things and asked the right questions on cue. And yet, your hands were shaking.

Somewhere in the third row, Oscar Piastri was staring at you like the world was ending.

He’d been quiet all morning. Didn’t join the groomsmen photos. Didn’t toast at the rehearsal dinner the night before. Just floated on the edges like a ghost in a suit, watching everything like he was collecting evidence for a future crime scene.

Because he knew. Without you ever saying a word. He knew you weren’t happy.

Not in the way that mattered. Not in the way you were supposed to be when you were about to tie your life to someone else’s.

He knew the difference between content and in love. He knew what your laugh sounded like when it wasn’t filtered through politeness. He knew you loved yellow tulips and hated lace sleeves. And when you walked down the aisle in a dress that wasn’t you, to marry a man who wasn’t him, something inside him snapped.

The officiant kept reading.

“-if anyone here should object to this union-”

The words echoed. And then...

“I do.”

It cut through the cathedral like a blade.

Everyone turned. You froze. Your fiancé’s mouth dropped open. And there, standing in the aisle, voice louder than it had ever been, stood Oscar. Suit slightly wrinkled. Face flushed. Hands at his sides. And a fire in his eyes that didn’t flicker.

“I object,” he said again. Louder. “I-fuck-I object.”

Gasps. Someone dropped their program. The groom took a step forward. “Oscar, what the hell are you-”

“Because she’s not happy,” Oscar snapped. “Because she’s not fucking happy. And I don’t care if no one else sees it, I do. I have.”

Silence.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. He took a shaky breath, stepping closer. “She doesn’t love you. Not like that. Not enough to spend forever pretending. She’s scared. She wants something safe and simple and stable, and that’s what you gave her. But it’s not what she wants. Not really.”

Your chest was rising too fast.

“She laughs like she’s holding her breath when she’s with you,” he said, eyes locked to yours. “And she picked a wedding dress that she thought your mother would like. And I’ve watched her shrink down to fit a life that looks good in photos, but makes her eyes dimmer every fucking day.”

Your fiancé was speechless.

And Oscar? He just kept going. Like once it started, he couldn’t stop. “I know because I’ve known her my whole life,” he said. “I know her real laugh. I know she cries when she’s angry and hates slow walkers and eats M&Ms by colour. I know she’s scared of being difficult, so she goes quiet instead. I know she writes letters she never sends. I know she’s in love with love, but she’s never let herself actually feel it.”

Your knees were trembling.

“And I know I’m a fucking coward,” he said, chest heaving now. “Because I’ve been in love with her since we were seventeen and I never told her. Because I thought if I just stayed close enough, maybe it would be enough. Maybe being her best friend would be enough.”

Everyone was watching. No one moved. Even the goddamn priest was silent.

“I thought if I kept my mouth shut, she’d be happy,” he said. “But she’s not. And I can’t-fuck-I can’t watch her marry someone she doesn’t love just because it’s neat and it’s right and it’s what she thinks she deserves.”

He looked at you again. Full. Raw. Nothing left to hide. “I’m not the right guy. I don’t have the polished job or the rich family or the perfect timing. But I would worship you. I would never let you feel like you had to shrink yourself to be loved. I would tell you I loved you every single fucking day for the rest of your life, and I would mean it.”

Your bouquet hit the floor. You hadn’t realised you’d dropped it.

Oscar’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry I waited this long. But I won’t wait forever. Not if it means watching you spend your whole life pretending.”

He took a step back. “If you want to marry him, I’ll shut up. I’ll sit down and I’ll let it happen. But I had to try.”

Silence. Stillness. And then you moved. You stepped down from the altar, veil sliding from your hair. Your shoes clicking on marble. Your hands still trembling. Your fiancé didn’t stop you. He didn’t say a word.

You walked straight to Oscar. Your best friend. The boy who always looked at you like you were impossible.

You stared at him. Heart thudding. Tears spilling over. “Say it again,” you whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“Say it again.”

He swallowed. “I love you.”

You grabbed his face and kissed him so hard it nearly knocked you both over. And somewhere behind you, the wedding guests burst into chaos.

[2demondogs]

Hey! I love your works so far!! I was wondering if you could write a proposal/wedding with JavierxF!Reader?

Thank you!

I am not much of a marriage-enjoyer so my friend helped me come up with some ideas here. Javier being awkward is all my doing though xoxo. Also any time I write Javier/F!Reader this meme is on repeat in my head.

Words: 4.1k Tags: Javier in love is a pathetic wet rag of a man, not explicitly set during canon, proposal, yeah that's it

Far north of this shore on Flat Iron, strawberry harvests will begin tomorrow. Sometimes, you wonder what it might be like tending to a farm, having a schedule that stretches year-long. Knowing who or what to pray to for good fortune in your life would be a relief. How many of those fresh berry leaves do they tuck into their pockets for good luck? How many would you need?

Things might be more certain, even for as uncertain as the sunshine can be. People have ways of creating organization from chaos. Open an almanac or some holy book, and see.

You only know it's a full moon tonight because you eavesdropped in town, waiting for Javier to finish whatever business took him outside the store. Pissing, you figured. He didn't say anything after he stepped back in line beside you, just nudged your side and acted as though he hadn't. All he was missing was a casual look away and a whistle.

Corny bastard.

He'd been quieter all morning, after he realized he forgot his bait and would have to buy some at the last town you passed through. It wasn't out of the way, but he still acted as though something had stuck itself in his boot, stabbing with every step. You would've ridden several miles out of the way, as long as they were with him— then again, Javier's the type, too.

Whatever had crawled under his skin was gone as soon as you hit the shoreline of the lake. The stick shoved moderately far up his ass always falls out when you're around. You'd forget it was ever there, if it weren't for the opportunities you get in camp to watch him without his knowledge. Javier could certainly be short, and rather cruel, with the other men in camp.

It isn't like he tries to hide those things from you, either. When you allow yourself to be given so much credit, you think that whatever has his temper on a short leash abides for you. Javier is not so delicately-stepped as to be kind, but he mellows into something close when you're on your lonesome. Sickly romantic, but he claims that men love hard and that it's only natural he turn into this spineless thing around you. With that bullshit, you know he's merely making himself more comfortable with his own vulnerability.

Other times, you feel that the truth is more likely this: to him, being with you is as good as being alone. Both are rather flattering ideas at their hearts. At times, you wonder what you did for a man as ardent as Javier to get stuck to your hip, whether he fully likes how hard he falls to his knees or not.

Regardless, his eyes come as close to gentleness as they ever will when they fall on you. He looks drowsy, almost ill with softness, and it gives the afternoon sun fresh life as it starts to set. It's hot as it ever was, being Lemoyne, but June is always mildest and the breeze off the lake eases the stiffness of the air. You might've pleaded for another fishing spot if Javier proposed this trip in beginning of August, when it's near suffocating in these parts.

As it is, Flat Iron's a ways away from camp. You suspected there was some kind of fish Javier had a hankering for, made him choose this side of the lake. The side closer to home was as good as any, if you were asked.

You find out better as conversation fades and drifts and finally lands in the palm of nostalgia. Javier's decided, half-foolishly, to cook fish right on the rivershore. It's wide, open space this close to the water, only spotted with a free trees, far from where you've set up.

The fire you're gathering kindling to build has a good chance of getting your pseudo-camp approached, but it's nice to pretend that there are no targets on your backs for once. Yes, it's just Javier stalking off to the treeline to gather sticks for flame and skewer, and you.

You fantasize as you set a handful of brittle leaves in the makeshift firepit. Must be real fine to be heralded by your community, instead of stranded in the woods without one. People really like those strawberry farms, they like any farms; they give life. Some days the gang feels meaningful for its unification of misfits, and some nights, you think you are all still lost and unbound. There's nothing grown in the gang. It's a place to stagnate, in comfort and comradery on good days and in mild isolation on bad ones.

You temper the thought before it can choke the pleasant evening. Every place has its ups and downs. Should anyone come across your little camp, Javier's fine with a gun and good with a knife, and you can handle yourself. Pretending will be alright, for a short while, and if it's ruined— that's when the disappointment can come to stay.

It's comfortable to settle on the ground beside him, even if the open sides of the fire feel exposing. You watch him shave the bark off a stick with his knife, sharpening it to skewer chunks of the fish. Pale scars on his fingers where he's sliced into the skin doing this before shimmer in the firelight.

Javier glances back at you, now and then. Ever-pompous, he never seems surprised to see you still looking.

The fire casts most of his hands in stark shadow, even as the sky clings to its last oranges, holds tight onto them in the clouds until pink seeps through the cotton. It is all much darker once you tear yourself away to look at the flames, how they lick over the dried litter and bloom in pops, and the rest of the world fades into shadow at your peripherals. Always did like how the fire dances, jumps, rolls to and fro.

Only when you are not looking does Javier break the comfortable silence, voice strangely blurred at the edges. "It's funny, you know," he says, huffs a short, dry laugh through his nose. "The San Luis' so close, but it ain't close at all." Like most times Javier ought to sound sad, he doesn't. In fact, it borders on wistful. "Very far away place."

"Are you nervous?" You ask, turning back to him. He's a wanted man, you know, but worse: there's always the memories. Even if you will not camp here, because it's too open and too southern, the memories follow.

Javier's looking into the distance, southwest. He glances at the fire, then you, and his eyes soften that ill-way, settling down. "A little," he says. He hands you one of the sharpened sticks, looking at the day's catch with a blanker face than before, mouth straightening. "Which one do you want?"

You know him well enough to have an inkling his answer isn't about how near the border is. Not with how he moves on so quickly, happy to cut your fish into cookable chunks for you instead of answering the expectant look on your face, the narrowed eyes.

He idly goes into an old story you've heard before, but you don't tell him. You like to listen to his voice, and it's more than likely Javier has a reason for telling it again. He will add something new to it, you think, or will say that last time, he misremembered the part where...

Often, he misremembers. This one took place almost ten years ago, after all— but with how he works around talking about people, rather than what happened to them, you sometimes think he doesn't remember in the first place.

He's crafty that way.

You temper that thought, too, and wait for it to come together as you roast the skewer over the campfire. It's getting dark, now, and the light begins to make a real difference across the ground. Bumpy, bald spots of dirt showing through sparse grass-hair. It clusters up into bushes nearer the tree line. The trees are sparse, too, so it's nothing but a continuation. Towards the water, the cattails mirror the trees, though you'd plucked some of them for the fire. Warm, deep green, nice and lively.

Javier doesn't add anything new, in the end. It's good to listen to him talk regardless, the warm scrape of his voice as it drones evenly and yet too long, turns raspy at the tails. The jagged scar along his throat must cut into something inside it; seems like his voice tires out sooner than most people's.

You think again of how his mind was in another place when you asked him about his nerves. What's nagging at him? Javier's story-telling is only this monotone when his expressiveness is turned all inward or when he's annoyed. If you annoyed him in the slightest, there wouldn't be that warm hand occasionally feeling out your back, making sure you were there.

It cinches over your shoulder, now, his touch firming up once he trails off. He's got to be coming at you somehow, eyes or ears or skin, or — so he's told you — it feels like starving. You would never be so egotistical as to make such a thing up without him putting the awful idea in your head. It comes back every time he touches you for no reason but being connected, which is awful, really, because it makes you feel important. Some of your own starvation stirs, an ache that's only soothed when you lean into his side and feel the thin, solid warmth of his body against you.

Javier turns, and so do you. Nearly meeting in the middle, noses an inch apart. "You cold?" He asks.

"No."

"Ah." He can never let anything rest easily, so he trades his skewer between his hands to stretch an arm around you, slow and purposeful. "I know what you really want."

Back to the food your attention goes. "Learn that from one of Mary-Beth's books?" You ask, rotating your skewer.

"No," Javier says. His hair brushes your temple, a cheeky lean-in. "She learned it from me."

Pointedly, you ignore him. It's not much time at all until his stare searing your cheek, those dark eyes, and you feel a warm flush spreading over your face. Javier begs for attention like a goddamn dog yearning for table scraps, at times. Never any time but when you're alone, because if anyone else saw him act this way — even in jest — he'd be camp laughing stock for a year. Probably longer, knowing how those men turn into boys so easily.

Very likely, it has something to do with the fact that no one would ever believe you if you told them he's this way, either. Most of camp would be hard-pressed to believe Javier's capable of genuinely liking another human being. Most of camp is men, though; the girls all say you're lucky. They mean it, too.

"Mi vida," Javier says. It's the most pathetic voice you've ever heard, and soft, low. Laughing or blushing would only give him the satisfaction he craves, so you bite your tongue and twist the skewer when it's ready. "Oh, c'mon." You glance at him, and it must be cold, because Javier's frown cracks into a smile briefly. "Don't be cruel. You haunt me."

"Good grief," you scoff, leaning away. The air seems colder without him there, is turning into something enjoyably mild for the evening. "You're terrible."

Javier cackles, shifts to press himself right back into your side. His hair brushes your cheek as if he wants to lay his head on your shoulder, but he doesn't, settles for leaning against you. His hand is on your lower back, then, moving across it side-to-side. Feels nice, sturdy.

"You do haunt me," he says again, no ounce of smile left in his voice. Never has he been a convincing conman. Too honest. "Every waking minute."

You know he's simply meandering his way into smooth-talking, and yet you swoon as easily as always. Curious at first, looking to his hand where he's over-cooking his own dinner and barely paying attention to it. The shadows draw deep in the hollow of his curled fingers, the dark hair on his forearm leading up to the rolled gray sleeve of his button-up.

"S'alright, though," Javier continues. If you weren't so enthralled by someone thinking such sweet things about you, you might've learned by now to tune him out when he goes on these tangents. As it is, your breath follows where his hands trails up your spine. The skin of your arm prickles under his watch. "I hate bein' without you."

Up your gaze crawls to his shoulder. Sky's dark, but the rising moon and low sun shake hands across the water of the lake, reflecting light into the air. The other shore seems very far away. Most things do, when Javier pours a little of his heart into your palm. His own must bleed profusely beneath the rich blue of his vest.

"It'll always be you." It bleeds a little extra today, then, if he's talking like this, doesn't sound like he's playing around anymore. Calloused fingers run over the side of your neck, your ear, and trace like its worth tracing.

You're looking him in the eye, trying to appear amused when Javier looks close to melting. Flustering him is always rewarding, and so you weather it, ignoring how well he looks with the warm glow on his warm skin and the dark definition along his features.

"Are you done, sweetheart?" You ask, voice too-warm and too-fond. It's clear you don't want him to be, sounds more like a goad for him to continue.

Javier's tongue slips between his teeth, half a smile on his face, and he turns away as if you've hurt his feelings. For a moment, you're afraid you have, even if he usually likes playing this way and his hand stays where it is on the crook of your neck. Then, he's nodding and trying again, apparently, to get out what he wants to say.

"Marry me."

Night-birds sing, or maybe your ears are only ringing. It comes out before you can stop it: "What?"

"Marry me," Javier repeats.

Eyes a little wide, a little wild; he looks half-scared to say it, almost like he's not meaning to but can't form any other words. It's not a question. His eyes are searching your face more openly, more anxiously then they usually do when he does this, drops a desire at your feet and sees how far you kick it.

Everything is unchanged, save for the burning in your chest and in your eyes and your stomach and your hands, which you pay no mind because you can only focus on him. Everything's in the same place it was a moment ago — should be, anyways, beyond the edges of Javier's sweet, half-terrified face is quite blurry — but you have the distinct feeling that something nonmaterial has shifted, has dragged most of your senses with it and left you askew.

Javier cracks when you don't respond, because he's not sure if he will get what he wants. "Will you?"

The smell of burning fish fills the air. He doesn't look away, but whatever sheepishness was beginning to seep into his expression takes over entirely as he reels his skewer back in and away from the flames.

You glance at the charred chunks of fish and laugh, a sharp bark of it, feel your hand clenched tight around the stick in it as you take your own food off the fire for risk of doing the same thing. His own is half-snuffed and timid as you've ever heard it, but Javier laughs, too, part of it stuck in his throat like bile.

"Of course," you answer. He shines, crooked teeth split in a handsome grin. "You damn fool."

"Hey," Javier drawls, drifts too far into the usual bickering you do and pulls himself out quickly. With a start, he drops his skewer to the ground. It's past eating, anyways. "I got you a ring. Shit, I should've—" He feels in the pocket of his jeans, sighs. His hand falls from your neck to your hip, squeezing. "I wanted to do it the right way, but I got ahead'a myself."

The right way. Like you give an ounce of a shit, but you know it matters to him and that he's sorry. You're still half-way through realizing your hand's been asked for, let alone far enough into acceptance to start wondering what a wedding will look like. On the road like you are, can you even have one? Certainly, you couldn't have one the right way.

"You can ask again," you suggest. He'd sounded so... disappointed with himself.

Javier pauses the search of his pockets to huff. "Just about died the first time, 'n' you want me to do it twice?" He laughs when you smack his chest.

"You're bein' dramatic," you accuse, though you're not entirely sure it's true.

"Shit, no, I'm not," he insists, turns his cheek to you and raises his jaw. The muscles stretches strong along his neck. "Feel my pulse. Racin' like a rabbit's."

"You just want me to touch you."

Javier grins. When you go to turn away, he reaches into the inside pocket of his vest, snickering. "Hey, wait." You do; he takes his hand from your hip, brushing the dirt off on the side of his jeans. It leaves a tan stain on them, same as it left a tan stain on your hip. He wasn't thinking straight. "I found it."

It was awkward and disjointed. Nowhere near as smooth as his words, which only ever get so silky because he practices them a thousand times inside his head, sanding off the rough edges, polishing. Yet, you're as withered when he takes your hand, hesitating a moment too long with the ring ahead of your finger. It looks the right size, though you don't know how he would've measured that, and— where did he get the ring? Money's impossible, and you're sure a jeweller would be locked up tight enough to take at least two men. You would've known about that job, too, if only because Mary-Beth or Tilly would've teased you about why he was robbing a jeweller without you.

You're answered when Javier slips it past your first knuckle and it catches on the second one. The band is gold, thin, glints mockingly.

Any confidence pools out of him and onto the ground below. "Don't tell me it's too small," he mutters, and you wince when he tries to push it past, disbelieving.

"It'll get stuck, honey," you say, curl your finger away so he'll quit. He's not earnestly trying to shove it on, he's just— in denial, probably, looks kicked. "It's okay. Did you... where'd you—?"

He sighs, twists the band between two of his fingers as he lets it drop to his lap. He keeps your hand in his, and you lace your fingers together, squeezing. That seems to cheer him up. "I stole it," he admits, not a touch of shame on him. From the blankness on his face, it seems like he expected you to have known that.

You bite back a laugh. It probably wouldn't make him feel any better, even if you're only laughing because he's predictable. "That's why it don't fit," you say.

"I know." He nods, smiling sheepishly once more. It's nothing like him to be so giddy, but he sounds it when he says: "I's just so excited."

It's sweeter than anything could've been. You suppose something material has changed with the question, because you've never seen Javier so vulnerable. It's choking the air around him, makes your gut twist up with some airy, fluttering feeling. You aren't sure where to begin with the tight affection in your chest, besides leaning in to kiss the sharp part of his cheekbone, the edge of his jaw.

Taking another good look at him, it's not all that difficult to believe he nearly did die with the nerve it took to ask you the first time. There's a sheen on his forehead, and his cheeks are pale, eyes wide yet, though they crinkle the longer you look at him.

He can beg for your attention, yes, but you like that he does. You like the thing he is whenever you're around.

"I love you," you say. There's nothing else to do about any of it.

Javier drums your interlocked hands on your leg, once, twice, like he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore. "I love you, too," he says. Eyes soft, ill-looking.

You suppose fragility is part of asking, this trial of what will you do with my heart underfoot? You bring your hand up to move his bangs from his face, and Javier leans into the touch.

"You're a sorry thing," you say. It's as fond as ever, and he looks content to hear it, closing his eyes when you lay your palm on his sharp cheek.

"Stuck with me, now," he says, even if it isn't true. He turns his face to kiss your wrist, opening his eyes. "I'll get you a chain for it. Would you wear it that way?"

He means he'll steal a necklace. You don't think it's any less flattering than a man spending hard-earned money, especially not considering that the gang's hard-earned money is also stolen. He could've gone to jail or been shot picking this ring off whomever, and he'll have the same risks getting the necklace. Frankly, you'd be impressed to watch him take a chain from a lady's neck without suspicion, but— that's probably because you're just as law-abiding as he is. All you would feel is pride, and some smug sense of satisfaction knowing your man is an excellent thief.

"It'd be easier," you reason, thumbing over his cheekbone, to his jaw where it rubs over ghosts of stubble. You let your hand slip down and rest on the ground again. "Not as much chance'a it getting lost while I'm workin'."

Javier nods. His thumb traces over your knuckles, the skin split and chapped from the chilly breezes off the Dakota at camp. "One day, you won't have to work," he says, sounds as wistful as he had before, talking of home.

"I think I'd rather die than just... relax," you admit, though he's trying to be sweet and the sentence sounds weird when you say it aloud, despite how right it tastes.

"I know you will," Javier says. "But you won't have to, is the difference."

"Who's gonna do it, then?" You ask. Servants and maids aren't anything like him, or you. What is more likely is that Javier hasn't got a clue what goes into keeping a household afloat, even one as small as two people.

"Me, o'course." Javier brings your knuckles to his mouth, brushes a kiss along them. Docile eyes find you through dark lashes. "You're my princess. Why wouldn't I?"

Well, that's sickening.

Fumbling for anything to reply with, you fall again on: "You're a sorry thing, Javier." It sounds even fonder, sounds more like another I love you than a scolding.

He kisses the back of your hand, then the back of your wrist, turns it over and presses his lips to the inside, mustache scratching the thin skin. They're dry as bone, his lips, and you don't think he's going to be calm for another week with the excess jitters rolling off him in waves. But he's trying it, has found his groove again and is pushing it to the limit of how much romantic nonsense you'll swallow without teasing him.

Javier lets your hands rest in your lap again, thumb still smoothing over yours, his eyes watching it. You watch him, then, studying the darkness of his hair and how the ring shines between his fingers, bounces light back and forth with the chain on his vest.

It's nice and quiet, for a long while. The trails off the river are empty, only distant birds mocking back-and-forth in the freshly cooling weather and the rustle of wind in leaves. Still, peaceful.

Your stomach growls, and you remember the bark that's eating into your palm, rough and cool. Shit. Brushing Javier's hand from yours, you reach over to yank on the chain dangling from his vest, grinning at how he jumps.

"Don't do that," he complains, but he's huffing a laugh alongside it.

"Do what?" You ask, flicking the chain. You move on hastily while he pats his stomach as if you've hit him, turning ton inspect the chunks of fish on your stick. They're not burnt, though they could be a little less well-done. "Wanna share this?"

[firelxdykatara]

I think part of what frustrates me about age gap discourse with respect to BTVS specifically is that framing Buffy's relationship with Angel as 'grown man preys on teenage girl' requires that you ignore everything about the context of the show, the context that their relationship occurs within, and also what it means for both of them as characters and for the show as a whole.

It's also just like, really boring?

Like before you get to any of the story reasons why that's just a stupidly reductive analytical framework, you have to start with this: in a story aimed at teenagers, the fantasy is of being special and desired by a sexy immortal, and because the story is aimed at teenagers, the main characters are (or start as) teenagers, since the coming of age narrative that underpins everything else doesn't work without it. Hard to tackle that transition from adolescence to adulthood with a main character who begins the series as an adult!

(And it's not as if coming of age stories for adults don't exist. Phoebe Halliwell is a very good example--unlike her older sisters, she starts off unemployed and kind of adrift and desperate to find a purpose, which she ultimately does as a witch and a Charmed One, and all of this is done while she, as the youngest, is in her early twenties at the series start, because the show is primarily aimed at adults.)

And the thing is, Angel isn't just some adult man preying on a highschooler for kicks because he can't find women his own age. As Angelus, he spent well over a century enamored with Darla and committing wanton slaughter and destruction by her side. As Angel, with the exception of Buffy, all of his love interests are adults, and his love for Buffy is not tied to her youth, innocence, or naivete, considering that it links and binds them so completely that they keep crossing in and out of each other's lives through the end of Buffy's show, with the door explicitly open for a future relationship once Buffy's finished baking.

What draws Angel to Buffy--and what makes their relationship so dangerously compelling and also ultimately spells its downfall as, within the text of the show, it is explicitly a tragedy--is the fact that she's the Slayer.

That's the key point--her status as the Chosen One! He is drawn to her (as all vampires are, to a greater or lesser extent, but it's no accident that her only other truly earth shattering romantic relationship in the series is with another vampire) because she's the Slayer, and because of the soul he was cursed to bear and the guilt he feels for the evil he committed as a vampire, he wants to protect and save her as part of his atonement. He falls in love with her because she brings light back into the darkness he has been cast into since being forced to bear a soul even as a monster. And he would be 241 years old whether he was turned as a teenager and could pass as one of her peers or turned at 26 (the show is inconsistent on the age at which he was turned and it really doesn't matter, since the buffyverse never tries to pretend vampires are 'frozen' at the age they're turned anyway), and yes, part of what is darkly compelling about their relationship is that the age difference is obvious (Sarah Michelle Gellar was 20 and David Boreanaz was 28 during season 1), but the reason Angel being an 'older man' is never considered super relevant (aside from a few lampshades) is because... it really isn't.

The important thing, the critical thing, the thing that matters in the context of their relationship is that Angel is a vampire. That's why when Angel pulls out his 'I'm 241, you're 16' spiel it rings so hollow--because that doesn't really matter to either of them and he knows it. He's trying to push her away because it's the only way he can really protect her, and even then it doesn't work, and they all suffer for it horribly, Buffy most of all. (And even then she can't stop loving him, nor he her, and that makes it all the more tragic when he realizes the only thing he can do for her is leave.)

Also, it really throws into sharp relief the fact that people care so much about Buffy being a teenage girl when it comes to her romantic relationships but not at all when it comes to her being fated to die. Something the show itself is also quite critical of, because that's part of the point--being the Slayer is an awful burden that none of them have ever had a choice but to bear, and Buffy was supposed to die at sixteen years old. The only reason she survives is because she broke the rules by trying to have a normal life in addition to being the Slayer, which is the only reason she has friends to help her and save her, and I'm supposed to look at all of that and care that her broody vampire bf was a 'grown man' when he was turned? Really?

I don't think so. You can't just be willing to take what the show says for itself at face value when it comes to all the fighting and killing and dying but then balk when it comes to sex. That just doesn't work for me. (I mean, you can, and a lot of people do, but it's frustrating, hence this post.)

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Fully prepared for this to be a minority position but I am deeply emotionally invested in Paul and Chani not getting back together in Dune Messiah. Not just because I love angst and tragedy (I do) but because I don't think there's a way to do it without undermining the narrative and character arcs that Dune Part Two executed so well.

Paul and Chani's relationship in the Villeneuve films exists on a totally different foundation from what's in the books. It's a political love story and you simply cannot separate out the politics from the romance. Their connection starts with the politics and the love is built on top of that.

It's not just that they happen to fall in love while fighting together in an anti-colonial guerrilla war; that is why she falls in love with him. Because he is willing to take the same risks as her in fighting for her people's liberation. Not by trying to impose himself as a leader (at first) but side by side with her as comrades and equals. Let me fight beside you. That's all I'm asking. He is quite literally willing to put his body on the line for a struggle that's been with her all her life, that she cannot escape, but that he could walk away from if he chose. And in fact he proves himself to be an asset and not a liability in this struggle and they start winning. And yeah that shit's romantic as fuck!! Kudos to whoever on the writing team was like actually direct action solidarity is sexy af because they were right and they should say it! There clearly is some attraction or at least interest in Paul on Chani's part from fairly early on, but it's only after he's proven his political worth, in battle, that she allows herself to trust him on a personal level enough to begin a romantic relationship with him. (And it's only after Paul takes off the Atreides ring, the symbol of the fact that he came there to rule over her, that the narrative permits him to advance to this point.) They could have been comrades but not lovers, but never the other way around, because there's no other version of Paul that this Chani would have fallen in love with.

It's important that they meet in circumstances where Paul has no structural power over her. Chani never would have trusted the Paul who stood in the colonial palace and pledged to "honor" Stilgar by offering him hospitality on his own fucking planet. Because she would have known, just as Stilgar did, that such an offer of fellowship, no matter how genuine and well-intentioned, is not made on equal terms. It's only once Paul has been forcibly separated from his colonial privilege that they have even a chance to approach each other as human beings. (And, in a sort of dark irony, that violence becomes a bridge that connects them. That Paul is driven not by abstract power games among the Great Houses but by real grief and anger over the violent death of people he loves at the hands of the Harkonnens must surely be something Chani understands. And it builds a level of trust and empathy between them, that she doesn't have to explain the stakes of what they're fighting for. He knows it in his bones.)

It's not a coincidence that all their explicitly romantic moments are shot through with politics. Their first kiss is wrapped up in a conversation about what it means to be Fremen and I would very much like to be equal to you. (Yes, he's flirting his ass off with that line, but I do think he is sincere.) Their single post-coital scene has I'm no messiah, I'm a fedaykin of Sietch Tabr--not just a commitment to her people and her home but to her specific form of political struggle in which he is joining her. Throughout their whole relationship, the personal and the political are so interwoven as to be indistinguishable from one another.

This kind of commingling of emotional commitment to a person with political commitment to a culture/people/cause could have very easily slid into something tokenizing or fetishistic, but the writing manages to avoid that by sticking very strongly to a couple of guardrails. One, Chani is not some passive prize to be won, but an active agent of her own liberation, whether Paul is in the picture or not. She is the Fremen liberation struggle within the political allegory of the film; she is its voice and embodiment from the moment we meet her. On a character level, she is doing her thing and it's up to Paul to either follow or get out of the way. Even though we know he is afraid of her dying, he never once suggests she leave the front lines of armed struggle (can you imagine?) because that struggle is such a fundamental part of who she is and what he loves about her.

Two--and this one is important for what comes next--the narrative never trivializes the political side of their relationship in favor of the romantic. The second Paul reaches for any kind of power over the Fremen, over Chani, the trust between them is broken and the romance cannot continue. She might still love him as a person--you don't just turn that off--but she cannot be in love with him as the Lisan al-Gaib, fulfillment of a false prophecy she hates; as the Duke of Arrakis, her colonial overlord; or as the Emperor of the Known Universe, overlord of her overlord. As soon as he pulls that shit he is just another colonizer and she's done with him.

And like, kudos to the narrative for being absolutely uncompromising on that point! That's what makes both the political allegory and the personal tragedy hit so hard! Paul, bro, you fucked that one up good and now you are Experiencing a Consequence! I LOVE that in the end, love isn't enough. All the love in the world isn't enough to keep Chani from walking out at the end of the film, because the foundation that love is built on is broken and cannot be repaired.

(I do believe that by the time he is declaring himself Emperor, Paul thinks he has no choice, that this is the only way to save the people he loves from any number of worse fates. But that, too, is a betrayal, of a kind I don't think Paul fully understands. Because either you think the Fremen are capable of governing their own planet or you don't. Deciding unilaterally that having a "friendly" imperialist in power is the best you can hope for is a profound denial of the agency of the people Paul claims to be doing this in the name of. It's either paternalism or despair, and neither are acceptable modes of thinking for a serious revolutionary. Chani would tell you as much.)

The thing with making a bold writing choice like that is that...you cannot then walk it back in the next film with Chani choosing to forgive Paul or coming around to seeing the world his way and understanding that yes it's politically unsavory and he's manipulating the people he said he was in solidarity with but this was the only way! If you do that then the whole framework of what the first two films are trying to say about power and imperialism and resistance and solidarity collapses into incoherence. On a thematic level Dune Messiah is all about the consequences of Paul taking power the way he did and these are the consequences.

And on a character level...I just don't see any way to come back from such a deep betrayal. Even if some part of Chani still loves him. Even if she's pregnant with his child(ren). (We have like, zero information about how movie Chani feels about family and pregnancy and childrearing that would indicate that she would care one bit about her children's biological father being involved in their lives when he is otherwise busy being a space dictator.)

There are several categories of scenarios I can think of to get Paul and Chani interacting again (she goes back to him as a spy/assassin; she's brought back to the palace under some sort of duress, "for her safety" or even as a political prisoner) but none of them involve them being genuinely together as a couple. I could also see them not interacting at all for most of Dune Messiah. What I cannot see is any scenario in which she genuinely forgives him or ever fucking trusts him again. That shit is over and there's no getting it back.

[mandalhoerian]

I’m really impressed by your analysis of Raf’s new card! Everything you stated makes so much sense and gave me a fresh perspective on his insecurities.

However, I recently came across a discussion on Reddit where someone pointed out that Rafayel's actions could be seen as problematic. They argued there’s a lack of consent from MC, suggesting that MC wasn’t fully into it. They mentioned the use of the dagger as a symbol of the MC's discomfort or pain, which they attributed to her being tense or unrelaxed. They also highlighted how MC seemed to try distracting him, like asking him to answer the phone or pointing out the snow.

Personally, I don’t agree with their interpretation, but I’m struggling to articulate why. Do you have any thoughts or interpretations that might help address this perspective?

Okay, um. First and foremost, thank you for sharing your thoughts and for trusting me with this question, but god did I literally react like this.

But, before we get into the analysis of the deed itself, let’s start first by grounding this discussion in the context of the product that is Love and Deepspace.

This is a 12+ rated action-adventure sci-fi otome game, which sets a clear expectation for the tone and themes presented. While otome games can and often do explore nuanced and occasionally darker themes (and this doesn't mean they have subpar writing just because they're meant for a wider audience), they are typically balanced with the age-appropriate rating in mind. In a banner like this that is intentionally designed to revolve around romantic sex, it’s essential to recognize that the developers aren’t aiming to create content that veers into dead dove or non-consensual territory. To suggest that the writers or developers would include something as serious as this, especially under the guise of a romance storyline, is not only a misinterpretation but also an extreme departure from the genre’s conventions and the intended tone of the game.

The entire theme of the event is centered on exploring romantic tension, intimacy, and the growing bond between characters in a way that’s exciting but ultimately safe and consensual. The "spice" in these scenarios is shockingly suggestive when you have the censorship in mind, and designed to make us scream, not to introduce dark or inappropriate themes that would completely undermine the romantic fantasy. To imply otherwise is frankly absurd and feels like reading intent where there is none.

1) Otome games, particularly those rated 12+, are crafted to engage players in a romantic and emotionally fulfilling experience. They're fluffy, they're angsty, they can be dark and heavy, but even in more mature otome games, themes of non-consent (when they appear) are explicitly framed and addressed with appropriate tonal shifts. This isn’t a game where heavy, disturbing themes are shoehorned into a romantic storyline for shock value.

2) If the developers were truly presenting a situation where non-consensual sex or coercion was involved, it would be a complete betrayal of the genre, the event’s theme, and the player’s trust. The "spice" banner would instantly alienate the audience it’s designed for and spark backlash, not romantic engagement. The devs know their audience and their ratings, and this simply isn’t the place or context for something so serious.

Now that we're done WHY this sort of scenario CANNOT be the case for infold's writing, let's go into the symbolism and the language used to describe the act.

Rafayel enters the room abruptly and begins kissing MC without preamble. While this could initially seem forward, the scene takes care to show that:

MC actively breaks away to question him multiple times. This demonstrates that she is neither overpowered nor silenced, she has the agency to assert herself.

When she bites his lip, Rafayel respects this boundary and answers her questions, and more importantly, stops being non-verbal and communicates. It shows he is responsive to her cues, even when caught up in the moment.

The dynamic here leans into playful tension rather than coercion. MC’s actions (breaking away and biting) and Rafayel’s response (answering her and continuing to interact with her desires) showcase a mutual push-and-pull, common in romantic tension scenes.

As the scene progresses, it becomes clear that MC is not just passively involved but actively reciprocates:

Holds his hand on her own to make him accept the call while they're being sexual. That's freaky.

She flips him over and begins initiating physical affection, kissing him from his ear to his chest. This is a strong indication that she is not only comfortable but also eager to participate in their intimacy.

The "punish" action selected by the player highlights MC’s playful intent and interest in this interaction, especially in the context of teasing Rafayel while his friend’s call looms in the background. This playful edge basically screams mutual enjoyment rather than discomfort.

And now to the main course

the dagger

Listen. As much as we've normalized that this is dick in puss moment, infold can't. So, they've got to use euphemisms to describe Rafayel's dick and what he does with it. The metaphor of the "dagger" isn't meant to represent his dick and it hurting her.

Soft sharpness seeps into me bit by bit: This describes the initial entry, slow and deliberate, emphasizing Rafayel’s care in ensuring the act is comfortable and mutual. "Soft" reflects the intensity of the sensation without implying pain by juxtaposing with "sharpness". It also tells you that "soft sharpness" is his dick and it's describing how gentle he's being. How can sharpness be soft? When you're careful with it that it doesn't feel "sharp" anymore. It's meant to be a stand-in for his cock. It's not describing pain. It's his peanis. The dong. The verb "seeps" here says all you need to know, it's not painful.

Then it (the <<soft sharpness>>) digs into me like a dagger: This directly describes Rafayel increasing his movement (or thrusting), with the "dagger" symbolizing THE MOVEMENT. You know what you do with a dagger? Stab with it. The imagery of a dagger isn’t meant to evoke harm, it’s a stand-in for the deliberate and rhythmic motion of penetration.

So, in smut-language, Rafayel was putting it in slowly, then half-way, he thrusted it all the way in, quickly.

And so, let's interpret the act going forward.

"Yellow sand as far as the eye can see is covered by snow"

Remember that Rafayel indirectly called MC "the snow" by saying "it was soft and beautiful" when she pointed out it was snowing in the desert? This metaphor reflects the emotional and physical dynamic between Rafayel and MC. The “yellow sand” symbolizes Rafayel and his inner turmoil, dryness, and insecurities. The “snow” represents MC and his soothing presence and how her love transforms and comforts him. They are also on top of each other lmao, he is being “covered” by her presence, fully surrendering to her.

"We approach the sea beyond the dunes despite the bumpiness"

The "sea" symbolizes climax or release, both physically and emotionally. The “bumpiness” describes the physical intensity of their rhythm as they near this point together.

"Ripples travel along the undulating water's surface"

Yep. They're still going at it. This metaphor captures the sensations and physical effects of reaching climax. The ripples signify the aftereffects of release, the pleasure that radiates and envelops both of them. This is Rafayel and MC experiencing the peak of their intimacy, with the “undulating water” representing their synchronized pleasure and satisfaction.

"Swept into that endless blue"

Post-orgasm bliss. The overwhelming euphoria and serenity that comes with shared climax. It emphasizes the emotional connection they feel in this moment—boundless and all-encompassing.

"This isn't the abyss. Rather, it's a place filled with red flame lilies. This is Rafayel's color."

Now, this is MY interpretation, so take it with a grain of salt.

The "abyss" here symbolizes the emotional and creative void Rafayel has been experiencing--his lack of inspiration and his deep-rooted insecurities that leave him feeling hollow and disconnected. The abyss represents the blank canvas of his mind.

The transition from the abyss to the field of red flame lilies signifies a turning point for Rafayel. The flame lilies are not just a burst of inspiration, they are deeply tied to MC and the way she has reignited his passion BEYOND pain, both as an artist and as a person capable of love and connection.

By stating, “This is Rafayel’s color,” the narrative emphasizes that the flame lilies are uniquely his. They symbolize the return of his personal brand of creativity and vibrancy. It’s not about finding generic inspiration, it’s about rediscovering his own voice and perspective and MC doesn’t simply provide inspiration, she helps him unlock what was already inside him, and I believe, somehow witnesses the bursting of life inside him in her mind throughout the bond they share. MC serves as the guiding force that helps him reclaim his “color,” allowing him to see himself, and his art, in a new light.

Flame lilies are striking and bold, often symbolizing passion, love, and transformation. They’re an apt metaphor for Rafayel’s internal rebirth. Where the abyss was blank and desolate, the lilies are vibrant and overflowing with meaning, mirroring his renewed sense of self.

So, yeah.

And let’s be honest if you’re going to suggest non-consensual sex in a scene where MC flips him over, actively teases him, and metaphorically commands his every move through a glowing mark on his chest, then maybe it’s time to step away from the Reddit threads and reconnect with nature, maybe consider why you're intentionally picking on Rafayel like this.

He even asked, “Are you sure?” AND checked in with her later with "Are you comfortable?" -- all green flags here. If that’s not the gold standard of consent in an otome game, I don’t know what is.

I hope this was satisfactory, anon!!!!!

[miniaturecollectiveendermen]

hihi! hope you’re doing well :)

i was wondering if you could write headcannons for phoenix drop high Gene, Garroth & Blaze with a popular reader? like reader is well known in phoenix drop high, super energetic, kind and captain/leader of a big sports team/club? maybe just general headcannons (including how the two get together?)

tysm <33

A/N: i had a lot of fun writing this!! im sorry it took a while, i was sick when the request was sent and got sick again in the middle of writing im good now - for the most part at least

i hope you enjoy read this! :3

!! WARNINGS !! i feel like PDH!gene needs a warning of his own, gn!reader, you/your pronouns used

Gene: 

You were the volleyball club president, the cheery type who had a knack for making friends.

Gene is in no way fond of the popular types; so then why did you catch his attention? 

Why does his heartbeat pick up when he sees you smile, when he hears your laugh?

Gene is a selfish person, he takes what he wants - and in this case he wants you.

He considered trying to find something to blackmail you with, and get you to join the shadowknights.

But you always had people around you, and everyone knew what he was like, so there was no way they'd let him pull you away for a private conversation. 

But he found himself with the perfect opportunity one day after school. 

Your teammates had other obligations they needed to attend to; this left you to put away the equipment. 

He dismissed Sasha and Zenix (mainly Zenix as he had a tendency to speak without thinking). 

He approached you, and offered to help clean up. 

It was almost unnerving how nice he was being - you may have been a friendly person but you weren't stupid. you knew he was planning something.

You chose to be nice to him, but you kept your guard up. 

Time passes and you guys finish cleaning up, you say goodbye to Gene, and leave. 

Only after you leave does he realize he didn't even bring up you joining the shadow-knights. 

He just spent time with you, talking and hanging out like you were old friends. 

This is the first thing that made him question his plan.

PDH gene is by no means a good person - but even he has some morals. 

After this you would say hello to him in passing and make small talk - again acting like you two had been friends for years. 

You were just too sweet, and it chipped away at him. 

Eventually he completely forgot about forcing you to join the shadowknights. 

Although you weren't a shadowknight, you were friends. 

And not just with him, you were nice to Sasha and Zenix too. 

Sasha had gotten rather attached to you, and although Zenix would rather die than admit it - he quite liked having you around. 

Of course other people questioned why someone as sweet as you would be friends with them. Were you being forced?

you would always respond with “they're actually really nice” - Which no one believed of course.

But Gene quickly shut down all the questions, and no one really wanted to get on his bad side; so they stopped asking you about it.

Your relationship with Gene slowly changed, you two never acknowledged it.

but you both knew you weren't just “friends” anymore. 

Gene isn't the type to be explicitly romantic or loud with his affections - he's more subtle about it. 

He asked you out in a very casual way - you two were hanging out at his house. 

You were scrolling on your phone absentmindedly while he was playing a game, when he suddenly asked:

“Do you wanna go to the coffee shop this weekend?” “Sure!” “It's a date then.” 

No beating around the bush with this man. 

It's an interesting dynamic between you two - but he wouldn't have it any other way. 

Garroth: 

Garroth is a naturally charismatic and sociable person.

This, along with him being the baseball team captain, meant it was only natural for Garroth to be well acquainted with other sports captains. 

You were the track and field team captain. 

Much like Garroth you were charming and peppy, and had a tendency to naturally draw people to you. 

On the first day of the new school year, you were tending to the track and field club’s stand. 

Some other club leaders asked for your help; because of this a handful of nearby freshmen got the impression that you were helping with everything, and not just your own stand. 

You were happy to help, but you didn't anticipate being suddenly surrounded by a large group of over-excited freshmen who kept talking over each other.

You tried to help them all, but it was getting overwhelming.

As if he could hear your thoughts, Garroth redirected the freshmen to the mentors - he also offered to help out with the track and field stand. 

He wasn't very busy with the other members tending to the baseball stand.

You gladly accepted his help - although you and Garroth were friendly before this, you weren't very close.

After this day your friendship blossomed; the two of you would often spend free time together and even help each other with team captain responsibilities.

If either of you had a match, the other would be sure to come and cheer. 

With the two of you being as popular as you were, it was only inevitable for rumors to start about you two dating.

Garroth brushed it off and acted as though he wasn't affected by the silly rumors - but that wasn't really the case.

Truthfully he had been harboring feelings for you for some time, and these rumors gave him a chance to see how you'd react to the idea of you two dating. 

He did sometimes flirt with you, but played it off as a joke causing you to respond with joking flirtation of your own (was it really a joke tho). 

When you didn't seem opposed to the idea, his heart jumped out of his chest.

He took the first chance he got and asked you out. 

He's so cute guys I love him.

Blaze: 

You had been the tennis team captain for over a year - your popularity grew along with the tennis club as you led the team to win many matches.

had been receiving complaints by team members about a group of werewolves that kept stealing tennis balls in the middle of matches.

A few lost balls wouldn't be much of a problem, but they kept doing this until the players had none left.

You knew if you went to the werewolves responsible yourself the chances of them listening to you were little.

So you opted to go directly to the principal - so far she seemed a lot more competent than the previous principal, so you had hoped she'd be able to help you.

But these hopes were quickly diminished when she said she couldn't intervene as it was a “werewolf issue”.

You argued it was affecting the tennis club members who were human and meif'wa as well.

But she made some vague excuse about having a meeting and told you to talk to the werewolf studies teacher about it. 

After having any and all hope in the new principal destroyed, you went off to find the werewolf studies teacher.

When you explained the situation to him he informed you that this was the responsibility of the “alpha” and he couldn't do much.

By this point you were getting very frustrated - you had to run all over the school to find someone to help, only for them to tell you that they couldn't do anything. 

To your relief you were informed that the werewolf alpha was Aphmau (you decided to not ask why a human was the werewolf alpha). 

You weren't super close with Aphmau, but you met her once when you and Katelyn were playing tennis - you’d had some friendly interactions since and you had hoped that she wouldn't dismiss you like the last two people.

You managed to find her as she was talking to a red haired werewolf - you had seen him around a few times. His name was Blaze if you remembered correctly.

She was friendly as usual when you approached her, but you noticed she seemed more tired and even a bit frazzled.

You explained the situation to her and she was very understanding, but you could see that just thinking about handling this made her look even more tired.

That's when Blaze interrupted and said he was happy to help, as aphmau had to focus on choosing an alpha male - whatever that means.

You were ecstatic, after all that running around you finally found someone who could help.

Blaze was very sweet- and although he was a tad clueless when it came to certain things, he certainly had the spirit.

You helped Blaze find the responsible werewolves and at first he was explaining to them that they shouldn't steal things that don't belong to them. 

However after they were not very receptive to this, he took a more,, “hands on” approach.

You knew after going to this school for some time that werewolves would often solve conflict by fighting.

But you didn't expect blaze to throw the werewolves out the nearest window and then jump out after them??? 

You just wanted your team members to be able to practice in peace.. How did this happen-?

By the time that you reached downstairs where they were, the group of werewolves were standing in front of Blaze, looking down silently.

Blaze was grinning and looked very proud of himself - he seemed to be waiting for you to tell him he did a good job.

You didn't expect a 6’3 werewolf to be so.. Cute? 

You thanked him for his help and told him he was welcome to play with the tennis team whenever he pleased.

In the following weeks your friendship grew - he would join your practice in his free time. 

Although when he did it was mostly him chasing after the ball and forgetting he's supposed to hit it with the racket. 

As you grew closer, Blaze started noticing that his feelings towards you were changing. 

He always thought you were rather cute but he didnt think too deeply about it. 

But his desire to be around you grew.

subtlety isn't Blaze’s strong suit - the second he realizes he has a crush on someone, he starts following them around everywhere and his affection grows tenfold. 

He's a naturally affectionate person towards his loved ones, but you noticed that it's different with you. 

One day you decide to ask him about it and he just looks at you and just flat out confesses.

He was under the impression that he was being quite obvious. 

He's so <3333

I love him 

Immensely

[elementbender]

"He's gonna come back. He has to."

When it comes to the discourse about Katara's feelings in regards to being in a relationship with Aang, I feel like this moment from the finale often gets overlooked despite it being incredibly important. I believe this is for two reasons: 1 - The moment itself is relatively short. 2 - The moment in question occurs in the first scene of episode 3x20, the one where all of the characters begin their final push against the Fire Nation; therefore, it feels like what happens here is often forgotten about in comparison to everything else that happens afterwards. Regardless of this, I love how Katara responds to Zuko's worried feelings about Aang losing by responding with: "Aang won't lose. He's gonna come back. He has to." I totally understand and (partially) agree with people who wanted to see a conversation between Aang and Katara addressing what happened at the Ember Island Play in a separate scene before the final kiss at the end of the series. That is a completely valid thing to want. That being said, I think that what we did end up getting still works in that Katara's feelings about Aang are made clear to the audience without her having to explicitly say that she loves him. Some parts of the fandom will try and say that Katara was confused about the prospect of being with Aang because of her not knowing if she loved him in a romantic way; however, I feel that this moment at the beginning of the penultimate episode of the series pretty clearly shows that this wasn't what she was confused about. She was confused on if being with Aang before the war was over was the right choice given that one or both of them could be killed in the ensuing fight. Katara and Aang are the heart and soul of the show so it makes sense why the story ends with them beginning their romantic relationship, but I think from a broader perspective, it also helps convey the idea to the audience that these characters, among all of the others as well, can finally rest, recoup, and love each other to the fullest extent without the fear of the Fire Nation taking that away from them. Katara grew to love and believe in Aang, and I think this moment exemplifies that so well that I wanted to give it some recognition.

[merp-blerp]

Random things about Cinderella (1950) I noticed/want to say after doing a psych project on it

I love the foreshadowing they do with the clock striking midnight when Cinderella is startled by the morning clock and she says "Even he orders me around." I never noticed it that way before.

The reason why no one recognizes Cinderella at the ball is because A) she seemingly wasn't allowed off her stepmother's property, so no one in town had ever seen her before or since she was a child, and B) when she gets there the prince immediately introduces himself and dances her away from everyone. The duke even pulls a curtain to separate her and him from the guests so they can dance alone. Almost no one gets a good up-close look at her except the prince.

I've said before on here that I think the prince in this movie was meant to be more of a symbolic personification of Cinderella's freedom rather than a literal character, and I still think that. However, I find it interesting that everything we know about the prince is told through others, not him. He doesn't get to be known. The only person he ever even gets to speak to is Cinderella. He also has a bit of character (relayed by others). His father laments that the prince is growing farther away from him the older he gets, he avoids responsibilities, and suggests that he's a hopeless romantic. It's also worth noting that the prince has no idea the ball is for the purpose of setting him up with a wife. He supposedly was led by the king to believe it was a welcome home ball, as he was away from home before (the ball invitees don't seem aware either until the night after the ball when they do the slipper fittings). [EDIT: I forgot to mention that I sappily like to interpret this as Cinderella, his eventual wife, being the only one who ever truly knows him, as he assumedly isn't close to the king or anyone else, so this is reflected in the fact that even us, the audience, don't get to know him like Cinderella must. Probably not the intention, but it's cute.] He also doesn't have severe facial blindness, he probably would've recognized Cinderella without the slipper but A) it was the king who thought of the whole slipper-fitting idea; all the prince supposedly said was that he'd marry the girl who wore the glass slipper, and B) He is explicitly not the one to do the slipper-fitting. The grand duke does it. But even the grand duke seems to recognize her before she gets the slipper on (he saw her up close briefly while she ran away and chased after her).

Also, as Cinderella runs from the prince, the other maidens there crowd him, so he can't get to her to stop her, but they only stop him to converse with him about how "lovely" she is, not because they want him, which is kinda wholesome. Again, no one was there to try and marry the prince because no one knew that's what the ball was for to begin with except the king and duke.

Cinderella is definitely very kind, but she knows the treatment she gets from her family is not right. She speaks somewhat passive-aggressively about them when they're not around. I like that touch.

When her stepfamily teases her over her excitement that she could go to the ball because she's eligible, she asserts that she's still a part of the family. Even though she's being abused, it's a type of abuse where she thinks her family must value her in some way. I think when her sisters ripped her dress apart was the moment she realized she wasn't a part of the family after all and that she wasn't loved/valued.

Lady Tremaine was so different from other Disney princess villains at the time. Allow me to go on for a bit. Compare her to the evil queen or Maleficent (who are also great). They have a very booming presences and everyone knows they are monsters, it's just that no one can stop them until the end of their stories. But Lady Tremaine knows how to fool people by having a motherly disposition. Not in a nurturing way, but in a stern, tough “love”, almost “calm” way. She never yells at anyone (just raises her voice) or acts traditionally evil in the way the evil queen or Maleficent do. More bite than bark I guess. For example, when she lets the step-sisters rip Cinderella’s dress, she simply tells them to come along afterwards and tells Cinderella goodnight like a mother might, but without affection with it, like a covert dig; she doesn't visibly get cross with Cinderella, but what she’s doing is still abuse. Even Cinderella seems to see her as a mother in one way or another before the dress ripping (I don't think Cinderella ever calls her "Step-Mother" again after the dress-ripping she allowed her sisters to do). She's very covert in her villainy. A very good depiction of an abuser. The only other Disney villain I can think to compare her to off the top of my head is Scar from the og Lion King when he was around anyone who wasn't the hyenas, but even then he dropped the act eventually after becoming king. Lady Tremaine never really does.

I also like the detail that after the ball when trying to tell the step-sisters about the shoe-fitting, she asks Cinderella, “Where are my daughters?” excluding Cinderella from being her daughter even though she should be. She really only sees her as a maid.

Cinderella's pink dress has a lot of bows, and at the beginning of the film, we see her when she was younger and the dress she wore as a child also had bows and was in a somewhat similar style. Her childhood dresses were probably taken away by Lady Tremaine when her dad died. Makes me wonder if Cinderella redesigned her mom's dress with her dress from youth in mind, as she certainly hadn't worn a nice dress since she was a kid. And if so, what would that mean? Was she just feeling nostalgic? Or had her sense of style not matured since childhood because she had been made to wear nothing but rags for who knows how long? Is her only frame of reference to what her own personal style is based from her childhood dresses? I just think it's kinda intriguing. The pink dress always felt explicitly young for Cinderella.

Cinderella's voice is so cute. Not just her singing, but her voice in general. Ilene Woods, love of my life apparently.

People often complain about Cinderella marrying the prince the day after the shoe fit, but Disney's version never specifically states that the wedding is the day after the slipper scene, it just comes right after it. Who's to say how much time there was in between scenes. There are versions that do say that it was the next day, so I guess people conflate different versions together in their heads. This is why it's important to watch films with your brain on before criticizing them for things they didn't do.

I never thought too deeply of it, but when Cinderella sings the words "So this is love" she really is (re)learning what love is. It's a realization. She likely hasn't felt love from another human being since her father died. Or rather she thought she was loved in some way, but then realized she wasn't when her dress was ripped. So now, with the prince, she has a better understanding of what it's like to be properly loved. Imagine hating this girl. 🩵

[torialefay]

Hi! I love your writing. I was wondering if you had the time if you could do a skz thing on who prefers rough sex vs love making (like the slow, handholding while thrusting in you romantic type). Or however you want to answer, everything you do is great. And it’s also great if you don’t want to.

honeyyyy, the "it's also great if you don't want to" is breaking my heart. you are seriously too sweet 🥺🫶🏼 these are my rough og thoughts!!!

chris: depends on the day, but is usually either one or the other. because he has all of that scorp energy, he is definitely gonna go deep & slow with you alotttt of the time. like if y'all have nothing to do & are just at home all day, you bet your ass he's gonna take his sweet time & be good and slow with you. he loves knowing that you both have a strong, insatiable connection. and he honestly craves for you to need him badly like that, so he's basically gonna fuck his love into you. BUT, he's also got a lil sag mars action going on too, so he will need to switch it up from time to time & i can definitely see him getting heated and aggressive with it. especially if you don't have much time, but he's just superrrr horny... if he knows you like it, he will NOT take it easy on you. i'm imagining a lot of spanking or ass grabbing going on too idk.

minho: almost always combines the two. i definitely see lee know as the type to start slowly and make sure that he has you waiting and writhing to get more from him. he wabts you to connect onto his energy and basically beg him for more. he'll go slow & establish that early on. because he has all of that scorp energy (like INTENSE scorp energy), he's going to NEED that to establish the mood for the night. BUT i think as he moves on through the night, he gradually gets rougher and rougher. before you know it, he has full control of you and you don't even know how it happened. i'm talking face down, ass up, as he's pushing your face into the mattress and pounding your shit so hard you don't think you'll survive. or if you're in missionary, he'll start basically destroying you. and he will love every second of it <3

changbin: overall more sweet and loving, but he fucks you really really deep so he can watch what it does to you. he gives me vibes that he truly knows how to take care of you and he is practical when giving it to you. think of it as being a gentle giant. he loves being big, yet treating you like you're the most precious thing he could ever imagine. like he's being gentle and watching to make sure you're enjoying yourself, but he's also going so deep that it takes your breath away. and he lovessss that shit. he likes feeling so big and seeing his princess get pampered in the dirtiest way. like you're so cute, but taking him like no one would ever expect. and the entire time, you're just so in awe of how he pays attention to you and gives you soft, tiny praises the entire way.

hyunjin: making love. he's definitely gonna give you some extremelyyyy hard thrusts, but it is just as mental for him as it is physical. genuinely when i picture sex with hyunjin, it is the most intense thing humanly possible. like he is holding your face the entire time, never daring to look away while he is hitting your shit so deep that you feel it in your stomach. and every time he gets a strong moan out of you, he just smiles as he watches your eyes roll back. he wabts nothing more than to basically try to fuck his love into you. and it frustrates him so badly that there are no words to express just how connected he wabts his soul to ve with yours, so he just keeps fucking deeper and deeper to try and get as close as he can. he's definitely really fucking sweaty, but he can't keep his hands off of you.

han: easily picks up on your vibes and gives you what you want in that moment. hannie seems so adaptable that he usually gives in to what you want... without you really having to explicitly say it. he has that libra energy so he just GETS it and he wants to please you. so if you wabt to go slow and just enjoy the sensation of connecting emotionally with him? he's giving you exactly that. but if you've been giving him absolutely nastyyyyy vibes all day and he knows you've been bratty bc you want attention, he'll pick up the ques that he needs to fuck you HARD. i think han can be a lot more dom in the bedroom than most people give him credit for. like if he's had a really long day, i see him taking it out on you by fucking out his frustrations. same thing for if yall get into a fight or something, i can so see you both ending it by getting turned on and him rocking your shit while bending you over. idk maybe its just me.

felix: (i feel like this is an unpopular opinion and i go back and forth ab it), but he's usually on the less emotional side. but like han, he understands you well and changes it up depending on what you need. he can get quite sensitive too and overwhelmed, which is when he wants to be slow and gentle. he'd probably love it if you were both on your sides facing each other while he stills inside of you and you move yourself up and down on him. like i think he'd go feral and watch you with the most love, adoration, and lust humanly possible.but at the same time, i feel like he can sometimes struggle to express himself physically, so he ends up just doing what he feels comfortable with. he needs to switch things up every so often, but i think he's usually more into pounding you and letting it all out.

seungmin: he's usually pretty practical and doesn't go too hard or get too emotional. but on days where he's frustrated... he's taking it out on you. like relentlessly. or he's telling you exactly what to do. i'm just imagining him coming home from some kind of bullshit day and he's ranting to you about it. maybe youre acting up a bit or agging him on and he literally snaps and starts telling you what to do. i don't think he's usually super vocal, but this time he's instructing you about every little thing. kind of yelling, but it's hot. and then he's having you sit back on the couch, legs spread, so he can basically just use you to get himself off oops.

jeongin: i.n. is again a good mix. innie loved to feel big and dominant. idk what it is, but he does. and he likes knowing that you depend on him. so in that sense, he's gonna start slow and make you needy for more. he wants to make sure you're hooked before he does anything more. and once he's given you your attention and is pleased with where he's gotten you, he's gonna fuck hard so that you never forget how strong he can be. like he just has that thing inside of him that lowkey feels like he needs to prove himself & he gets off on it so bad.

[companion-showdown]

Who is your favourite companion?

TOURNAMENT MASTERPOST

Propaganda

Jamie McCrimmon

He's the longest running companion (113 episodes!), the original companion with romantic tension with the Doctor, loyal as can be, on the same footing with the doctor despite being an 18th century highlander, he wears a kilt in space, and he was so devoted to the Doctor that he had to be forced away and have his memory erased, and the Doctor had to be grounded, for his run to end. Also really just watch a video of them they're so gay

What can I even say. It's Jamie Mccrimmon. He never would have chosen to leave the doctor, he's the doctor's most loyal companion. He's so Scottish and I love it! Always wears his kilt, gets excited when he hears bagpipe music and sees the Scottish Highlands on the Tardis screen, speaks Gàidhlig, what's not to love. (@gothicacetheatrekid )

Jamie is the longest running companion in all of Doctor Who. He is arguably the doctor’s first best friend and has been haunting the narrative ever since his departure in 1969 (even in 2024 “Boom” he is referenced!! The 10th doctor uses his name in s2e2, and the doctor-turned-master in s13 plays the skyeboat song, which only became a huge part of Doctor who because of Jamie, who was a Jacobite! Several classic doctors meet/reference Jamie in tv and extended universe media, and if you’re an I, TARDIS fan you’ll find Jamie’s entry is the only one where it’s explicitly referenced that Doctor - and the TARDIS! - loved him). He is a very complex character, who might be dismissed but is much more intelligent than he is given credit for. He’s brave and kind. He has a huge fan theory that gained enough traction to become canon through tv stories and audios - “s6b” - in which he works with the Doctor under time lord supervision. He came into the show at its most crucial watershed, the first regeneration, and impacted so much of what we consider core to doctor who today through his friendship with the second doctor. He’s a companion from the past who is quick to learn and adapt, and was the first companion who wanted to join the tardis AND never wanted to leave, until he was forcibly removed. Jamie was with the doctor for pretty much his whole second body, and Doctor who would not be what it is today without Jamie.

Bill Potts

She's kind, she's curious, she's intelligent, she's funny, she's gay. What more could you ask for in a companion?

[antianakin]

@theneutralmime

Any time Anakin's "obsession" with Obi-Wan shows up in the story, it's very clearly a bad thing, because Anakin's "obsession" is a bad thing, full stop, regardless of who he's aiming it at. To use Star Wars parlance, this is the attachment, this is why the Jedi forbid it and why attachments are considered bad on their own and why they're not considered the same as "love" or "relationships." So Anakin being attached to Obi-Wan INSTEAD of Padme (which doesn't have to mean they're in a romantic relationship, obviously) doesn't make that attachment suddenly a good thing simply because it isn't romantic. It would still be dangerous and it would still likely push Anakin to do bad things in the name of the attachment.

That being said, Anakin shows the MOST restraint in his relationship with Obi-Wan, despite the clear attachment he does have to him. I'm willing to believe that Palpatine likely did ENCOURAGE an attachment to Obi-Wan while at the same time also planting the seeds for doubt in the relationship, balancing those things very carefully so that he could use Obi-Wan to pull Anakin into darkness. But the very VERY few times we see Anakin successfully manage to actually hold off from making rash and reckless choices is with his relationship to Obi-Wan.

I've mentioned most of these examples before, but I'll go over them quickly again.

Chronologically, we start with Attack of the Clones where Anakin is initially inclined NOT to go to Geonosis to save Obi-Wan until Padme convinces him into it (while you could argue that this shows a lack of CARE for Obi-Wan, this isn't really supported by the dialogue and it's contrasted pretty explicitly with Anakin planning to abandon Padme earlier in order to chase after his mother).

The next one we see is in Landing at Point Rain during TCW when Obi-Wan's ship crashes and it's unclear what Obi-Wan's status is and Anakin has to make the choice to stay with his men and leave Obi-Wan to his chances rather than run ahead and abandon his men just for the CHANCE to help Obi-Wan (especially when Obi-Wan could easily be already dead, or could die/receive help from someone else before Anakin can get there, while his men will almost certainly die without him before they can reach the landing zone and that would be pretty disastrous for the mission).

The third one is, ironically enough, in the Deception arc. When Anakin and Ahsoka are first sent after "Rako Hardeen" to arrest him and they find him drunk, Anakin explicitly tells "Hardeen" that he'd kill him if it wouldn't disrespect Obi-Wan's memory to do so. You can make the argument that he's able to hold back in part because Ahsoka's standing there watching him, so he couldn't really get away with killing a drunk man who won't fight back, but he doesn't seem to be paying much attention to her and his claim out loud is that he's doing it because it's what Obi-Wan would want him to do. He does start to struggle more and more as the arc goes on and loses some of that fight with his anger, but this initial moment does show us that Anakin CAN hold back when he wants to and that Obi-Wan's influence on him is, generally, a positive one.

The reason I point these out is because we don't often see this kind of restraint with any of his other relationships. Shmi, Padme, and Ahsoka in particular have a tendency to bring out the WORST in him (note that Obi-Wan's influence will stop being as strong when it's pitted against, say, Padme or Ahsoka's lives at stake).

So I DO think that Palpatine likely was originally intending for Obi-Wan to BE the primary "obsession" for Anakin until the opportunity to throw Padme back into his life came into play. We see elements of it in the way Anakin talks about Obi-Wan through AOTC, telling Padme that Obi-Wan is as wise as Yoda and as powerful as Mace, and telling Obi-Wan himself that he's the closest thing he's ever had to a father. But even with that, Obi-Wan's influence is very GROUNDING for Anakin, it reminds Anakin of who he should be and who he CAN be in a way no other relationship he has ever truly does. Obi-Wan's influence in Anakin's life actually INSPIRES Anakin to be better because Obi-Wan has managed to connect with Anakin in a way that goes deeper than some of his other relationships (I think that his relationships with Padme and Ahsoka are both INCREDIBLY skin deep and that Anakin mostly sees them as extensions of himself or primarily for what they can do for him rather than caring about them for who they are).

Which means that, while Anakin's attachment to Obi-Wan is always going to be a bad thing that could feasibly push Anakin to do terrible things, there's arguably evidence in canon to support the idea that if Palpatine had CONTINUED with this particular plan, that it wouldn't have worked quite as well as it did with Padme. I think that Anakin's attachment to Obi-Wan, such as it is, has to come up against Anakin's desire for Obi-Wan's APPROVAL which is only gained when Anakin acts MORE LIKE A JEDI. He WANTS to live up to Obi-Wan's faith in him, he wants to Obi-Wan to be proud of him and feel like the time and effort he spent training him was worth it. It's also worth noting that their dynamic as Master and Padawan makes the whole overprotective thing less likely to come up than it would with people like Padme and Ahsoka. Obi-Wan was MORE powerful than Anakin for a while, MORE capable of protecting himself than Anakin was, and was actually ANAKIN'S protector. So while he does CARE whether Obi-Wan lives or dies, he's also much more inclined to believe Obi-Wan can generally take care of himself, too.

So I can honestly see it sort-of going either way. Obi-Wan's relationship with Anakin is one of the few (if not the ONLY) real grounding influences in Anakin's life and could have possibly broken through the attachment enough to keep Anakin from going full tilt Sith, but it's equally as likely that Palpatine would've found a way around that anyway. Obviously, Palpatine could've just... killed Obi-Wan to get that influence out of the way and pushed Anakin over the edge out of a desire for vengeance as opposed to a desire to keep Obi-Wan from dying in the first place. The attachment is still dangerous, and as long as Palpatine's alive, he'll find a way to use it to get Anakin where he wants him, but if Obi-Wan is ALSO alive, he has the ability to balance out Palpatine's influence to some degree.