#actions matter and boy do they have a lot to unpack

[jingyi-ma-boi]

Yunmeng Twin Heroes' complicated dynamics

So, my tags in one of the last posts I reblogged got a little out of hand and were long enough to deserve their own post, cause, even if I was commenting on other people’s meta and headcannons I ended up 'writing' my own. If you click on the link, you'll see that @featherfur's post was all about the post-canon chengxian feels of seeing the changes in each other while not being able to directly participate in each other's lives. Go read that. It's a bit long, but it's worth it. The angst of seeing somebody you love(d) being so similar yet so different from what you remember, and thinking knowing that you do not get to be a part of their lives like you'd want to hits just right.

However, I don't think that level of 'deep yearning to be able to love each other like they once did' is everything there really is. To me, there’d be a point in post-canon where they do feel like that, but they would resent each other often and even feel something akin to hate as well whenever their feelings regarding everything that has happened in canon got too much to bear.

Now, you can go on reading what I think their emotional journey towards reconciliation would be like, or you can just skip to the end, where I’ve put a TLDR. You’ll get the general idea but if you want to dive into the complexity of their feelings, keep reading (please, I’d love for other people to read and discuss this with me, or give their thoughts at least T.T).

We all know how JC feels about everything WWX has done and how he blames him. For all that the fandom pegs him as someone who doesn’t know how to express his feelings other than through anger, he's actually pretty aware of them and lets himself experience them (although not in a healthy way, re: being angry most of the time). Meanwhile, WWX has always been incredibly detached from his emotions —that's why it takes him so long to realize he's been in love with LWJ since their teens— because 1) he's been raised to think that his value lies not on him as a person, but on him as a protector that has to right all his wrongs to everybody around him because of filial duty, life debts, and class differences; and 2) he doesn't think he deserves feeling them, as a result of that.

And although I'm all for the chengxian feels and the fluff of Yungmeng Jiang' bros reconciliation, (really, I love that trope) I don't see it happening organically.

Listen here, I'm talking from personal experience. You can feel enormous amounts of longing, missing the closeness you once had with someone who hurt you deeply, and resent that person at the same time. It seems obvious, but it’s the kind of obvious thing that needs to be reminded. In a situation like this, you can, and will, get bursts of anger at that person for everything they did and everything they didn't do. You hate yourself for missing them because you have all the right to be angry at them, and disapointed and sad, and you shouldn't be missing them nor contemplating the possibility of going back to how things were once. You can be glad to see that they are doing well in their new life and be jealous that it is not you who they're sharing all these new experiences with, while you're watching awkwardly from the sidelines, letting the guilt from the swarm of contradictory emotions eat at you, because at the end of the day it doesn't matter how you feel. What matters is the facts. What you did. What THEY DID.

I see JC going through a mix of less complicated emotions at first. After canon, where he scowls at WWX with anger at first, the underlying pain gains a new companion. A feeling of sadness that drives JC to avoid WWX in the same way that the latter’s pain and guilt drives him to avoid his shidi. WWX, on the other hand, would take the longest time to let himself feel more complex and contradictory emotions. He might even get stuck on that guilt and not let himself feel the anger, disappointment, and resentment towards JC that he has always buried deep inside if things at Cloud Recesses stay the same as ever and he and LWJ isolate themselves from everyone else while LXC withers away in his tormented seclusion.

(Here comes the important reminder that MDZS is full of parallelisms and as such, LWJ and LXC share the same complicated feelings that exist between the Yunmeng bros, even if the details of their relationships are different. I won't go further into the Twin Jades of Lan, cause they deserve their own post, but let it be known that their reconciliation is as unlikely as the Yunmeng Twin Heroes’. They’re totally related. Any advances in one of the pairs would positively reflect on the other and viceversa, that’s why it’s so difficult for them to avoid emotional stagnation.)

The key to WWX getting more in touch with his feelings would be in the changes brought forth by the juniors. LSZ and LJY would work through WWX's façade even better than LWJ does, cause WWX doesn't think them as biased. His two Lan ducklings would charge headlong into his emotional mess through gentle words (LZS) and earth-shattering remarks disguised as snark (LJY), and force help him through the mess of recognizing and sorting out those emotions.

Still, JC and WWX being aware of their feelings is not enough for them to solve things.

However, it might help them all to take a step forward and start acknowledging each other in a better manner. They’d go from having raw, more simple feelings preventing them to even wanting to hear each other’s name, to gradually being able to share the same space amicably. That doesn’t mean that looking at each other in the eyes or feeling each other’s gaze isn’t simply too much because it makes them spiral. This is the point where they’d yearn for this new, happier version of their brother, their emotions getting as complicated as I described at the beginning. But that's the most I can see them achieving on their own because they’re both so stubborn. They’re set in their own ways and it would take a huge external force for them to make the slightest changes (ie. golden-core transfer reveal and the little ducklings intervening to make WWX feel his feelings is what causes changes in their perspective).

Why do I feel like this? Am I allowed to feel this? How can I dare to want this when I can’t even forgive him? How could I ever forgive him? Would he ever forgive me? How is it possible that I still love him so much? Do I even deserve to have that with him after everything I did? And what about him? Am I ready to truly forgive him and trust him? Will I ever be? I can’t, I couldn’t even if I wanted to and it hurts SO MUCH! IT HURTS!

IT HURTS!ITHURTSITHURTSITHURTS IHATEHIMIHATEHIMIHATEHIM

WHYDIDHEDODTHAT!?!WHYDIDHEDOTHATTOME?! WHYDIDHENOTDOANYTHING?!

WHY DID HE LEAVE ME?!?!?

…

You see? After everything I’ve laid down, any of them could have this exact internal conflict anytime.

The thing is they are both more alike than they think. JL would see through their bullshit and be so frustrated with it all through the years. Already an adult and experienced sect leader, he’d understand but not completely, because he’d be the first to realize that nothing can compare to what they’ve gone through. And yet, he’d want them to talk and make up because he loves his maternal uncles so much. He won’t admit it to anyone, (LJY, LZS and OYZZ don’t need him to. it’s been years since WWX returned and JL’s already an open book to them), but he wants them to be happy around each other. To not feel so torn apart between them. He’d want an opportunity to have some semblance of the family that could’ve been and he will take any chance, as small as it might be, to achieve that.

Cue the junior-now-adult-quartet shenanigans. They’ve been seeing how every adult they love is miserable to some extent, and now that they’re adults too, they can and will do something about it. Cause hey, if they were able to bulldoze in and force WWX to actually feel his feelings, they can do this too! So now, their new goal is to get these two grown-ass adults to talk. Although technically, WWX is only a few years older, and a great deal more traumatized than them too. They’re aware of it. But they’d rather not think too much about it because they most definitely didn’t cry for hours on end after they got him to talk and started thinking about his life. And they most definitely didn’t attract attention when, weeks later, they finally grasped the scope of everything that their seniors had suffered when they had been even younger than they were at that moment.

LJY and OYZZ would be totally and completely over-invested in this. They’d scheme and help JL trace a plan for how and when to talk to each of them individually to subtly let them know how he felt. LSZ would use his power as heir and acting sect leader to stage the encounter among the three of them, securing LWJ’s reluctant approval after a great deal of convincing. And JL would trigger the conversation with a spontaneous outburst at his two uncles’ ridiculous yearning. They’d probably use a combination of WWX’s inventions and Lan techniques to lock them into a room, and force them to talk and have a truthful heart to heart, and they’d hope that after that, everything would be okay.

A LONG bout of silence later, they’d hear shouting and objects shattering and hitting the floor. They’d hear them fight, without sensing any spiritual or resentful energy of any kind, and LWJ would have to be stopped from dismantling the arrays and talismans in place just so he could go pounce on JC’s throat himself. The blows would soon be replaced with more silence, then soft murmurs. Sobbing. More yelling, and cracked voices. It’d be almost time for waking up the next morning when the arrays disappeared on their own. The doors opening to show the two brothers splayed on the floor next to each other, robes and hair disastrously askew. Holding their forearms over their eyes, barely covering the tear trails and reddened cheeks, their chests would be rising peacefully as they’d finally seem to sleep from exhaustion. LWJ’s eyes would get stuck on the way their fingertips touch ever so slightly. The ducklings don’t say a thing, but they’d totally stare too. JL would be the one to break the silence and tell everyone they should be going to sleep as well (and if LSZ and LJY see JL’s glassy eyes and a lone tear… no, they don’t).

Would that be it? Nope. Haven’t I said already it’s not easy? They’d have started talking and acknowledging that they both want the same thing, but it’s still not enough. They’d have to WORK for it. Hard. They would need to build a support system if they wanted to achieve the relationship they want to have. LWJ would have to start seeing JC as a person, and one that is able to give his Wei Ying the happiness he deserves, now that he’s at it. JC would have to start relying more on the other adults in his live. And it wouldn’t hurt WWX if he expanded his circle to include people other than his husband, his son, his son’s friends, and his undead cinnamon-roll of a friend.

In this way, they would be working on their respective issues to obtain each other’s forgiveness. They would face setbacks on more than one occasion, questioning whether it’s even worthwhile. This is the only way I see them regaining trust in each other.

The two of them mending their relationship without strong external factors would be OOC and unrealistic. It doesn’t matter if you’re going by MDZS or CQL canon. Although if we’re going by CQL canon, I don’t think they would ever go further than the ‘avoiding each other’ stage, and neither would any plot device help them do it. CQL WWX is very tame in the war-crime front and even though he’s just as ‘selflessly’ quick to put himself in harm’s way as in the novel, nobody can blame him for an attack that was clearly planned years before (most of the ‘facts’ stated on the novel turned out to be complete hearsay and/or senseless bullshit, this translates to CQL too even though if the censorship fucked a big part of this by drawing extreme caricatures of everyone). His misdeeds boil down to war crimes of varying moral weight, and not trusting people enough to include them in decisions they should’ve been included in, cause JZX and JYL’s deaths were caused by SMS.

And CQL JC is… not good. His decision to completely ignore the Wens even when he personally knew them and knew they had helped them repeatedly (first encounter in the Dafan Mountain and then, after the fall of Lotus Pier) meant he’s the only character to blatantly disregard a life debt, one he had to the Wen siblings. And on top of that, he still pulls the same shit that novel JC does after WWX returns, which makes him even worse.

Novel JC, on the other hand, took the right decision by not getting involved with the Wens. They were complete strangers, and he couldn’t risk the safety of the sect and the people of Yunmeng. He was powerless against the wishes and whims of the cultivational world cause that's how politics work. You’re forced to choose duty towards your people over your heart.

But let’s get back on track. I’ll make a full post on my view of JC as whole another time. The reason why it would be so complicated and they’d have to work so hard towards mending their relationship is that they would first have to realize that they cannot go back to how things were before. JC would need to recognize that WWX is not to blame for all his misfortunes and he’d have to apologize for all the fucked-up shit he does after WWX’s return. Psychologically torturing his 21-year-old brother with dogs while being a 34 year-old sect leader that has had 13 years to deal with his emotions was a dick-move of the highest category. And so it is the stunt he pulls right before the golden-core reveal at Lotus Pier. Yes, the golden-core transfer was sketchy but made complete sense. Yunmeng Jiang needed a leader and WWX was not fit for the role, not due to a lack of skills, but because it would’ve worked as badly as JGY given how the whole Jianghu cared only about birth status and nothing else.

This doesn’t mean that JC’s evil, WWX is the ultimate child-abuse victim, and that JC should never get close to WWX ever again (I’m looking at you, JC antis, though this whole post is also a call-out to JC apologists, cause he ain’t no innocent snowflake wronged by bad, evil /WWX/YLLZ). It simply means that JC has to claim responsibility. He also needs to see that just like WWX was abused, he and JYL were victims of the same abuse. They both need to come to terms with that fact and know that they had some sort of trauma-bond given that JC’s coping mechanism for enduring the abuse was reflecting that same abusive behavior on WWX. Yes, siblings who grow up abused often abuse each other as well, and/or end up enabling their abusers through a fawn response (this was JYL’s case).

TLDR; I love the idea of these two hot-heads making up and having strong feelings about each other. But the abuse they endured growing up, and the abyss it slowly carved up between them is something they both need to acknowledge and heal from before even considering the idea of mending their relationship. That, and the extend of the wounds they’ve inflicted on each other since WWX returned are things I don’t see them working on unless prompted by external forces. Their relationship is too complicated and nuanced for anything other than that being possible, which means that they wouldn't be able to forgive and trust each other unless some freaking major plot-event forced them to actually talk. That’s why I see their reconciliation as highly unlikely.

[taranida]

The loops and spiral of the first game

Airight, I’ve written extensively about Thomas Zane the Poet, 70’s and what happened, to my belief, at the time. All of it accessible through this post with links on every expanding theory. I will not even try to claim that I was consistent with my conclusions and views, since with each dive I was finding new things, rethinking everything and looking at what’s presented in the games and extras from a different perspective. Some theories (like who wrote the eruption) never changed, some (like is Thomas Zane this benign man, who cared about the future and the world) did — a lot. But that’s alright, I’ve created this blog to make sense of everything meself in the first place; theories will evolve, change and grow as I sink deeper into madness.

Now I want to talk about loops. Without making sense of them I can’t even start to talk about the Bright Presence (who literally scratches on my brain), since his actions cannot — in my opinion — be explained without explaining the loops of the first game. I’m not sure there is even one moment when the Bright Presence acted on his own volition, but we’ll see how this belief will change later.

Let’s start with the in-your-face evidence:

just like in the second game we have things that change on your “final draft 0.1” playthrough on nightmare, that you can unlock only by finishing the game on any other difficulty — nightmare only manuscripts.

at the end of the game, right after the famous line “it’s not a lake, it’s an ocean” we hear Alice’s voiceline “Alan! Wake up!” from the moment on the ferry.

in the Well-Lit Room Alan claims “the last page is still in the typewriter. I need to read it first. Everything needs to be just right. Zane tried to cut some corners, and it didn’t end well.” Yet the page in the typewriter is about the last fight between Alan and Alice, right before she was dragged into the lake.

the cutscene that follows Alan writing the ending to Departure, repeats what happened after his fight with Alice in the Bird Leg Cabin.

although little bit less obvious, but the nightmare in the prologue and the monologue of the Hitchhiker also points on Alan already being in the loop: “you’re in this story now”.

I’m going to unpack those points a bit.

The nightmare manuscripts pages might be written off as a game mechanic, of course, a reward to the player for tackling the highest difficulty in the game, but they simply do not appear on your first playthrough. The first loop doesn’t have those pages. On the nightmare difficulty, however, they appear on their own places, not replacing anything, and given that the Bright Presence outright spells that he’s delivering the right pages in the right time, they are as crucial part of the last loop as the simple ones. The guide explains that the Nightmares might be particularly difficult:

This little thing in the guide, presented as in-universe book, also hints that those so-called Nightmares are not one and done occurrence. Each of them is yet another loop and not all of them are “particularly difficult”.

Other question is: do those pages even matter? Well, for the most of them the answer will be — no, not really; they expand on the story and characters, give you lyrics of both songs by the boys of OGoA and Thomas’ poem, but it’s just flavour text. There is one, however, that affects the story in much more significant way; it changes or defines the Dark Presence’s power and intentions at the start (of the loop):

It also so happens to hint that the writer is already in the Dark Presence’s web, jerking and kicking, although the incentive is still needed. When exactly Alan was in this situation? His “jerking and kicking” starts after the Dark Presence kidnaps Alice, as it’s shown in the game. So, does this page point to the dream Alan had on the ferry or is it another confirmation of the loops?

The Alice’s voiceline, I believe, is self-explanatory. What’s interesting in it is that it sends us to a point in time where this particular loop starts. The loop, not the struggle against the Dark Presence; after all, Alan’s main objective is to save Alice, and to do it perfectly, how he put it:

“Everything needs to be just right. Zane tried to cut some corners, and it didn’t end well.”

The Dark Presence or Place might’ve been involved way before the ferry. Here I will jump to the Hitchhiker point. His monologue is sus. He states that Alan is being trapped in the story, talks about Alan playing god and killing people off for the sake of drama, all of which is actually true. And he’s the first Taken that we encounter.

Now let me return to the previous points. Alan claims that the last page of the Departure is in the typewriter, and there is a page, alright:

The page that reads:

…by Wake and Alice, Barbara Jagger stands in the shadows in the cabin. As soon as it began, the flickering stops and Jagger is gone. Alice is startled by the flickering lights. Wake is too angry to stay. He needs to cool off, to clear his head. Wake storms out of the cabin. He is certain that…

Looks familiar, isn’t it? When Alan sits to write the camera shows us the clock, they move properly to 12 am/pm and then start to go back rapidly and we’re thrown to the cutscene where Alan returns to the cabin, following Alice’s cries for help — direct continuation of what was written on the page. He jumps and the scene ends. Just like in the beginning.

That’s quite in-your-face, let’s add a bit more subtle things into the mix. Alice in the second game says about her time in the Dark Place “the same events and images, looping again and again”, whole second game hammers down the point that this is exactly how the Dark Place operates. And the cutscene, that follows Alan’s jump after Alice, now shows us how from that moment the time moves on again to the morning when Alice is resurfacing from the lake — another loop ends there; ultimate or penultimate, depends — if you completed the game on nightmare or not.

Back to the dream. Here was a huge chunk of text, that was growing and growing, as I wanted to touch on everything in there, and I’ve decided to move it into another post. But for the sake of this theory we need to know that Clay Steward, the man we encounter, in his in-universe book The Alan Wake Files, claims that dreams like that started two years prior to the events of the game and were loops in which both him and Alan died to the darkness or men consumed by it over and over again. Alan, how it comes out in the game, forgot all others, except for the one that was invaded by the Bright Presence.

So, when exactly did this dream happen? Contrary to the game, I would say: we don’t really know. You see, aside from Alan’s lack of recollection about other dreams like that, there is an interesting detail, that comes with one of the extras. In the game Alan is awakened by Alice on the ferry and she also lets us on the details of how the vacation was arranged:

“Come on, slowpoke. You get the full service here. I’ve made all the arrangements. I drive the car, I’ll even carry the bags. All you have to do is drag your cute butt into the car and enjoy the ride.”

But in the Bright Falls mini-series, prequel to Alan Wake, the final scene shows Alan driving the car to Bright Falls with Alice on the passenger seat and no ferry involved:

In the second game in the song Herald of Darkness we have the part, that is a bit questionable. The ferry is there, but we see Alan being prepared with flowers and a bottle as if this vacation was not Alice’s idea, which is also hinted in the first game’s second flashback, when Alan says “once this is over, let’s go away together — a vacation, just you and me. Some peace and quiet”. Taken together with the words of the song, the clear picture of how the Wakes ended up in Bright Falls starts to blur.

Just one shot, one more chance For him to save their marriage Away from the city A romantic getaway

Whose idea was it? Alice was sure set on Bright Falls because of Dr. Hartman, but was it her desperate attempt to fix their marriage or was it Alan’s? And how did they get into the town? On the ferry or drove the car? Given the loops, I’d say all of those things. Therefore, we have no way of knowing when exactly the dream occurred. Alan was looping and looping, trying to fix Alice’s disappearance, he might’ve written dozens of stories of how exactly they got to Bright Falls and how nothing happened to her in the first place, only to fail over and over again.

And that’s when Thomas Zane comes in. I’ve taken apart everything I could (remember) on what happened in the 70’s and I think that the true story is simple. Barbara drowned, Thomas wrote her back, after some time realised that it was not his Barbara and took her for a last dive, creating a private island in the Dark Place, where they are living their happy ever after. The meat on those simple bare bones — the eruption, the shoeboxes, even Cynthia’s ruined life — was added by Alan. He needed a guide, someone, who already ventured this path and broke some rules here and there for Alan to learn those rules when he will forget. And those tools worked splendidly; even the Clicker, that was in Alice’s possession (let’s not mistake Zane’s Light Switch for Alan’s Clicker, we have pictures of both of them and they could not be more dissimilar), was now safely tucked away in the Well-Lit Room with clear instructions on what to do next, while the shoebox in the cabin filled Alan on the gaps in his knowledge and understanding of the Dark Place and Presence. Cynthia’s articles pushed him in the right direction, not mentioning how helpful were her stashes. Everything fell into place, we got the final loop, that perfectly served Alan’s purpose: Alice is safe and well, the Dark Presence is no more, collateral damage such as people who died in the hero’s journey Alan had to complete or Mr. Scratch going out to play — all could be the lesser evil than what Alan witnessed in his previous attempts (we can count the dream where the darkness took over the world with the last safe place being the Light House as a clairvoyance or a fading memory of another failed loop).

Fist game is not at all unlike the second or AWAN, where loops and spirals play a major role. If the player goes into the Bird Leg Cabin before turning the generator on, in the writer’s room Alan has a vision of the Dark Presence and says “for a moment, the oppressive feel of the nightmare I had seen on the ferry returned”, he senses the danger, recognises it, yet cannot escape it. As I said before, despite all Alan’s ramblings about threading on reality, he writes pretty unreal events right and left — honestly, his own reaction to what he encounters during the first game can be summarised in his go-to phrase: “what the fuck?” — but he believes in it while writing, so it comes true. He cannot simply “cut some corners” and write that he and Alice were never in Bright Falls, because he won’t believe in it, it’s a paradox; as well as he won’t believe in nothing happening to Alice and them just having a nice vacation together. He might’ve tried that at first, but ultimately failed, until the story became how we know it from the game (yet, there are still things that hint on the story being a bit different). But how the Wakes got in Bright Falls, what were Alan’s previous attempts and how many of them he went through will remain a mystery. Time means nothing in the Dark Place and Alan’s memory — even less.

The unanswered mystery is what stays with us the longest, and it’s what we’ll remember in the end.

[miltonbarbie]

South park headcanons with naturally talented Y/n ! (Kyle x F!reader)

Going going down to south park, was probably the best idea you've ever made, and the most life-changing idea you've ever made.

Your parents were moving to south park so your dad could work for his new job. You just finished unpacking and you knew that you were starting south park elementary by tomorrow. You looked around your room feeling proud of yourself. You decorated it really nicely and had all your video games and instruments laid on the shelves and floors. You were known as the person who's good at everything. You've always gotten good grades, your super athletic, you play more than 5 instruments and your parents are always bragging about you.

But all you wanted was they're approval, that's why you started this whole "good at everything" phase in the first place. You went downstairs and put on your boots.

♡

"Momm! I'm going outside for a few hours so I can see what it's like okay? I'll be back before dinner!!"

After you heard your mom's approval for going outside, you opened the door and felt the cold breeze on your face. This was your new home.

You decided to go see your neighbours house, you wanted to get familiar with the people you would be going to school with to avoid any awkwardness. You knocked on the door, and a boy who was the same age as you opened it. He wore a green babushka(?) hat and it seemed like he had red curly hair underneath, judging by the strands poking out of his hat. You smiled and waved at him, he turned his head sideways and called out to his mom.

“MOMMM! We have a VISITOR!”

You were invited into the house by the boy’s mom, and you two sat down on the couch while Mrs. Broflovski went to get snacks for the two of you. You awkwardly made eye contact with the kid beside you until you decided to speak up.

[ “So uh, it seems like we’ll have to introduce ourselves. I’m Y/n, and I moved in next door. I’m yo ur new neighbour!” ] [ Oh, well. Welcome to South Park Y/n. My name’s Kyle. ]

You two talked to each other for some time while eating the snacks Kyle’s mom got for you two. And he offered to bring you upstairs to play video games together. Of course, you accepted. Why wouldn’t you want to play games with your new friend? Kyle DID have to warn you about South Park elementary though. And him hating Eric’s guts, he sternly told you to stay away from him, because he’s: “A fatass that’s always getting on everyone’s nerves”. You decided to take his advice whether he was being serious or not. He really seemed to hate this guy, a lot.

You two chatted and laughed together while discussing what you've experienced so far at south park. Kyle also offered to help you with assignments for school if you needed any help. You shrugged and said that you didnt need any help with your work ..

But you could help with HIS ?!

Oh no no no!

Kyle laughed a bit and brushed off what you said, he explained that he already got straight A's and asked you for your grades. You pulled up a crumbled up (graded) assignment from your jacket pocket and showed it to him.

"Ahaha! I dont need any help with my grades, but thanks anyway. You must be pretty good at homework if you- WHAT THE FUCK."

Y-you- got- better- grades- than- him-

[ "HOLY SHIT HOW MUCH DO YOU STUDY?!" ] [ "Uhh.. I dont ? ]

Kyle's self esteem was pretty much ruined because of you, and on top of that, you don't even study. How could you y/n?! You could pretty much see some tears forming in his eyes because he cared about his grades so much just to see that his hard work didn't matter as long as he saw how well you did. You quickly took action and uh.

You uh.

You kinda uhm. Hugged him.

WHAT WERE YOU SUPPOSED TO DO?! Poor boy was about to cry, and you didn't want him to feel bad. You reassured him that you just had good memory and that you weren't ever as smart as him. You actually are but just for Kyle's sake just lie about it okay?

All that talk about how smart he was and how well he was doing in school and shii really payed off. Because not only does he really like you as friend, and developed some small mixed feelings 4u: He stayed really cocky and might stay like that for the whole week.

You two stayed up for past your dinnertime, when you checked your phone. Your eyes widened as you frantically got your things and texted your mom. She said she knew where you were already since Kyle's mom already messaged her about it.

You sighed in relief after your mom said you could stay there. And you happily continued talking to Kyle. He pays attention to every little detail you say and he loves looking into your eyes during a conversation because he thinks your just so damn pretty.

UH SO YEAH UHM I RAN OUT OF IDEAS FOR THIS ONE BUT I STILL THINK ITS PRETTY GOOD TYTYTYTYTYSMSMSMSMSMSMILYSYSYSYSYSILYMSMSMSMSM </33333333

[attonposting]

Can we stop to talk about the conversation with Atton where he rambles about women and the idea of love? Because good lord can this man project like a movie theater. We're talking fractal projection. Give him a frickin' medal, because it's projection all the way down.

It's a very missable bit of dialogue. You can only get it with a male Exile, and only then if you've cheesed off Brianna by causing her influence to dip 30 points below Visas's. Unfortunately, this also causes Brianna to permanently stop talking to you, so this is something you're only ever gonna see by accident. I only learned that could even happen pretty recently, and that's with maybe 6 male Exile playthroughs under my belt. I guess I'm just very thorough about exhausting everyone's dialogue options all the time.

So. Brianna's permanently cut herself off as a companion, courtesy of Kreia whispering in her ear, and that sucks. But at least your trashman pilot has something to say about it... and whoa boy is it a consolation prize. Atton proceeds to launch into an arm-around-your-shoulders buddy talk that has exactly nothing to do with your problems and everything to do with his personal issues.

Exile: The Handmaiden lost her temper with me.

Atton: Oh, there's a surprise. Trust me, she's a handful - all warriors are. They're not used to dealing with things they can't punch, kick, or break. Look, I know how it is. Me, there's no denying that I'm a good-looking guy. You have it worse, because even though you might not be as good-looking as me, you have that whole tortured past, that command presence. Women want to save you. They think they can help you.

Exile: What are we talking about?

Atton: They think that everyone can be redeemed, and that they're the only ones who can do it. And you don't know if it's you, or the idea of you that they love.

Exile: [Awareness] Are we talking about me or you?

Atton: We're just talking. Like I said, I've never understood women. It's possible they don't love you at all. That they just want to help you... help you hear yourself if you've gone deaf to your own voice. We all lose our way sometimes, and we need someone to pull us back.

Exile: [Awareness] Sounds like you've had that experience before.

Atton: Don't remember. Truth is, I still don't listen to my conscience even when it's shouting. I think there's times I'd rather be completely deaf than hear it. But all this talk doesn't matter. I'm not qualified to give advice. Besides, when I open my mouth, I'm usually lying anyway.

Like. Just. Holy shit, Atton. Yeah, he's clearly talking about the Jedi who tried to save him, but there's so much more to unpack in here. Let's break it down.

“Women want to save you. They think they can help you.” - Atton wants to save you. He wants to be the hero to your story, something he projects at Mical (to the latter's confusion), but which can also be read into a lot of his actions – when he starts taunting the assassin on Telos to draw heat off you, when he runs out on Nar Shaddaa to give you medpacs and do the same thing with the bounty hunters. The hard evidence is on Malachor. If Atton dies, he says it outright: “Did I save you yet?” And if he falls to the Dark Side, he tells Mical that “he wanted to protect [the Exile], to help her” before he lost his chance.

“They think that everyone can be redeemed, and that they're the only ones who can do it.” - Yeah, it's not really about helping the Exile. Atton needs to be the one that 'saves' you, as a balm to his own lack of purpose and self-worth, and he gets real pissy if anyone else does a better job helping you – or god forbid gets close to you. He's constantly insecure, he's unhappy with most new party members when they join up and, and seriously, the only crime Mical ever committed was being a genuinely good dude in a crew full of misfits. Too bad the galaxy's greasiest pilot reads that as a threat.

“And you don't know if it's you, or the idea of you that they love.” - Atton's attraction to you in a nutshell, and that's before you get the question of Force Bonds involved. Like, seriously. Does he genuinely love you as a person, or is he in love with you as an ideal – as someone who could stop running and face the music for their unforgivable crimes, as someone who actually tries to fix the damage they did? As someone who can still find it in them to care about people after the war broke them down? As a Jedi that actually lives up to the ideal both the Council and Revan failed to? As someone he believes he can relate to, because he thinks he knows your reasons for what you did? Are you a stand-in for his dead Jedi and his hundred conflicting feelings over her? Is he just in love with the idea of having a purpose and wants someone he can bury himself in? Is the idea of martyring himself and finally dying for a reason what he's really obsessed with? Pick your flavor, because who knows! He certainly doesn't!

“It's possible they don't love you at all.” - While this has a lot to do with him wondering why the hell anyone would have tried to save him, I also think this is him reflecting on his own confused feelings towards the Exile. They might not be romantic with an M!Exile (or if they are, he's having intense bi denial), but they're absolutely there and he does not know what to make of them.

“That they just want to help you... help you hear yourself if you've gone deaf to your own voice. We all lose our way sometimes, and we need someone to pull us back.” - This has nothing to do with the Exile, the Handmaiden, or anyone who isn't an ex-Sith assassin who had empathy forcibly shoved into their brain after years of progressively more fucked-up descent into all-consuming hatred.

“Truth is, I still don't listen to my conscience even when it's shouting.” - He almost gets away with this one, but Atton's deep in denial here. He doesn't want to hear it, but he can't turn it off, the same way he can't stop feeling things when he used to have total control of his emotions (because he barely felt anything at all.) It's all why he can't go back to who he was, even though he badly misses the certainty he used to feel. Atton is a pro at ignoring his conscience, which definitely has nothing to do with how much he hates himself, total coincidence... but as soon as the Exile gets involved, that goes out the window, because Atton's self-preservation glitches out. Their Force wound tugs on his better nature... or it yanks at his opposite. And if that happens, Atton is very aware of what's happening to him. He succumbs, but he has more to say on the Exile's fall than anyone short of Kreia. And light or dark, his (im)moral compass gets jarred from 'cover my own ass' to 'protect the Exile' and he repeatedly sticks his neck out for no gain, so yeah, I call bullshit here. He's smack in the middle of his biggest crisis of conscience since the Sith.

“Besides, when I open my mouth, I'm usually lying anyway.” Well, at least he admits it.

[duhragonball]

Neon Genesis Evangelion 05

I heard they put a lot of crosses in this show, sort of like how Revolutionary Girl Utena put a bunch of phallic symbols everywhere. It doesn't really impress me much, although I just considered that Dracula must really hate this anime.

This is the episode where they really get into what Rei's whole deal is. Up to now, she's been a background character with only a few lines, but she's supposed to have been doing this Eva piloting thing longer than Shinji, so what's that all about?

To begin with, we flash back to the experiment where Rei got the injuries we saw in Episode 1. At first, I just took it for granted that she had been hurt in combat, or some sort of accident during a training exercise, or her Eva violently rejected her connection to it. But here we see that they were just trying to get Eva Unit 00 to turn on, and then something went wrong and the Eva went nuts and started convulsing and attacking the observation booth with Gendo and the others.

During this mayhem, Unit 00's power cable is severed, and the pilot capsule ejects. I think Rei caused both of those things in an effort to get the situation under control. The Eva still had a few seconds of battery power, and maybe the absence of a pilot helped. It's also possible that these were actions triggered by the computer jockeys monitoring the experiment, or it was random stuff that happened while the Unit went nuts. Anyway, the pilot capsule has thrusters to carry it away from the Eva, except this test is being run in an enclosed space, so it just flies into the nearest corner of the ceiling and then drops like a stone when the propellant runs out.

Horrified, Gendo rushes down to get Rei out of the capsule, and he burns his hands on the hatch. Not sure why it would be hot, but whatever. He's so upset that he just powers through it and removes the hatch anyway, burning his hands in the process.

And then we get this shot, which looks really fucking cool. There's a lot to unpack here. Rei's supposed to be an injured fourteen-year-old girl, but they drew her like Captain Marvel or something. I'm not sure if this is intentional or not, but I think it comes up a lot. Anyway, you'll notice how upset Gendo is about this. He's not just worried about losing his only Eva pilot. He genuinely cares for Rei's safety, showing emotions we've never seen from him until now.

Anyway, she nods to him to confirm she's still alive, and as he breathes a sigh of relief, we see his glasses break, I guess from the heat and the whole commotion or something. Anyway, that's the flashback.

There's a pointless scene in the present where Shinji accompanies Misato and Ritsuko on an excavation of... something. Maybe it's the remains of the Angel Shinji killed in episode 3? It doesn't matter, because Ritsuko's equipment can't analyze the samples. They know that the Angels are composed of some bizarre form of matter, analagous to light? I guess? And even though it's completely alien to them, there are patterns in the matter that match humans. Match them how, exactly?

Shinji notices his father at another part of this facility and he asks about the burns on his hands. So Ritsuko tells the story of that botched Unit 00 experiment we just went over. Shinji is amazed to hear that his dad would go to such lengths for Rei.

At school, the boys ogle the girls during their swimming practice or whatever, and Suzuhara and Big Rigg Mahoney accuse Shinji of having the hots for Rei Ayanami. He denies it, but admits he's curious about her.

Later, during some training exercise, Shinji sees Rei and his dad talking, and they're both smiling, which is creepy as fuck. Ew, stop it. I'm not sure if Shinji is jealous or just confused that his dad actually feels affection towards another human being.

At Misato's house, everyone's eating curry and beer. Even the penguins.

Come on, Oswald, try a bite, it'll put hair on your chest.

Ritsuko gives Shinji a new ID card made for Rei. I guess the ID's have to be renewed every so often, and she kept forgetting to give it to Rei at work, so she wants him to go to her place and do it. Misato thinks Shinji has a crush on Rei, and he denies it. He's just curious about Rei getting along so well with his dad. Ritsuko explains that they're kind of like kindred spirits, in that they both aren't very good at "living." Ouch. In any case, he's got an official reason to go meet her and find out about her for himself.

Yeah, let me back up a bit.

So he shows up at her apartment and when she doesn't answer the buzzer he just lets himself in, and sees all the bloody bandages from when she was injured. Then he finds Gendo's broken glasses from the flashback and puts them on. Then Rei finally comes out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel. She sees him wearing the glasses and immediately tries to take them back, since they clearly mean a lot to her. But they end up falling over and a drawer full of underwear spills and yeah, I think that gets us up to speed. Also Shinji's left hand is planted on her boob.

Yeah.

Shinji akwardly tries to explain himself, but Rei doesn't care. She just gets dressed and leaves to go to work. Shinji catches up to her when her ID card doesn't work, and he hands her the new one that does. He continues to follow her and asks if she's afraid of experimenting with Unit 00, since she already got hurt once before. Incredulous, she asks him if he has faith in his father's work.

Shinji's response intrigues me, because I had trouble telling before whether he and his dad are just really estranged or he's afraid of him or something else. But now it looks more like he's got some sort of grudge against him. He talks about his dad like he's a bitter enemy that everyone else would know to distrust as well.

She slaps him for that. Whatever happened between Shinji and Gendo, she remains loyal to him, perhaps to a fault.

At the base, Gendo and Rei resume their work on Unit 00, and it looks like they managed to get it right this time, but then another Angel attacks Tokyo-3, forcing them to abort the test run. Since neither Rei nor Unit 00 are ready for the field, Gendo sends Shinji in Unit 01 instead.

This is the fifth Angel, and the third one we've seen so far. It... well this was certainly a choice. Anyway, Shinji deploys to fight it, but...

Before he can even get out of the gate, the Angel fires some sort of heat ray at his Eva right away. It's like the Angel knew exactly where to strike first. Maybe this one studied the footage of Shinji's previous battles and learned a new strat.

And that's the end of the episode. The next episode preview says that Rei will come to Shinji's aid, so I'm starting to notice the pattern here. The Angels are showing up more frequently, and they're getting smarter and stronger each time. If this one knows to take the fight to Shinji, then it'll probably take two Evas to beat it, and that means the next one might be strong enough to need three Evas, and so on.

I don't think we got a complete picture of Rei in this one, but it's a two-parter, apparently, so that's okay. I'm not really keen on the parts where all the boys talked about how hot she is, or all the partial nudity, but we'll get into that at another time.

I'm much more interested in her friendship with Gendo, since they seem so distant from everyone else. But they're not going to spill the beans on that right away.

[cornfields-td-nonsense]

Don't be shy share with the class (about Lloyd & Rod)

hoo boy, where to begin?

So, again, they arrive on the show acting like the best of besties despite having only met about a week prior. They figure the "dynamic duos" of the show tend to have some staying power, plus it would be a good advantage to already have a preset alliance going in.

Basically they're acting like childhood best friends but know nothing about each other. This is important.

Rod is... not quite an over-the-top sunshine-personified himbo, but he's not far off. I think his parents are the kind of people who, when something bad happens, will sweep it under the rug and act like it doesn't exist. He ignores negative feelings and experiences rather than dealing with them. And he also tries to look for the good in people - nothing inherently wrong with that, but when a bear trap is gnawing your leg off, it's kind of counterproductive to go "oh, well at least it's a good quality bear trap!" Needless to say, he was bullied quite a lot as a kid, by people he didn't even register as bullies.

He also hasn't really had many close friendships before - he's always kind of been the guy who's tacked onto the side of an already close-knit group of friends. And he's never had a best friend before, until Lloyd. So now that he's pretending he's been this stranger's closest friend for years, he's getting a taste of what he's been missing. And he loves it.

Rod knows this whole friendship started off fake, but he feels like it has the chance to grow into something real. It already feels kind of real to him, at least. And he's sure Lloyd feels the same! Sure, he can be a little... cold, when it's just the two of them and they're not supposed to be pretending, but he's never been overtly mean to Rod. Our boy is determined to elevate this fake friendship into a real one, and believes this is Lloyd's goal, too.

After all, there's no way someone this nice could be faking it.

Now let's talk about Lloyd Tarantino. Straight-A student, perfect golden child, and deep, deep in the closet. Our boy has issues coming out the wazoo.

Possibly his biggest skill is his perceptiveness. Lloyd can tell who's planning on forming an alliance, who's on good terms with who, who's likely to be a threat. He can determine when it's a good idea to hang back, fly under the radar, or when it's time to take action. He doesn't manipulate people, per se (not intentionally, at least) but he does take advantage of the dynamics that already exist. Lloyd is incredibly perceptive - about everyone but Rod.

Lloyd's the one who orchestrated the idea of a fake friendship. And he has every intention of breaking it. The whole point of a fake friendship is that it's fake, after all. Surely Rod knows this. Rod must be intending to ditch him too. It just makes sense. Rod wouldn't genuinely be this attached to someone he just met - he's faking it, all of it, just like Lloyd. So if they start to bond, to genuinely get along, if the friendship begins to feel too real, if Lloyd begins to have doubts... Doesn't matter. It's all fake! That's the point! His feelings don't matter. Rod can't possibly like him that much, he's just a good actor. In fact, he's such a good actor... he could be quite a formidable enemy if those circumstances arise, especially since most of the others seem to like him. When the time comes and Rod is more of a liability than a valuable alliance member, Lloyd should ditch the guy as soon as possible. And Rod won't have hard feelings towards him because this was the plan. Obviously. Rod would do the same.

After all, there's no way someone that nice could be genuine.

(And there's absolutely nothing to unpack in the fact that Lloyd would sooner assume someone's niceness is an elaborate facade, than believe that someone might genuinely like him. Nothing to unpack whatsoever.)

Yeah. They're really not on the same page. At all.

Add just a sprinkling of potential slightly fuzzier feelings sparking between them right as Lloyd is planning his betrayal, and you get a thoroughly messy explosion once that betrayal happens.

I can just picture it now...

Lloyd, having just thrown Rod under the bus in an auto-elimination challenge three episodes before the finale: "On my life, I have no idea why he acted so sad about it. This was our plan from the start, I swear! He'd have done the same to me!"

Chris, brandishing a remote with the biggest evilest grin on his face, about to pull up all of Rod's confessionals talking about how much he's enjoying his time on the show with Lloyd and how he's so sure they're becoming friends for real: "lmao wanna bet"

Also a side note: Rod and Ming are on opposite ends of the "bullied kid" spectrum, and it's part of the reason they become such good friends. They kind of balance each other out. Ming starts out defensive and aggressive, putting up walls at the slightest provocation and staying angry with people for years, and Rod shows her that it's alright to let people in and let go of grudges. On the flipside, Rod starts out as - and I say this lovingly - a doormat, letting people be as horrible as they like to him and forgiving them at the drop of a hat. Ming shows him it's okay to set boundaries and be assertive with people, especially people who hurt you.

So while post-betrayal Lloyd could easily have won Rod back as a friend at the beginning of the season, now he's going to have to actually work hard to get him back.

[ultramarine-spirit]

I'm sorry if i'm bothering you, but i just wanted to know...If Claude ever had a mana explosion just like Athy when he was a child 🤔 It happens when someone has too much mana right? Perhaps maybe Claude didn't have much mana like Athy but it was still very strong so there was no mana explosion and he did not have any beast like blackie ? Because Lucas also didn't have a mana explosion when he was a child (if we ignore how he got injured when he attacked his master) so does that mean Lucas as well has strong mana, but still less than Athy's? So does that mean only Athy can reincarnate since she has too much and powerful mana? But according to the manhwa Diana also got reincarnated despite her not having strong and big amount of mana... Probably reincarnation doesn't have to do anything with how strong or big your mana is, but then again, i can't help and wonder how both Athy and Aetarnithas managed to get reinccarnated without any godly power😅

Lots to unpack here (not a bother though!)

Claude and Athy's mana, Sacred Beasts, and Everything Being Aeternitas' Fault

It hasn't been stated anywhere that Claude had a mana storm like Athy had, so my answer would be no. However, the manhwa did confirm that he had a Sacred Beast like Blackie (chapter 101), and that when the Empress abused it, it made Claude sick. Lucas said in the novel that Sacred Beasts were more common years ago, especially in the royal family (that's why he goes to the palace to try to find one and recover some mana), because they manifested when a person had an amount of mana too great for their body. Going by that, we can assume that Claude and Athy had a remarkable amount of mana, even for royal family standards. Even so, Athy's mana storm didn't occur "naturally", it was caused by Blackie making contact with her and the cursed ribbon Jennette gave her.

Another relevant thing is that Athy's mana is especially unstable because of Aeternitas' actions. Lucas said in the novel that Aeternitas ate all of the Sacred Beasts and even went as far as messing with his own descendants' mana (this is how he was able to reincarnate multiple times). That, in most cases, resulted in the next generations lacking in magic or, in Athy's case, having an incredible but very unstable amount, to the point it was dangerous for her body. That's what caused her near-death experience when she was little and was saved by Lucas.

Lucas, the most powerful being in the whole world and prettiest boy-warlock in all the realms!

Indeed, it isn't stated anywhere that Lucas had a Sacred Beast of his own. It could be a possibility, but the extra about his backstory doesn't address it. One could argue that because of his innate talent, his body didn't need to manifest his mana in another sentient being and could handle it all on its own, and that's why he (presumably) didn't have a Sacred Beast. Whatever the case, I don't think Athy (or Claude, for that matter) has more mana than Lucas, since the Wizard of the Tower is canonically the strongest person in the world, and Lucas (also canonically) is literally able to destroy the continent and even bring the end of the world if he wished to do so.

The most special girl in the whole world, literally

Athy's reincarnations are interesting. In the manhwa, everybody reincarnates, as Diana explains in chapter 100. Lucas further explains in chapter 109 that when a human dies, their spirit usually returns to the Sacred World Tree, the picture implying that the Tree is what makes the reincarnations possible. It's also stated by Lucas in chapter 75 that Athy's mana waves were something "he had never seen before", in chapter 80 that "she's a human who has traveled through time and space", and that it was very likely that she was able to have revelations of what happens after her death (refering to Athy's multiple visions of TLP's ending/Obelia burning to the ground). This is just my guess but, taking all of that into account, and how Diana said she had already reincarnated incompletely "somewhere in the continent" (as a swan, if volume 7's cover is literal and not metaphorical), I think what makes Athy's mana special is her ability to reincarnate in different worlds (Korea and Obelia) and times (presumably turning back time in Obelia in her third life). She also has some kind of special connection to the World Tree (who seems to be the literal god of wmmap's world, or at least "a god"). Make of that what you will. Athy is Jesus.

Everybody, pay your respects to our Lady and Savior Athy

In summary, for all the talk about the royal family being "immortal" and "eternal", none of them truly lived forever, they just have extended lifespans. The only one that has proven to be immortal in some way is Athy. Aeternitas didn't reincarnate with his own mana or ability (noted by Lucas to be particularly lackluster), he ate so many Sacred Beasts that he made them almost extinct, and he messed up and stole his descendants' magic. Anastasius' corpse got reanimated/brought back from the brink of death by Aeternitas, so again, not really his own doing, and that was closer to necromancy than reincarnation. My speculation (so not confirmed!) is that Athy's connection to the World Tree stems from it recognizing her as the one who could save/rule Obelia, and the only one of the royal line that truly lived up to the immortal name.

Hopefully that was helpful! I double checked my facts, but if a wmmap scholar Lithi has something to add/correct, please do!

[xavierkhalil]

"Happy Face/Sad Boy"

I must ask why I experience my spells of depression. I have tried to rationalize by saying that it’s just a condition that I live with, but it is genuinely frustrating, because I am not a sonder person. I can be serious, pondering, emotional, and the occasional sad, but depressed? It is so odd for me, a person who is generally jovial about life.

Is it my past naivety or experiences of hardship. I have even tried to equate it to the possibility that I had never seen moments of happiness last long. I mean happiness did feel like a luxury growing up. It lasted for a moment, and then we were back to stressing about everything. All of it was directed towards finances, but mine is expressed because of general anxiety.

I have this fear that good things are not meant to last a long time for someone like me. It is something that I have unpacked in counseling a number of times. I have to have constant moments of self-talk to remedy the toxic thoughts I think, and I thought by now it would be easier to manage. It is not. If anything, it seems that it gets more difficult. It was easier to be ignorant and confused about these things, but living it for so long has forced me to take accountability. That shit is hard as fuck to do! I mean who wants to have irrational thoughts and spend much of their consciousness trying to rationalize their thoughts and emotions. Is something that all humans are cognizant of? Is it just a few? Or is this increasing among the younger generations? These are the questions we need answers to, folks!

The person who I love, but never been exclusive or intimate with, surprised me when they said they feel lonely a lot of the times. We go through these periods where we don’t speak, mostly on his accord, and it shocked me that he felt that way. It shocked me even more that this was the reason he “ran away” during these moments. Before knowing this, I associated his ghosting with me, and I internalized that something was wrong with me as a result. After giving him space and autonomy to express that to me, I understand that on a deeper level.

See, I have been dealing with depression and anxiety since I was 17 years old. I am 22, now, but for the first time I feel like I get where the one I love is coming from. He texted me back almost a week ago, and the entire weekend, Monday and Tuesday I read the opened message, and I didn’t know how to respond. I have been trying to challenge my ego and pride by not allowing those emotions to contradict my actions! I am also trying to let go of shame and ego and embrace Love but that is hard, too. All in all, I know how he feels in these moments. Lonely. That there is no need to reach out and be the emotional burden to someone else, especially to one you perceive as incomparable.

More than just loneliness, but war. An internal war of trying to be someone better than I was before. Trying to let the shadows of our former selves die and embrace the Light that burns within us is hard as hell! Especially in these depressing episodes, it feels like the shadows begin to get the upper hand. As if they want to be a part of me and I don’t want them to. Even when I tried to embrace them, and deal with them, it was dissatisfying. Seeing old patterns slowly repeated began to make me cringe. Knowing the names of the shadows, ego, shame and pride, I desire to let them go. I mean really let them go!

However, it feels like they don’t want to let me go, but what matters is I do! I know that I am meant to be free and love freely. I am challenged to show the Light blessed by God within me, and what’s funny is that deeply in depression, the Light shines just as bright. The fear of being free is attached to the go of safety and the shame of failure. I am tired of living like this. So no more suppressing.

[legitelizabethwwefan]

Valorant Headcanons - Guilty Pleasures

A/N: I decided to write this up in between working on a couple of requests (which should hopefully be up in the next day or two). Hope you guys like it!

If you want to request anything, you can do so here.

Word count: 502

No warnings.

Astra: Chocolate of all kinds. She’ll eat any and all flavours, but especially enjoys any rare or unusual.

Breach: My Little Pony. Tbh I think he looks like a typical bronie.

Brimstone: Desserts of all kinds. Deep fried desserts (i.e. funnel cakes) are his favourite because they remind him of his childhood when he visited his local state fair.

Chamber: Top 40 pop music. He’ll only listen to it with earbuds on if he needs a pick-me-up while designing new weapons.

Cypher: Greasy American food. Brimstone brought some to headquarters once for the team and Cypher has been hooked ever since.

Fade: Cat videos- the sillier, the better. Her love of cats knows no bounds, and she’ll watch them repeatedly late at night if she’s unable to sleep.

Jett: K-pop and Korean dramas- the sappier, the better. She’ll tell others that K-pop is dumb, but she always listens to it while working out because it pumps her up. Plus, it makes her feel a little closer to her culture.

KAY/O: Doesn’t understand the concept of guilty pleasures, so he doesn’t have any as of now.

Killjoy: Aside from playing League of Legends- reading books. She doesn’t like audiobooks or e-books; she likes having bookshelves full of novels and non-fiction alike.

Neon: Also loves video games thanks to Killjoy and Raze’s influence. She’s not crazy about League of Legends, but will play if asked to. Her favourite video games are cozier choices (i.e. Unpacking) because she uses them to relax and unwind after missions.

Omen: Outside of knitting, he also loves crocheting for himself. He doesn’t tell others about his crocheting because he wants to keep one hobby to himself.

Phoenix: 1990s boy bands- all of them. Doesn’t matter where they’re from or how famous/not famous they are.

Raze: Video games. Killjoy introduced her to League of Legends, and that kickstarted her love for video games. She mostly like funny, action-packed video games that aren’t super violent.

Reyna: Trashy reality TV shows where people argue and fight a lot (i.e. Jersey Shore, Bad Girls Club, etc.). She loves the drama, even if it’s extremely shallow and stupid. Also loves telenovelas that are super sappy and dramatic.

Sage: Wine- doesn’t matter what kind. She usually drinks it after a particularly stressful mission. But she doesn’t get too drunk because she doesn’t like the feeling.

Skye: Country music. She likes to listen to it while gardening or working out. Her other guilty pleasure is craft beer. She’ll try almost any craft beer at least once.

Sova: Eating Russian sweets... and drinking copious amounts of vodka. He also likes watching soap operas because he thinks they’re interesting.

Viper: Dating/love-related reality TV shows (i.e. The Bachelor/The Bachelorette, Love Island, Love is Blind, etc.). She thinks of such shows like car crashes; they’re hard to look away from. Plus, it’s her way to watch drama unfold without being involved herself.

Yoru: Claims that he’s “above” having a guilty pleasure. However, he loves funny mangas- the sillier, the better.

[absolutebl]

I really appreciate your breakdowns and I just throw this out there because you actively talk about consent in regards to subject matter about queer men (THANK YOU).

Would you talk a bit about the ubiquity of dubious consent and rape/sexual assault and/or harassment that occurs in BL? And perhaps (personal input here) how that ties into unhealthy and dangerous social and personal anxieties about queerness? Like queerness being inherently predatory, the conflation of pedophilia with (mostly) queer men, inability to express desire due to homophobia, maladaptive coping, agency, and autonomy?

Sorry I know that was a lot for one ask!

WHY SO MUCH DUB CON IN BL? 

This is a great ask.

I have to say to start that while I side mention these kinds of topics a lot but I don't actively use this blog for queer commentary. I’m gonna make an exception, but I don’t want to turn this into a rant, so I’m going to try to be gentle and politic about everything. 

Would you talk a bit about the ubiquity of dubious consent and rape/sexual assault and/or harassment that occurs in BL?

Here’s some scattered thoughts: 

It's very prevalent in source yaoi.

It used to be in standard het romances 1990s and prior. 

It’s still common in its benevolent sexism form in Kdramas in particular. 

I have talked about it before in depth but I can’t remember where, sorry if this is a repeat for some of you. 

Kdramas are gonna come up a lot because they are dictating general taste in romances right now, so Hallyu action is happening in this post, sorry not sorry

So BL is getting it from both narrative and cultural backgrounds. Also all of these notions are being bolstered by Hallyu romances, which are similarly sourced (manga, manwha, web comics, Japan early 90s). 

Fantasies 

Last I checked dubcon/noncon was still the world’s #1 sexual fantasy. Not sure if that is still as strong as it was, but from my experience within the kink community I’d say yes. (In kink the #1 fetish is feet but the #1 fantasy is rape. Yes, there’s a difference between a fantasy and a fetish, this is not that blog.) 

How to unpack that? 

I think the sexiness and appeal comes from the idea that your partner is so overwhelmed with lust for you, and only you, they can’t resist. Many people love the idea of being taken. THE IDEA OF IT. That’s what makes it a fantasy. 

Seme/Uke (AGAIN) 

In BL it remains popular and prevalent partly because of the seme/uke dynamic that imposes heterosexual dysmorphia on the players. I go into this a lot in conjunction with the blushing maiden trope. 

It’s basically that the uke isn’t allowed by the narrative to want sex, he must be taken, because if he makes the choice, he’s dirty and impure. This ties back to the old standard of shaming women for sexual agency (the uke is acting the feminine in these narratives). Stuff like the madonna/whore complex. 

However, removing seme/uke entirely can have an adverse effect. 

If it’s enemies to lovers and the two are physically matched and less seme/uke as you see out of Taiwan, for example, or something like TharnType then the battle of wills becomes a battle of dominance. What in kink might be called rough play. Which is to say the point of the liaison is for one of the boys to come out on top and take what he wants. The fight itself is designed to be sexually exciting for the characters and the watchers. While this is fine in kink play it can read VERY poorly on screen. 

Cultural Biases 

All of this remains alive and well in BL narratives for many reasons.

Legal standing. The cultures producing these narratives do not have the same definition of statuary rape and consent as we/some international watchers might expect. 

Victim blaming. The attitude is that If the sex is between 2 men, as a man the uke should be able to defend himself. If he didn’t fight the other dude off, then obviously he wanted it. (There is no concept of “he can’t” fight him off, maleness negates that possibility/thought process in highly patriarchal societies.) 

The gayness itself is a loss of power. There’s also all this baggage around gay as taboo. If same sex activities are already considered culturally dirty, kinky, abnormal (whatever, sigh) then adding in stepbrothers, age gap, or rape doesn’t matter. It’s already liminal. In a way the characters themselves are “asking for it” by engaging with the very concept of gayness. This is another reason why owning gay as an identity is so comparatively rare in BL. It can be regarded as physically safer to say “I like men” or “I just like this one man.” 

Admitting to being gay puts one in a socially and culturally weak position as a man, because you will be instantly associated with the feminine and that’s a lower status position. Quite apart from however that culture views gay masculinity as valid identity, as of this moment in time, dominant social status as MALE is always materially diminished in the eyes of society by gayness or gay activities. (Gay males who come out move from dominant into marginalized status.) Humans will rarely willing sacrifice social standing, it’s an anathema to the herd brain. If we can linguistically dodge this with a new term, phrase, or semantics, we will. This is one reason why there’s so much debate in the queer community around reclaiming slurs and the word “queer” in general. (Sorry, I got diverted by linguistic anth for a second there.) 

Feminism & agency. Because one character is usually conflated with female (and also because gayness is conflated with the feminine in general), at least one of the BL characters will be fighting a feminist battle as a gay man. But because he is biologically male as a character, he isn’t recognized as needing the bolster or protection that feminist agency/advocacy can provide (even in those places where feminism and queer rights are active). This has to do with a  basic conflation of biological sex characteristics - and associated physical manifestations - with gender, which is a social construct. (And is why trans identity is not just a feminist battle but an obligation of care and protection. TERFs are actually anti-feminism IMHO.) 

You can see some of this play out with Noona romances, especially out of Japan and Korea. The female character is already acting abnormally by “dating down” so she is allowed to push social norms by being more romantically dominant as well. She’s already taken the step into taboo/dirtiness (and agency) by flirting with a younger man. Another way this manifests is in Korea’s fascination with women crossdressing as men in their historical dramas. 

Pure fantasy. The fantasy of all these romances, including BL, is packaged in the abnormality of the romance existing at all. The special uniqueness of it as a pairing and as a romance all. It’s subversions as a fantastical narrative.  

None of this is an excuse, just a sort of explanation, I guess? 

(Here’s an excellent article on the history of consent in the western romance genre.) 

How that ties into unhealthy and dangerous social and personal anxieties about queerness? (Like queerness being inherently predatory, the conflation of pedophilia with (mostly) queer men, inability to express desire due to homophobia, maladaptive coping, agency, and autonomy?) 

Ah yes well, that would make this a much longer essay. And I’m already pushing things here. 

But I think in part when you make a taboo identity a fantasy, then you convince those who are that identity that they themselves are also a fantasy. Some of their selfness is unrealistic, unmoored and unfounded. And therefore somehow more noble and less worthy at the same time. 

Ah the complexities of the human spirit. 

It’s not real if it only exists in a drama. This is the counter effect to the pro normalization stance I’ve talked about before. BL, while simultaneously making gay more acceptable for non-queers to digest, makes it harder for queer people to believe in themselves. BL is putting out this seme/uke, dominant/submissive, top/bottom notion of gayness, and choice within that gayness (as in: to be gay you must PICK your lane). Which is, by its very nature, unhealthy for a gay person because it has all these internalize notions of anti-feminist, victimization, heterosexual dysmorphia, lost agency, and gay = a fantasy and not a reality. 

The BL fantasy forces gay men into a very specific kind of marginalized space: 

if you’re sexually active and expressive about it you’re a whore, 

so you become unable to express desire, 

develop maladaptive coping strategies around sexual activities, 

and lack agency and autonomy as a result 

because you expect your partner to make these choices for you, including around desire.

Especially around desire. 

Maybe this manifests as a rape fantasy. 

(OMG did I just bring this blog post full circle? I think I did. It’s like I wrote a litcrit essay even when I didn’t wanna. How, meta: this essay itself is kinda my own dubcon.) 

All of which is to say: 

I fervently hope any female identified readers are spotting something VERY VERY familiar in those bullet points above. Because this is EXACTLY what is done to women ALL THE TIME. Especially straight women in patriarchal environments. 

In the End 

We all love seeing queer happy endings in BL. I love me a kindly coming out scene with the supportive friendship group. But most of us queers know, or fear, that it won’t be that way for us. 

In a very strange way the positivity in BL, and the companion flaws of representation, are like the fantasy of romance in general. The idea that you will be loved, by one person, forever, is as much a fantasy as the idea that being gay is as easy, as one dimensional, as codified, and as lovely as most BLs show it to be (or ends up). 

It’s complicated being a feminist who loves romances (particularly Kdramas!) 

It’s complicated being a queer person who loves BL. 

I don’t know that I have a pithy conclusion, except perhaps something I’ve harped on before. 

Like the fact that is is possible to both be a feminist and cherish a rape fantasy (or even enact one in a safe sane & consensual way), it is possible to both love BL and recognize it’s many flaws. 

The human brain can contain multitudes. 

We are humans who exist in grey spaces (especially when trying to track down some BLs, heh heh). 

More about how this can be handled better and well in this post on Takara & Amagi. 

(source)

[mjlovescm]

9- Friends, right

Completed, 27 chapters, “She’s an angel” Rodrick Heffley x black fem reader

To no surprise, moving back to Plainveiw changed nothing for you. Then again, you weren't expecting your life to magically change just because you lived somewhere different. You were still the same old you, just with Rodrick.

You kept to yourself in school, only talking to people when you really had to. Spending your lunchtime reading and eating in the library. Which Rodrick had no problem with, of course, but certainly didn't like.

“You need to have more fun.” Rodrick tells you, flipping through a comic book.

“Define fun.” You pronounce the word as if it was foreign to you.

“Like ya know, talk to people.”

“I talk to you every day.” You said matter-of-factly.

“Well, maybe you could talk to people who aren't me.”

You make a small sound of acknowledgment, pretending to keep a mental note. Assuming it would be enough for Rodrick to move on. But he was determined to bring you out of your shell. Even if it was just a little bit.

“Don't say or do anything fucking weird.” Rodrick warns the two boys.

“Dude chill out.” Ben says, throwing his arm over Rodrick, who shrugs it off.

“I'm serious okay. y/ns actually really nice and kinda cool. ” He tells them with a stern face.

“Man, we promise you we're not gonna say anything.” Ben says, assuring Rodrick.

“Right, we'd hate to scare your little girlfriend off.” Chris adds.

“She's not my girlfriend.” He tells them tone tired.

“Not yet.” Ben whispered under his breath.

At your locker, your fingers turn the key lock, carefully setting it on the right numbers before opening it. Setting your backpack down, you pull out the things you don't need and put them inside. Standing up, you smile, seeing Rodrick walk towards you. You give him a small wave and go back to putting your things away.

By the time you close the locker, Rodrick is right beside you, him and two other boys. Who you immediately recognize as his bandmates. Your expression stills once you recognize what Rodrick was doing.

“Hi.” You say more of a question than greeting.

Before Rodrick can say anything, one of the boys steps in front of him. He introduces himself with a sly smile, putting his hand out for you to shake. You shake it, going to speak before the other cuts you off. After the introductions, there is a silence you could only describe as awkward.

“So,” One of them pipes up. “What are you doing after school?”

“Um, I'm actually really busy after school.” You lie. “Lots of homework and I think I still have a few things to unpack.” You give them a half a curtsy smile and pick up your bag.

“No you don't.” Rodrick says seeing through your lie.

You're quick to respond.

“You don't know that.”

“Yea I do, you said you finished all your homework early, and I already helped you unpack all your stuff.”

He speaks casually, but as always there's a lingering tone that teases you. Along with his piercing eyes. You gave him an aggravated expression, knowing you had no real reason to decline whatever they were offering you. Not wanting to seem rude, you backtrack your earlier lie and agree to hang out after school. Thankfully, they were only practicing, so you could just be siting in the corner while they played.

And thats exactly what you did. After greeting Susan and Frank, you made your way into the garage. Finding a comfortable chair and cracking a book open. You weren't sure why, but your actions cause Chris and Ben to snicker.

You quickly close the book, making sure the cover didn't give away the vulgar content in the book. Because it didn't, you ignored them and put your headphones on. Fully engulfing yourself in your reading and losing track of time. But you knew a good amount had passed when Rodrick left the garage to grab everyone snacks. With him gone, Chris and Ben focus their attention on you.

“What's the point of listing to music when you have a live performance right in front of you.”

“No offense, but the music you guys make isn't exactly suited for reading.”

A smile cracks on Chris's face as he stifles a laugh.

“What's funny ?” You ask genuinely.

“Nothing, it's just you're exactly how Rodrick described you.”

“Yea, he talks about you a lot.” Ben adds. “Only good stuff, though.”

You give them a confused faced. Still unsure why their eyes lingered on the book in your lap. Why they seemed to know something you didn't.

“Where did you guys meet again?”

“Well, we knew each other before, but I guess we sorta met again over summer.”

They share a look as if there was some inside joke.

“Oh right” He says in an exaggerated tone. “So you're y/n from the hotel.”

Next chapter ;)

All chapters :)

[fantasmalresplendent]

Dean died at the ripe old age of 85.

In his lucid moments during the days leading up to his passing, in which Dean was just as sharp and as bright as he was fifty years ago, he remarked that people must think he’d robbed the cradle with a “hot piece” such as Castiel hanging around him. 

“You don’t mind that I’m a wrinkly, senile, crotchety old bastard?” Dean had asked, more than once, but he had always said it with a smile. And Castiel would smile back, replying with the same answer the answer many times, in many ways:

“You’re not senile.”

“Old, but not a bastard.”

“I thought I was the crotchety one.”

“I don’t mind.”

Then Dean would smile, and it would light up the room, and Castiel would wonder again how he came to deserve the focus, let alone the affection, of such a man.

“It’s not about deserving, Cas,” Dean had said, half-whispered in the middle of the night a few short months after they had begun to share the bed they laid in. “It’s… fuck, well I don’t know what it’s about. But people don’t get what they deserve, not most of the time.”

Castiel frowned, furrowing his brows. “They should,” he grumbled.

“Well if people got what they deserved, they’d… I don’t know, Sam would’ve actually become a lawyer, stayed in school. Jo, Ellen, Bobby, they’d all still be here. I’d get mauled by a werewolf or something, go out with a bang, and Baby,” Dean said sternly, as though chastising the universe itself for such an injustice, “Would never get so much as a scratch on her.”

“You think that’s what you deserve?” Castiel’s voice was soft, not wanting to disturb the still of the night, but steely as he considered even the possibility of Dean’s violent end. 

Dean registered that, swallowing, “I don’t know. I guess I just never thought I’d even make it this far. Hunters have the shortest lifespans of any human subspecies,” Dean cracked a smile, but his heart wasn’t in the joke. Castiel knew Dean was doing the math in his head. He knew Dean was mentally recalling how long it had been since Bobby left for heaven. Tallying up the number of people who were gone because of self-sacrifice, mistakes, pure dumb luck. Counting exactly how many years he had outlived his own mother. 

Castiel had wrapped his arms around Dean then, embracing him, surrounding him, and they curled into each other completely. Burying himself in Castiel’s neck, Dean had never felt so close to him, and yet so far away. “You don’t have to follow the same patterns if you don’t want to, Dean,” Castiel stated, as if it were that easy. “Do you want to?”

“Want to what?”

“Get mauled by a werewolf?”

Dean sniffed in laughter, and that was answer enough.

Castiel found himself stroking Dean’s hair, an action he felt suited him. He thought for a moment in the stillness and in the space between their breaths. “Maybe it’s idealistic of me, but I still think people should get what they deserve. Even- no, especially you.”

Dean took his time answering, opening his mouth several times before actually saying, “Sometimes I don’t think I know what I deserve.”

“I guess we’ll just have to figure that out together then. We have time,” Castiel kissed Dean’s forehead and he sighed at the touch. “We have plenty of time. Heaven will wait for you, no matter how long.”

Dean looked up at him then with a pout, “You sound pretty confident in that statement for a dude who hasn’t shown up to heavenly chorus practice in a few years.” 

Castiel smiled, “I’d rather be here with you. Always have.”

The man blushed. “Well, if I go… I mean, wherever I go… Where will you end up?”

“I could go with you.”

“Where?”

Castiel closed the distance between them fully, thumbing across Dean’s cheek as they kissed. “Anywhere. If you want me there, I will be there, whether it’s here or heaven. I’ll be there.”

“For how long?”

“For however long you want me to be.”

Dean kissed back, his fingers tangling in Castiel’s hair. “Yeah. Okay.”

  Sam went not long after Dean. It wasn’t a surprise; it was his time as well. His children were grown, his grandchildren almost grown, Castiel knew they’d miss him but that they’d be all right. And they knew to call on “Uncle Cas” if they weren’t, even the little ones who didn’t understand exactly how they were related, or why Great Uncle Dean's husband was only about as old as their parents.

“I mean I love the little gremlins,” Dean had said, cracking open a beer after a long few days of babysitting Sam and Eileen's girls while the expecting parents were in the hospital. He was exhausted, they both were, but beaming from meeting the newest member of the Winchester clan: a healthy baby boy named Robert. “But have you seen Sam’s house? Goddamn mess in there.”

“You… don’t want to have some of your own?” Castiel had asked carefully, taking the beer Dean held out for him.

“You’re making them sound like trading cards. I don’t know, I- I guess I never thought too hard about it.” Castiel could tell this was a lie by the way Dean didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Wouldn’t know what to do with a kid if I had one.”

“Do you think you’d be a good father?”

Castiel had met John Winchester, in Hell. Well, he hadn’t exactly met him. He had really only passed by John’s cell, stole a glance at the infamous hunter on his way to retrieve Dean’s soul. He’d never told Dean what he saw, they were not close enough at the time. He wasn’t sure if Dean would even want to know. Castiel had almost spoken about it many times, but whenever Dean talked about John, “Dad,” a look crossed over his face, sometimes for only a second. A furrowing of brows, a tight smile, a quick transition to happier subjects.

The same look crossed over Dean’s face as soon as Castiel had asked the question.

“Wow. Um, loaded question there, Cas.”

He waited for Dean to meet his eyes before continuing, “I think you would be.”

“Do- wait,” Dean shook his head, trying to understand where Castiel was going with all of this, “Do you want kids?”

“I want you to live a normal life, Dean. I want to be able to give you what you want.”

“Okay, lots of stuff to unpack here. First of all, a normal life isn’t and never was an option,” Dean leaned back against the counter, “I think we can agree on that. Second of all, you didn’t answer my question.”

“...And third of all?” Castiel prompted.

“No, second of all first. Do you want kids?”

Castiel sighed, taking a swig of his beer, considering his words. “I’m an angel, Dean-”

“Is that so!” Dean raised his eyebrows, then squinted as if in deep thought, “Weird, somehow I never noticed.”

That deserved a well-placed eyeroll, but Castiel still had a point to make. “We don’t- I’m just trying to…” he set his beer down. “I don’t know. But that doesn’t matter, what matters is that I would love and care for a child, if it were ours. If we decided that was something we wanted, I would be so happy to raise them, with you. I’d be terrified,” Castiel admitted, “At the enormous and important responsibility, but I would love doing it, if… if it was with you. I just want you to know that, I guess,” Castiel shrugged, “I don’t want you to think it’s not an option for us, if you want it to be.”

“Okay…” Dean was thinking, swirling the beer around his glass. He pointed the mouth at Castiel, “You’re still avoiding my question,” Castiel really rolled his eyes this time, “But I don’t really think it’s for me, all that white picket fence stuff. If you really wanted a kid, I would definitely hit the library and read all those, I don’t know, fucking parenting guides, and take the Mommy and Me classes, whatever. And I think you’d be a good father, better than me, I’d just let them eat gummy worms and shoot slingshots.”

“Children love gummy worms. They listen and will behave better when offered gummy worms,” Castiel knew this for a fact from very recent personal experience, “I don’t see how gummy worms could pose an issue. Slingshots, however-”

“Okay so maybe I’m overestimating your abilities a little,” Dean held up a hand, “But still, I… I like this,” he gestured to the space between them and around them, “I like us. I like waking up to a clean kitchen and sleeping in on weekends. I like not having to ask more than one person whether or not I can take a drive by myself or crank my music really loud at midnight. And I fucking hate Paw Patrol.”

Castiel smiled.

“Sam and Eileen always need babysitters. That’s good enough for me right now.”

“You’ll tell me though, if this is something you really want,” Castiel insisted, “If you think about it and decide something else.”

“Sure.”

“Promise.”

“Okay, fine, I promise,” Dean took a step forward and leaned in for a kiss then. Castiel could taste the beer on Dean’s tongue and sighed. Dean smiled against Castiel’s lips, lowering his voice to a comical level, “We could, uh, you know, try and make some babies,” Dean waggled his eyebrows and Castiel pushed Dean’s laughing face away, but grabbed his hand, turning towards their room.

They hadn’t spoken about it again, not seriously anyway. They got a dog. Dean opened a vintage car garage. Castiel learned how to bake. They took long road trips to the beaches in California, wandered through roadside attractions like Carhenge in Nebraska and Cadillac Ranch in Texas. They bought decidedly way too much merchandise at Oklahoma’s National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum. And maybe they killed the occasional vampire, the wayward poltergeist, but the occasions became less and less. There were younger, more spry hunters on the road now, always welcome at the bunker to look through their library or ask advice on a particularly troublesome spirit. Sam even coerced Dean into holding what became a yearly “conference,” “What are we, a tech startup?” for the next generation of hunters to learn from the legendary brothers.

So maybe they spent more time at home than on the road, but home suited them. Routine suited them like Castiel never could have predicted it would. It wasn’t a white picket fence, but it wasn’t a lonely highway either. Dean would joke about how “boring” they’d become, but Castiel reveled in the repetition. The three hundredth time Dean brought Castiel coffee in bed was just as lovely as the third. The five hundredth time Castiel cooked dinner passed without fanfare, though Dean hugging him from behind, chin hooked over Castiel’s shoulder as he whisked, felt like fanfare enough. The one thousandth kiss they shared was in their bed, lazily breathing each other in as the first beams of sunlight shone through the window after a week of straight rain. Home, a thing he and Dean had never known in their youth, held the majority of their most precious, most banal memories. But still, Castiel always looked forward to those moments speeding down a desert highway when Dean would reach for his hand, turn his head to meet Castiel’s eyes, and smile.

Time took its time with them.

It seemed the opposite with Sam’s children, who grew up faster than Castiel could keep track of. And as they grew from waddling toddlers to full-fledged human beings, Castiel was fascinated, enamored, but Dean was simply proud. He attended their tournaments, their decathlons. He went to their graduations, weddings, barbecues, and Castiel went with him. They took the kids to concerts and movies, parks and shooting ranges, and Castiel never got tired of the smile on Dean’s face when they threw their small arms around Dean’s neck and called him their “Cool Uncle.” “Hear that, Cas? That means you’re the No Fun Uncle. The No-Funcle.”

And as the crowned Cool Uncle, he teased Sam mercilessly about his minivan and his “#1 Dad” mugs, but Castiel knew how proud Dean was of him too. How glad he was that Sam got the future he wanted, and how grateful he was that that future included him.

The brothers still fought. They still bickered, pranked, and glowered. Sam complained that Dean let his kids use power tools too young when they visited, and Dean complained that Sam’s kids were too old to have never heard “Stairway to Heaven.” The usual, the routine, many times over. But they never lied to each other, at least not about the important things, not anymore. And Castiel was welcome in Sam and Eileen’s house and lives, an honor he felt he didn’t deserve, but as Dean said, maybe it wasn’t about deserving.

It was Eileen who noticed Castiel first as he entered the hospital room the day he'd been informed that Sam Winchester was finally coming home. He didn't have to tell Eileen; she saw it on Castiel's face. They’d already spoken, he’d prepared her for the eventuality a few days prior. Eileen smiled, looking back at her husband, teasing him lightly, but Castiel knew she was holding back on her usual snark because Sam looked, well, tired. Turning away from Sam, Eileen signed, “Are you here for him?”

Castiel shook his head. “No, but someone will be here soon.” 

“You mean they haven’t given you reaper duty yet?” Sam joked from his horizontal position, speaking and signing with his usual quick wit, but not with his usual articulation. Castiel had seen him argue with Dean for fifty years like it was his job, he was accustomed to the precision with which Sam had always wielded his words. Not today.

“I don’t think I’d be very good at it,” Castiel stepped closer so that Sam wouldn’t have to crane his head, “I’m not very persuasive.”

“No kidding,” Sam shakily clasped Castiel’s hand and grinned. “I’m surprised Dean even went with you.”

“It took less persuading than you’d think.”

“How is he?” Eileen asked, but she was smiling, so she knew the answer.

“He’s good,” Castiel smiled back, “Getting what he deserves.”

Sam smirked, but his head sunk back into his pillow as if relieved. “And I bet he’s complaining about it non-stop. Asshole never knew how to take a vacation.”

“Neither do you,” Eileen levelled her husband with a fond look.

“We’ve taken vacations!”

“You always wanted to go somewhere exotic and then you’d just end up in the library. Remember Berlin?”

“They had… well I wasn’t going to find those editions in America, and-”

Sam and Eileen bickered for a bit, and Castiel did end up backing Eileen’s points more often than not, so eventually Sam recognized that he was outnumbered on this particular case.

Castiel bid his goodbyes just in time as the nurse entered the room to check Sam’s vitals. Her tone was cheerful, but Castiel could tell that she too knew what was coming. 

“Well… I’ll see you soon, buddy, huh?” Sam smiled at Castiel as confidently as he could muster for Eileen’s sake, but Castiel knew behind those laugh lines Sam wasn’t so sure of himself. Castiel supposed that worry wasn’t to be unexpected from a chosen one of Hell, Lucifer's vessel, the boy Castiel had once called an “abomination.”

But Castiel smiled, giving Sam’s shoulder one last firm squeeze. “You will.”

  When Dean died, at the ripe old age of 85, he knew what to expect.

He’d visited heaven before. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Not an exciting place, but exciting wasn’t necessarily good. Hell had been exciting, and he was in no hurry to return there. Purgatory had been exciting in a different way, years later he swore the stench still lingered on his skin. Sometimes, when he would lose himself in his “senior moments,” he thought he was back in that bloody in between. Or back in hell. Or had gone to heaven. “Times and places are difficult to navigate when your brain’s turning into gummy worms,” he told Cas once. He didn’t remember saying this a few hours later, but that didn’t make it any less true.

His brain was sure full of them gummy worms now as he clung to his body and to his life. He wasn’t completely sure where he was. Bobby’s? The bunker? His childhood home? Sammy had come to see him earlier, at least the kid had looked like Sammy… No, fuck, that was his grand-nephew, Cas had reminded him of that. Sam, his brother Sam, was in the next room. That's right, he’d told the asshole to give him some space, stop smothering him. He sort of wished he was here now though. And Cas, Cas was here, he knew that, but only because the angel was right in front of him. Cas, his friend, was holding Dean’s hand, talking about what their grand-nieces and nephews were doing in school. Dean could swear he already knew these things, but they still sounded new when Cas said them.

Dean looked over at him, and Cas was smiling.

He tried to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. Cas helped him swallow some cool water. Dean cleared his throat, “Bet you’ve been waiting for this for a while.”

Castiel cocked his head, the smile fading. Fifty some odd years and he still had that same confused look. “Waiting for what?”

“Me to beef it, finally. I know this hasn’t been easy, watching me… seeing me like…” Dean took a shallow breath. “No matter where I go next, at least I won’t be a senile senior citizen.”

“Dean,” Cas said, rubbing the back of Dean’s liver spot-covered hand, “Please listen to me very carefully.”

“Got my hearing aids in, go ahead,” Dean joked.

Cas smiled softly again. “It has been the greatest privilege of my life, my existence, to watch you grow old. I feel honored that you allowed me to experience that. Time’s different for me too,” Cas kissed Dean’s hand, “Space and time were never precious to me, not in the stretch of infinity. Not until you. Not until I was able to see you live your life and live it well.”

Tears welled in the corners of Dean’s eyes. He furiously tried to blink them away, but Cas was already there, dabbing carefully with a handkerchief. “I’m… I’m scared, Cas. I know I shouldn’t be, I’ve seen it all. I’ve beefed it a few times already. But maybe that’s why I’m scared? Because… I know what comes next. What could come next. And this is it, right? No more resets?”

Cas nodded.

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. “If I don’t end up in heaven-”

“You will.”

“If I don’t, that’s fine, maybe it’s what I deserve, and that’s fair. But… will I see you again?”

“Dean,” Cas said sadly, but with his trademarked firmness, “You are going to paradise. And if for some reason, a completely incorrect and insane reason, you don’t? I dragged your soul out of the flames once, I will do it again. I would do it as many times as I needed to.”

Dean shook his head slightly, “Not fair.”

“It’s not about fair. It’s about the truth. Whether you believe it or not, ET goes home.”

Dean chuckled weakly. He was tired. He didn’t want to let go. He wanted to let go so badly.

He felt the bed move as Cas climbed under the covers with him. The angel curled around him, enveloping him. Dean could swear he felt the brush of feathers cradling him and pulling him closer, but he couldn’t muster the ability to reach for them, stroke them like he used to. “Sleep, Dean. I’ll be here when you wake up. Wherever, whenever here is. That’s where I’ll be. Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.”

“Swear?”

Castiel kissed his forehead. “I swear.”

  Dean opened his eyes.

The phrase, “I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore” popped into his head, but he suspected, greatly, that he was, in fact, in Kansas. The blowing fields of wheat tipped him off to that.

No, wait. That wasn’t a field, it was a… sandy beach. It looked kind of like that beach he and Cas had stumbled upon driving down the Pacific Coast Highway, what was it called? The one where they’d had to hike down from the lookout point? The one where after they’d trudged back up the trail, they’d sat in the car and looked out over the sea as the sun set? The one where Castiel had smiled at him and the light glinted in his blue eyes and Dean had kissed Cas for the first time ever because he just couldn’t stop himself?

Muir Beach, Dean remembered, blushing at the memory. 

But just as soon as he’d reached the end of that thought, it wasn’t the ocean anymore. It was a lake. On the lake was a pier. He’d seen that pier before, couldn’t remember exactly where though.

Then without warning, but without alarm, Dean saw someone standing on the end of the dock. A young man with light brown hair and a sweet smile Dean would recognize anywhere.

Jack waved, walking up casually, “Hey, Dean.”

Dean grinned and pulled him into a solid hug. “Jack. I missed you buddy, how have you been? Where, uh… are we in…”

Jack chucked, “I think you know where we are.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know know, this could… I could be dreaming or some shit, and I guess even in a dream you could say whatever I wanted you to say, so-”

“Dean,” Jack stopped him, “This is heaven. You are in heaven.”

A relieved but small smile spread over Dean’s face. “Cool…” 

“I’m not usually here to meet people who pass on, but we weren’t going to miss your arrival.”

“We?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean turned around. There was Cas, beaming at him.

“Cas…” Dean reached to embrace him too, only now noticing that the hands that reached out were not as wrinkled as they’d been when he last saw them. He hugged Cas tightly, relieved more than he wanted to admit. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” Cas’s hand went to Dean’s cheek, holding him in a kiss. They separated, foreheads resting against each other. Cas’s eyes twinkled, “We had an appointment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean took a step back, seeing Jack grinning out of the corner of his eye. “Is, uh… is anyone else coming? Or is this the welcoming party?”

“They’re all waiting for you,” Cas put his hand down, and as he did, it was stopped mid-air, as if resting on something solid. Dean blinked, and there was Baby, new as the day she was made, parked on a long, long road that stretched far out of sight. “Any time you’re ready,” Cas tossed something in Dean’s direction, “we can go.”

Dean caught the keys on instinct, they jingled on the simple ring. 

Any time you’re ready, we can go.

He twirled them around the end of his finger a couple times, a thought itching at his brain. Or a couple dozen thoughts.

Cas gave him a look, then turned to Jack, “Could you give us a moment?”

“Yeah, I’ll go get everything ready,” Jack blipped out. 

“Get what ready?” Dean asked.

“Dean,” he turned around to face Cas whose brows were knit in worry, bright blue eyes narrowed, “Are you okay?” Dean realized he hadn’t seen Cas clearly for a few years, not since before the cataracts. He’d never gotten completely used to that piercing gaze. 

Dean blinked. “Yeah, I… I just… I’m here. Really here.”

“Yes, Dean.”

“And… you’re here.”

Cas gave him that look like he was being patient on purpose, “Yes, Dean.”

“And… fuck,” Dean stood at sudden attention, “I left Sam down there, is he okay?”

Catching Dean's hands in his own, Cas rubbed comforting circles into Dean's skin. "Sam is fine. He was there when you left. That's why I was a little late, Eileen had only just gotten home and I didn't want to leave before she could be there beside him.

"Okay," Dean took a deep breath, concentrating on the physical contact, grounding himself in Cas’s movements, "Okay. I mean I know he's gonna be fine, he was always fine without me," Dean said, almost to himself.

"And you'll see him soon."

The abrupt return of Dean’s panicked look made Cas smile a little, shake his head, "Not that soon, Dean. Don't worry." 

"Right. Of course, yeah,” Dean looked around, down the road, the back to his car, out past the waving grain that had returned inexplicably. “Well,” Dean flashed what he thought was a very convincing smile, letting Cas’s hands go as he tossed the keys once and caught them, heading towards the car, “Time to hit the road, huh?”

"Wait,” the suspicious squint was back as Cas caught Dean’s arm, “Something else is bothering you."

Dean turned around, and the ocean was back. The ocean he’d taken a trip to see, had selfishly insisted Cas come along for the ride for.

He sighed. "I just…” Dean ran a hand through his hair, “I don't know, I guess it just don't sit right that I’m… I'm gonna see Mom and Bobby and Jo and Charlie and… everyone. How am I going to look them in the face and not feel guilty that I got decades that they’ll never have? And what did I do with that time, sit on my ass? Judge local car shows? Go to freaking baseball games?"

Cas nodded slowly, simply listening. He then hopped up and sat on the hood of the Impala, shoes and all. Dean shot him an offended look.

“She’s a memory of a car, Dean,” Cas rolled his eyes, “She isn’t going to dent.” He patted the spot next to him.

Dean hesitated, but under Cas’s stare, relented. When he was settled, Castiel laced their fingers together.

“I’ve been trying to convince you for all the time I’ve known you that you’re worthy. That you deserved to be saved. That you deserved to rest.” Cas looked down at their entwined hands, “I don’t think I ever really succeeded.”

“Sorry,” Dean muttered.

“You don’t have to apologize. I know you’ve been doing a thankless job ever since you carried Sam out of your burning home. Shit, even before that,” Dean cocked his head, Cas hardly ever cursed, “you were always trying to be the hero for your mother. Some people are at fault for that,” Cas’s eyebrows furrowed briefly, “but it’s human nature to be hard on ourselves and praiseworthy of others. You, in your limited experience, could not possibly know all of the things that you’ve done that have made a difference. But we’re-”

Jack suddenly blipped into existence, giving Castiel two big thumbs up, then blipped out again.

Dean turned, looking from the space Jack had stood back to Cas then back again, “What-”

Cas shook his head with a smile, “I could never tell you exactly what you’ve meant to the world. But we had a, uh, few volunteers that wanted to show you.”

“Cas, could you quit monologuing for a second and-”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw movement. The endless sea became endless plains which became endless trees, the landscape changing at a rapid rate.

Dean looked back to Cas in confusion, but he didn’t look alarmed. He gave Dean a timid smile, kissed him behind his ear, and whispered, “Just watch.”

Dean watched. For a moment, the scenery couldn’t seem to decide what it wanted to be. Then, it decided not to decide. Grains of sand took the form of towering trees, a picnic table, a bench. Green lake water formed the shape of a small boy, hunched over and scribbling on the table. Lastly the wheat twirled and spun and became an all-too-familiar-looking young man wearing a jacket too big for his frame, walking over to the bench and sitting down across from the kid.

Lucas. The name came to Dean from deep in his memory, he was that quiet kid who drew Dean pictures of the ghost in the lake. The grain animated Dean’s smile as he talked, the figure of Lucas showed Dean his sketches. Their forms dissolved as the scene changed and Dean's form was pulling Lucas out of the water, the sheriff having paid his due.

The figure of Dean left, but Lucas stayed and was joined by his mother, Dean remembered her too. They embraced, and the figure of Lucas grew, changed into a young man, a husband, a father. Soon a half dozen figures were standing there, waving to Dean, and then they disappeared, melting back into water. Lucas was the last to go as he was the first to arrive. He signed a phrase to Dean, and Dean knew the words: Thank you, Dean Winchester.

Then the sand reformed into a schoolgirl, the shapes in the green water plaguing her with images of mirrors and Bloody Marys until Dean stepped in front of her, holding a mirror of grain in front of the cruel, refracted specter. It dissolved, and Dean’s form bade goodbye, but the girl remained. She grew too just like the boy did, becoming a professor, graduating with honors, writing dozens of books, and changing dozens of lives. She smiled, and waved, and dissolved as well.

The shapeshifters appeared next, the sand in the form of Sam’s friend Zach, his sister Becky, and even Dean’s false shifter form, but the true form in the too-large jacket blew them all away, leaving Becky waving goodbye. She too welcomed a family that appeared by her side, and they all looked so happy and grateful to have each other.

Again and again the scenes changed. Green waters showed the cities he had passed through, the homes that were kept from destruction, entire communities that were healed. The water formed and reformed into smiling faces and waving hands. Some of the people, Dean had known on Earth. Many of the places, Dean had remembered driving through. Most of the people and places, however, were foreign to Dean. He lost count of the number of strangers who appeared, the cities he’d never been to. He struggled to keep track as they cycled faster and faster, as numerous as the grains of sand and droplets of water they were made of. It seemed that a whole generation of people, all over the world, would-be victims of an apocalypse they never even knew was happening, knew him. Through words and cheers and song, they retold the tales of Dean and Sam Winchester, the tales they had only learned once they had passed on. 

Throughout all of this, Cas pressed his shoulder to Dean’s, his presence grounding but not distracting. Dean’s grip on Cas’s hand grew tighter and tighter. Cas did not let go. 

Eventually, the images and figures departed. The sand blew away, the waters swirled and dispersed, and the landscape made its final decision. Only a simple field of golden wheat remained, waving and rippling in the wind.

Only in that newfound silence did Dean notice he was crying. He shook his head, wiping the tears away furiously.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, and Dean turned to face him, vision blurred, Cas looking at him pleadingly. “You sacrificed so much for so many for so long. You don’t have to be strong right now. You don’t have to be strong ever again if you don’t want to. You have done enough.”

Castiel wiped an errant tear from Dean’s cheek, holding his face between his hands firmly, tenderly.

“You are, and always were, enough. Your job is done. Let. Go.”

Dean did.

Cas silently pulled Dean into his shoulder as he sobbed. Dean didn’t even know why he was crying, didn’t know what for. Maybe he was happy. Maybe he was grieving. Maybe he just felt… relief. He wasn’t sure the last time he felt such relief. He wasn’t sure he ever had truly felt it.

After some time, longer than he’d like to admit, Dean sniffed, wiped one hand over his face, and raised his head. Cas was waiting for him, looking at him with care. With love.

“I, uh… I don’t gotta sign any autographs, do I?”

Cas smiled, and pulled Dean in for a kiss. They stayed like that for a bit on the hood of the car, feeling the breeze, breathing in the fresh air. Dean thought he could hear music coming from somewhere, realizing that it was the car’s radio playing softly from the cab. He knew that any time he wanted, he could hop down from the hood of his car, slide into the driver’s seat with the love of his life on the passenger’s side, and carry on his wayward way. Down the road, through the endless fields, towards the ones he had loved and lost. But not yet, not quite yet, because he had time. Maybe in the end, time was all he had ever really wanted, even if he could never allow himself to ask for it. 

Infinity stretched out in front of him like the fields of grain. It wasn’t an exciting infinity, but it was his. It was a long road, a family that waited for him, a shoulder to lean on. It was, at long last, a place to lay his weary head to rest.

[maatryoshkaa]

merry christmas, kiss my a** | lee minho [teaser]

✒︎ in which both you and minho get dumped by your partners on christmas eve, run into each other on christmas day, and begin to find yourselves grudgingly confronting all the reasons that made you enemies in the first place.

ryu says: i can explain the title—i wrote out the plot while listening to “merry christmas, kiss my ass” by all time low 🤡

genre: enemies to lovers, college!au, holiday!au, fluff, drama, romcom, all that good stuff--and a pinch of angst if you move your bang to read it again. 

tags/warnings: fratboy!minho is your typical playboy asshole, perfect student!reader is all business and no-nonsense, mild profanity, mentions of drugs/marijuana/alcohol and addiction, unsafe frat parties (never let go of your drinks, guys), slightly (?) suggestive, but more chaotic than anything, some unhealthy relationships, reader and minho have bad blood, a long history paved with misunderstandings, and lots of unpacking to do.

length of excerpt: 1.6k

With the remnants of a ruthless migraine still wrenching your skull, you pried your eyes open. A weak groan left your dry lips, muffled by a mouthful of fabric. As you came to—brain feeling like jelly sloshing around in your head—you realised you were lying nearly face-down on a queen-sized bed, white comforters tangled around your very sore body. Bright sunlight was filtering in from a window somewhere, and you vaguely registered a green velvet couch sitting in the corner. Frowning, you tried to roll onto your side—and came face-to-face with the yellow eyes of a ginger cat.

You didn’t own a cat. Or a green couch, for that matter. Blinking in confused unison with the feline, you looked around the room—just as the bathroom door swung open, and a very naked Minho stepped out from the wisps of steam.

You screamed, scrambling back on the bed, and grabbed for the first solid object your hands could find—a rusted candelabra on the nightstand. Brandishing it at Minho in horror, you stammered, “Did I—did you—did we—”

Minho looked just as bewildered as you, one hand shooting up as if in surrender. With a yowl, the ginger cat leapt onto the green couch, but neither of you spared it a glance. Minho’s other hand, you realised, was gripping the towel wrapped around his waist as if his life depended on it. Okay, so he wasn’t naked—thank heavens—but that did nothing to stop the sour panic steadily rising in your throat. His gesture sent a vague memory rippling through your muddled mind. That’s right. Last night—the Christmas party at Changbin’s fraternity. You had bumped into Minho, just your rotten luck—the boy you’d despised since high school, and under the mistletoe, to boot. Your mind flashed back to how you’d furiously chugged the drink a frat boy had handed you to fill in the awkwardness, and had desperately tried to eject yourself from the conversation.

Then police sirens had sounded throughout the frat house, students scrambling like cockroaches and hurriedly hiding their marijuana—and that was the last thing you remembered before you had blacked out entirely.

You turned back towards Minho, one hand clamped over your eyes and the other around the candelabra. Two more cats had slinked out from under the bed—a tabby, and another ginger—and were joining the first one in watching the commotion. You put two and two together, voice growing shrill. “Did you—drug my drink, Lee Minho?”

He sputtered, and you could almost imagine his eyes bugging out. “Did I—” he raked a hand through his wet hair, composing himself. “I thought you took something—you were out cold the second you finished your drink.”

Fragments of the night before were slowly returning to you, and with increasing dread you recalled the solo cup you had taken without looking twice, the frat boy who had winked at you with a greasy smile.

“I think you got roofied, princess,” came Minho’s voice, surprisingly gentle.

“Don’t call me princess,” you snapped back automatically, but grudgingly lowered the candelabra. Cautious, you peered through your fingers, and immediately regretted it when you were met with Minho’s shit-eating smirk agaain.

“Not gonna lie, it took me by surprise. Since when did you become a party girl, showing up to Changbin’s parties?” He reached back into the bathroom, ruffling his damp hair with a smaller towel. “Here I was, thinking you’ve changed.”

“Yeah, well, you clearly haven’t,” you shot back coldly, counting off your fingers with a biting laugh. “Treating people like your personal toys or stepping stones. Messing around with multiple girls a night. Drinking like there’s no tomorrow.” 

If your words stung Minho, he certainly didn’t show it—only raising his eyebrows in that way that had infuriated you for as long as you’d known. The typical Lee Minho look of nonchalant contempt, spiked with a shot of amusement to give the impression that he didn’t give a single damn. You hadn’t run into him since—well, since that incident back in high school, and the memories his mere expressions could still rouse made your skin crawl.

Minho watched you curiously—sheets still wrapped around you like makeshift battle armour, your hand wielding the candelabra he’d thrifted from a garage sale, Rapunzel-style—and he had to fight the genuine smile tugging at his sneer. His chest felt...funny, fluttery, even, and not in the gut-wrenching, hangover way he had grown so used to. He almost wished it was, because this new feeling made it seem as though the ground had suddenly been ripped out from under his feet, and that terrified him.

The party. Some snitch had called the cops on them, and that had promptly shut the party down. The flood of panicked students evacuating had shoved Minho flush against the wall, and you flush against his chest. When he hadn’t felt you shoving him away immediately, Minho had almost felt his heart swell with a strange, terrifying shred of hope—until, upon closer look, he had noticed that your entire body had gone limp, glass empty and eyes fluttering shut. 

Panicking, Minho had carried you out of the house, clawing out of the sea of elbows and overheated limbs until he had reached the main road. Mind racing, he had fished his phone from his pocket and called the only mutual acquaintance the two of you had—your boyfriend.

But when Minho had explained what had happened—hey, uh, your girlfriend’s out cold at Changbin’s party, so you might want to come pick her up—Taehyun had scoffed, a harsh bark of laughter that had made Minho’s ears hurt. 

“Yeah? The hell’s it to me? That bitch’s your problem now.”

Before Minho could choke out a surprised reply, Taehyun had hung up. 

Trouble in paradise? He had thought to himself amusedly, before remembering his own situation. Then, the fact that he had no idea where you lived, and he couldn’t very well leave you, unconscious, out on the street. In the end, he had brought you to his last resort—his apartment. 

Carefully stepping over the trail of shattered ornaments his ex-girlfriend had left behind during their fight, Minho had lowered you onto the couch—then, with a second thought and a deep sigh, he’d lifted you onto the bed, tucking the white comforter over your slack body. Sipping a hangover concoction, he’d stood over your sleeping figure contemplatively, a mix of bemusement and worry churning in his gut, before deciding he was probably being mildly creepy and collapsing for the night on the velvet couch. 

“Look,” Minho began, shaking his head as though clearing his thoughts and turning his attention back on you, “I know what you’re probably thinking, but I—we—didn’t—do anything. You were out cold last night.”

Hands shaking, you peeled back the covers—and the smallest sigh of relief left your tightened chest when you saw that you were still wearing the same jeans and top as last night—albeit creased, stained, and reeking of marijuana and booze, but completely intact. The next moment, though, a wave of anxiety washed over you and you clutched the sheets closer, fingers trembling. Someone had still slipped something into your drink at that party. And if the party hadn’t come to a screeching halt—no, you realised, with an inward groan of frustration, if your sworn enemy hadn’t been there, there was no telling how much worse things could have gone. 

The thought made you shudder, panicked tears pricking at your sore eyes. Damn it ll. Here you were, sitting in Lee Minho’s bed, of all people—about to cry in front of him while he watched. Your humiliation—a belated Christmas present for him, no doubt. 

But when you glanced at his face, you were startled at the expression on his face. It was unfamiliar—not exactly condescending, or vicious, or even mildly smug. His lips—rosy from the hot shower—were pressed together slightly, eyebrows almost knitting together in a frown. 

Maybe he was holding back laughter?

Minho’s eyes had caught the way your lips had begun to tremble as you curled in on yourself, and had instinctively moved forward before freezing. What could he do? Give you a hug? He was sure he would end up with a candlestick in his eye if he tried. Comfort you? The words seemed to dissolve to sand on his tongue. He cursed himself silently. Words and actions came so easily with all the other girls—endless sweet talk and flirting, until he had them wrapped around his finger. With you—even after all these years—he was left frozen, mind blank, and only that damned feeling in his chest.

“She’s not yours,” came Changbin’s voice from the previous night, ringing in his ears.

“I know,” he had replied. But why did acknowledging it feel like ripping a Band-Aid off of a nearly-healed wound? Like he had reopened the scar, along with all its pain once again? 

Maybe it was because after all these years, Minho still clung onto the hope that you would hear him out, just once.

Gesturing helplessly, he found himself offering the only sort of comfort he seemed to know how to. “Do you want—uh...some wine? The fridge’s empty, and maybe it’ll calm your nerves a bit.” He tilted his head when you didn’t reply, trying to get a glimpse of your face. “Do we need wine?”

Forgetting momentarily that he was nearly naked, you lifted a withering, exasperated gaze at him, getting an eyeful of his bare chest before yelping and burying your face in the covers again. “No. You know what—I need wine—you need to put some damn pants on.”

You could hear his devilish grin return to his voice then, even through the covers. “But life is so freeing without them.”

“Pants. On. Now.”

to be continued

[nerdzzone]

Only For A Moment: August

Summary: A series of shorter one shots from Chris and Whitney’s life together throughout the pandemic. Some happy times, some harder times, some fluff and some things a little more sexy - they work through it all as they try to get settled in their new and blossoming relationship.

Chris Evans x OFC

Part of the Once Bitten/More Hearts series

Only For A Moment: July

Note: I’ve had a super busy day, but I wanted to get this posted so I edited it really quickly. Please forgive me if there’s any little mistakes!

Thank you to everyone who has liked, reblogged and commented! Hearing your thoughts really makes my day!

-----

August 2020

I think you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who actually enjoys moving - especially if that move involves a three year old who feels the need to be very involved in the packing, but is also incredibly easily distracted. And even more so when that child's father is almost just as distractible and, despite his insistence that he'd stay focused, does more to hinder the whole operation than help.

That was the situation that I found myself in at the end of the first summer of the pandemic because we were moving in with Chris.

While I was hesitant at first, it made the most sense and neither Grayson nor I were particularly eager to return to our tiny little apartment. I still felt that it was pretty early in our relationship for us to be living together, but we'd survived so far and moving back seemed like it would do more harm than good. Grayson had settled in nicely at Chris' house and another big change - like making him go back to having two homes - seemed like it would be very disruptive.

But moving came with it's own challenges.

After our conversation a few months earlier, Chris had told all of his most trusted friends about our change in relationship status. That came in handy as a few of his buddies - who had trucks - had volunteered to help us move things the last weekend of August, but packing had me feeling overwhelmed. I'd managed to give most of the furniture away - between our friends and Chris' family - but we still had way too much stuff.

It was on that Saturday morning that I found myself sitting in the middle of Grayson's old bedroom almost in tears. I'd packed up his mountain of toys the night before only to find Chris and Grayson unpacking several boxes the next morning while I was trying to finish up in the living room. Apparently, Grayson had wanted a certain toy that I'd already packed and instead of telling him to wait because he had several other things to play with that weren't boxed up, Chris helped him look for it.

He was trying to be helpful, thinking that repacking a few things would be easier to deal with than a meltdown from Grayson, but it had been a long, tiring week as I tried to get everything organized and their actions almost pushed me to my breaking point. I scolded them both and banished them to the little playground just outside the building while I set to work cleaning up their mess.

Almost twenty minutes later, I heard a knock on the front door as it creaked open. I poked my head out of the room I was in - ready to send the boys straight back outside - only to see Chris' oldest and closest friend, Tara. She was masked up for safety and knowing how sweet and helpful she was, she was a refreshing sight. I'd met her several times, mostly when Grayson was a baby and I lived with Chris, and she'd been a calming and encouraging presence back then so I was definitely relieved to see her during another time of high stress.

"Hey," I smiled. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought supplies," she informed me, holding up a tray of iced coffees. "Chris called and said that he thought you could use some help."

"You're a lifesaver," I groaned with pleasure as she put down the tray and handed me one of the drinks. "I need this, thank you so much."

"You're welcome," she returned my smile. "How's the packing going?"

"Not bad now that the boys are outside," I laughed. "It's pretty much all done, I think. You never realize how much junk you have until you have to pack it all up."

"Oh my god, I know. We moved last year and it felt like the piles of things we had to take was never ending."

"It's crazy," I agreed. "Especially with all Gray's stuff. I thought we did a good job of not spoiling him, but he has an insane amount of toys."

"I can imagine," she cringed. "But I have no plans all day so just tell me what you need help with and I'm all yours."

I thought for a moment as I sipped the coffee she'd brought me until I had an idea.

"Actually..." I started, feeling a bit sheepish. "Would you be willing to take Grayson for a bit? I know it's a big ask, especially while he's so excited, so feel free to say no."

"Are you kidding? I'd love to take him!"

I let out a breath of relief as I felt my body relax.

"Thank you so much. I really need Chris to help me carry these boxes and he's been so preoccupied with Grayson that he's been no use at all," I explained. "It's a big change and he's worried about him being freaked out by it all, which I totally get, but I need him to focus a bit too."

Tara laughed and shook her head.

"I get it, don't worry. I know what he can be like," she assured me. "I'll go down and get Gray now and send Chris up here."

"Thank you. You're the best, Tara."

She waved off my gratitude and insisted it was no problem before leaving me to turn my attention back to what I'd been doing before she arrived.

-

Once Grayson was in the safe care of Tara, Chris was much more useful. We were packing things with impressive speed and when it was almost time for his friends to show up with their trucks, we started moving things down to the lobby of the building to make the loading process quicker.

I was a tad nervous about the whole situation as I hadn't spent much time with most of Chris' friends and I didn't really know what they thought of me. I hoped they'd be understanding of our situation and give me a chance, but if he really had been pining away for me all these years - thinking that I didn't want to be with him - I worried that they'd think I was selfish and heartless.

Those worries, combined with my stress about getting everything organized, had me still feeling rather on edge. It didn't help that the creepy maintenance man that I'd warned Chris about was watching us like a hawk. I could feel his eyes on me every time I stepped foot in the lobby and the sensation made my skin crawl. I just wanted to get it all done and over with as fast as possible so we could get away from him, but Chris had clearly noticed him too and I could feel his annoyance rising as well.

He held it together until our last trip down when our spectator really crossed a line. I was bending over to place some boxes on the ground when I could have sworn I heard a groan of pleasure from behind me. I snapped back up to standing and looked over my shoulder to see the man with a smirk on his face and his eyes fixed on me. It made my stomach churn, but Chris was immediately by my side, his arm sliding around my waist. Before I could even question what he was doing, he pulled down his mask and then my own, cupped my jaw with his hand and pulled me in for a kiss.

It was a rather passionate embrace and I was surprised as he usually wasn't one for public displays of affection. Then it hit me why he was doing it and I felt a flash of annoyance run through me as he pulled away. There was a smirk on his face as he rested his forehead against mine, but all I could muster was a frown.

"Do you think he got the hint?"

I scoffed at his question.

"I think he got enough pictures to pay his bills for the next few months," I huffed, keeping my voice low so we wouldn't be overheard. "Are you done marking your territory now?"

Chris looked taken aback by my harsh tone and I sighed as I slipped out of his grasp and headed to the door. I wanted to see if his friends had arrived yet and get away from the creep, but Chris followed and wasn't prepared to let our conversation drop.

"What, so I'm not allowed to kiss you in public in case someone sees?" He asked once we got outside, his own annoyance coming through. "I thought you didn't care if people found out about us?"

I stopped walking and spun around to face him.

"I don't care," I snapped. "But I'd rather not give some pervert the chance to profit off of us just to save your wounded pride."

Even with his mask pulled back up, I could see Chris' jaw clench with frustration.

"He was being disrespectful. I was standing right there and he moans while staring at your ass? C'mon, he's a fuckin' asshole."

Another flare of anger washed over me as I fought to keep myself calm enough to explain to him why what he'd just said was almost as frustrating as the actions of the man who'd been ogling me.

"He was being disrespectful," I agreed, my voice steady despite my rising temper. "But to me, not to you! It doesn't matter if I have a boyfriend or not, he shouldn't behave like that towards any woman! I don't deserve to be respected because of you, I deserve to be respected because I'm a human being who has a right to feel safe in their own apartment building."

Chris' shoulders dropped as he took in my words and visibly calmed down, but I was still feeling wound up.

"Shit, Winnie, you're right," he relented. "I don't want anyone to treat you like that ever, not just because you're my girlfriend. It just pissed me off that he had the balls to do that even in front of me."

"So kissing me like that to send him a message was the best solution you could think of? Like, 'don't touch this one, she's mine'. It made me feel gross. I don't need you claiming me in public to scare off creeps, thanks."

"I didn't mean it like that," Chris insisted, looking slightly wounded by my scolding. "I'm sorry, I was being an idiot."

"Okay," I shrugged, somewhat blowing off his apology. "We should go to the parking lot. Your friends might be here."

"Are we good, Win?" He asked, clearly not as eager to let the subject drop. "I want to make this right if you're upset..."

"I'm fine," I sighed, knowing that was only half true. It was only half his fault though, the stress of the day overall was more to blame and, at that point, I just wanted it to be over so I could have a nice big glass of wine. "Let's just go see where your friends are."

He didn't argue as I walked off and when we turned the corner into the parking lot, his friends were all there lined up in the visitor's spots. I forced a smile despite the fact that it was hidden by my mask and waved as we walked over.

"Hey!" I greeted them. "Thanks so much for doing this. We really appreciate it."

"Ah, no worries!" Jon assured me. "But, are you really sure you want to move in with this guy?"

"Yeah, we were just talking," Zach continued. "And it feels a bit Stockholm syndrome-y. He confines you to a house and suddenly you fall in love? Seems a bit suspicious."

"Wow, guys, glad you're on my side," Chris laughed. "I wouldn't have asked you to help out if I knew you'd try and change her mind!"

"We just want to make sure we're not committing any crimes here," Luke insisted. "I don't want to be an accomplice to anything and we're all scratching our heads about what she could see in you."

Chris shook his head at their teasing and I tried to push our earlier discussion from my mind as I giggled and slid my hand into his. I felt him tense up in surprise at the gesture, but he relaxed as I squeezed it and leaned against his arm.

"There's no Stockholm syndrome here," I assured them. "It just took a pandemic and the constant threat of impending doom for me to come to my senses. I'm just lucky Chris was silly enough to wait for me."

Chris chuckled and leaned over to place a kiss on the top of my head as his friends rolled their eyes.

We quickly went over the game plan for the day once the initial greeting was over and as soon as his friends turned to head towards the building, I dropped my hand from Chris'. I knew I was being petty and sulky and from the sigh that fell from Chris' lips, he did too, but I couldn't help it - I needed some space to work through my cranky mood on my own. Luckily, Chris seemed to figure that out pretty fast and left me to my brooding as we followed his friends and got to work.

-

It didn't take us as long as I expected to load all the boxes into the trucks, but that was probably the benefit to having a team of strong men helping you move. Once it was all unloaded into the spare bedroom at Chris' place where I had been sleeping at the start of the pandemic, Chris broke out a few beers for his friends and fired up the grill while we waited for Tara and Gray to arrive. It was a beautiful, warm evening and perfect for an impromptu barbecue to thank all Chris' friends and it was a great opportunity for me to bond a bit more with some of the most important people in Chris' life.

Grayson knew them all better than I did, but we had some concerns that the lack of socialization would make him nervous around the now somewhat unfamiliar faces. But he put those worries to bed almost as soon as he arrived as he was the life of the party. He was thrilled to see the three men who were sitting in the lawn chairs dotted around our yard - in an effort to keep everyone somewhat distant from each other - and the cheer they let out as soon as they saw him made me think they were just as excited. They seemed to really adore him and he thrived on the attention. It warmed my heart to see the genuine care they all had for Grayson - it was wonderful to know he had so many people in his corner - and I was relieved when that care was extended to me.

Any doubts that I'd had about them accepting me were quickly pushed from my mind as they seemed to be just as eager to get to know me as I was to get to know them. They were all lovely, kind people and I wondered why I ever expected anything else from the people in Chris' inner circle.

They left as soon as Grayson's bedtime rolled around - partially because we were all tired from our long day of moving boxes and partially because we all knew there was no way that Gray was going to agree to go to bed while the party was still going. Once they were gone, he demanded Chris tuck him in so I tidied up in the kitchen while he handled bedtime.

As soon as I'd finished putting the last few dishes in the dishwasher, I felt his arms around my waist.

"Hey," he whispered in my ear, his chin resting on my shoulder. "Thanks for cleaning up."

"You don't need to thank me," I smiled, turning in his arms so we were face to face. "It's my house to keep clean too now, even if that's still weird to think about."

"Weird in a good way?"

"Definitely," I nodded. "It's felt like home here for a while now. It would have been awful to go back to that little apartment."

"It would have been weird for me too," Chris agreed. "I can't imagine being in this big house without you guys anymore."

"You'd have to move all your friends in," I teased, using it as a segue. "Who, by the way, are all very nice."

"Yeah?" Chris grinned. "You think so?"

"I do. I was a bit nervous about it," I admitted. "In case they resented me for how our relationship unfolded, but they're great."

"They never resented you at all," Chris chuckled. "Pretty much everyone who knows about our first night together was on your side about that and they've been pushing me to make a move ever since."

"Well, that's good to know."

Chris nodded and continued.

"They all really like you. Jon gave me clear instructions to not fuck it up."

I laughed at that, but felt a wave of relief.

"I appreciate their support."

"Well, you definitely have it."

Chris leaned down to press his lips against mine and I melted into his body, feeling the exhaustion from the stress of the day start to hit me. We stayed like that, just holding each other for a few minutes until Chris broke the silence around us.

"Can we talk about earlier?"

My stomach churned with embarrassment at the memory, but I nodded.

"Of course, we can. I'll start by saying that I'm sorry."

Chris leaned back slightly, just enough to look down at me with his confusion written all over his face.

"You're sorry? Why are you sorry?" He asked. "I brought it up so that I could apologize to you."

"You don't need to," I assured him. "I get why you did what you did. I just don't deal with stress very well and the whole day was overwhelming me. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

"You don't deal with stress very well? I never would have known!" His words were laced with sarcasm as he smiled down at me and I laughed, gently smacking his chest in protest. "But seriously, I deserved a good scolding. You were absolutely right with what you said, I shouldn't have handled the situation like that."

"I appreciate that you can see where I was coming from," I sighed. "But there is no perfect way to handle a situation like that, really. It's best just to ignore it, but then it feels like you're letting the gross guy win."

"Well, if we're ever in a situation like that again, I'll follow your lead," he insisted. "But I can't say that I'll just ignore it. I might just punch the guy out for being a creep."

I laughed again before shaking my head.

"And then whoever is watching will have a different kind of picture to sell to the trashy magazines."

Chris cringed at that comment.

"I'm sorry. Do you really think he took pictures?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "But if he recognized you then I'd be surprised if he didn't."

Chris nodded, clearly getting lost in thought for a moment before he spoke again.

"And you really don't care if proof gets out that we're together?"

"I don't," I insisted. "I don't like the idea of some pervert making money off of us, but I don't care if people know we're together. It might be good for people to get used to the idea now, when we're hiding at home all the time anyway. By the time we can go outside again, no one will care enough to take pictures of us."

"That might be wishful thinking," Chris smiled. "But I'll do my best to keep you out of the spotlight."

I matched his smile and stretched up to place a kiss on his lips.

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

As I predicted, the creepy maintenance man did take pictures of us and he did sell them to some trashy magazine. The internet was horrified, the hearts of fangirls all over the world were broken and I was called every cruel name under the sun. There were rumours that I trapped him with another baby and rumours that I was a gold digger - just using Chris for his money so I didn't have to work during the pandemic. The general reception to the forced confirmation of our relationship was pretty abysmal, but nothing worse than we expected and at the end of the day we didn't care.

All the people who truly cared about us were happy for us and that was the most important thing.

-

September

Tags: @maggotzombie @moonlacebeam @mizzzpink @zaylaugh @flowery-mess @flowerjewels @njrronaldo7 @hockeychick10 @partypoison00 @theladybiers @sidepieces @firoozehmoon @patzammit @sparkledfirecracker @mytbel0st @chvntelle-99

[navegandoaciegas]

no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: catholic priest!Bucky, virgin!Bucky, desecrating thoughts and actions, explicit language, smut, consensual sexual acts, mentions of loss of virginity, slight innocence and religious kinks (nothing disturbing), oral sex, fingering, masturbation, sex in a public (and sacred) place.

Summary: As punishment for your sinful behavior, your parents send you to your aunt’s house in the middle of nowhere, in hope you’ll redeem yourself. The punishment quickly backfires when you take an interest in the local (and handsome) priest, and you manage to corrupt his pure soul.

A/N: I was in a priest!Bucky mood this morning and I wrote this for @saiyanprincessswanie​ writing challenge. I chose prompt 17 and the ‘opposites attract’ trope. I hope you like this!

Filth and happy ending ‘cause I’m a sap. Take me to church by Hozier inspired this.

This is not a dark story and both reader and Bucky are consenting adults. Fyi, catholic priests can’t marry, and they change their name when they are ordained. We’ll pretend James is the name he took as priest.

You look over your shoulder to check if anyone’s around and knock on the backdoor of the church, waiting for your lover to usher you inside. The sinful secrecy of it all, the rush of excitement, your love for all that’s forbidden: you’ve never felt more alive.

Being forced to spend the summer in the middle of nowhere is not the way you expected your senior year of college to end, but not all evil comes to harm, and in this quiet little town, you’ve become quite interested in the local priest. In your defence, boredom is the root of all evil, and in your case, evil happens to make you horny and prone to making bad decisions, and Father James is young and handsome, so it was only a matter of time before he gave in the temptation of the flesh and you found yourself fucked against the altar. 

Ordained or not, he’s only a man after all.

-

The confessional is dark and suffocating; behind the wooden screen, the priest is all ears.

Muscle memory kicks in when you do the sign of the cross and begin to speak. 

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” you recite the formula that’s been ingrained in your mind since you were old enough to need it, “My last confession was seven years ago.”

You mentally curse your parents for still having the authority to send you to Bumfuck Nowhere, Alabama, and your aunt for forcing you to attend church and confess your sins. 

It will be good for your soul, they said, New York is corrupting you.

You suppose it’s only fair that your good catholic parents would react so drastically; they wanted to surprise you in your new apartment and drove all the way from Rhode Island to New York, only to find your piano tutor buried balls deep inside of you. Lord knows what they’d do if they knew you’ve lost your purity long before that, with one of the good catholic girls in your private boarding school. Extramarital sex, with a woman at that! They’d probably have a meltdown, drag your to a cloistered convent and lock you there for life.   

You don’t wait for the priest to acknowledge you and start talking.

“You know Father, I found a handy dandy little list of all the sins you’re supposed to confess to and I checked them. I’ll read it to you. Let’s see.” you clear your throat, “So, I use artificial birth control, I broke a couple of promises, including the one to wait for marriage, I can be kind of blasphemous sometimes, but you see, I spent six months abroad in Italy last year and the kids there taught me all sorts of ways to disrespect the Lord, they have so many, and once those things get stuck in your brain... what can you do, they just stick in there, you don’t even want to say them but they become part of your vocabulary.” you continue uninterrupted, “Anyways, my parents caught me in the act with a man, so I guess we have ‘dishonoring family’ too. Underage drinking as a kid, a lot of that. Drugs sometimes, nothing major, ya know, I don’t do coke or nothing. Gossiping, impure thoughts, God-”

He interrupts you clearing his throat.

“Sorry. See? I don’t even do it on purpose. As I was saying, I love those. Lying... not a whole lot to be honest; to my parents, mostly. Haven’t prayed in a good 10 years. Masturbation, did I mention that? Watched porn a couple of times, ‘m not a big fan if I’m being honest, but to each their own. Oh, and premarital sex, a ton of that. Had an orgy once, not too fond of those either. Too many limbs.”

There’s a lot to unpack here, so you give him a moment to ponder his thoughts. He stays silent for a while, and when he speaks his voice is not at all what you expected it to be. He’s soft spoken yet commanding, and sounds surprisingly young.

“Anything else you can remember?”

“Well of course, the cherry on top, my own first class ticket to hell.” you say, not as cheerful as before, repeating the exact words you’ve been taught for years, “God gave me free will and I used it to commit homosexual acts, Father. Multiple times.” 

You let the words hang in the stuffy air of the confessional; you don’t know what to expect from the priest, to be honest. Last time you admitted to thinking of a girl to a religious figure, Sister Theresa told you you’d never have to act on your impulses, or you’d burn in hell for it. You were 12. 

“You think that’s worse than the rest?”

“Not me, no, I don’t.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What makes you do the things you do?” he asks, and you don’t feel any of the judgment you were expecting, only genuine curiosity.

“Aren’t you gonna ask me to repent for my sins?” you reply, equally as curious.

“Is absolution what you’re seeking?”

You snort, shaking your head. “I’m not looking for forgiveness, Father, and I’m way past asking for permission.”

“Then why are you here?”

“My aunt forced me.”

It’s his turn to snort this time. “You don’t seem the type to follow orders blindly.”

You admit the guy’s got a point. “I guess… I don’t know. I felt the need to. It feels nice, talking to someone. I feel lonely a lot, and it’s easier to talk to strangers. And this is cheaper than therapy, so that’s a bonus. Really, I just need to vent.”

“Do you regret any of your choices?” he says, after a while.

“Not the ones I confessed to.” you admit, trying to discern the priest’s figure behind the screen. 

“What is it, then?”

“You know, you’re kinda chill for a priest from Alabama, I gotta give it to you.” you respond, dodging his question.

“Thanks, it’s probably because I’m from Brooklyn.”

“What the hell-” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry. Why would someone move from Brooklyn to this place?”

“Vocation.”

“I see.” 

It’s silent again, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“You should come to the parish sometimes. We have meetings, we sing, we eat together, the children play football and the young adults talk about what it means to be a Catholic in the modern world. It may ease your mind about a lot of worries and misconceptions you might have.”

You contemplate on his words: it wouldn’t hurt, would it? It’s not like you’ve got a whole lot going on here; and you might as well find yourself a devoted man or woman to pass time. 

“I might.”, you finally respond, not willing to give him the satisfaction, and stand from the chair. “I’ll see you around, Father.”

“May God give you peace, miss.”

“Amen.”

-

“What took you so long?” James asks, grunting when you pull on his hair.

“My aunt asked me to make lunch for her husband, as if he couldn’t do it his damn self.” you respond, and suck on his bottom lip, “Missed me?”

“Always.”

You coo, “My eager boy.”

He’s sitting on his office chair and you’re straddling his lap, grinding your hips on him and feeling his arousal grow. You’re burning up, panties damp and a familiar coil in your core. You don’t know what excites you the most: being responsible for the corruption of such pure soul, the forbidden aspect of fucking a Catholic priest, or the possibility of someone walking in on you. Your walls flutter when you imagine the scandal that this affair would create.

You pull him closer, tugging on his white collar, and he breaks the kiss. His eyes are black and glossed over, lips swollen, cheeks red, but there’s something like worry in eyes.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly, in the soft voice you adore.

“Of course I do, you know that.”

You fall on your knees and fumble with the zipper of his black pants.

“Would you love me if I didn’t have this collar?” he stops your hands with his, “Would you still love me if I wasn’t this?”, he gestures to his sacred attire.

You pause your actions and search his eyes. Where is this coming from?

“Yes, I’d love you anyways, I’ll always love you.”

A small, shy smile breaks on his face. He lifts you up and makes you sit on his desk.

“I- I w-want to try something,” he begins with a stutter, “I remember hearing some kids back when I was in school talk about it.”

You cock your head to the side, observing carefully as he sits back down on the chair and parts your legs. He lowers his head and begins peppering the inner skin of your thighs with open mouthed kisses. Oh-.

“James, you don’t have to do this.” you try to tell him, but he’s already moving your panties to the side.

He stares entranced between your legs; he’s never been this bold, never watched you there. “You’re so pretty, I want to kiss you here.” 

You feel a finger tease your entrance and dip in. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, and when he licks a strip of your dripping cunt, you feel like you could burst. He delves in your glistening folds, tongue swirling around as if he was kissing your mouth, and your hips jerk forward when he crooks a couple of fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes the coil in your belly grow tighter. 

You throw your head back and your eyes fall on the cross behind you. You are very much past forgiveness at this point, you muse, and that makes this all the more exciting.

You’re writhing under his touch, completely at his mercy. You grab the back of his neck and bring his face upward so that his mouth comes in contact with your clit.

“Suck there.” you demand in a raspy voice, rocking your hips and fucking yourself on his fingers. “Good boy.” you praise when he closes his mouth around your bud and begins sucking and lapping on it. “Yes, oh my God, fuck, faster.”

James obeys and jerks the fingers inside of you, the vibration and his tongue enough to make the knot in your core unravel and pleasure release in jolts, shooting from your center to the rest of your body; you slap a hand on your mouth to suppress wanton moans as your hips twitch involuntarily and your toes curl. He rides you though your orgasm until you’re too sensitive to handle his face on you.

When you look down, you find him, face wet in your arousal, eyes half lidded.

“Did I do well?” he asks full of hope, still clinging to your legs and nuzzling your thigh.

“You did amazing, sweet boy.”

-

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.”

Hearing your sultry voice, he chokes on air behind the screen and clears his throat, trying to keep the same composure he always seems to loose when you’re around. 

“I got friendly with a man, you see, a man of church.” you begin in a teasing tone, “He kissed me, and I didn’t pull back. I let him roam his hands all over my body, Father, and then I corrupted him.”, You lick a couple of fingers and dip them in your mouth, then you release them with a popping sound and slowly slip them in your panties. You push a finger in your already wet core, smearing arousal around and teasing your clit, slow at first. “You should have seen how innocent he looked, Father. He said he’s never been touched like that. A virgin. I’ve never been with a virgin before.” you continue, almost moaning the last part as you slide three fingers in and out of you and tease your bud with your thumb, “He didn’t even know I could please him with my mouth, so I took him in and I sucked him off.” You’re panting, hand furiously circling your clit. You hear Bucky’s ragged breath behind the screen. “He moaned so loud, F-F-Father, he c-came so quick. And I swallowed it all, because you can’t let a single drop of seed g-go to w-waste, can you?” you whimper, feeling an orgasm build up.

You’re fueled by his suppressed grunts and the lewd sounds of him touching himself.

“I don’t come for absolution Father, because I’d do it all again.” you breathe at last, letting pleasure run through your every nerve, setting you ablaze. 

Behind the screen, Father James paints his hand and black shirt in white spurts, shame and pleasure fighting eachother in his mind.

-

You haven’t moved yet, legs parted, trying to catch your breath, and James is still clinging onto you.

You don’t know how it happened. 

It started with boredom, with a wish to fuck the pretty priest, but you’ve caught feelings now, and in three weeks you’ll have to get back to New York, where a job and a new apartment await you.

At least your aunt and your parents are happy about your redemption: you’ve been going to church everyday. They don’t need to know you’ve spent most time on your knees or on your back.  

But you don’t want to think about it now; you can’t let sadness take over and ruin these moments when James is only yours. Your love is on borrowed time, and you intend to make the most out of it.

“Do you want to fuck me, my love? You want me to come all over your pretty cock, yes? You want to fill me up with your cum?” you whisper in his ear, amused at the way he blushes.

“Please.” he whines, palming his cock through his briefs.

“Please what, sweet boy?”

“Please let me-” he interrupts himself.

“Let me what?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Can’t hear you.” you tease him, grabbing his chin and tilting his face up.

“Let me make love to you.”

You let out a chuckle and shake your head fondly. This man has had you bent over his desk, in the confessional, behind the altar, on the benches where the devoted Catholics of this town attend mass, and yet he can’t bring himself to talk crudely.

You pull on his hair so he stands, and you kiss him ravenously, letting your hands roam over his lean body, the taste of his lips permanently etched in the back of your mind. You don’t want to forget a thing, so you commit to mind each of his little noises, the way his tongue swirls around yours, the soft caresses of his hands.

Clothes discarded in a blur, the room is filled with your moan and his grunts. He pounds into you like a desperate man, clinging onto you with a bruising touch, holding you impossibly close as if you were about to slip through his fingers. And in a way, you are.

When James makes love to you the world disappears and there’s no judgement, no church. He’s not a priest, you’re not a sinner; he’s not pure, you’re not sick.

It’s just you and him, united in one body. Just a man and a woman being one in the flesh.

His thrusts become sloppier, his breathing labored. He brings a hand on your clit and presses on it. He comes inside of you, painting your walls, and the feeling of his swollen cock inside you and his cum filling you up are enough to trigger your release too, your walls clenching on him and milking every last drop.

You’re exhausted, panting in each other’s embrace. 

There’s no sin when you’re like this; you’re no longer the devil to his holy water. 

There’s only love.

-

James’ desk in his office is dark and wide, with mahogany panels on all three sides except the one he sits at. So when Ms. Lee, the adorable elderly lady that organizes the monthly fundraising events for charity, knocks on the door as you’re bouncing on James’ cock, all you have to do is crouch down and disappear under the table.

“Good evening, Father James.” She greets him cheerfully.

You hear the tapping of her heels until she plops down on the guests chair. 

“Good evening, Ms. Lee.” he responds in a strained voice, adjusting himself on the chair.

Ms. Lee speaks a lot. She’s talking James’ ear off, blabbering about the next charity event, and you think what better occasion than this one to be an indecent slut.

You slowly massage his thighs, bringing your hands from his knees to his groin, teasing him when you get close to his crotch and retracting. 

You watch as his cock swells in front of you, and you bite back a giggle. You hear him suck in a breath when you start pumping his length with both your hands.

“Are you alright, James? You’re looking a little worse for wear.” Ms. Lee asks him worriedly when she sees her priest red and sweaty.

James clears his throat and when he’s about to open his mouth, you lick a strip from base to his leaking tip, and the noise that escapes him is between a moan and a grunt.

“Y-yes, Ms. Lee, I’m fine. Just some food poisoning I think.” he manages to answer, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.  

“Poor thing.” she coos, and you take his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue around, sucking on the frail skin of under the tip, “Anyways-” she begins again.

James tries to keep his composure, but you sense his distress, and you imagine it must be written all over his face. One hand massages his balls, the other aids your movements as you bob your head up and down, careful not to make a noise. His legs twitch under the table when you push his cock all the way down to your throat, and he makes a strangled noise.

“Sweetie, are you sure you’re fine? You really don’t look like it.” Ms. Lee interjects again, interrupting her story.

“I’m fine ma’am, don’t worry about me.”, he says through gritted teeth, jaw clenched shut so hard he might break his teeth.

You give it all you’ve got until your jaw is aching and your knees are killing you. Your effort pays off when, with one last motion on your hands, James grunts and cums in your throat, hips jerking forward and legs shaking.

He comes so hard that you choke on his release.

“Did you hear it too?” she asks in alert.

“He-hear wh-what?” he stutters, pretending to cough to hide your noises.

“A choking sound?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that, just my cough.” he answers, red faced and spent.

“I guess…” she doesn’t sound convinced but lets it go anyways. She could never imagine her sweet priest is getting blown by a city whore under his desk, “I’ll get going then, but please get some rest Father, your holy duties can wait.”

They can indeed, you think, as James yanks you from underneath the table and bends you over the desk, fucking you until you’re crying.

-

“What makes you do the things you do?” he’s playing with your hair as he asks the question that’s been plaguing him for months, since that first time in the confessional.

You’re in a motel somewhere, two hours away from your town, laying on a bed like two lovers. In this room, you’re not a dirty little secret.

What excited you before, suffocates you now.

You thought you may only like the forbidden, but you find yourself at peace in his arms, that peace you’ve yearned for for 22 years, that peace you could never find, because people like you are born sick, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life.

“If I tell you, will you absolve me?” you ask, basking in his affection. 

James is so sweet, so caring. You wish this moment could last forever.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my love. I’ve sinned too much myself.”

“My bad.” you giggle.

Silence falls on you, and you hum in though, pondering your next words very carefully.

“I don’t do them for any reasons, other than they feel good. It feels good to drink, to smoke, to fuck you, to suck your cock.”, you say, and he blushes in embarrassment, “Or maybe I never got over my teenage phase and I just like doing all the things my parents always told me not to do, who knows. Trauma? Maybe. Spite? Quite possibly. I don’t even know at this point.”

He nods slowly. 

He wishes you could see yourself through his eyes, see how perfect you are. In his heart, there’s only love for you, in his mind, no more conflict.

“I do them for you.” he answers, and you smile at him, “And for myself, I guess. I thought I had found my way, but maybe I was wrong.”

You turn to look at him, and bop his nose.

“I’ll always love you, no matter what choice you make. I’ll wait for you if you ask me to.”

But his choice has been made already. 

He doesn’t deserve his collar, but hopefully he deserves you.

-

I’m curious to hear your thoughts. Please, reblog if you liked it and leave a comment. Feedback is always appreciated. 🤍

Priest bucky masterlist

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

why does jean warn up to mc so quickly? ikevamp makes it clear that jean is a pretty reserved person and doesn't open up or let people in easily but he seems to let mc in quite quickly and it confuses me quite a bit.

Oh boy, where to begin with this one.

Well, I have a lot of Feelings^TM about this, but I'll try to be concise. Essentially, I think Jeanne doesn't recover in the other routes--or the general storyline--largely because he's just a lot to unpack narratively speaking. And without some pretty direct intervention, he has a hard time healing. MC’s direct intervention was meaningful because it was focused, consistent, and adapted to Jeanne’s specific needs. She also doesn’t make light of his experiences which is key; she fully understands that she can’t fathom what he’s been through. There is a very weighty respect and acknowledgement, a seriousness with which she treats his wounds that’s important.

It’s easy to make this a “why is MC nOt LiKe ThE oThEr GiRlS” but honestly that’s just not the sense I get when I look at all the information available to us. 

That being said, I also just feel like every person's recovery from traumatic events doesn't really look the same? I mean Leonardo’s cptsd isn’t going to operate the same way Jeanne’s wartime/Inquisition cptsd is going to operate. Some people require very individualized healing, others will often require a large scale group effort to lift them up.

Typically people don't ever just get over what happened to them and never worry about it again, either. It's usually a process of coping; the hope is that with time you find healthy ways to deal with grief and move forward. Therapists aren't magicians, they just help people process painful experiences/thoughts. It's honestly up to individuals to find meaningful ways to implement these tactics. 

Tl; dr: My contention is that Jeanne doesn’t open up or choose to stay alive because MC magically heals him, rather his recovery is a convergence of many people’s efforts and hopes that he stays alive. Gilles (he insists that Jeanne must live, asks him to promise), MC (affirms and bolsters that promise), Comte (makes a second life and recovery possible)--and in no small measure Mozart and Napoleon--all make an active effort to buoy him. As people often say, it takes a village to raise a child.

While Jeanne seems to respond most powerfully to MC’s attempts, it feels more like a product of chemistry/compatibility than it does a random cop out. There is no insinuation that only romantic love can heal; after all, MC gets close to him without any romantic intentions at first. They’re just good friends? It’s more that their feelings simply moved in a different direction after a point, which doesn’t necessarily happen all the time. Jeanne is also incredibly moved by Mozart’s love for him as a friend, Comte’s love for him as a father, and even Gilles’ love as a comrade to an extent. If anything, without their input Jeanne’s capacity for romantic love would be questionable at best.

Now, because I can never for the life of me stop analyzing, I have a more large scale outline of my thoughts below. Spoilers for Jeanne’s route:

If we look at Jeanne's life history, he has pretty specific trauma. Most of the harm he endured was a direct result of human rights violations after the war itself. He didn't enjoy fighting and killing people, but he's also very much a man that sees the reality of his position: it's either kill or be killed. His entire goal was to defeat the enemy as efficiently as possible in the hopes of ending conflict, and with his enormous resolve turns the tide. He had no innate interest in inflicting harm, or lack of control when engaging. He isn't pathological about it, and doesn’t dehumanize the other side. He was more "this was an act of necessity, but those are still human beings." So as far as I can tell he has a very strong moral compass and sense of duty, he doesn't show much delusion/confusion in that regard. (Also evident in his conversations with the young orphan boy.) Furthermore, he has been shown to have a sense of humor--cracking jokes with Gilles and boosting morale for his fellow soldiers.

His childhood abandonment is significant (he left his home because he was "not an adequate farmhand and they had no ability to feed all their children") but I don't know if I would consider it a huge trauma point for him. It seems as though he deemed it an act of necessity--not spite. It was simply the way of things, and he couldn't help his wiry constitution. You'd be surprised how common that was once upon a time, tbh... While it's certainly not right or fair, it does appear that in his perception it was the choice he made and he moved on after he became a soldier. Just focusing on what he could do, rather than everything he lacked. For people in his position, they often feel it is useless to linger on what should have been. There’s no time to linger or doubt, life hangs in the balance.

That leaves us with his time under the Inquisition, just before he was slated to be burned alive. I think this is the keystone trauma point for him, because there are a lot of moving parts to his powerlessness here. The first part is that his entire life's mission--ending the war so that people would no longer have to die and/or starve as a result of senseless violence--was just sabotaged. All those years of doing things he never wanted to do (wartime violence) and being forced to leave his family to ensure they didn't all starve, all of it treated like some kind of joke. Like he didn't sacrifice years of his life and sanity to protect a people who were happy to call him a monster and watch him burn alive. The second part is the overt gaslighting and rewriting of Jeanne's personal history (and overall French public perception) for the sake of the King's political agenda. To call him a treasonous danger to the country when he was once lauded a hero. The third portion is the actual physical helplessness of being arrested, starved, and continuously maimed for no reason beyond pure malice. While it's never right to do that to any human being, this was done to a man who prided himself on his stalwart moral code. To abuse and torture him for something egregious that he would never do (at the risk of death) is just another slap in the face to everything he is and believes in.

I just feel like the context clarifies why that period of time would be the tipping point. His entire moral code and life’s work is being called into question and swept aside, as well as his agency? He believes very powerfully in a sense of right vs wrong, what's fair and what isn't fair. Somebody else deciding that for him--and deciding in a way that is openly unfair/incorrect--further makes him lose himself and his sense of reality. A person in that situation begins to doubt if they are good or bad. His belief in god all the more pressing; if he was a good person, why would fate bring him so much suffering? Honorable soldier or not, his blade has drawn so much blood...

People often reference his stilted social skills (and I am of the belief that he is on the autistic spectrum) as a reason why he is so "people-adverse" but tbh? I don't agree. His memories before the onset of this trauma reveal that he was actually a very warm person, and that people were more than willing to fight under his banner. He had friends, and he had comrades--his country loved him. He was the picture of well-meaning civic duty. Just because he doesn’t integrate smoothly into larger social groups or adapt well to socially shifting circumstances, doesn’t mean he just hates people lmao. When people give him the space to exist within his comfort zone and don’t take advantage of him, he thrives. Compounded by that, we also have his actions in the present to further prove what is true and what isn't.

While he is stern with the orphan boy (I'm sorry I can't remember his name, damn it) there is no malice or cruelty in what he has to say. He doesn't punish the kid or do anything out of line. It may not be fair in terms of the adult level of discretion he asks of him, but the kid also didn't have a lot of options realistically speaking lmao. Same thing with MC, she and the orphan boy are nearly identical in how Jeanne treats them. He's a little rough, but the route reveals that his intentions are just a reflection of what he's been through. He truly believes that if a person isn't strong, they won't survive--because his entire life was a series of trying to be strong/reliable because nobody else would. There was nobody to protect him, and nobody to care for him went things went south. It was him and his sword against the world, and even his exceptional skill as a fighter did not protect him from the Inquisition's arbitrary torture. He has lived in a world where good acts can become absolutely meaningless, where following rules and helping people still gets you slaughtered. That's going to take a considerable toll on his mental health: where do you find the will to go on when the next second of your life could mean the devastation of everything that matters to you?

Spoilers: you don't. Or if you do, every minute of the day is a fight to stay alive. That is the point at which we meet Jeanne. Caught in the hellish whirlpool of wanting more, wanting better--but being terrified of the cost. The cost of hoping, only for his entire world to go up in flames again. It's not a small thing, in my view.

If you have any doubts as to whether or not that is the case, I direct you to literally every singular instance in which Jeanne's emotional sensibility goes visibly dark/south. When do these instances happen? When it rains, for one. And when Shakespeare deliberately starts pressing on his sensitivities: about the soldiers he was forced to kill, about the nation that spurned him, how he's truly "wicked" at heart and doesn't deserve to be happy--seconds before flames erupt for the festival. Does that really sound coincidental? I mean lmao. The rain is a painful reminder, but MC transforms that memory into something a little lighter with her bet. He has nothing to lose in her game, all she does is ask for time with him or offers him something if she loses. There's a playfulness there, a restoration of agency and ease that's invaluable to his recovery.

As for Shakespeare's deliberate retraumatization...I can't even begin to explain how damaging that event was. Shakespeare is undermining Jeanne's agency in that he--not unlike the corrupt monarch of Jeanne's era--is twisting Jeanne's beliefs to work against him. He knows full well that Jeanne doesn't feel like he deserves somebody so bright and understanding (we need to remember it's not really a luxury he's had much in life, especially after the war ended). He knows Jeanne has a tendency to impose that strict moral code on himself even more than he does on others. To reaffirm his every worst fear and lurking terror only throws Jeanne into a vicious downspiral. Jeanne doesn't reject MC out of disgust or hate. He rejects her because he literally cannot handle the concept of trying to be happy again, or of burdening her with his constant struggle to move on while he’s in the middle of a bad episode. He knows he won’t be able to stop reliving the past, that every second of his life and breath will be colored by his gruesome memories. He's trying as hard as he can to keep the intrusive thoughts quiet, to move on. But I'm not going to lie to any of you, that is incredibly difficult to do alone.

The next obvious question is, well why can't the other men help him? This isn't to say that they can't--we see how much solace Jeanne finds in Napoleon and Mozart. Even Isaac is gentle with the veteran. But there are limits to how much they can do. Napoleon is struggling with his own wartime trauma, and it's not identical to Jeanne's. Plus there’s a distinct difference in their sensibilities? Napoleon is the type to habitually seek comfort in helping others when he can't help himself, he's not as in tune with answering his own personal feelings and regulating them. (I mean just look at his new ES: he knows what he wants, but it takes a nudge from Isaac for him to go through with it.) He’s very communally reliant in ways Jeanne isn’t; Jeanne is a very private person, and typically prefers one on one from what I can tell.

Mozart is the definition of repression, and if you look at their interactions it's usually Jeanne that's smoothing over Mozart's rough edges. Mozart says as much himself: that he feels like a rotten friend because he knew Jeanne was struggling with a lot of intense trauma, but he didn't know how to unravel it without hurting him in the process. Mozart calls it personal cowardice, but honestly I just feel like they both had too much going on to be able to help each other effectively. (And Jeanne expresses this sentiment too? This idea that he's not angry with Mozart? He knows they're both carrying a lot, he's just touched Mozart cares about him in return.)

Okay, briefly unrelated, but like. Am I the only one that wheezes uncontrollably when Mozart is like "?????? Idk what it is about MC...I don't want her to be scared of me..." in his own main story in the baths. And Jeanne. IS TRYING SO HARD. NOT TO SPILL THE BEANS ABOUT HIM O B V I O U S L Y BEING IN LOVE. THE HILARITY I CAN'T DO THIS. Jeanne was like "yeah....yeah that's rough buddy.......[screams internally, give your boy time Jeanne he's fragile]"

Honestly? That's the thing about Jeanne too--he has incredible self-awareness and hyperarousal-related (I mean the PTSD kind, get your head out of the gutter) awareness to the people around him. He's very, very conscious of the fact that he is surrounded by geniuses when he can't even write his own name. Just because he has the fortitude not to lash out with his insecurities, doesn't mean he never feels stupid or inferior. And it doesn't help when there are people in the mansion who call him--a fucking war veteran from 500 YEARS AGO--nAiVe. He's not naive lmao. He just doesn't know how the world works so many years later, and it's a ridiculously steep learning curve? Leonardo and Comte are nearly 500 years old, but they lived throughout every hour of that time in a linear fashion. It is a big deal to be moved from 1430 to 1890 in the span of a second asynchronously, and then be expected to function without a hitch??? Given the circumstances he adapts well.

That atmosphere--this constant impatience with what he doesn’t understand, his inability to be caught up to speed quickly--is going to hinder his recovery lmao. He feels like a burden most of the time, and agency and freedom are crucial.

Another thing that occurs to me about the mansion's arrangement is that there is a power dynamic, just as any space with people in it has some level of hierarchy (unless you live with miraculously chill people). Jeanne is acutely aware that Comte is the most powerful being in that space, and he is not only hatefully angry at him--but likely afraid too. We have to remember that the biggest betrayal he witnessed in his life was at the hands of a monarch; it was the aristocracy that turned on him and erased the truth. Comte is openly a child that resulted from both that era and that type of lineage, I don't really blame Jeanne for being wary. He intimately knows how willing rich people are to throw normal folks under the bus to suit their ambitions/whims. Comte, while not deliberately threatening, also seems to be painfully aware of this impression he gives off. His "chad persona" as I've mentioned allows him to navigate his life in secret by necessity, but it’s actively damaging to his son. He can't reveal the truth because of Vlad's betrayal, and he's openly unsettled by what it could mean to be honest. Will they wonder about Vlad and find themselves ensnared under his mind control as Charles and Shakespeare are? Will Comte himself be subjected to the mortifying ordeal of being known only to lose them?? That's a risk he isn't willing to take--and that leaves him in a double bind.

What is it that they say, the truth will set you free? This is where MC and Comte come into enormous play when it comes to Jeanne's recovery. One thing to keep in mind is that most of the people in the mansion have their own traumas they're trying to carry, and I feel like a lot of them are unsure how to approach Jeanne. Or if they do, he's very guarded. It takes a lot of consistent effort to get through to him. What does MC do when Jeanne unleashes his harsh worldview on her? She's understandably frightened, but Jeanne isn't malicious (so she chases him around). In fact, he openly avoids and runs away from her--well aware that what he's done is wrong. If anything, he did it on purpose, bringing us right back to Shakespeare's verbal undoing; why does Jeanne attack her in the first place?

LMAO. He attacks her because she essentially says "oh thanks for helping me!" "I am not nice. Watch yourself." "But you seem like a nice guy to me?" "REEEEEE" Does the pattern become a little clearer? When people think kindly of him, his instinct is to shatter that illusion with an impulsive reprehensible act. When people think poorly of him or lash out, what does he do? When that orphan boy starts yelling and screaming, Jeanne is nothing but calm. He explains the situation, and offers the kid a choice, perfectly happy to be the bearer of bad news. This operates on many levels I’m sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with him being hailed a saint and a war hero only to be tortured and branded a monstrosity (and he probably thinks being a vampire is doubly monstrous). He’s more comfortable being hated because he feels it’s what he deserves in a lot of ways.

Jeanne has a lot of internalized self-hatred because of what he's done, and because of how much harm was inflicted on him outside of his control (he's Catholic and he was tortured, come on this writes itself). If I'm honest, I think that's actually the greater part of why he hates Comte lmao. Comte refuses the very concept of being cruel no matter how much Jeanne lashes out. Sure he lectures him and scolds him, but he never actively limits what's important to him or controls or harms him. Comte fully realizes the tragedy of how Jeanne's life was used by a nation in dire straits, and knows he needs time and acceptance to heal. No matter how dismal or unhappy, Comte doesn't stop--he fully believes Jeanne should have time in his life where he can really live for himself for once. But therein lies the issue, Jeanne doesn't know how to live for himself.

Which brings me to how MC and Comte "heal" Jeanne. I feel like they give him the space he needs to recover, and that's what results in his gentled temperament and happiness. Remember that so much of his main story is MC endlessly chasing after Jeanne. No amounts of his hissing or running or threatening stops her. Even if his refusals are empty of real dislike, they're enough to deter most people. Not MC. She's able to see through to the depths of who he is, and doesn't just use him for her own ends? She actively seeks to teach him (to read and write) to help him settle better in this era, she actively tries to ease his distaste for rain with a well-meaning bet, and she never gives up on him. (Actions mean so much more to him than words in general too, tbh...). Love is more easily defined by work and effort than it is by attraction.

When he has his episode at the festival, sure she's rattled; but that's because she truly believed that he didn't want to be around her anymore. When she notices he really doesn’t want to be followed, she stops like any normal person would. It’s only when she reads his notebook and sees the truth for herself (that he’s given up despite having the same feelings for her) that her determination is rekindled. She doesn't approach him fearfully, doesn't treat him like he's made of glass either. She just wants him as he is--accepts and loves him as he is. Scarred, bloody, exhausted, abrasive, terrified. She doesn't define him by how easy he is to love. That is a huge issue with traumatized people lmao. Because of their maturity, people always just assume they don't need help, or they rely on them to an extent that isn't sustainable. The second they reveal need or that they struggle, people walk away or victim blame them because it’s easier than taking them seriously.

While MC's attempts may be a little more obvious (cherishing his lily field, wearing the hair pin he gave her, careful about his gruesome injury, really listens when he talks about the horrors of his life and accepts that he experienced a level of agony/terror she can never understand, tries to express her feelings no matter his evasion) I think it's also important to consider Comte's large scale effort. I don't say this to undermine MC, I say it because Jeanne's life was defined by a complete lack of security. He left his parents to make their lives easier, he lived in a war that meant life or death any second, and his country's leader branded him a traitor which lead to his endless torture and public execution. Jeanne does not know a life in which safety is the norm. Point blank. He does not understanding going outside and not expecting the worst anymore.

Comte not only understands that level of despair, but treats it with dignity and respect. He fully accepts being hated if it means Jeanne can use that hatred to live on and find a way to heal. And most importantly, when Jeanne begins to move forward with MC and Mozart's help, Comte never once holds it against Jeanne when the truth is revealed. He's not angry, this isn't about reprisal or reparations or revenge. It's just love.

Jeanne doesn't really have a concept of this? His entire life was mostly transactional, defined by strength and efficiency. Nobody gives a damn about your feelings. You either hurl yourself at the problem or die. Nobody is going to help you or carry you or save you. While he may have had a little more support while he was in the military from his fellow soldiers, that support system was ripped away from him during the Inquisition.

One very common sentiment regarding elongated imprisonment and torture is that survival occurs in pairs. It is an undeniable fact that people need others to survive. It is the nature of who we are. Individualism has never proven to be successful, or if it is, its dividends are astronomically minimal when compared to people working together.

What does it mean to be the most reliable, steady person in the room? Usually it just means you don't know how to ask for help when you are no longer capable of maintaining that stance. Napoleon is guilty of it. Leonardo, Comte, and Jeanne all are too. It's part of why MC and Comte's capacity to see what he needs and provide as much as they can is such a big deal. That sort of consistent support (without a constant necessity to beg for help) allows Jeanne to be able to re-integrate into his new reality and find joy. Even if his nightmares and memories never go away, they are now being actively overrun by positive experiences. That's the thing about recovery, really--it tends to be more about drowning out the negative as much as possible and coming to terms with it, than it is about forgetting or never feeling it again. It’s about softening the sharp edges of pain like sea glass.

So is MC magical and randomly got Jeanne to open up? Nah, I don't think so. I think it was a series of persistence and real acceptance of who he is that made him warm up. People really seem to underestimate how deeply affecting understanding is, but that's how damage is undone. Jeanne can't really linger on the idea of his own monstrousness, his unworthiness, a lifetime of misery, when the person in front of him actively listens and cares about him. Makes him laugh and smile and lose himself in warmth for the first time.

If I'm honest, I feel like people also just...underestimate the level of traumatic resurgence that's perpetuated and inflicted by society’s standards in general lmao. This rhetorical structure in which good and bad exist in moral extremes, this idea that people should be able to recover and never experience relapses or periods of sensitivity. The refusal to radically listen to people and their problems, and make active attempts--not matter how small--to mend/ease those hurt feelings. Granted there will always be people in the world who do not want to improve, but I feel like most people want to. It's hopelessness, silence, and stigmatization that remain the true enemies of traumatized/mentally ill people everywhere. And among that population are always war veterans...