#he's just terrified and resentful and very angry

[russenoire]

on first watch as an anime-only, i remember feeling like ritsu kageyama's descent into evil in episode seven needed a little more air, more space to breathe. i... no longer do. if that slide down the slippery slope feels a bit sudden, there is a reason; and if you know what to look for, it's not actually all that sudden. bear with me here.

from the first episode, the anime sets ritsu up as shigeo's kind, solicitous younger brother. we don't see much of him for the first three episodes, but when we do, he's making bids for shigeo’s attention: helpfully straightening his spoon when it bends and deposits a bite of his dinner on the dining table; noting that he seems out of it and offering himself up as a confidant at least twice; checking in on him in the morning so they can both leave on time. (i actually love the anime for doing this. ritsu doesn't even show up as a character until maybe the middle of the manga's second volume?) except for the spoon, shigeo gently turns him down every time.

and yet. the interview ichi mezato snags with ritsu in episode four confirms a distance between the kageyama boys. you are not seeing things here. he initially refuses her desire for detailed information about shigeo’s powers, only indulging her to find out what shigeo’s been up to. ritsu holds those powers in such awe that he uses a rather hyperbolic phrase to describe shigeo for her: '世界の基本', or sekai no kihon, literally the standard for [his] world.

after he coldly walks out on her, she reviews what little she’s gleaned from their chilly meeting: he's hawt, at the top of his class, athletic, very popular... all things his older brother decidedly is not. the story establishes a duality here between ritsu’s image—indirectly revealed through mezato’s notes—and the reality of ritsu, sat hunched across from her, sullen, barely tolerating her until she coughed up the information she promised him. later on that evening, we see just how deep ritsu's awe goes... or rather, how snared up it is in resentment and envy as he attempts in vain to bend a spoon, just like shigeo did when they were younger. all the trophies of others’ esteem already gathering dust on his shelves don’t mean shit if he can’t have this.

ritsu intercepts shigeo as he leaves for class the next morning: no student council meeting, so an opportunity to actually talk to him. this is rare, his brother notes. and of course dimple is haunting shigeo. when the specter comments on their apparent closeness, the boy side-eyes him hard. this can easily be read two ways: ‘why the hell are you talking to me when no one else can see you?’ and ‘man, fuck you for sticking the knife in deeper.’ ritsu doesn’t ask about the cult meeting here or ever in the entire series. was he really all that interested in mezato’s news? no, he only wants to know why his brother doesn’t use his powers anymore. and this is the first time they’ve talked about this.

it’s such a neat little mystery, these breadcrumbs the story leaves for us until ritsu’s formal introduction in episode six. even though they share the same home and appear to be on friendly terms, the kageyama brothers may as well live on opposite sides of the planet. we don’t even get a sense of why this state of affairs exists until episode five, where teru chokes the breath out of shigeo and his pissed-off soul levels teru’s school before catapulting him into the stratosphere to reflect on his sins: several years prior, shigeo nearly killed ritsu (and possibly ended three much older boys) in an accident neither boy understands; fragments of memory flash before his eyes as his consciousness shorts out.

‘brother, you’re home late, sopping wet. here’s a towel. are you hungry? you seem down; is everything OK? if you need to talk, i’m here for you.’

instead of turning down this bid for connection like all the rest and turning inward again, shigeo actually opens up. he apologizes for the accident—for the first time—then asks for some clarity, since his memories of it are broken. and ritsu clenches the knob to his brother’s bedroom door tighter. he lies to his face, tells him to ‘get over it already.’ this after asking shigeo to confide in him again, no less: too terrified to be honest with him, too used to being shot down. this boy is soaking in fear he has no context for, and he heads downstairs to soak in it alone. shigeo at least has reigen to process his own fears with, though he never trusts the man enough to take full advantage.

ritsu has no one.

he’s already keeping up appearances at home and has been for years; over the course of the spring cleaning big cleanup arc, we learn the extent to which he’s been doing so at school.

(all those expectations of him weighing him down for so long… he can’t hold out forever.)

student council vice president tokugawa calls him out on trying to melt into the scenery like his brother; his considerable gifts make that impossible. said gifts, however, are so ego-dystonic for him that they’re yet another part of Ritsu Kageyama’s Big Lie. the academically-gifted, popular sprinter so many of his fellow students swoon over isn’t real: why does everyone praise him for things anyone could do? he doesn’t actually have friends, just associates. who cares about charisma? why does everyone think he’s perfect when the only thing he truly wants will never be his? and why does his locker leak chocolate every valentine’s day?

gentle reader. are you still wondering why he snaps when he finally gets his wish? and why it looks the way it does?

[nonuggetshere]

I need to draw something with PK and Hornet there's not enough of these two together in my art

[dayurno]

No but for real do you think Jean blamed Kevin for leaving him at the Nest?

(being held at gunpoint) ok ok ok ok ill answer officer please

i dont think jean necessarily blames kevin for anything thats happened in the nest, but he's still just a person after all. in such a harsh environment and suddenly alone after hanging so much of his sanity on kevin and their friendship, of course jean resents him for leaving; he doesn't have the time nor the space to process the feeling of loss in any other meaningful way.

but! i think after he is no longer in such peril and can think clearly, jean learns to be angry at the world again. the realization that the anger towards the nest riko beat out of him was actually Rightful and Just like the sword of an angel will also bring the logical explanation that kevin was in no more control than he himself was, and that ultimately it was not his fault. i believe the pain of abandonment for jean comes from a much deeper place though, and that will be something that creates a rift between them even if jean doesn't blame kevin anymore; kevin, because he is too afraid of jean hating him to actually allow them to interact again, and jean, because kevin's avoidance of him makes him angry when he was prepared to absolve kevin of guilt in the first place

[vidduality]

SPOILERS for Episode 6 of the Avatar Live Action series

AKA why this episode makes me SO grateful for this adaptation (re: the Zuko flashbacks and the Agni Kai).

----

Wow.

I admit, I was really worried at the idea that Zuko might potentially fight back in the Agni Kai against his father in the live action. I expected to HATE it, and it's certainly a bold change, but it fits in SO WELL with why Zuko is the way that he is (and why he works so hard to push down his empathy whenever Aang tries to reason with him).

The Agni Kai - Zuko obviously did NOT want to fight his father. He still tried to apologize and beg for mercy, but in the end he was just too terrified of his father to disobey a direct order.

But when Ozai left him an opening to see what he'd do with it, Zuko couldn't bring himself to actually land a blow that might burn him. Making his lack of ruthlessness the weakness that Ozai ends up mutilating him for - even straight up telling Zuko that compassion is weakness and then demonstrating by holding his own child down and lighting him on fire - adds a layer of depth that only enhances the original scene (and in another stroke of genius, we see Ozai nearly in tears himself. He's convincing himself of this lesson as well as Zuko, which was likely passed down to him by his own father). Honestly, this to me is even more heartbreaking than Ozai burning him for refusing to stand and fight. Zuko did everything his father asked and he still failed, because his family has distorted what it means to be honorable and believes Zuko's capacity for mercy to be a shameful weakness unbecoming of an heir to the throne.

The 41st Division - And here come the waterworks. Assigning the very people Zuko was hurt so severely for trying to save to his ship as it's being cast out of the fire nation (presumably forever, with the Avatar not having been seen in 100 years) is SUCH a brilliant addition. His crew resents Zuko for being stuck on this impossible mission with this bratty, angry child. And Zuko is too ashamed of his "weakness" to explain why they were assigned to him.

I can totally see Zuko's hurt at their lack of respect making him even more angry (especially after everything he went through to save them from being sacrificed), and his seemingly irrational anger at them just continuing to make them resent him more in a neverending feedback loop of anger and disrespect that's been growing and festering for 3 years.

Which makes the scene at the end when Zuko's crew finally learns about how he saved their lives (as well as why he's obsessed with the avatar, why he's banished, what his scar means and why he's trying so very hard to rid himself of empathy, even if he can never quite manage it when it counts) so much more impactful. I SOBBED when the 41st Division stood at attention and showed him their utmost respect and loyalty, possibly for the first time since they've been on that ship. Zuko's soft "what's going on?" at finally being honored by his crew is just imprinted on my brain.

The seed of the idea that his compassion may NOT actually be what was shameful about his banishment afterall can finally begin to take root.

I just, damn, I love this episode so much.

[netherfeildren]

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them. 

-OR- 

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy. 

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end. 

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win. 

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger. 

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now. 

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be. 

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her. 

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop. 

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream. 

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going. 

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them. 

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid. 

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now. 

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria. 

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide. 

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns. 

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply. 

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

-

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot. 

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face. 

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her. 

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you. 

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial. 

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too. 

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to. 

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically. 

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively. 

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long. 

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–” 

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him. 

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself. 

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better. 

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed. 

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles. 

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him. 

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back. 

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off. 

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give. 

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into. 

-

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was. 

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well. 

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his. 

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy. 

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly. 

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man. 

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone. 

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him. 

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool. 

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high. 

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him. 

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly. 

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh. 

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously. 

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?” 

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere. 

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes. 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones. 

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now. 

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it.  There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail. 

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you. 

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking. 

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm. 

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut. 

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp. 

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps. 

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin. 

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant. 

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–” 

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix. 

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him. 

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you. 

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin. 

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again. 

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning. 

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper. 

-

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic. 

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another. 

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy. 

-

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[mrs-nanami]

Okay Colin sleeping on the settee is so sad, like, let’s be so for real. For HIM, his side of the experience is that he’s experiencing a huge break in trust RIGHT BEFORE HIS WEDDING. So yeah, I don’t blame him for not wanting to sleep next to Penelope on their wedding night and the nights after. For him, he’s so angry and hurt and he loves her so much, and I think for someone like him, he needs to feel safe to have actually connect during sex. Like, emotionally safe. It’s one thing to have sex with a stranger or with prostitutes: there’s no baring of the heart, no risk, there’s no potential for them to actually hurt him. But with the person he loves? WHEN THEY PLANNING THEIR WEDDING?

This should be a time in their lives that should be beautiful and blissful and they should be stupid and completely obsessed with each other, but for Colin, that’s not the reality of the situation. The time in his life where he and his bride to be should be the most joyous and excited, is a time of sudden truths, intense stress, and fear. Is he making a mistake? Can he trust her? Does she even respect him? Can she even love him back, if she writes terrible things about him and his family? Can she truly love him the way he loves her if she’s willing to lie to him like that? I think it’s really sad for him to think that he is never going to get this back. This period of what should be beautiful, perfect bliss is NEVER going to be their’s.

I know it’s not the wedding night we want for Penelope, but shit. I seriously doubt this was the wedding night Colin wanted for himself. I bet for their first time as a husband wife, Colin wanted rose petals and satin sheets and to keep her in bed for days. He probably wanted to wake up and see her hair in the morning, eat her out until she woke up, and then waltzed down to breakfast late because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I don’t think it’s stupidity or ego that holds him back, I sincerely think it’s fear. I think he’s afraid to lay down and share his body with someone he loves so much, but doesn’t trust. He wants so badly to be with her and connect with her again, but he can’t do it with this breach of trust hanging between them.

I can’t even blame him for the entrapment thing. I think he’s lashing out in fear, and I think a part of him might even want a small level of entrapment. Holding space for both love and distrust at the same time is a very overwhelming and terrifying experience for anyone, especially under the pressure cooker of a wedding. What kind of person is Colin if he chooses to marry a woman he doesn’t trust, but loves too much to give up? What’s wrong with him? What kind of a person does that? I think the entrapment line is him lashing out in anger, hurt, and a little resentment, but I also wonder if a part of him can also desire the idea of entrapment. Being in choice of the person causing him cognitive dissonance is too overwhelming, but if Penelope has entrapped him, it means he was only presented the illusion of choice the entire time. It means he never had a choice but to fall in love with her, and so of course, he’d want to marry her. It makes sense that he still wants to. Making Penelope responsible for his internal conflict relieves the burden of choice for him. I think he knows that’s not entirely fair or healthy, but I think he deserves to get his lick back, just a little.

I think that’s why I also love their consummation. When they lay down together as married couple for the first time, they’re both doing it at a place of intense desire, connection, love, safety, and honesty. What more could a married couple want?

[waywardducks]

Incorrect bat family quotes but as things me and my sibling have done/said.

Jason: *just trying to read* *feels an eery presence just watching him.*

Damien and Tim: *both just starting at him*

Jason: Yes? Can I help you?

Tim: Slushies

Jason: okay?

Damien: Take us to them.

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Dick: *Chilling in his bed*

Cass: *very slowly opening the door to his room*

Both: *just stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time*

Dick: Please, child. What is it? I can't handle this suspense.

Cass: *quietly* I have a pool party today…

Dick: okay? I'm glad for you.

Cass: …

Cass: Can you go buy me tampons?

Dick:

Dick: Of fucking course I can go buy you tampons! *already jumping out of bed* What size?

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Damien: *angry, slamming doors, punching walls, screaming at everyone*

Tim: Autism is one hell of a bitch

Dick: Tim, no

Jason: No, no, he's got a point. We really should get him checked out.

Damien: I CAN HEAR YOU

*he was diagnosed with autism the following month*

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Stephaine: *putting makeup on Cass* almost done!

Tim: we need to hurry, the movie is starting soon

Stephanie: It's fine, we have plenty of time, now let me do your makeup.

Dick: What are y'all doing? Why is everything… pink?

Cass: We are going to watch Barbie

Dick: Can I come?

Steph: Nah it's girls night?

Dick: Then why is Tim going?

Steph: He's one of the girls, obviously.

Tim: Yeah, obviously.

Dick: *crying* I wanna be one of the girls too

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Bruce: Hey, Tim

Tim: Yeah? What's up?

Bruce: Remember how you're therapist mention she thought you might have ASD?

Tim: Yeah, she said she wasn't %100 percent sure on it though.

Bruce: Well she just sent me a document confirming your diagnosis.

Tim:

Dick: Woah dude! Congrats on the tism!

Jason: Welcome to the spectrum little bro!

Damien: Is Dick the only one that isn't ASD?

Dick: *is sad bc he's left out of the club again*

- ✨✨✨✨✨✨

Dick, Tim, Jason and Damien: *driving down the road at 4 in the morning, blasting fnaf songs at full volume* IVE GOT NO TIME!! I've GOT NO TIME TO LIVE

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Tim: Jason. I'm bi

Jason: Okay

Tim: Okay? That's all you have to say?

Jason: damn Tim, tf you want be to say? Sorry?

Tim: No! I just thought-

Jason: If you have boy problems go to Dick. He's the one with the most experience in that field.

Dick: Hey! I resent that!

Jason: Oh please, you can call yourself straight all you want but you and both know you've what kinda person you were when you first became Nightwing.

Dick: I wasn't gay Jason I was a slut its different.

Jason: sure, okay.

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

I'm gonna make this a series lmao. Being in a house with 6 kids gives you a lot of stories.

Also, yes, 3 of my younger siblings are officially diagnosed with autism. (Damien and my sister are literally the same person. I have so many headcanons about it, it's not even funny. She even has the same insane art skills, I'm terrified of how fast she learned to do things I've been in school for years to learn)

[prismatoxic]

cause I need to hear more of your sweet thoughts bout those two freaks, favorite laichil moments that have been stewing in the back of the mind?

oh gosh ummmmm

well now that episode 11 is out i am so very deeply fond of laios's visual pan from kensuke to chilchuck's dawning, rage-filled horror at what's happened

i think the swearing was better in the manga--not because the anime let him say actual words (bc i think that's awesome) but bc in the manga i thought they were still running while chilchuck was doing this. good visual

OF COURSE THE BEST EPISODE 11 CHILAIOS MOMENT... TO ME... is when chilchuck tells laios they're going to have a Talk later

the dub delivery kind of disappointed me (as it always does) BUT IN THE SUB the way laios immediately agrees is so very much, to me, a "yes sir" moment. and if you read my fic you know i'm very into this

i have a lot of little canon moments that i'm super fond of and am very excited to see in the anime... my faves are often when chilchuck is being a hostile little goblin but i'm so fucking excited about what i assume will be episode 13. you know. because

um

okay i have a lot of thoughts actually (MANGA SPOILERS I'M SERIOUS)

so. chapter 30.

chilchuck goes to get the party's supplies from where they were abandoned in the house they had dinner with falin at, having his own character arc along the way. we have seen him try to convince both leed and senshi that the smartest thing to do will be to lie to laios and marcille so they can return to the surface. trying to continue in this state will kill them, but neither of them will rest if they think they can still find falin. neither senshi nor leed agree with chilchuck's plan, and leed insinuates he's a coward. chilchuck stays firm. even after he's clearly pushed off kilter by leed saying he should just tell the truth, we don't have any concrete reason to think he will.

then they return and senshi is struggling to keep a now-awake laios down. laios is wounded and weak and senshi is a dwarf but laios is so deeply, fervently determined to get falin back that he's very hard to stop.

chilchuck, by contrast, is not strong at all, but somehow his added presence gets laios to sit back down. chilchuck rests a hand on laios's shoulder and even before he says anything, laios is looking at him. he knows something is coming. i think he resents chilchuck for it, too--the implication that there's anything to be said here.

we don't know at this point what chilchuck intends to say. senshi still thinks he wants to lie and intends to stop him, but i think it's clear in this moment that chilchuck has changed his mind.

he kneels--proud, all-too-aware of "how his people are treated for their size" chilchuck kneels between laios's legs. and i'm not pointing this out for horny reasons, for once.

he's bringing himself closer to laios--assuming a position associated with pleading and willingly making himself not the authority in this interaction. he believes, wholeheartedly, in what he wants to do and what needs to be said, but...

he also knows laios is hurting.

laios is... devastated. he's terrified. he's angry. but he's also still laios, and he knows chilchuck, insofar as chilchuck has allowed him to. he also respects chilchuck. so this--a teary-eyed plea to do what goes against everything he feels--gives him pause. chilchuck does not beg, and he does not cry.

...and he never talks about how he feels.

but he does, here: he doesn't want to lose his friends. and he does mean all of them, senshi included. he has three people to think of--three people whose lives he cannot in good conscience allow to be put at risk any more than they already have been. even so, he acknowledges that however laios feels about falin is probably incomparable.

but he tries to give laios hope--he gives him a plan of action. he says we will come back. he tries to impress upon laios that this isn't defeat and it isn't surrender, it's being safe. it's giving themselves an actual fighting chance at getting falin back.

laios doesn't want to... but he also doesn't say that. all the things he's feeling haven't gone away, but he's also aware of just how big this situation is if chilchuck opened himself up this way. chilchuck does not and never has done this. up until the fight with the red dragon, you could be forgiven for assuming chilchuck is just a contracted coworker who's a little fond of the party and nothing more.

senshi and leed, the only people who knew chilchuck's plan to lie to the others, don't openly acknowledge his change of heart... but they back him up. they pitch in to push laios just a little further, to get him to agree.

and it works.

so. um. episode 13 will be good i think

[sssarrrra]

A short analysis about BSD Fyodor Dostoevsky and the lies he tells to himself

Fyodor is a good liar. He prides himself over being able to convince anyone in anything. He enjoys knowing that he can control someone's reality and influence it to the point it will bend according to his will. And so far the biggest victim of it is… Him.

You see, Fyodor likes being helpful, knowing how to fix and problem-solve stuff. He likes having a positive impact. Why? His whole charade of "helping the Devine Being" is the only way he can convince himself to stay alive, that he's life is worthy of living, no matter how much he sins.

He is… Helping. Right? Yes, he is harming people in the present, but "future" people will thank him. And even if they don't, "God" will.

That's the lie Fyodor tells to himself to ease his consciousness. And he knows he lies, this is why he is so deeply angry, resentful and self-hating inside. But Dostoy can't stop since his ability to resist a quick-fix relief is about zero. (That's why he lashes out at the whole world for the things HE's done and keeps doing).

Aya is a perfect example. Since Fyodor inherited Bram's body he also got "infected" with his desire to protect her. And so Dostoy pretended to go alone with this desire, even kneeling in front of Aya and declaring that he would continue to fullfil his nightly duties and protect her, even if she would have to become the last surviving human on Earth.

But here we are, in the very next chapter, and Aya is alone, completely abandoned, about to be crushed by concrete bricks. And all because of the attack Fyodor unleashed. Luckily, the OG Bram shows up and Aya is fine for now.

But what does it says about Fyodor? Well, he has spent around decades bulshiting himself about what he wants. Just to make his guilt stin a little bit less, he pretends and lies even to himself.

"I'm gonna protect you, Aya" - and then he runs off without checking in on her, sabotaging his knightly duties, secretly hoping this freshly-created bond with her will disappear so it won't sabotage his frail sens of self & sanity.

Fyodor treats the world the way he treats Aya. He "saves" it by leaving it to die, and when the World doesn't die fast enough, Fyodor gives it another push and a tag.

What Dostoy is actually doing is punishing the world for NOT SAVING him. It's very likely, that the world didn't "save" Fyodor when he needed it the most (probably some parental abuse, religious trauma, adult punishing him for being a "devil" or smth).

So since the "salvation" that was offered to Fyodor was violent religion-based abuse, now he returns this salvation ten fold. To exteranlize his self-hatred, feel in control, get sense of relief, etc.

But what's interesting the Fyodor DOESN'T want to acknowledge it continuously. No, he does not.

Because Fyodor spent 100+ years banking on the fact that "God" loved him, "God" chose him, "God" gave him a mission. "God" existed. So it was ok to hurt humans for the higher purpose, because even if whole world hated Fyodor, "God" would not.

But what does Fyodor's "God" love? Perfect, beautiful stuff, that moves according to the plan. Fyodor does neither of that. He spent decades f*cking around with humanity, pushing his trauma into it's face, hoping to be "punished", hoping to be "saved".

So if Dostoy acknowledges this, he will have have to admit God won't like him. And after what he has done, no one would either. Gogol and some followers did like and admired the perfect, all-knowing version of Fyodor. The image he presented to them. But that's not him, or not all of him, at least.

"Real" Fyodor is a scared, dependent, angry, sinful human who's terrified of letting go of control so he clings to his ideology and still gives in into his sins over over.

"Real" Fyodor might not even exist. Or at least, the way he's now, he isn't be able to comprehend "what" or "who" he is either. That's why Dostoy needs his role of a "saviour-Devil" so much. That's the only way he can defy himself now.

And knowing that would break him. Because Fyodor still cares about his place amidst humanity. He cherishes his title "Demon" as if it's a compliment. He WANTS to be acknowledged for the impact he has on the world. He wants to have a cause.

Fyodor sayid to the Nikolai that he "didn't need praise". But it was a lie as well. He just needed a very specific, tailor-made praise for his ego. He wanted to be praised for being a "martyr", who "tortured" himself by becoming sinful. He wanted to be reunited with humanity, embraced by it, but since it was impossible on Earth, he wanted to send everyone to Heaven. That's the price he expected from the "God" for purifying humanity. Being among humans again. Being a human who's valued and loved by everyone else.

But what if his sky-daddy didn't give it to him? What if he didn't care? That would be scary. So Fyodor keeps happily skipping around, causing world-wide distraction, hoping that it eventually amounts to something. Something wounderful.

You know how Jesus turned water into wine?

Bsd Fyodor aims for something higher. He does all of this violence, hoping that it will miraculously save everyone. And save him. Somehow.

English is not my first, sorry for typos

I put "God" in quotation marks, because Fyodor's "God" isn't everyone's God or any kind of devine being. It's something completely different.

[quitealotofsodapop]

The evolution of Wukong through the eyes of the Pilgrims (mainly Zu Baije and Sja Wujing)

A terrifying beast that is only held back by the monk's presence and his divine leash. Can and will kill them all at the first chance. Wujing suspects that he might also be very lonely, but hesitates to reach out. Baijie is just grumpy and resentful.

When Wukong gets banished they are initially worried about retribution. That he'd attack them once Tripitaka reveals the circlet does not come off and he doesn't know how to remove it. When Wukong instead, visibly upset but not angry, Wujing begins to suspect they went too far. Baije is smug. Both soon realize that they definitely went too far when Ao Lie immediately bucks Tripitaka off and kicks Baijie before transforming back into his humanoid form to ask what the ever loving HELL was wrong with them. They all are horrified to realize Wukong had kept his pregnancy secret.

Upon entering FFM at Ao Lie's insistence, the pilgrims are immediately confronted with the smell of smoke and the sight of burnt trees and ashes. At first, Baije suspects Wukong might have done it, only to be reprimanded by the Stalwart whom had met them. Wujing us just feeling sorrow upon being told thus was Heaven's doing. An example made of a once paradise to punish the king who was trapped and already facing the Budfha's wrath, completely out of sheer spite. Baije is horrified upon being told this very bluntly and that with Wukong's return they finally have hope for the first time in over 500 years.

When they finally see Wukong on FFM it strikes them. It was the first time they've seen a gentle Wukong and realized he was not a monster. Baije grumbles that he's still a jerk and Wujing finally feels encouragement to approach and befriend Wukong. Things start to look up.

As months pass, they gradually get closer, Ao Lie noticeably being protective. Baije comes to the wrong conclusion and jokes about Ao Lie trying to be Wukong's baby daddy. Wukong shoots back that he already had a mate thank you very much, Baije and Wujing are shocked, Tripitaka asks if they were one of the monkeys on the island Wukong admits that Macaque wasn't there and he had no idea where he left, nor was he aware of the Egg. He says Macaque and him had broken up before he could tell him and tells then about the incident uner the mountain, claiming it to be his fault as Macaquehas appeeared shortly after some mountain gods had poured molten copper down his throat and made hurtful comments and he had lashed out at his mate. Baije feels righteous fury and makes a mental note about hot foods. Tripitaka needs a moment. Wujing punches a boulder. They start to notice Wukong's habits.

Dr. Wukong chapter happens. Pilgrims have the realization that Wukong is hella smart. Tripitaka gifts Wukong with some alchemy and medicinal books they picked up in town, stating that medicine is a good skill for a monk to have as an excuse for the luxury. They hadn't expected him to jump up and down like a little kid at the thought of learning! Cute.

Macaque appears! Wukong and him are forced to fight until Baije finally gets fed up and shouts at him to stop before he kills his unborn child. Macaque freezes as he suddenly registers one too many heartbeats. Unable to handle the revelation that Wukong was pregnant and he almost struck him with his staff, Macaque flees to gather his thoughts. Wukong is heartbroken. They begin to see a shadow following Wukong.

Macaque appears again at the request of the Brotherhood and gets bitten by Ao Lie and punched by Tripitaka, respectively. The events of Camel Ridge happen. Baije and Wujing are pissed. Wukong is very upset. Macaque has gained the Pilgrims' respect.

Macaque awakens, happiness abounds. Teasing begins soon after as Wukong is in full lovestruck monkey mode. Who knew his type was tall, dark, broody artists? Baije is envious. Wujing is highly amused. Tripitaka just wants to meditate in peace.

Pretty much the character journey of the main Pilgrims.

They see Wukong as a beast on a leash at first. Bajie's and Wujing's experiences as Celestials have already painted the Monkey King as a villain with no remorse. Tripitaka is so sheltered that in his mind; Sun Wukong is the most evil creature he has met. Ao Lie is the only one that dares see past his preconceptions (ones which are painted poorly through the stories shared between royal dragons) and approach the monkey as a fellow convicted being.

Then they begin to see him as an unstable but reliable bodyguard after the events of the Ginseng Tree incident.

Then during their first encounter with the White Bone Spirit where Tripitaka formally banishes Wukong as his disciple after being convinced of the evils he can commit (but not of the ones the spirit could do) and nearly caves the monkey's skull in with the Headache Mantra... as a hurt animal?

A pregnant creature according to the (until now silent) horse!?

A creature capable of grief and softness? A beloved king? A beacon of hope for his people? The ruler of a paradise scorched by Heaven to set an example for all demonkind?

A hurt companion. Someone who's missing their mate and has suffered terribly before he joined them. Someone who's traumatised by food being too hot, the ceiling being too low, and by being beheld by too many eyes.

When the king of Zhuzi/Scarlet-Purple Kingdom needs a healer to cure him of a confounding illness - Wukong shows a surprisingly intellectual side to him. One that he's been rarely able to flex with his role as bodyguard. He reveals a vast knowledge of medicine and healing gained from years of study under Master Subodhi. With the crafted medicine; Wukong manages to heal the King so he's able to reveal the real reason for his malady - the loss of his mate. Wukong feels so sympathetic for the King - even if the Queen had been kidnapped to punish him for harming one of the Buddha's kin. Wukong disguises himself as the stolen Queen - only for Sai Tai Sui/Jupiter's Rival to be defeated by three very protective fellow disciples after he gets a bit too fresh with the pregnant monkey.

Wukong and Tripitaka are mid-argument over valuing the Monk's safety over that of murderous bandits, when a completely new monkey appears and interrupts their fight.

The new monkey has fur as dark as night, and is shouting at Wukong about how he's become "the lapdog of Heaven". Staffs clash between the pair as tears run down Wukong's face.... until the King's pregnancy is revealed. Then the shadow monkey quietly wiggles his many ears, backs away in shock, and disappears into the shadows. Wukong cries, revealing that very monkey is his mate! The Pilgrims feel the need to teach the Macaque a lesson.

They become more aware of a shadow that follows close to Wukong's side.

This leads them to the demon-occupied city of Camel Ridge, where they encounter three more of Wukong's former sworn brothers.

Things don't go so well. The Macaque proves himself to be more loyal to his mate than to his own anger, and seemingly sacrifices himself to protect their unborn child.

The Pilgrims pray for the Macaque's recovery - and when he finally awakens, finds that their "savage bodyguard" is a cuddly love truck sap towards his mate (at least when the Macaque isn't a current obstacle). Wukong and the Macaque make adorable fluttering/purring sounds as they nuzzle and hug - the shadow monkey petting the orange one's round stomach with equal guilt and wonder.

Bajie complains loudly; "Why can't I bring my spouse along?! I wanna kiss my wife!" - and Tripitaka just knows that he's in for a headache. Sha Wujing and Ao Lie are delighted for their brother, and tease his interest in "bad boys" enough to make Wukong blush.

Now the Tang Monk has a pair of cuddle bug monkeys as his bodyguards. One that's much more willingly to murder to keep his mate safe. And although the Headache Sutra works on the Macaque (as it did in the novel), he is more likely to believe that the violence was a necessary evil. Tripitaka (nor many Bodhisattvas) cannot fault a man for protecting his pregnant spouse.

The Pilgrims even find themselves some unusual allies in the form of the Demon Bull King, his wife the Iron Fan Princess, Macaque's extended theatre family of the legendary Nine-Tailed Vixen, her twin sons, and the Jade Faced Princess. All excited to see the two monkeys back together and having a cub.

And one day, this troupe of Pilgrims will have a more precious creature to defend than the Tang Monk. Their brother's child.

(tysm for this post I really love how much y'all get into the lore of the aus <3)

[symphonyofsilence]

Honestly, it looks like at least after the Guanyin Temple, WWX is actively resisting understanding that JC still cares about him. JC takes a Stab to the chest for him, asks him why he didn't keep his promise & stay by his side, has a full breakdown over his sacrifice, gives him back Chenqing that he's kept for all these years, gets angry at JGY on his behalf, JGY spells out for WWX that JC is angry because he feels WWX was wronged, and that JC must have come to rescue not only JL, but WWX too, & targets WWX in the middle of the fight, fully trusting that JC would rush to his rescue, and he does. JC even thanks LWJ and holds a fallen WN. & I think one reason that WWX might be subconsciously fighting against getting all these clear signs and still avoiding JC might be that as much as he thinks he can’t handle JC’s wrath and blame and wants him to forgive him, he actually can’t afford JC’s forgiveness and unconditional love. Because he still blames himself for JZX’s and JYL’s deaths and even the massacre of Lotus Pier. & JC is the only one who has the right to be angry at him for all of these. He and JL. JC’s the only one who knew JYL & genuinely cared about her. WWX doesn’t think he deserves JC’s forgiveness. In fact, he looks terrified of it. Just look how quickly he turns from JC after thanking him for giving Chenqing back to him (Chenqing that after all these years still sounded like he had first used it. A very telling sign of JC's affection in itself.) Even though even JL who was watching from afar could say that JC had something to say to WWX:

JC is an outward force blaming him and being angry at him. WWX can tell him that he doesn’t know what to say to him when asked for an explanation, he can tell him that it’s all in the past. Let it go. he can beat the shit out of him. He can apologize to him and be judged by him. He can avoid him. Pretending that by ignoring him he doesn’t have to face the past. JC blames WWX and is harsh to him so WWX doesn’t have to fight himself and blame himself all the time. post-resurrection WWX keeps misinterpreting everything JC says and is unwilling to listen to him and get the hints JC keeps giving him about how he just wants WWX to come back home & interprets everything JC even doesn’t say in the worst ways he can bc it’s not so much about JC than it’s about WWX projecting onto JC. Because he thinks JC MUST be thinking that way. BC WWX thinks he deserves JC’s hatred. And judging by how he keeps misinterpreting JC even pre-time-skip, and in true WWX fashion fully believes himself to be right & doesn't second guess himself and or makes any effort to understand JC, & JYL is always the JC translator for him, from the moment she says to him that despite his tantrum JC is happy to finally have a playmate, to the moment she says that JC was the one who offered WWX name JL, and without JYL there to take their hands and pull them to meet each other in the middle the brothers can't communicate, Jiang Cheng has never been so much his own person in Wei Wuxian's mind as WWX's interpretation of him. WWX's shidi. An open book to WWX in WWX's mind. When he was not WWX's fragile shidi who needed protection (which @cerusee has written a great meta about here.), then he was WWX's betrayed, angry shidi who blamed him & resented him. If JC forgives him and continues to be his loving brother then it’s clear that the only one who can’t forgive WWX is WWX. and what is he gonna do about that?

[everydayyoulovemeless]

how would the companions deal with Sole getting "surprised adopted" (kidnapped) by a very territorial mother deathclaw who fully believes Sole is her baby? Who'd just go in guns blazing to deal with it? Would anyone go for the sneaky approach or even trying to get the deathclaw to not attack them as well?

Fo4 Companions Reactions To Sole Getting "Suprise Adopted" By A Territorial Deathclaw

➼ Word Count » 1.0k ➼ Warnings » None ➼ Genre » Platonic/Romantic

He absolutely refuses to take anything bigger than him head-on, and this instance is no different. MacCready will run stressed hands down his face as he sits behind a rock, waiting for the perfect moment for him to finally take aim and shoot. He's so confused and would almost be terrified to ask about what went wrong for you to be taken by a whole deathclaw, but will mainly focus on trying to get the both of you out of the nest as fast as you possibly can.

Nick almost has to let out an exasperated chuckle when Ellie gets the report. He's aware that a deathclaw isn't the kind of thing he's well equipped for fighting and, therefore, will try his best to make it a simple in-and-out mission. His plan is to show up, get you out, and leave without any conflict, but he knows it's just wishful thinking. The plan fails horribly, and a few shots were fired on his part, but he got you out, didn't he? Isn't that what really matters?

Cait will roll her eyes when she hears the news, sighing loudly as she goes to get her shotgun. It'll take her a minute — especially if she's off the drugs — but she'll eventually find herself an opening to lodge a bullet in the skull of the beast. She's more amused than annoyed at the situation and will throw her blood-drenched arm around your shoulder as she tells you that the two of you are headed to the bar so you can tell her all about what happened.

The second he learns about the situation, Danse rushes to grab both Haylen and Rhys to go out on a rescue mission. They'll make light work of the deathclaw, shooting it down quick before Haylen and him run over to you with an abundance of medical supplies (Rhys doesn't think you should be coddled since you were the one who got yourself into this mess), and a long lecture on Danse's part on how to avoid being kidnapped.

Preston panics when he learns about your little incident and is quick to rally a hoard of settlers to follow behind him to steal you back. Deathclaws are notorious for causing problems for the Minutemen, and Preston ends up putting all of that past resentment into saving you. He goes in frightened, angry, and prepared, blazing down anything that tries to prevent him from getting to you. The group makes quick work of the mother, and Preston just can't find it in himself to shatter the eggs at the end.

Codsworth decides his best action is to just waltz in and politely ask for your return. If he treats the deathclaw like he would your mother, then he doesn't think he'll have any issues. His plan goes horribly when he goes to shake her hand and introduce himself, only for him to get smacked by her giant claw. He'll then start to panic a bit and you'll probably have to step in and help him take the creature down.

Piper finds its behavior strange and will focus on that aspect more than she will on your rescue. She'll sit and document the incident, curious about the reason behind it all. She never comes to a sound conclusion, but she does manage to sneak you out eventually. There's no way she's going in there with only her pistol, so she'll just throw a few grenades to distract the deathclaw, while you run from out of the nest. No harm no foul.

Curie's not entirely sure how worried she should be, that being said, she'll use this as a learning opportunity for an up-close deathclaw study. Her calm demeanor matched with her unthreatening aura has the creature unbothered and she'll be able to simply walk you out the same way you came in.

Strong isn't phased. You got yourself in that position, so you can get yourself out. There will be absolutely no rescue coming from him.

Hancock thinks you're an absolute riot. Who gets kidnapped by a deathclaw anyway? He doesn't even bring a gun when he finally decides to stop laughing and come and get you. He just waltzes on in with no plan in mind. He doesn't need it — just throws the mom a pound of mirelurk meat and grabs you. Deathclaws are a lot less likely to attack ghouls than humans, so he doesn't have many issues going in — the trick is distracting it long enough to get you out.

Way to be incognito... Deacon certainly isn't thrilled to hear you got yourself taken — hell, not even he's pulled something like that off. His approach is to stalk the nest you're being held in, before taking one clean shot right between the creature's eyes. He doesn't stall any longer than he needs to, just one pull of the trigger before coming to your side. He tries to make himself appear nonchalant but fails miserably as he can't help but look you over for cuts. He's honestly so worried and won't leave you alone for a good week after.

X6-88 thinks you're stupid for getting caught up in something like that, but he doesn't waste any time in teleporting you out of the nest and safely into the Institute. He'll send for a squadron of synths to take out the deathclaw as the medics look you over for injuries and diseases.

Dogmeat was there when you got kidnapped and most likely got taken with you.

Old Longfellow's getting too old to deal with things like this... can't you get yourself free on your own? He's reluctant to go, but will eventually go to check in and see if you're still alright. He has no problem taking down the beast, but don't think you're not going through a whole training regime afterward to ensure that this'll never happen again.

Gage is amazed at your ability to get yourself in the worst possible situations. If it were anyone else he would've just forgotten about them and moved on, but since you're the boss, he goes to put together a group of raiders to put her down. It'll be a relatively quick rescue, but he never lets you live it down.

[carrymelikeimcute]

Lets talk about Izzy and why being in drag is (potentially) huge for his arc.

The verdict on Izzy in S1 seems to be either 1. he's an angry, repressed queer guy with internalised homophobia or 2. he's an angry guy with homophobia. I would like to present to you - secret option number 3. Neither of the above (but a bit of 1).

I think he's an angry queer guy, who's terrified of the danger that lurks outside of appearing constantly masc and strong, and seeing other people apparently not realise or care how vulnerable they are, drives him absolutely spare. It's more complicated than simply internalising homophobia, it's misogyny and self-loathing and a response to being at sea for his entire life and struggling to survive - and we see what just a few months of that does to Lucius.

This is reflected in his talks with Ed in S1 - Ed's whimsy in the face of the approaching Spanish ship might get them all killed. Ed's public breakdown, if it got out, would destroy the reputation that protects Ed, Izzy and their entire crew. Stede is a pet, he's a weakness, and so he needs to be eliminated. That's how Izzy functions - he has like two bits of exposed skin, one outward emotion and he's lived for a long time like that - it works. It's the kind of strength he understands. He's convinced that him reining Ed in is what's keeping them alive.

BUT in S1 he sees that being open, being yourself, isn't a death sentence - and he HATES it. Because if that's true, look how much time he's wasted.

Ed and Stede's very whimsical lighthouse fuckery WORKS. Stede, in his frilly suits with his rec room and his fucking library, skates past death over and over again like he's scotch guarded from consequences. Ed and Stede make moon-eyes at each other and no one uses that against them - until Izzy does, because it's going to happen sometime (he thinks) so it's better it's him, because at least then Ed will survive.

Lucius is just hooking up with Pete in the galley while Wee John is right there - this is something that's an unspoken part of ship life, a shameful thing, and Izzy's the only one it bothers. Lucius uses flirtation to get out of scraping barnacles under armed guard, and uses it again to shut Izzy down. Lucius isn't ashamed of being flirtatious, seductive and femme - and Izzy loses to that tactic. He can't beat it with yelling and anger. It's a sort of strength he doesn't expect or understand - the strength that comes from knowing who you are. Of 'carrying yourself like you're cute' - because if you're confident, it'll work.

But he still has a huge amount of resentment for anyone who is allowed to be themselves - because he can't be. Especially in Ed's case - one of them has to be 'the strong one' and he thinks that's him.

Then, Season 2 happens.

In the space of a few episodes, Izzy learned that sharing your feelings is fucking difficult, painful and takes a lot of courage. He's had no choice but to be weak, spilling out all these ugly emotions and being physically dependant on others and in that weakness he wasn't destroyed - he was rebuilt. A little bit of that guard comes down and it doesn't kill him. So, he takes his shirt off and no one stabs him in the back. He's got a gold unicorn leg and he still absolutely wrecks shit up on a raid. He does something a little arty, opens up a tiny bit to Lucius, and he still doesn't die. It doesn't make things worse, it makes them better.

Enter, the drag episode. Suddenly, we've got Izzy in drag. A masculine style of drag, but still, drag. All that internal change, the shifting meaning of strength and masculinity, is externalised, but he's still himself - his face tattoo is redrawn as part of the makeup because it's still his face, if anything, it's MORE his than ever - AND THEN THE SHIP GETS ATTACKED, his worst nightmare - he's as far from hyper-masc as he can be, and now he's in danger.

BUT

In the teaser, we see Izzy telling people who are, presumably there to torture him and the crew, that it's just going to turn him on. He's using Lucius' technique of disarming people with flirty banter. I can't see S1 Izzy being able to do that.

He gets to dress in drag, be sassy and still win a fight because he's strong as shit and that doesn't go away just because he allows himself to be other things too.

[nalyra-dreaming]

About DM, having read som theories and speculations of yours and others I would love to add some of my thoughts and hear what you and @virginiaisforvampires and @cbrownjc thinks - if you are interested :)

1. Armand clearly reacted to Louis offering Daniel the Dark Gift, and reacted even more strongly to Daniel basically saying “No, thanks”. On the surface it seems in the latter instance that he was just offended by Daniel’s verbal barb, but I’m sure this is actually clever obfuscation by the writer/director/actor, no?

2. Given 1) and the foreknowledge of DM, Daniel responding ”A cure for Parkinson’s” when Armand (as Rashid) asked if Danial has everything he needs could be an unfired Chekhov’s gun…?

3. What really is/will become Armand’s endgame? I actually believe that it is as it seems, that Louis is the driving force behind this second interview. And that Armand actually be still be somewhat angry/resentful following the (presumed) breakup of DM. I think you speculated that Daniel might have wanted to leave to live a life since Armand refused to make him a vampire? While Armand might have wanted to spend the rest od Daniel’s mortal life with him? This would explain the charade, it being a way for Armand to either try to stop Daniel’s memories from resurfacing (per his request?) as well as Armand’s attitude in season one (as he seems annoyed with Daniel at times). Daniel’s terminal illness might be changing Armand’s mind however (á la DM), as previously suggested. Honestly? A part of me want to see some sort of fucked up Dracula situation, where it becomes clear gradually in a terrifying manner to Daniel that he is trapped by this ‘monster’ who claims to know him better than he knows himself/knows what’s best for him. The latter seemingly being a version of the dynamic playing out between Armand and Louis currently.

4. How will Daniel feel about Armand following season two? I think Daniel’s view of life and of the vampires has been shown to be quite different than to back in the 70s. His view of Armand must surely also be influenced by hearing of Louis’ bloody history of him? As he will presumably get to know Armand chiefly from Louis’ story and be quite critical of him - even viewing him as quite sinister as he realizes and gets Louis to realize the part Armand has played in tampering with their memories and Claudia’s death. Of course Armand is participating in the interview so his perspective will also come to light, and Daniel seems according to the trailers at one point be talking to Armand one-on-one. So he’s open to listening. I believe that Daniel’s view of Armand will be quite negative - even following the return of his memories, at least initially. That putting these memories and feelings together with his current view of life and view of Armand will be anything but simple. I would guess at this point that the romantic nature of their relationship is something that will be revealed very late - maybe even be a cliffhanger for the next season (together with other stuff).

5. A more nuanced view of Armand. However it wouldn’t completely surprise me if Louis, and possibly Daniel, somewhat consensually agreed to have some of their memories tampered with. I think Louis on some level after Claudia’s death might, due to his intense grief, wanted to emotionally “run away” so to speak. And that this series basically began with him for some reason or another now feeling ready to confront the past. So Armand’s seeming malevolence as a mind-manipulator will potentially be tampered by these facts. However Daniel will now presumably together with Louis find out about the role Armand played in Claudia’s death. Daniel’s empathy for Claudia is somewhat limited though, understandably as he has the human perspective and does, quite rightly, not excuse her murderous ways. But he might dislike Armand due to the self-serving aspect of the trial? Or maybe not?

6. At this point, I don’t think Louis and Daniel have been in a serious romantic relationship. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hooked up or something similar but Louis seemed very genuine and definitive in welcoming Daniel as a friend he met once/or a few times years ago recording the tapes. If he was hiding a past history and/or romantic relationship from Daniel I think he would behaved differently. Of course he could also not remember, but I don’t think that’s the case here.

7. I guess what I’m most curious about is what kind of dynamic will take form between Daniel and Armand during and immediately following season two? I would love to hear your thoughts. Also the Dracula comparison was not my idea but something I’ve read somewhere here. So sorry for long post! Love your blog!

Hey!

Glad you like! <3

Sorry this took a moment (the answer is also a bit longer^^)

He did. And yes, it might contain obfuscation, but mostly… I think Armand was almost afraid that Daniel would accept the gift from Louis. Maybe Louis offered before, maybe he did not, but Armand surely didn’t. And… Armand loves Daniel. Ultimately Daniel will be his only fledgling. There is a level of possessiveness to that, of course, and also to the not-healed bite marks on Daniel’s throat, which more than likely did not just stem from Louis’ attack (because Armand would have needed to heal Daniel there at least a bit, and over the following 12 years he bit Daniel often). I think there are a lot of things at play. For the book readers it is a nice little easter egg on various levels (both Daniel’s and Armand’s past together and also Armand’s personal past being referenced), but also something more hinted at, something we have not been shown yet. Though, given the title of that music part (Alice is in her third trimester) a while back - maybe we will get to see it. Something must have happened to make Armand let Daniel go, and the repeated refusal in the books served to open a rift between them. I could easily see that happen here as well. That said, it would mean that we will get a LOT more DM in s2 than thought so far… and I’m not sure that will be the case. What I could easily see is Daniel reminiscing (or getting memories back) about the moment he “got his shit together” as he called it in s1 - but I do not think we will get all of what that entailed yet.

Most certainly :) I think he’s already getting it. Fareed is not there to play around after all^^.

I have speculated that the aforementioned rift that developed through Armand’s repeated refusal to turn Daniel will lead to Daniel seeking other … comforts. But I think it would actually need a big reason (like a baby…) to make him struggle for real - and I could see someone else then decide to end that struggle. Put an end to the hunt/relationship because it was not good for Daniel, ultimately, and because Armand could not be moved. As per Armand… I think Armand did acquiesce to Louis’ wishes to have Daniel redo the interview, and he likely was not happy about it. I mean, imagine how it would be to see the love of your life... and said love of your life does not remember you. Verbally throws things at you. It must be a wild mix of feelings for Armand, from annoyance over helpless love to utter devastation. No wonder he tried to literally hide from it. I do think Armand was already aware of Daniel’s sickness - the aforementioned medicine by Fareed he is getting - that had to be prepared. Planned, designed. Researched. Whatever it is they are giving him is not what they claim it to be (the side effects don’t match), and… given Daniel is not stupid he might hone in on that pretty soon. Now, in the books there is a pharmaceutical empire that is led by a powerful ancient vampire, Gregory, and he and Seth (who is Akasha’s son and Fareed’s lover/maker) are roughly on the same level. Seth, but mostly Fareed, builds whole research centers for the vampires. There is a LOT of potential for the show to hook into that, and I actually think both the more physical sex and the absent death sleep during the day are thanks to Fareed. If that will ever be spelled out? No idea, but the first is something Fareed already makes happen in the books and the second is something he plans to remove… so I do think that is connected. I think whoever is orchestrating behind the scenes (coughs prime minister coughs) wanted to help Daniel to live long enough to maybe reconcile Armand and Daniel. And for that Daniel needs his memories back. If that is Armand though… the show will tell :)

Well, I think it will be the same as in the book when the memories come back - Daniel will realize that he “loved this thing”, this monster, despite everything. Despite knowing what Armand has done. That is part of the horror, that the lover overshadows everything he knows, and that he is, in a way, helpless against that. Oh, I’m sure there will be a development of feeling, of course. But ultimately Daniel will realize that he loved Armand - absolutely, totally - and then eventually he will realize that he still does. And that will make him just as confused and vulnerable and hurt, and emotional as it makes Armand.

I can easily see Louis saying something like “I want the pain to stop” or something similar, and then Armand taking that as his cue to interfere. The thing is, Armand back then… is not the Armand in Dubai. DM happened in-between and it changed him. So when Armand likely “tinkered” with Louis’ mind back then it was more to serve himself - when he “tinkered” with Louis’ mind later on it was likely to help Louis. However he did and what that tinkering might entail. So yes, Daniel might challenge him on his part in it all, of course. I am counting on it, actually. Because Daniel is there to pull the truth out of Armand - that is (part of) why the interview is being redone. And of course that will shape Daniel’s view of him further - only the feelings won’t care for that view when they come back. Armand was quite the “villain” in the earlier books - that changed a bit with the later ones. But he is still a coven master, and Lestat calls him “ruthless” in the books. The show will present both Armands to us in direct confrontation - and I bet the emotions of the audience will be just as tumultuous as Armand’s and Louis’ and Daniel’s own are by this confrontation.

Oh, Daniel and Louis… probably got along really well and even intimately during those 12 years. I think Louis definitely has a personal connection to him, much more than in the book. It’s a weird relationship triangle they have there, and soon Lestat will be added to the mix - and I bet it will be revealed that Daniel has met Lestat before (as well).

I think after s2 Daniel will still be an old man, still be the interviewer, the chronicler. But remembering much, much more, and therefore challenging whoever else is on that couch then (I expect Lestat) a lot more as well. For example wrt episode 5. I would bet real money that we will get episode 5 in s3 from Lestat’s POV. Because by now I think there was nothing random, or unplanned about it. This show is a puzzle, and we have had only a few pieces. I think Armand and Daniel… will be very … raw with each other. Emotions are high, vulnerability as well. There will be intimate moments, but also rejection. Daniel’s view on eternity will change at some point, and probably rather rapidly with the memories coming back. There will be anger at the meddling. Daniel is no pushover. He will challenge them, and especially Armand. At some point he will realize that he does not need to ask - he can demand, to an extent at least. And that will change the dynamic once more.

It will be very, very interesting to watch^^.

[annabelle--cane]

I confess, I've never retained much interest in Martin but I think that's mainly because his fanon analogue has always cringed me in a way but during my re-listening to the podcast I realized how fucking complex he is. Dude exploits the underestimation that everyone imposes on him but ends up that he also underestimates his own capacity for harm, like he's not even making an effort to do good just as the fandom believes he's just terribly alone and never had many opportunities to do evil and I think that's a reality for a lot of lonely people out there actually. That's a really interesting concept for a character, I'd love to see more of it.

I don't think it's quite right to say he's not making an effort to try and do good, there are clearly a few points in seasons two and three where he kind of assigns himself the role of the archive den mother and tries to keep everyone from falling apart, but I think his relationship with caring for people is more fraught than a lot of people give him credit for. on the one hand, he has a very pure altruistic motive of wanting everyone to be okay, and he does try to work towards that, but on the other hand that motive can become overly simplistic and make him start operating on a very good guys vs bad guys moral code. there have also been very few times when caring for people has actually been his choice, and that can both make him feel completely inept at acting on his own and, on occasion, explosively angry and resentful at the people/situations he's trying to help.

there's a counter to that "power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely" aphorism that goes like "power reveals; if you give a guy the power to do anything he wants then you'll see what the guy always wanted to do," and for martin, the thing he always wanted to do was make everybody safe and happy so he could stop being so constantly terrified. when he realizes there's no way to configure the world so that everyone's happy, he tries to convince himself that hurting the people he hates must be somehow helpful to everyone else, and rejects the idea that he has any power at all.

[aprillikesthings]

Okay I do want to watch another episode tonight instead of just back-tracking to watch stuff from earlier episodes over and over and roll around in my feelings and yell about them at my partner

BUT (this is from Corridors)

Yeah yeah Horde Prime is evil and the actual villain of the series but the fact is: he could read Catra's reactions to things. ("Elevated heart rate, dilated pupils. Adora means something to you.") And while obviously he sees affection/love/etc as bad things, he still nevertheless tells Catra (more than once) to her FACE that she still has feelings for Adora.

And yeah the feelings are often a mixed-up mess of envy and resentment, which comes out of Catra as anger and a need for revenge, and which Horde Prime accurately interprets as very painful for Catra--none of those feelings would be as strong without the love and grief under it all and causing so much of it.

It's a cliche but it's true: the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference. And Catra might feel many things for Adora but indifferent is not one of them.

And it's just SO TELLING that after Horde Prime's next line: "Don't you want to be free of it?" Catra doesn't think "ha ha yeah that would be a relief lol"

She bristles and gets angry.

And then looks terrified

And YEAH obviously some of it is a logical reaction to being threatened with joining the hive mind.

But also she doesn't actually want to be freed from her feelings for Adora. And I don't know if she even knew it until that moment.