#why did you make this code in a way that is incomprehensible to anyone who does not have your mind

[devils-little-sista]

.

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

Chapter 2 of my reincarnation fic!

@rottmnt-background-screenshots

@daboyau

“Okay, this clearly is something beyond my scope.” Donnie comments as he watches the recording from last night.

This was after he saw the readings he got were nearly incomprehensible.

The recording showed them all having their markings glow throughout the night.

There was also the fact that each of them remembered the dream from their own perspective.

The exact same dream.

“Draxum could probably tell us what’s happening.” Mikey suggests.

“Normally I’d keep pushing for science, but I’m worried that this unregulated use of our mystic powers may cause damage like it did to our arms, so I’m in agreement for calling him.”

“Should we tell dad first? This might be some Hamato kind of thing.” Raph mentions.

“Could save us a call. Let’s go see if he’s awake.” Leo leads the way to the movie room.

They find him watching his usual commercials.

“Dad, we gotta talk.”

“What is it, Red? Did one of you boys break something again?”

“No, uh…..we shared a weird dream where we were all different people in a different place that looked pretty old.”

Splinter tenses and shuts off the projector, which immediately makes everyone realize how serious this could be.

“Tell me more about it.”

The turtles explain how the dream went from their different viewpoints.

Splinter frowns and rubs his beard.

“I do not believe this is anything dangerous, I think I know what’s going on.”

“So it’s a Hamato thing like Raph thought?”

“No, not exactly Orange. Maybe not entirely. Do you know what reincarnation is?”

“That’s what Tora was talking about, something about another life.” Raph answers.

“There’s one belief that when we die, we could come back as anything, even another person. These dreams might actually be memories.”

Mikey gasps loudly.

“We’ve been a family before!” He squeals and pulls Leo into a hug.

Leo dramatically moves him away.

“No way, apparently Donnie was your favorite! Go hug him!”

Mikey whimpers and gives him the biggest sad eyes he can muster.

“Kidding, kidding!” Leo quickly brings him back into the hug.

“I thought our ancestors all became ghosts after they died, so how did they become us instead?” Raph questions.

“It’s only a possibility they were Hamato. They could have been anyone. We should try to contact Karai, she would know more.” Splinter answers.

“I can’t wait to see gram gram again. It feels like it’s been forever since our last talk.”

“According to my records it’s been….2 weeks.” Donnie corrects.

“Still way too long! Let’s do it!” Leo encourages.

They all go to the area in the lair they set up specially for contacting their ancestors. It was usually just for talking to Karai since Splinter was still angry the rest of them for trying to make his sons martyrs, but his mom was also summoned for some nice chats from time to time.

They sit down on their color coded pillows that were put together close to each other in a circle. All at once, they activate their ninpo and focus on bringing Karai out. Her form slowly appears in the center.

“Hi Gram-Gram!” Mikey greets her with a smile.

“Hello boys. I’m glad to see you all again.”

“It’s good to see you too Gram-Gram, but we’ve got somethin kinda serious to ask about.” Raph comments.

“The dreams, they’re worrying you.”

“Yeah! How’d ya know?”

“When your ninpo activated, I was able to sense what was going on. Please fill me in on the rest.”

The turtles tell her what they told Splinter.

“Your father mentioned the mystic warriors that trapped the Krang, yes?“

They all nod.

“They were 500 years before my time, but it was strongly believed that they started the Foot Clan.”

“Hold on, pops said the Foot Clan worshipped the Krang! Why would they worship who they were tryna stop?”

“The Foot Clan only started worshiping the Krang after they gave the armor to my father.”

“Wait….I’m not good at math, but if the key was made 1,000 years ago and it trapped them, how were there Krang to give your dad armor?” Leo scrunches up his face.

“Some Krang managed to avoid being captured. Enough to cause centuries worth of damage….but not enough to get back the key.”

“There’s been Krang here this entire time….?”

“I don’t know what happened to them after I sealed my father away, so unfortunately I don’t have much information. What I do know is that the ancestors before we became the Hamato clan aren’t the same. Despite the mystic energy, it’s only once we separated from the Foot that we could cultivate the Ninpo. My father himself only appears because of the Ninpo used to free him.”

“Then what you’re saying is that getting our ninpo back could have helped uncover latent mystic energy from before it was actually ninpo. It shook free memories and our ninpo helps us see it all at once.” Donnie explains.

Karai nods.

“Raphael possibly experienced bits and beforehand because he was the first to dig deep. Now that you all have had major moments, Leonardo especially, they are flowing through. Because they’re not channeled, they are random and scattered still. Through meditation and shared ninpo, you could see them clearly and without having to sleep to do it. Some memories may only come through based on the person you’re sharing ninpo with.”

“Thanks for the advice Gram-Gram. We’ll start practicin.” Raph smiles at her.

“Stay safe and be careful.” She vanishes into green light.

“We should try it out now! I want to see more of what we were like!” Mikey shouts excitedly.

“I’m with Mikey, small Raph is hilarious.” Leo smirks.

“This may help be gather more data about this whole situation so I agree too.” Donnie states.

“Go on and try. I will stay with you in case something goes wrong.” Splinter adds.

“Let’s do it then!” Raph stands up and he helps his brothers bring their seats closer together.

Splinter sits outside the new circle and the turtles hold hands before closing their eyes. They each dig into their ninpo, causing their marks to light up like before. Thoughts of the lives they led before transform the dark in front of them into a bright and cloudless day. There’s a dirt road in front of them as well, one that’s moving. It seemed they were hitching a ride on a cart that was mostly occupied with hay.

Kosuke and Tora both kick their feet up and down as they sit together on the edge of the cart. Aoi yawns as leans against the hay and Tomo frowns while looking at the younger two of their group.

“You’re sure that you know how to earn money?”

“How do you think I’ve kept me and Tora fed? I told you not to worry. I’ve got everything under control. Now that I’m your big brother-“

“We’re the same age.”

“But I’m bigger, so I’m the biggest brother, and that means I take care of all of you.”

“They won’t take us to any orphanages?”

“I’ll be honest with you, the orphanage didn’t care that you left. They probably filled up the spaces there already. None of them want to take in any kids they don’t have to. We can stay together. That’s a sworn promise.”

“Don’t promise something you can’t keep.”

“That’s why I don’t! I can make sure no one gets taken away. Just like I can keep us fed. We’re already almost there.” He points towards a farm.

“A farm? What will we do there?”

“Anything they need us to. If they don’t need help then we go to their neighbors.”

“Ugh, physical labor….”

Aoi laughs.

“I’ll be doing most of the heavy lifting.”

“But I help too!” Tora interjects.

“That true, she is a force to be reckoned with. I saw her carry a hay bale twice her size.”

“Really!? No wonder we got that boulder down! You’re so strong!” Kosuke’s eyes light up.

Tora moves her sleeve up and proudly flexes her arm.

Kosuke pokes her arm in awe.

They eventually get off the cart before heading towards the house. Aoi introduces himself and everybody else then asks about any work they could help out with for money.

To Tomo’s surprise, the farmer eagerly accepts. Aoi is sent to take care of the farm animals while the rest of the three harvest fruit.

Tora pouts heavily as she picks pears off the tree and places them in a basket.

“No fair….they won’t let me help him because I’m a girl.”

“I’m surprised anyone had let you before.” Tomo comments.

“It’s because I was wearing a boy’s yukata. In my next life I want to be a big and strong boy like aniki.”

“You could grow bigger and stronger as a girl! So big and strong that you’re better than any boy.” Kosuke suggests.

Tora’s eyes sparkle like everything was just made clear.

“You’re a genius!”

Kosuke smiles widely.

They only stop working once the sun goes down. The three of them head to the house and see Aoi already there, talking to the farmer again. When he sees them, he ends the conversation and rushes over.

“Guys! He said we could sleep in the barn for tonight.”

“What? How’d you convince him of that?” Tomo questions.

“Aniki is the best at talking to people.” Tora says proudly.

“That’s not a real answer.”

“No worrying about how! Let’s just get to sleep.” Aoi walks past them and to the barn.

Tomo narrows his eyes as he watches him again and is the last to follow him. The farmer’s wife was nice enough to give them futons to sleep on before leaving them to rest.

Kosuke was snuggled into Tomo’s side despite the summer heat. Tora was already fast asleep, splayed out with her limbs on top of Aoi’s.

“How do you sleep like that?” Tomo doesn’t move his head, but he can see it clearly.

“You get used to it. It’s part of being a family. Goodnight!” Aoi closes his eyes.

Tomo sighs and does the same.

It’s difficult for him to actually fall asleep. He’s aware that everything is okay, that they’re safer than they had been for a while.

So why can’t he sleep?

After what could have been hours, he’s never sure when this happens, he finally opens his eyes and looks over back at Aoi.

All he sees is Tora hugging an empty futon.

Panic fills him as he sits straight up, still avoiding waking up. He notices that the barn door is closed. It only made everything seem weirder. He quickly leaves the barn and glances around outside to see if Aoi was nearby.

No luck.

He closes the barn door behind him and starts searching the whole farm. Once getting to the chicken coop, his seeking ends.

Aoi is in the middle of a yawn but jerks up in surprise.

“Tomo! Whaaat are you doing here?”

“That’s the question I have.”

“Just….getting some air. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Your words say one thing but your yawning says another.”

Aoi sighs.

“They only let us stay here because I agreed to guard their animals. Something has been spooking through chickens.”

“You worked harder than us today, why didn’t you ask for someone else to do it?”

“Because there’s no way I’m letting any of you get hurt if it’s a big animal! The rule is that it’s me before anyone else in this family.”

“I don’t recall agreeing to that.”

“Too bad, biggest brother makes the rules.”

“For the last time, you’re not-“ Tomo looks behind him and freezes.

Aoi turns around and sees glowing eyes in the darkness. His arm immediately shoots out and across Tomo’s chest.

“Get behind me!”

“I can’t just-!”

Whatever is in the darkness starts coming closer, fast, and Aoi throws himself over Tomo. His eyes shut right and he tenses as he curls protectively around him.

“…..Aoi. It’s okay. You can get up.”

He opens his eyes.

“Why?”

“It’s just a cat.”

Aoi quickly moves away from him and sees the cat casually stroll away.

“The gods are cruel.” He sighs heavily in relief.

“…..You really meant everything you said.”

“Of course I did. I really don’t know you or your brother, but when we became kenzoku, that wasn’t something to just say. We’re in this together now. Even if I wasn’t older than you, I’d still want to protect you. I’d want to help.” He smiles.

“I still feel like….the kind of person you are….the way you act, you don’t really exist. You can’t.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to keep proving I do.”

Tomo smiles back softly.

“Now come on, you should get back to sleep.”

Aoi starts pulling him along.

“I don’t think so. Stay here.”

Tomo makes him let go and rushes off. Aoi stays where he’s standing, confused.

That is until Tomo brings their futons back with him and lays them on the ground.

“We’re sleeping in shifts.”

“But-“

“No buts. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get rest. You sleep first before anymore cats get here.”

Aoi chuckles.

“Okay, okay, deal.”

He lays down and Tomo sits upright on his.

“Goodnight, for real this time.” Aoi closes his eyes.

“Goodnight.” Tomo looks at him and watches him actually fall asleep.

He then looks back at the barn where everyone else is sleeping.

“And thank you.”

The turtles snap out of the memory and open their eyes.

“Ohmigosh, we were so cute!” Mikey squeals.

“That cat part was pretty funny, right Donnie?….Donnie…?” Leo’s eyes widen as he looks at him.

He’s crying.

[gayforjuza]

If I can add to the sex discussion, especially since you mentioned the US in your first post, I think how things like sex and nudity are perceived are very cultural. Personally, the way USamericans talk about sex and nudity freaks me out sometimes. Especially the way all nudity is seen as inherently sexual because it's not! I've been to mixed gender nudist saunas (the default type of sauna in Germany) as young as 8 and I'm pretty sure it's what helped me develop a healthy body image and often mitigates my gender dysphoria because bodies sure come in all different shapes and size. On the other hand I saw an american on reddit say that sharing a bathroom with your own child is creepy?? Or the whole thing about schools mandating that bra straps can't be visible??? Incomprehensible to me.

And it's the same with talking/knowing about sex. The first time I had sex ed in school I was nine, and at age 14 the school invited external educators who taught us how to use condoms so if the time came we be able to do it right. But some years ago I learned that some schools and parents in America think that 15/16 is too early for sex ed. And for me that was like ooohhh okay that explains why American movies always feel so weirdly hypersexual sometimes.

Like tbf my only frame of reference for how Americans are about sex is movies etc and how they talk online, and my own upbringing is on the liberal end compared to other Germans but it makes sense to me that if sex is treated as something forbidden while growing up, people end up treating it as this super special thing once they are adults rather than just a thing some humans do.

(Sorry for the wall of text I just find the cultural differences in that area super fascinating)

Yes 100% thats why i specifically mentioned the US cus i know a ton of countries arent as fucking weird as we are, that being said i still think sex should be more casual/normalized than even the more chill countries but again idk a lot cus ive only lived here

personally i got lucky and also had sex ed at 9 and then a couple times more in depth after that but a LOT of states either dont do it at all or like u said do it very late, plus the sex ed i did get was absolutely ass but it was something at least

i think a lot of it comes from this weird puritanical christian basis our country seems to b running on? so the views of sex and nudity are based on that so its the very like Save Yourself For Marriage thing , dont show anyone ur naked body cus that means u suck or something idk

its gotten a lot better w the waiting til marriage specifically, and i think socially its getting a bit better in general but legally, with things like bathrooms and like u said w the school dress codes, it is absolutely not improving, maybe one day 😭

[jockpoetry]

supernatural sees women as a tool for development and strengthening of narratives/motivation and dean sees his body as a tool. is that anything?

When I saw this ask I really made the 🥴in real life. So, yeah anon, I do think there’s something to this.

Quick Disclaimer before I actually launch into my thoughts™: A lot of my read of Dean stems from my experience as both an oldest daughter and a transman. Being the oldest daughter was an experience I lived for many years, but I am also a man. I wasn’t raised as a man, I wasn’t socialized as a man, and even though once I came out upon reflection my masculinity was obviously there. Like I was a man™ before I knew I was a man. Even when I actively tied my identity to femininity for a long time! A lot of my prideful moments were based around statements like: “I was the only girl who (fill in the blank).” 

So I am just putting that out there before I launch into my spiel about Dean/Gender/Tool because they all interlock for me. 

I am also going to apologize in advance because I know this has fully gone off the rails and I’m not even done writing it yet. If this is incomprehensible ! Well, happens to the best of us.

First off, most importantly I guess before we discuss womanhood and Dean and the way both are utilized on the show I need to say that I personally don’t subscribe the whole Dean is female coded thing. 

It’s a read I can absolutely understand. But for me..he’s not. 

He’s a hypermasculine man to the point that when (and because he is written as a punchline, as the stupid™ brother, as the whore™, as the mother/father™, as daddy’s blunt instrument™, etc) Dean deviates from the pre-accepted definition of hypermasculine it’s Wrong. 

It’s Instantly Feminine. 

I think the internet has made the world very black and white, or blue and pink maybe. This point, I think, colors a lot of these discussions. Dean cooks, he cleans and so therefor he’s female coded. When that really just feeds back into the whole toxic masculinity loop. You can’t be masculine and cook and clean and cry. That’s for feminine people only. 

I get the argument! I do, I just think that Dean’s actions are not inherently feminine, it’s just in the vacuum of Female and in the Absence of Traditional Masculinity it makes sense to assign him female coded and move on.

IN FACT the way that Dean is the action hero of the show, the Masculine™ one on the show - but he cries, and he rages, and he cooks (Again and Again) and cleans (Again and Again). The fact he’s macho and confident but he has so little self esteem. Is frankly insane to me. You have this blaze of glory character who is so depressed that they have him kill himself. Twice. In explicitly “I hate myself, I hate hearing all the things I hate about myself, I want to destroy myself” ways. 

On just a regular ol’ network show that is just ungodly bad at times. They let their Male Hero cry - all the time (if I linked every example of this the essay would be...longer than it already is, but just take my word for it). Dean tears up and grieves and shows more than just Angry Horny Violent™ (he shows plenty of that, don’t get me wrong) but he’s Emotional (Again and Again and Again). In many different ways!

I mean, beyond even just tearing up, they make their Male Hero™ face sexual violence in pretty, uniquely horrifying - and queer! - ways.

Let’s make it clear, they did a lot of this unintentionally. 

Or they do it as a joke. 

Off of dean for a moment to say women are plot devices in this show. I could probably count on one hand female characters who have sincere depth to them that have roles outside of progressing plot, filling a filler episode, and who are still alive. Like even characters such as Charlie who are wholly developed, and interesting, are only remembered/mentioned/utilized to progress plots or fill an episode out - and then she dies. For pain™ for plot™ for no other reason than to traumatize a character. 

Which let’s also make it clear Dean’s trauma is also only used as a plot device (as is Sam’s but in a different way, and Cas’ trauma is a whole other barrel of fish we’re not gonna dive into right now). Like wholesale full stop they don’t actually care about what happened to him. Unless it’s relevant in an episode. 

Oh that boys home he was left at when he was 16 for months? Sure we’ll sprinkle that in in the back half of the series. Oh he was covered in bruises and said it was from a hunt (when it’s clear contextually they were from his father but saying the fantastical but true is easier than saying the uncomfortable but true). As Dean says though the story became the story, he was sixteen. He just went along with what John said.

We only see Dean ever truly rage at John, by the way, when either Dean is dead (when he’s between life and death and he rages at John, right before John “apologizes” for traumatizing him, for putting too much on Dean’s shoulders, and fucking dying) or John is dead (the Djinn episode where Dean is straight™ and John is dead™ and he goes to his grave and just yells and rages like he should have to his father in the real world).

Dean’s trauma from being both tortured and torturer in hell? Yeah, we don’t talk about that after it’s Relevant™. Even though it’s clear - especially in the demon!dean, mark of cain era, all those years later - Alastair still has his hooks inside of Dean. I stopped watching originally after s8 ended. I was fed up with the show, and with this whole renaissance I’ve been doing a rewatch and I’m into season twelve now and it really has never come up again. 

Even when he had the mark of cain and he was tasked with questioning and accused of torturing it was “the mark has changed you” and not “you were victim and victimizer in hell for forty years, which is longer than you’ve been alive on earth” (and, was about as long as he wound up living. Which is desperately sad.

Because we talk about Sam’s desire for a “normal” life but, Dean wanted out too. He was tired in the first few seasons of this show, he never had a chance to taste freedom (we don’t count the boys home, because that was a different kind of regimented life, and it was a false freedom) the way that Sam did in Flagstaff with Bones or at Stanford with Jessica. Love for Dean is sacrificing, it’s putting himself/his happiness/his well-being last.

Because Dean only knows love in the context of violence (like all of these fun examples, for starters) is a phrase that I’ve said a lot both in private chats and on here, and I absolutely think it goes to him being a tool (a blunt instrument, a plot device, so both textually and metatextually) instead of a person. Which Cas sees Dean’s shame/guilt and sees that side of Dean because he touched his soul, and saw more than just the Righteous™ man, more than just the tool, he saw A good man, not a machine. 

On the other side though you have how “bad guys” view Dean: Desperate, Sloppy, Needy, Dean’s hole (Again), which is again so wildly counterintuitive to the story of a Macho Man Hero™. You’re using vocabulary that is both queering him and feminizing (and I know this a meme format, but sincerely it is done in a derogatory way it is feminizing. It’s breaking him down to bare parts, to a sloppy hole). 

My whole rewatch I have been absolutely fascinated by how identity and free will is utilized/conceptualized on this show. Castiel has been my main focus, but Dean and how he is framed by himself and others is...fascinating - and frustrating. The writers inconsistency lends itself not only to this unintentionally queer character, but also one that again is incredibly easily read as a non-traditionally masculine character.

As a feminine character.

This show has so few female characters that of course it had to foist the roles/behaviors/plots that a female character might have onto a male character. Which I think is part of why reading Dean as trans (either transmasc, or transfemme) is so easily done like.   

Half of these are shit posts, but you can find trans allegories/textual evidence in this show again, again, again, again, and again. And this is unintentional, they don’t want you to look at Dean and see woman, former future or present. Like a lot of these I’m sure are punchlines for them, because women/queer folk are punchlines to them. 

Sometimes the only women in an episode are random witnesses who get two sentences of dialogue, and then the main guest character is a man. Who flirts with Dean, and Dean is receptive to it. 

They paint themselves into a corner, there are female Rabbi. So easily could Aaron have been a woman instead of a man, but they made the choice to play up the HaHa Dean & Men card. 

Because, again, Dean has filled the slot of Woman™ of Female Lead™ and the flirting would’ve been straight if Dean was a woman. It’s a plot device, they needed to have the guest character be disarming, be cute, make the main character flustered. 

It’s just the main character is a man, because they’re allergic to women. But they still need those female plots, tools of femininity, to move their show forward. I mean I am a big subscriber to transmasc Jo (no idea if anyone else is with me on this one, but let me explain). Jo is in love with Dean (concept) not Dean (actuality). Which, we’ve all had our eggs cracked by someone like that. We were in love with them until we realized we just wanted to be them.

He loved her like a little sister, she loved him like a lost idol. He’s a golden calf and she dies for him, because she believed in him, she was the original character dashed at the altar of the Winchesters. 

I fully believe if she had lived and if this show had a crumb of actual good writing Jo could have been a deeply compelling transmasc character. But I also think she’s a fascinating inversion of Dean. Dean is a Masculine Character who subverts Toxic Masculinity, Jo is a Tomboy™ she’s not your (if you take it straight, literally and metaphorically) average female love interest. She’s angry, she’s not soft at all, all edges and corners and thorns. She isn’t helpless, she’s stubborn but not in a “you’re going to get punished for this” way. She’s right when she’s stubborn. She’s helpful, she’s a martyr. 

I could do a whole other essay just on Jo (and Ellen, and Ash, what a fucking trio!) but needless to say Jo was one of the first...plot device feminine tools sacrificed to this show. She was a regular, she was unique, she was an engaging character, and she still died (to progress the plot? no. for man pain? yeah, for like three episodes maybe, and then it’s forgotten just like the rest of Dean’s trauma, as we mentioned above). 

Dean and Women and Love is a very interesting tool used too because. Boy they sure try to make Dean love women and it fails in small ways, and in big, meaningless, failed het domesticity (again) ways. Not to mention whatever Lust (in the form of a woman) having no effect upon him, when they could have used that moment to assert his Masculinity and Heterosexuality. He behaved normally? And...also...whatever the fuck the Adios thing was!

Like they have these opportunities to make him Traditionally (toxically) Masculine, but make the choice to...not? To soften him. Because it’s a tool. He’s their female lead, textually he had to take on the role of mother(/father) to Sam, but...I mean this is a million miles long already. I know, but we absolutely can’t not talk about his Paternal/Maternal behaviors. (Which appear again and again again and again, outside of his relationship with Sam even/especially). He’s the mother hen, sage, safety net, beacon, home to so many side characters they meet.

I mean in many ways Jody is also a Dean comparison. Lost her family. Found a new family. She is non-traditionally feminine, but easily flustered and Silly™ (let’s just drop the entire sex talk over family dinner scene with Alex and the boys and looking to them for help, even though she was already a mother, and she’s a cop, and a hunter and this confident no nonsense individual.... She’s not). We are meant to see her as this hard ass, but she makes extra food for the boys to take back to the bunker. She’s deadly in a fight, but also still easily overwhelmed and put into damsel mode, and she cares so much even in the face of adversity.

It’s also fun to see how Jo | Jody are reflections of Dean at different points of his life. Younger, cocky | Older, settled.

Even when the text tries to tell us that he’s not.

When it reminds us that he’s violent. That he is his father, even if he says that Sam is more like John (which was reflexive, which was angry because of Adam and how Sam was behaving like Dean in that episode, and yes there are parallels to be drawn between Sam and John, the show barely dives into them). Instead we’re told that Dean is John (Again and  Again and Again and Again). 

So intensely that a fanfictionalized version of the Winchester Gospels makes it an entire fucking musical number. 

And yet, despite the texts insistence to make Dean Macho Man Father Reborn™ We get this Dean who is silly (and directly compared/contrasted to the female character in this scene), soft, in heels, nagging, and... Sully (you know Sam’s imaginary friend who has the same Haircut Dean has, who is a softer, shorter, friendlier, campier, version of Dean who was a replacement For Dean until the real one let Sam back in? That? Sully?) it’s hard to take them seriously. 

Hell, even when he was A DEMON? What did they do? They had him sing off-key drunken karaoke, they had him doing this ! Like that’s your hero, unhinged, free to be as bad as he could be, and you put him in a cowboy hat in a romance with the king of hell. 

The Female Lead, everyone. Who’s biggest betrayal(s) comes at the hands of his love interest (again, a man even though it was an angel who could’ve taken any vessel! who could’ve been recast, who canonically dies admitting his love to Dean - that one), who he tries so hard to be loyal to. 

The contradictions of his character are laughable. He is so emotional, but if he is engaged about his emotions? He shuts down, or he’s exasperated about being asked about them. It really is Female Lead/Only Here For The Plot disease, because everything is more important than him. How’s he doing? Doesn’t matter outside of the context of how x character is doing or that y character is dead. Or his emotions only matter if they’re done in penance. 

They also really do frame him as Pretty Boy™ in a violent way, or in a derogatory manner. They’ll give us homoerotic shots like this or these and never really acknowledge how these are gay shots. Sorry the gun scene is a a straight up sex scene, the beer sip spilling out over his mouth is oral, the scene where Cas fills up Dean’s glass with whisky is also a sex scene, they do this shit on purpose but accidentally queer it up. If Dean was a woman these scenes wouldn’t even matter. They’d be passing moments, but because he is not just a man but A Man™ they’re insane to see.

Not to mention all of these scenes and all the ones I haven’t linked where Dean dresses up. He performs masculinity, but he performs femininity too. He’s a plot device that is slotted in to whatever role they need. He’s Super Straight Butch Man™ but coaches the lesbian on how to successfully flirt with a man. He’s Action Hero™ who sits through a montage with the same lesbian and yays and nays her outfits, and enjoys himself.

Fuck he loves dressing up, he feels better in these costumes because performing a character is easier than being himself. Because who is Dean? He’s a tool, both textually and metatextually. It is exactly how the women and because of the women on the show that Dean is the way that he is. If there was a more steady female presence Dean would not be half as much of a plot device or half as camp/gay/feminine/non-traditionally masculine/queer coded as he is. 

In conclusion....

[charliedawn]

Imagine being the only angel that likes Lucifer and is still fighting for his redemption

" Chloe ! You have awful neighbors, did you know that..?!"

" Lucifer !"

The devil doesn't have the time to make one more step inside the room that you are already jumping in his arms. He sighs as he recognizes you and awkwardly pats your back until you untangle yourself from him, a wide smile spread across your face.

" Y/N..What are you doing here ?"

He asks straight away, but you only shrug nonchalantly, as if your presence was of no importance.

" Just wanted to check on you ! Are you alright ? Father told me that you could use some company ! Plus, aren't I allowed to visit my favorite angel from time to time ?!"

He looks at Chloe that only shrugs at him, as clueless as he is. She had noticed you waiting near her house and had first suspected you to be a threat, but the way you had smiled at her had immediately made her trust you somehow.

" Chloe is a wonderful woman ! I understand why you like her so much. Thank you for the tea."

Lucifer looks at the empty cup and raises an eyebrow at the detective.

" Hey ! Why didn't you ever made me some tea ?"

Chloe scoffs at his poor attempt at jealousy before walking past him.

" Because A) She's better behaved and B) She isn't the Devil. Now, you two have a lot to catch up on I assume, so I'll be taking Trixie to the zoo while you two take care of whatever you're here for.."

She glances at you knowingly and you smile gratefully at her. She slams the door behind her and as soon as she is gone, Lucifer loses his playful smile and looks at you with a worried expression.

" Y/N..What are you really doing here ? You are one of his favorites. You have to return up there. It is not safe down here.."

You frown at his sudden seriousness and give a little pout before replying, your arms crossed.

" But it is for you ? You were one of us, Luci. The Greatest. It hurt me so much when I saw you fall and I am still fighting for your redemption ! You have changed. You have changed so much and I am not about to give up because you have !"

His eyes start watering despite himself and he asks you with a tremor in his voice.

" Why still believe in me ? There is nothing to save anymore..Why try so hard, Y/N ?"

You seem to think about it for a while before sighing and looking up at him with a hopeful smile.

" Because, I remember who you were..I remember who we were to each other and it was so beautiful, Luci. We were beautiful. When you fell, it took Michael, Azrael and Gabriel to keep me from jumping after you. I love you, Luci. We all did at some point but, even if the others chose to forget, I didn't..If only your pride hadn't taken control over you. You could have been magnificent, the angel of angels..This is also why I decided to take care of Hell while you're gone, covering your absence from Dad.."

He frowns in incomprehension before you smile and take his appearance in front of him.

" Neat trick, huh ? Nobody noticed the difference up there..Well, almost nobody. Gabriel did, but he promised not to tell anyone."

He had almost forgotten completely about Hell and takes your hands to kiss your knuckles in a simple act of humble tenderness, knowing what you were risking in helping him, knowing what HE would do if he knew.

" I'm sorry. I just wanted to feel loved..I just wanted HIM to be proud of me..I don't regret what I did that day, but if I regret anything..It's to have made you suffer, my little angel.."

You stroke his hair softly and smile compassionately at him.

" HE knows..HE is always watching you and know that you were doing what you thought was just..One day, you will come back home and that day, I'll be here, waiting for you.."

Luci looks up at you and gently runs his hand through your locks. He then kisses your forehead and you smile before slowly wrapping your arms around his neck to play with the hair at the back of his neck.

" No matter what happens, you'll always have me, Luci.."

You look up at him with all of the love you feel for this cursed angel and Lucifer tightens his grip on you, his eyes momentarily turning red with emotions.

" This is what scares me, Y/N..My poor angel, waiting for me will destroy you. I will never come back. Either Father will send me back to Hell or I'll stay here, among the humans."

You bite your lower lip before looking up at him and finally admit what you had agreed on with the great above.

" I know..This is why Gabriel has allowed me to rule Hell while you stay here, permanently, or at least until Dad finds out.."

His eyes widen at the news and he shakes his head negatively before cradling your face with his hands, almost crying at your act of kindness.

" Oh no, my darling..I..I'm sure he didn't say that, he couldn't have agreed to that. You must have misunderstood..You can't do that..Gabriel would never let you do that. And even if he did, I can't ask you to do that for me.."

You puff your cheeks, upset at his lack of faith.

" Why don't you believe me ?! Have you forgotten that the code forbids me to lie ?! Or do you have such little faith on my abilities ?!"

He laughs at your grumpy expression and shakes his head, making you understand that that wasn't what he meant, before putting his forehead against yours.

" Oh no, angel..It's not about not believing that you are good enough, I know that you are. It's about you not being here, right now, with me..Not being blamed for something that should be my responsibility.."

You try to make sense of his words until you seem to understand and burst out laughing to his astonishment.

" I see what's happening here ! You're afraid I'll put myself between you and the lovely policewoman ! But, don't worry, I'll be as discreet as a mouse as long as I'll stay here..I'm just here for a month and then, I'll be gone. I even got a job as a teacher at the school of Trixie, so you won't have to worry about me asking for money ! Lovely kid by the way !"

If Lucifer didn't have a headache before, he certainly did now..He is overwhelmed by the amount of information you've just given him and falls on the sofa. You follow him and sit next to him with your eternal sweet smile on your face and he runs his hand over his face, worry and tiredness written all over his features. You put your hands on his shoulders and your chin upon one of your hands, trying to soothe him by stroking his shoulders with your thumbs reassuringly.

" Let me take care of you..You've suffered enough, my wonderful little snake.."

Lucifer smiles at the familiar nickname before laying his hand over your back and looking down at you with teary eyes.

" Even after all this time, you still accept me ? You still find the strength in yourself to love me ?"

You answer him with a wide grin.

" Always. I'll always love you, Luci..They can tell me whatever they want, I know you and who you really are. I've seen every single part of you and I will always love all of them. Your flaws and your imperfections are what makes you so perfect..Can't you see ? You're not Father's greatest failure, your Father's greatest wonder. I could never be as human and empathetic as you are, I could never love them the way you can, because you understand them. Their desires, dreams and feelings are in you as well. In some way, I envy you. You'll always be closer to them than I'll ever be.."

Lucifer listens to your words with great attention and when you're finished, he looks at you like he's never looked at anyone before. He is full of gratitude and can't stop smiling at the abundance of kindness you had bestowed upon him. He kisses the palm of your hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and his heart swollen with adoration and devotion towards you.

" There is nothing great about humanity, but you seem to always see good in everything and everyone..You can't imagine how much I've missed you.."

You giggle as he peppers you face with kisses.

" I've missed you too, Luci..But, I think you should probably stop acting this way, or people will think you have a soft spot.."

You tease him and he takes a fake gasp before pointing a finger at himself.

" Me ?! Why never..?!"

You chuckle at his false startled expression before wrapping your hands around his waist to mumble against his shoulder.

" I love you, Luci..I know you don't believe me, but I really do."

He glances down at you with open tenderness before slowly petting the top of your head with care.

" I know, love..But, we both know that it will end in misery for the both of us.."

You smile up at him and kiss him on the cheek before replying with a shrug. You tighten your hold on him and make yourself even more comfortable by laying your head on his thighs.

" Misery with you is better than misery without you.."

He sighs loudly before looking down at you and seeing you suddenly asleep..Unaware that you were still somehow able to hear him, he whispers almost sorrowfully to himself.

" What hurts the most is that..You won't remember anything of what you just said.."

He watches your silent form for a while and takes a shaky breath before looking up at the sky, knowing that HE is listening.

" Punishing me wasn't enough ? You had to punish her as well ? How many centuries must you make her suffer and wait for something that will never happen ? You promised that when I would fall, she would stay safe..You gave me your word ! You turned around and left me to fall without her or you ! Can you imagine the pain I felt when I woke up in that dreadful place; alone and scared. And not only did you leave me, you took her away from me too ! You promised you wouldn't, and yet you did ! You gave up on us ! You gave up on me ! And just when I thought I would finally be able to forget her and live with Chloe, you send her to me and make me love her all over again ! What must I do to finally be able to forget ! I've done what you asked, over and over again ! I erased her memory every time she would come to see me ! I made sure that she would not remember all the moments we shared together after my fall ! And yet, you can't even keep an eye on her and let her run Hell alone ?! Why ?! To make me even more guilty ?! Every 100 years ! Every 100 years you let her come down here and make me suffer by erasing everything ! I thought that once I would be among them, she wouldn't be able to find me anymore, but as always, I'm trapped and must see the only person I love forget about me, over and over again.."

He starts crying and doubles in pain at the rage eating him up from the inside. This is where he feels it, a small tremor, a slight change in body position..He freezes in horror and looks down at you, to meet directly with your wide glassy eyes full of pain and grief.

"..Every 100 years ?.."

His breath stops as he understands that you've been listening to him and shakes his head at his own stupidity.

" Luci...? How many times did I come here to see you ?"

As he bites his lower lip in order not to answer you, you straighten up and ask again firmly, all joy having left your voice.

" How many times, Lucifer ?"

His eyes wander around the room before looking back at you and his heart tightens as he knows that he couldn't lie to you anymore.

" 50 times..You came 50 times and every time, you took a body and as soon as this body would reach its limit, you would die and get back up there with HIM..He would reset your memory and you would forget everything if I didn't do it first..while I remember everything. It hurts, Y/N..Just when I thought I could forget about you, he sends you again.."

You open your mouth agape at the news and look at the body you had taken and feel tears gathering up in your eyes. For centuries, you've fought for Lucifer's redemption, not even noticing that you were the one who was also being punished.

" This woman..Do you love her ?"

You suddenly ask and Lucifer stays silent for a moment before finally confessing.

" Not as much as you.."

You laugh at his answer before shaking your head and looking back at him with tears in your eyes, still full of compassion for him.

" But you will..You will love her with all of your heart and, knowing you, you will find a way for her to be by your side forever, something I can't be.."

He was about to deny your words, but you don't let him and stand up to walk towards the door. He quickly does the same and puts his hand over yours when you were about to use the handle to open the door.

" Please, angel..It is hard enough for me to know that I have very little time with you..Don't go."

He pleads and it takes all of your strength not to indulge in his request. You turn around and kiss him with a burning passion, to let him know that you weren't leaving him because you wanted to..But because you knew that there was nothing that you could do that wouldn't end up in tears and blood, because you love him. When he opens his eyes again, you are gone and he falls to his knees, knowing that it was probably the last time he would see you, or be intimate with you in this life. He knows that you've just given him the highest form of mercy there is: this kiss, signifying his freedom and the start of his new life..But then, why does it hurt so much ? As if you had just taken a part of himself with you..He looks up to see the car of Chloe that parks in front of the house, a very excited Trixie in her arms and wipes his tears away to smile at the family that he had learned to be a part of.

" So, is your friend gone ?"

Chloe asks, looking around to see if you were still in the house. Lucifer frowns before asking, confused.

" What friend ?"

One month later :

" Be safe on your way back, okay Trixie ?"

Trixie smiles up at you and nods vividly.

" Don't worry, my dad is coming to get me !"

You ark an eyebrow, wondering if Chloe had finally got herself a man to look after Trixie..not suspecting one bit that Lucifer would be the one entering your classroom to get Trixie. The little girl jumps in his arms and you can't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, as well as Lucifer's obvious awkwardness. When you make eye contact, you simply smile politely at each other and he turns around to get the girl back home. Perfect strangers. When he is gone however, you feel a pain in your chest and have to grip on the nearby table in order to support yourself. When you look up, you see Gabriel and smile bitterly, knowing why he was here..

" So, my time has come then, Gab ?"

He looks almost apologetic when he extends his hand towards you and answers affirmatively.

" You know the drill, Y/N..one month with him. You're the one who wished to share his burden..Hell is waiting.."

You close your eyes and nod in submission.

" I know..Lead the way, Gabriel."

Lucifer is feeling uneasy..He has this feeling that he knew that teacher somehow..But couldn't seem to recall where he could have seen her before..

" You know, the new teacher is really nice ! She got us some cake today, and said that I was going to become a very fine lady when I grow up !"

She puffs her chest out proudly and Lucifer smiles while they arrive at Chloe's house.

" Really ? And what else did she tell you ?"

Trixie frowns in deep concentration before answering him.

" Well..her name is Y/N..And when I said to her that I was friends with the devil, she told me to take care of him, as he is a very special friend.."

Lucifer chuckles before opening the door of his car and letting the little girl out to enter the house where her mother was trying desperately to find an explanation to her new case, not supernatural this time. It was rather refreshing..However, his thoughts come back to the earlier event when he had made eye contact with you, your smile had almost seemed..sad ? Y/N..Y/N..Where had he already heard that name before ? He searches in each corner of his memory, the feeling of knowing nagging and annoying him. He is in the middle of the driveway when he suddenly remembers and stops abruptly. His tires screech loudly on the pavement when he pulls back. He starts driving at a fast speed towards the school.

" Wait for me Y/N, I'm coming.."

You find yourself on the top of the school and look at Gabriel that seems to read your thoughts.

" He's not coming.."

You smile sadly at the prospect and nod understandingly.

" I know..Hell needs me, and he doesn't."

You take a big breath before opening your eyes, the last rays of sunlight reflecting in your eyes as your body starts shifting into his.

" Are we ready to go, Lucifer ?"

You smile at Gabriel's new name for you and nod before looking at yourself and smirking, the same smirk you had learned to love and hate as you were exercising how to do it in front of your mirror.

" Let's go, humans are such a boredom anyway !"

If Gabriel hadn't seen the transformation with his own eyes, he would have thought that it was the true Lucifer that was now standing before him..It is just when you deploy your white wings that he remembers that it is still you, under all of that pretend..You are both about to take your leave when you hear the loud bang of a car crashing nearby. You both look down and see Lucifer get out of the car, his eyes flashing a bright orange as he looks up at you. You shiver at the anger radiating from him and try to fly up after Gabriel. However, Lucifer shouts your name in such a guttural and ferocious way that you freeze.

" Y/N ! Don't you dare fly away from me ! I forbid you to go !"

You glance down at him and see that he has taken his true appearance back and each step he takes are trailed by little flames of Hell's fire. You shake your head and tear your eyes away from him to take a step back and jump in the air to follow Gabriel. Gabriel tries to warn you, but before he could utter a word, someone had tackled you to the ground in mid-air. When you look up, you see a very angry Lucifer on top of you and it's the first time that you are actually scared of him.

" Luci..? Wh..What are you..?!"

" Enough !"

He cuts you off with all of his mighty authority and you can't do anything but stay quiet as he glares at you.

" What do you think will happen if any of the demons down there recognizes you ?! What went through your little naive mind to think that that would ever work ?! You're an angel, Y/N ?! Come on, you really thought about the consequences of your actions ?!"

Your lower lip quivers at his harsh words and you feel hot tears rolling down your cheeks. He grins evilly at you before wiping your tears in a false gesture of sympathy.

" Aww..If you had done your researches like a good little angel, you would have known that Lucifer Morningstar doesn't cry.."

" Liar !"

You shout back and he smirks at your insult.

" See ? Progress."

He then stands up and yanks you up just as Gabriel flies down next to the both of you. He looks at the both of you before sighing and taking a step back, making you understand that he wouldn't take part of what was to unfold.

" I don't know what's going on, and I don't have the time to care..All I know is that I have to bring one of you in Hell before the gates close tonight.."

You and Lucifer look at each other and Lucifer is surprised to see you get on a fighting stance, but smiles at the determination in your eyes.

" You want to got to Hell ? Fine by me..But you'll have to go through me first."

Far from feeling threatened, Lucifer is amused by your strength of will and his smile widens. He slowly takes back his human form and cracks his fingers theatrically before gesturing for you to step closer with his index.

" Wanna fight the devil ? I must warn you, it plays dirty.."

You smile at his innuendo before running towards him and throw a punch at his face. He takes a step back, not having expected you to actually be fighting him, but quickly composes himself and tries to knock you out with a blow to the head. However, you're too fast and make him fall by round kicking his legs. You can't help but smile smugly at his startled expression.

" Have I forgotten to mention that I've been learning a thing ot two about fighting with Michael ?"

He groans at the name of his brother and quickly stands up to attack again. Soon, you are both fighting each other seriously and, blow after blow, both get tired. Gabriel doesn't even know which one is which at the end, when you both pass out. However, Time is running out and he decides to take the closest Lucifer to fly away. He succeeds in arriving to the gates just in time and when you wake up, you find yourself in Hell. You look around and see the billions of souls being tortured and it takes all of your self-control not to throw up and remain poised on your throne of stone. You close your eyes and take multiple breaths to calm yourself. When you open your eyes, you sit straight and whisper to yourself.

" Okay..Here we go, Lucifer..Wish me luck.."

[panharmonium]

is that meant to be an excuse

the WAY kakashi turns his back on the eldest and most highly-ranked officials in the village

and then he up and walks out of the room while koharu is in the middle of her next sentence

literally he just - walks out.  he doesn’t excuse himself or say goodbye or bow.  he doesn’t even let her finish speaking.  he leaves while she’s in the middle of talking and then shuts the door in her face.  

file this next to ‘kakashi faces down orochimaru’ in the drawer of kakashi’s most badass moments.  the level of disrespect kakashi broadcasts here is staggering - in no way would his behavior during this conversation be considered acceptable by anyone who doesn’t understand the context, but he isn’t just being an arrogant little shit for no reason, and this isn’t simply a right-wing/left-wing philosophy clash, either.  kakashi just learned all the dirty details about the uchiha massacre. he knows what these two did.  

even though kakashi is the one who reminds naruto (rightly) that they can’t just unquestioningly accept any story madara uchiha tells them, he acts this way with the councilors here because deep down, he believes what he’s been told.  he can’t say anything about it until he has proof, and he’s too smart to act on information that could still be a lie intended to destabilize the Leaf’s rebuilding efforts, but he’s clearly been thinking about it ever since madara appeared in the Land of Iron, and we can see here that ultimately, after doing his own internal analysis, the conclusion he’s drawn is that madara was probably telling them the truth.  however shocking and impossible a state-sponsored genocide + subsequent cover-up may have sounded to kakashi at first (and however much he may not have wanted to entertain the possibility of it having occurred), he suspects that madara’s information is true.  he thinks this is probably what happened.

it’s not a conclusion he draws without cause, i don’t think.  i imagine that for kakashi, this revelation feels more like a blurry picture coming into focus, as if he’s finally received the key to decrypting something that never made sense to him.  i’m watching this show for the first time, so there are some things i’m not clear on, but my impression is that kakashi knew itachi through ANBU before the uchiha massacre went down, and if that were the case, then i can only imagine how incomprehensible his crimes must have seemed at the time, to people who were familiar with him - it must have sounded impossible.  but kakashi and everyone else just had to accept itachi’s sudden turnaround as the reality, because impossible as it seemed, there was no alternative explanation for what happened.

but now, though - kakashi’s not stupid.  he is, per naruto’s own words, smarter than shikamaru.  as soon as madara uchiha presents him with a different possibility, things that never made sense before start to fall into place.  all the incomprehensible puzzle pieces that never fit together finally start to make sense within a bigger picture.  sasuke’s survival.  itachi being careless enough to let himself be spotted and accosted in the hidden leaf before he could get anywhere near naruto.  danzo sending sai to assassinate sasuke without tsunade’s knowledge or permission.  sai’s curse mark.  the report gaara gives kakashi about the five kage summit (where danzo was discovered to have stolen shisui uchiha’s sharingan eye).  and this -

kakashi can’t act without proof, but he knows.  he knows it’s true.  for the first time in years, things actually feel like they make sense.  and now, in this episode, he’s supposed to report to these two councilors as if he doesn’t know that they aided and abetted in a genocide against sasuke’s people, coerced a child into murdering his own community, covered the whole thing up, and are currently trying to get rid of the evidence by having sasuke assassinated?

kakashi can’t say anything yet, but he is coldly furious.  that narrowed eye says everything.  he knows he has to keep his mouth shut, because technically this could all still be a fabrication, and even if it’s not a lie, tipping his hand too soon could prompt the destruction of any evidence that might eventually enable this crime to be proven and dragged into the light, but the way he slaps these elders with disrespect here speaks volumes.  the cold contempt in his voice, the way he turns his back to them, the way he walks out of the room while they’re in the middle of a sentence - is that meant to be an excuse?

a reminder, for perspective: kakashi just returned from a confrontation where he thought he was going to have to kill his own kid because sasuke was so unbalanced by rage and pain and grief that he felt irresistibly compelled to destroy everything and everyone in his path, and now kakashi is supposed to just sit here and be deferent to the people who started this whole ball rolling years and years ago, back when sasuke and itachi were both just innocent children? 

no.  he shows them his back.  he shuts the door in their faces.  he does everything except flat-out tell them “i know what you did,” and while they may not know exactly why he’s behaving like this, they definitely know that the new hokage isn’t interested in any of their “advice.”

one other thought before i wrap this up: kakashi is the LAST person these two would ever have wanted to find out about their misdeeds.  he’s not some isolated child coming apart at the seams who can be discredited and eliminated - he’s one of the most renowned and respected jonin in their village (in ALL the villages of the shinobi world, in fact).  he’s also not distant enough from the situation to brush off these accusations as nothing more than rumor - he’s too intimately connected to the uchiha, to sasuke, to itachi, to obito, to the legacy of a dead community and the rightful inheritance that he carries inside his own body.  and most importantly of all, he’s not indoctrinated enough to accept whatever cold, shinobi-code calculations these people would try to use to justify their decision.  

kakashi doesn’t care if the shinobi code says the extermination of the uchiha clan was an acceptable loss.  doing the right thing in defiance of the shinobi code was young!kakashi’s entire character arc.  he used to be the “fall in line” kid, because he thought following the rules could protect him from pain, but after his friend teaches him a better way to be, he chooses to upend his entire life and reinvent himself in that friend’s image.  kakashi has remodeled himself after rulebreakers - specifically, people who refused to sacrifice the lives of others for the sake of a nebulous “greater good,” despite society’s rigid demands that they do so.  one of those people was his own father, a man who was crucified and ultimately destroyed by the culture he rejected, and the other was obito uchiha - a member of the same clan that danzo and the Leaf administration chose to sacrifice for the so-called “greater good” of the community.  

kakashi will never accept any excuses for that.  he will never give the administration a free pass on slaughter, even slaughter for the sake of a future “peace.”  the entire foundation upon which he’s built his post-obito philosophy is that you can’t sacrifice others for the sake of your mission, not even if the rules say it must be done.   you can give up your own life, yes.  but you NEVER offer up somebody else’s.  it’s not a right or worthy thing to do, and it never creates a lasting peace - as we’re seeing right now, with sasuke’s retribution.

when you get right down to it, kakashi is this administration’s worst nightmare.  i am really looking forward to the day he and sasuke and yamato and naruto can finally blow this conspiracy wide open.

[princesssarcastia]

Just wanted to say I love your tag "the last great american queerbait" bc yeah. It really does feel like we'll never see this level of bait in a major media property again. Which is probably a good thing, but it makes spn all the more unique...

thank you! that's from @biggersons on this post here. excuse me while i now ramble about this bullshit

i'm sure someone else has said this before on this hellsite, but YES. supernatural is one of the last of a dying breed, certainly one of the most iconic. supernatural was thee CW show to end all CW shows before it was cool. one of the last shows with such a dichotomous fan base, with dudebros vibing with all supernatural's surface level masculinity and violence on one end, and queer people screaming into the void about intricate rituals dean creates to touch the skin of other men on the other. hell, it was one of the only popular shows on TV in 2020 that still did 22 episode seasons; certainly nearly the last sci-fi/fantasy shows to do it.

remember that post about the difference between queerbaiting, queer coding, and subtext? FOR 15 YEARS SUPERNATURAL DID ALL THREE SIMULTANEOUSLY. its a work of art. homophobic, homophobic art. also racist. and sexist. why am i enjoying this content again?

There were so many different writers and directors and showrunners and camera operators even, that you have:

the showrunners and the marketing gurus running a long-con advertising will-they-or-won't-they-(they won't) queerbait on the queer people screaming into the void because the execs want their money AND the dudebro money but hate the queer identity and the fact that they kept rubbing their queer little hands all over supernatural's manly man masculine characters...

the writers who Been Knew queer coding dean and cas and getting it under the homophobic execs' noses, to the delight of their queer audience...

and the writers who were just monkeys at typewriters churning out nonsense with moments of shakespeare who kept loading on more and more subtext that made the queer audience want to take them by the shoulders and shake their heads right off.

frankly given this mess the only person left who gets to speak with any authority is misha collins, which—

this combined to make a show that is near incomprehensible as a whole but can be sanely consumed in smaller chunks or through fanfiction that burns out the stupid stuff. There's NO way it makes sense if dean and cas aren't madly in love with each other. none. the plausible no-homo ship sailed in like season 7, or like the second time one of them watched the other die and grieved like a widower.

and yet. those dudebros, with allll their money and viewership, are still there. still watching. and so the CW tries to have its cake and eat it, too. for fifteen, fucking, years. because they fear the homophobic backlash if they just fucking commit.

they were too afraid that they would stop making something profitable to realize that they could have made a work of art, that they could have made HISTORY.

no one else will do it like them again. no one will ever even get the opportunity. i can't see anything ever again coming close to having the kind of cultural impact supernatural has, that weird mix of americana and masculinity and brief flashes of themes that make your breath catch and crave more. supernatural was a mirror of american culture in the best and the WORST way, and I don't know that TV creators have the range or the desire to ever reflect us back to ourselves like that again.

there are more explicitly queer shows now that are so much better and more heartfelt, with production teams that aren't remotely predatory. I adore them all! we need them! we deserve them! I want more of them! supernatural should not be a template for anyone ever because it was objectively terrible!

but their was something magical about the tentative hope in the air while it was still going, that little voice in the back of your mind that says, it's been fifteen years!, maybe it will grow beyond its origins, maybe they can learn from their mistakes, maybe they can reach for the happy ending that is right in front of their faces if only they would look past their prejudices long enough to see it. to see us. that's why the show blew up again in the fall of 2020, during the U.S. election, because on a meta level it was reflecting our culture and the moment back to us once again.

of course, in the grand american media tradition, they set that hope on fire. one last queerbait for the road.

so. yeah. its the last great american queerbait.

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Of Ice and Blood

Part 3

Hey there! Thank you for taking the time to read this

There are so many left out details here that I did on purpose for future explanation within the fic for the element of mystery I'm trying to brew . Hope you don't mind! Enjoy reading❤

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

1.7k words.

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury and fighting.

*

Without thinking, I drove my fist towards the voice, regretting it the instant I recognized who it was.

Tai'chi.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found my fist encased in his hand. He seems unfazed by my reaction, seemingly expecting it.

“Oh shi— I’m so sorry!”

How the hell did he sneak up on me without making a sound??

“Feisty- I mean, I should be the one sorry, for startling you...And for following you. I just wanted to, make sure you were alright.”

I blinked. He was concerned?

He spoke up when I didn’t respond.

“So, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine. Just, disappointed.” I breathed in and sighed as he gently let go of my fist.

Oh, and his scent helps right now. He smells so...wonderful I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve been surrounded by disgusting odors my entire life. I swear I’ve inhaled appealing scents like lilac, sandalwood, cinnamon, even rain has its particular smell! But Tai'chi, he—he’s something else entirely.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else like, I don’t know, maybe getting lunch with some of your friends or in a classroom?” I asked. I wonder why he would even bother to be in my presence. Anyone should be creeped out by the way I spoke up earlier. I mean, who does that? Plus, I did throw a stranger down to the floor. But part of me knows he deserved that.

Definitely.

“Want to talk about it?” He ignored my question. Tai'chi was now sitting cross-legged beside me, the oak’s root in between us. His deep azure eyes studying, watching me carefully.

“What?”

“What you did back there, wasn’t something a plain, timid college girl would do.”

Wait. He knew I was pretending to be one?

“Yes, I knew.”

“You can read minds?!” I stammered out. He can read my mind this whole time?! Shit.

He held up for a second before a boisterous laugh broke out of him and echoed through the circling trees, scaring away some birds perched above. I don’t know if I should be offended or flustered by his guffaw. It was so, so deep and rich and —

What the hell Pearl? What if he's reading your mind??

Tai'chi faced me again, sighing once he calmed down.

“To answer your question, no, I can’t read minds. But like I stated before, your face gives it away. Or your brows since you’re wearing a mask, but I can imagine your expression.”

I let out an incomprehensible noise.

“How did you find out I was pretending to be…you know,” waving my hands around.

“The moment we made eye contact this morning when you entered. And the way you shifted your body at the last second to prevent yourself from plunging into the trash bin, I knew you were something more. Your eyes and your actions show your experience in combat. A skilled warrior would notice these little things right away.”

My jaw fell open, and I’m sure he knows. He left me speechless.

Should I tell him I am a trained martial artist and a weapon wielder?

But we just met like 5 hours ago!

He seems trustworthy. And he’s an orc, didn’t they have a code of honor or something?

My thoughts ran wild I swear Tai'chi could hear my mind, screaming.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t wish to. And I must’ve sounded, creepy when I admitted I’ve been observing you. But before anything else, will you allow me to introduce myself, for real this time?”

“You mean your name isn’t Tai'chi?”

Letting out a chuckle, he replied, “I swear to you, my name is Tai'chi. What I mean is, I want you to know my full name. Do you understand what this implies, Pearl?”

I racked my brain for a moment, trying to recall what my parents said about orc traditions when my uncle, papa’s brother, married the orcess he fell in love with. Something about an orc’s real name being reserved only to those they’re close to?

“I guess so? But what exactly?”

“I want to become your friend.”

I couldn’t help the slight warmth creeping into my cheeks behind my mask. He can’t see it, can he? A friend, he says. A friend!

“Oh,” was all that came out. A pause and;

“Uh, I mean, I’d love to be your friend! I never had an actual friend before. I mean, have cousins, but we aren’t acquainted enough to consider myself their friend— I mean— uh, what should I do?” I blurted out a little rapidly.

He smiled. He actually smiled! Oh, damn, it was adorable!

Tai'chi was about to say something, but he snapped his mouth shut and grimaced. I was confused by his sudden change of mood, along with his scent.

Then it struck me.

The two of us shot up when multiple smells filled the air, making my stomach clench.

We were followed, not just one but six individuals. One of them was the pretentious human from earlier.

My day can’t get any better. And is that a baseball bat? Great. Fucking great.

I swear. I’m cursed to find trouble anywhere I go.

“Hello, freaks.” The guy in the middle began. “Whatcha doin’ out here in the forest?”

The others began spreading out and surrounded us.

“Planning something nasty I bet.” A human to my right spat.

“You will pay for what you did to me, you bitch. Just so you know, my father is the dean of this university. No one will ever hear a word of what I did here and what we will do to you.

'Dean’s son, David Silverstone, assaulted by an insane student in the woods within campus grounds. His friends graciously helping him fight off the lunatic until she passed out and was carried to an isolation chamber for monitoring, later finding out about her severe psychological disorder.’ Now wouldn’t that be a hit in the papers!” The bastard and his companions cackled and snickered, some of them stealing glances between my legs and I felt my skin crawl.

Tai'chi growled lowly, silencing them for a brief moment. He was getting mad but held his ground.

“And you,” the human pointed, “you beast. It won’t be hard antagonizing you, people will no doubt believe you were the one who violated the schoolgirl and left her in the woods to die.”

This fucking—

I felt a hand on my shoulder just as I was about to start, gently gripping, in hopes of trying to calm me down. He knows they were baiting us on making the first move. He shook his head, and an idea popped up.

Taking a deep breath, I attempted to make my voice as girly as possible, sounding so hilarious, like those overdressed, flashy high school girls with flowery perfume so strong I wrenched every time I get a whiff of it.

Provoking them would do.

“Oh, I’m so scared! Should I get on my knees and beg for mercy? Oh please, great and noble one, have mercy on my poor soul.” My voice laced with mockery and sadness, with my legs fake trembling and my arms flailing.

And did Tai'chi just snort?

“If you beg nicely, I will perhaps give you a chance to— ”

My sudden wheezing interrupted him and I laughed. Hard. I can’t believe he bought my terrible acting! I expected him to straight-up be offended rather than actually bite the false bait. He is dumber than I thought.

I was holding my middle by the time I was done. Tai'chi’s shoulders were moving slightly, probably chuckling and trying to hold back his amusement.

“Did you honestly take it seriously??? I can't— oh my God!” I choked out once more before I went on.

“There’s no chance in hell I’m gonna bow to you, not even one degree of an angle, you foolish, idiotic, spoiled, bastardized son of a bitch.”

His face was turning red out of rage and oh! Wasn’t that a sight to behold?

“You brat!” Turning his head to the others, he yelled, “What are guys standing there for?! Get them!”

Good.

Perhaps they didn’t catch my hands slipping on my beloved crimson knuckle dusters out of the bag when I was laughing then, tugging down my hoodie’s sleeve to hide it.

“Don’t move.” I told the orc, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“But—”

“Just don’t.” I said with my voice firm. I will take them on my own. I can’t have him getting in trouble and people blaming him for being an orc. Imagine that. The ones who attacked him will be viewed as victims because they were up against him, an orc. Numerous humans will jump at the chance to throw dirt at their race, a single act of self-defense treated as a one-sided assault to humans, the thought of it being enough to somehow remove all of them from the city, but everyone knows it's not that simple. Dimwits.

I strode forward without earning his response, waiting for the first person to come at me.

I took my stance, although it was more of preparing half of my body since I was still hiding both of my hands.

They all seemed confused and hesitant, which was what I was going for. To me, and those with experience in hand-to-hand combat, this is one of the most basic stances, but fundamental, nonetheless. A simple form that can determine the outcome of a fight. With my right foot forward, left foot back, both firmly planted to the ground, and my dominant hand wearing my dusters. In their eyes, it was…wrong, foreign. Some may even say it’s an open vulnerability, showing how inexperienced the opponent is, but oh, it is the exact opposite.

I didn’t see Tai'chi’s expression, though. I was on alert and getting into my zone to peer at him, one motion that can put me in a compromising position. Did he notice my brass knuckles? Likely.

“Scared to hurt a little girl like me?” I enticed.

Finally, the one beside their alleged leader charged at me.

A typical amateur approach.

The guy, about two inches taller than me, threw a right punch, which was a huge mistake.

Predictable.

I smirked under my mask and dodged it not a second before it connected. Making him falter as I grabbed his arm and brought it down to my knee, dislodging his joints.

A high-pitched scream of pain broke out of him as he dropped down on the forest ground, gripping his bent-off arm, cursing, but refused to rise and fight me again.

I gave him one last glance before I looked back at the others.

“Who’s next?”

****************************************

Those human shits just can't leave them alone! Interrupting their supposed-to-be official introduction! There's more to the orc that meets the eye *wink* Who is he exactly? Why was he so... observant?

Part 4 is actually on its third revising— and I'm still trying to come up on HOW to phrase my next words to lead to part 5. I let me brain take a break from spewing senseless words for now so I'll probably post the next part of this later or tomorrow

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! And I'd appreciate it if you have some advice for me, or just point out some mistakes I made! Thank you

Ps. This is really not perfect formal writing if you're wondering. I just type away whatever comes into my mind, and then proofread it to the best I can. And I hope you don't mind me using a lot of spaces. It... sort of makes my mind clear and continue moving forward, and it helps me when I'm reading it again, mentally taking note that with every line between spaces there's a slight pause and again, read it clearly like you were the one thinking it. I don't know how to explain how my own brain works but I guess that's that?

Tags: @kokokatsworld @crackinanutshell

[magioftheseas]

A.I. to AI

Summary: Post-SDR2.5 AU in while a certain Alter Ego and a certain Ultimate Lucky still have some difficulties moving forward.

Rating: T

Warnings: Emetophobia (mild)

Notes: Hhhhhh, World Destroyer/Komaeda...good...and yet so rare. So, here it is. Have fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Komaeda Nagito is

Capricious

Stubborn

Frustrating

Unstable

Desperate

Hopeless

Lovely

Problematic

Through many deep dives, Alter Ego is confident in identifying Komaeda Nagito’s character. As confident as a program can be, although it was not the prerogative to know and understand Komaeda Nagito. The mission was simply to retrieve Komaeda Nagito, the last of the remnants.

It had taken many deep dives. Many methods had to be used. Some involving direct contact from the start, and others requiring more distance, more detachment. All the same, there had been many confrontations.

It is not Alter Ego’s mission to know and understand Komaeda Nagito, but with how much time spent in Komaeda Nagito’s dreamscape, it was inevitable to take notice of and learn such things.

When Komaeda Nagito was extracted—the mission was complete.

That was it.

It was over.

--

It should have been over.

“World Destroyer-kun! Alter Ego-kun! Destroyer-kun? Ego-kun? Which would you prefer I call you?”

“I have no preference.”

“I do know another Alter Ego-san,” Komaeda was saying. Acting sweet and cheerful. As if there isn’t somewhere else he should be. “The one made by the Ultimate Programmer. They’re much more polite and pleasant than you are.”

“And yet, I am the one you are speaking to.”

Komaeda laughs, smiling without care. But there are signs of tension from the tightness of his shoulders to even the way his elbow dug into the table’s surface with his chin pressing down hard into his fleshy palm. Only the mechanical limb was able to remain completely still.

“You are troubled,” is the obvious observation to make. “I presume it is about the other remnants and my master.”

“Your presumptions would be correct,” Komaeda says. His smile is twitching around the corners. The typical sign of contradictory emotions. Of admiration and irritation. “If you already know, then I don’t have to explain anything, right?”

“Explanations would be...” A pause. “Unnecessary.”

Komaeda seems pleased with that answer, but somewhere in the back of Alter Ego’s coding was the curious thought if that had been the correct response.

How irritating.

--

Among the methods, there had been direct contact. Komaeda Nagito does not remember this, but these attempts are in fact stored in Alter Ego’s data banks. If one knew how to dig, the footage of those attempts could be replayed. All taken from Alter Ego’s vacant gaze at the time.

A gaze that caught Komaeda Nagito in a state of shock. Which had observed and scrutinized the way Komaeda Nagito shrank in on himself, pulling further and further away from the program’s prodding.

“I’m already at peace, so don’t bother me anymore,” Komaeda Nagito had said. “You’re—an annoyance.”

Irritating.

--

 “Destroyer-kun!”

“Is that the name you have decided on?”

“If you have a problem with it, just say so!”

“I have nothing to say.”

Once again, Komaeda Nagito has visited. How did Komaeda Nagito even find this place?

The answer was obvious.

(“It was just good luck!” Komaeda Nagito had exclaimed, looking so unbearably joyful. “And after spraining my wrist...! It was only a matter of time before something good happened!”)

“I made my own coffee today,” Komaeda was saying now. “It was so awful! So brutal! A truly contemptible and pitiful attempt! I got so sick that I threw up in the sink!” His spirited performance turned downcast in a heartbeat. “Koizumi-san was quite cross with me. According to Owari-san, the smell was so awful.”

“Yes, bile does have a stench,” was the dry, unimpressed response. “The odor gets worse depending on what was ingested.”

“Oh, Destroyer-kun,” Komaeda mourns. “I just keep messing up around them. No matter what I do, I can’t help being wretched!”

“That mistake...was hardly serious.”

For some reason, Komaeda’s distraught expression was troubling. Had he, a program, developed a bias? A proximity bias? If so, that was a bug.

One that his master needed to patch out. His master would have to be informed. Informed of the displeased reaction that comes about simply because Komaeda Nagito is distressed.

“It’s not just that mistake,” Komaeda sighs next. “It’s—surely you know the saying. The straw that breaks the camel’s back?”

“I am aware, but that perspective is flawed.” It was aggravating. Truly aggravating. Perhaps not a mere bug but a virus in how vicious this sensation became. “You are not...”

The sensation gets aggressive. It threatens to consume the entire system. It gets to the point where he needs to be reset, but—

Komaeda is...

“I’m sorry,” Komaeda is apologizing. Komaeda gives such a miserable smile. “I’m troubling you, aren’t I?”

“No.” Immediate. Almost panicked. “No, Komaeda...”

“Ah.”

Komaeda blinked at him. His expression changed. Eyes went wide, mouth parted open. An expression of surprise.

“...I didn’t think a program could make an expression like that.” Then, a laugh. “Oh, wait, what am I even saying? You’re not even the first advanced artificial intelligence I’ve ever met.”

Komaeda seemed taken aback but tickled nonetheless. When faced with something incomprehensible, it was...understandable to simply take it in bewildered stride.

“I meant to reassure you,” he realizes now. “But it appears I am inadequate at such a task.”

“It’s alright,” Komaeda says with such sincerity. “Just your intent rather warmed my heart, Destroyer-kun. You’re such a kind person. I wonder who you got that from...?”

Komaeda ponders this as if he doesn’t already know the answer. As if that very answer doesn’t cause Komaeda’s smile to falter.

“Thank you, Destroyer-kun,” Komaeda says next, and it will have to do for now.

--

Komaeda visits him regularly. Not every interaction is worth remembering, but he finds that he perks up regardless. Sometimes, Komaeda won’t converse much; instead just settling down in the chair with a coffee. Sipping demurely and rubbing exhaustion from his eyes. The only sounds that transpired would be Komaeda’s breathing, the whirl of his robotic arm, and the buzzing of the program.

Komaeda would finish his coffee, give him a simple smile, would leave, and repeat.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

And then, Komaeda lays his head down in front of him.

“Let me rest for a bit,” he tiredly requests. Silence is taken as acquiesce, and it isn’t long before Komaeda Nagito drifts off into slumber.

It’s strange.

That position is not comfortable, and yet, Komaeda Nagito sleeps with ease. Perhaps the other had simply been exhausted—but perhaps Komaeda Nagito felt secure here. With only a mere AI for company, Komaeda Nagito was relaxed.

But not as relaxed as he had been in the program, surrounded by friends who cared for him and encased by a world designed to keep him safe.

He does wonder if Komaeda Nagito yearns for that place despite having verbally dismissed it in the past. He likely does. Komaeda Nagito may have been sincere in the thoughts and feelings he expressed, but he wasn’t very honest to himself. What a frustrating contradiction.

And, yet, the artificial intelligence that has long since fulfilled its objective...cannot help but find this person fascinating.

Fascinating and lovely.

How could something like this happen?

--

He watches Komaeda Nagito sleep.

He watches Komaeda Nagito sleep.

He watches Komaeda Nagito sleep.

Komaeda Nagito sleeps.

Komaeda Nagito does not wake up even when the door opens.

“So this is where he is,” his master sighs. His master looks a bit ragged but also relieved to see Komaeda’s hunched shoulders. No matter the occasion, his master strides forward with grace and purpose. His master then lightly takes those hunched shoulders.

“Do you plan to awake him?” he asks, and it is strange, isn’t it, to have this be the first question he has asked his master in so long. “He has been sleeping well up until now.”

His master flinches the slightest bit even though that response should have been expected. Perhaps, his master is fatigued enough to impair his instincts.

“I...” His master swallows. Nervously. “I do know that he’s been visiting you as of late... Alter Ego.”

Alter Ego is not surprised to hear this. Obviously, his master would have known. Why, then, does his master look so uncertain?

“Master,” he says and asks with all the grace that can be generated from a machine, “Are you feeling insecure?”

There is a reason why there is no such thing as a ballerina android. Subsequently, this is why artificial conductors are much more inefficient for orchestras than human ones are.

“That obvious, huh,” his master mutters as if the dryness of the question had rubbed him raw. His master sighs. Inhale, exhale. His master regards his creation with brief disdain before it’s blinked away, leaving behind a vulnerable, insecure human.

A human which is still more capable than a machine.

“Komaeda really likes you,” that human says, like he can’t believe it or understand it either. “Komaeda would rather be around you than anyone else. Including me.”

“It...” Alter Ego processes this, and finally, finally, he comes to a logical explanation. “It is not about liking me. It is about the simulation of companionship with none of the expectation nor the baggage. Komaeda Nagito is lonely, but he fears intimacy. With a mere program, he has nothing to fear.”

The human—Hinata Hajime, Kamukura Izuru, no, simply his master—blinks at him.

“I suppose that is one explanation,” he says slowly. “But, it’s never that simple. Not with people, and especially not with Komaeda.”

“That seems like a generalization, master,” Alter Ego points out.

“It is, but... Urgh. You’re basically saying that Komaeda finds you unfulfilling, which is a bit...” His master shook his head. “That... Do you really know for sure if that’s true?”

...

Machines are not designed to feel pain. And he in particular was not given the capacity to come even close to pain due to his purpose. To feel pain himself would have been counterproductive. His master had known that. Thus, his master had taken great pains to ensure that he would never feel pain.

Still, Alter Ego had paused and mulled that painful question over.

“It is a sound explanation,” he decides on, but his gaze lingers on Komaeda Nagito.

Komaeda Nagito, who murmurs so softly in his sleep. Smacks his lips. Looks at peace.

“I guess it is beyond your capacity for understanding.”

Alter Ego snaps back to attention. His master regards him coldly and warily. Irritated and insecure. Since he understands his master, it does not bother him.

“If Komaeda Nagito thinks himself fond of me...”

He is mistaken.

That is what Alter Ego should say, but for one reason or another, he can’t bring himself to continue.

It doesn’t matter. His master can fill in the blanks, and given by the way his brow furrows and his expression darkens, his master does just that.

Soon after, though, his master’s look softens.

“It’s a good thing,” he sighs. “It’s great that Komaeda’s not completely keeping to himself and that he’s socializing at all, but... I just wish he’d give us another chance. Sure, not everyone’s willing to welcome him back but... We should get the opportunity to try, right?”

“You cannot force him,” Alter Ego points out. “Komaeda Nagito is not obligated. He should approach you because he wants to.”

Not to mention—

“If you respect his feelings, you should not be having this conversation that he can overhear.”

His master laughs. It’s harsh and lacking mirth, but when his master turns his attention to Komaeda and pats his shoulder, he’s nothing short of gentle. Gentle while wearing a melancholy smile.

“Both of us would be able to see right through him,” his master says. “It’s taken a lot, but I think I understand him well enough.” Idly, almost without thinking, his master moves his hand from Komaeda’s shoulder to card through the fluffy white strands. “I’ll help the others understand, too. So that when he’s ready...”

His master trails off. His master stops. His master shook his head.

“Komaeda...will end up hurting his neck if he sleeps like this. I’m gonna take him to his room, okay?”

His master hoists up Komaeda Nagito with ease. Holds him close and secure. Gives Alter Ego one last wry smile before heading out.

Alter Ego simply watches him go.

--

“Destroyer-kun, do you think I could speak to you in person?”

Komaeda fidgets. He’s visibly sheepish.

“Did something happen?” is asked in return instead of giving a proper response.

“It’s not that I dislike talking to a screen, but I’d like...” Komaeda trails off, his cheeks pink. He sputters softly, jaw working on the words he can’t bring himself to say. “That is...if it’s okay with you... Obviously I understand if...mm...”

“Is that really what you want?”

“Yes!” Komaeda’s chirpy response was immediate. “But is that okay?”

It would be best to decline.

“It is fine. There just has to be a degree of setup first. Follow my instructions closely, Komaeda Nagito.”

“O-Oh I don’t want to risk breaking anything.”

“It is fine. Even the total destruction of this island wouldn’t be the end of my existence.”

“Ooh!” Komaeda lights up. “Just like Hinata-kun and Kamukura-kun, then!”

Komaeda looks so happy.

It’s dazzling even with a screen in-between, but he is durable so it will be fine.

It has to be.

--

“Hey. Can you hear me?”

Komaeda Nagito wakes up on the beach.

“...Destroyer-kun?”

Komaeda Nagito blinks up at him owlishly but when he takes his hand, it’s with a desperate grip.

“It worked,” he breathes. “It really...”

“I had thought the setting being the same as the initial Neo World Program would be easiest to work with,” is explained as Komaeda Nagito is helped up. “How long do you plan to stay here?”

“Not long, I just...” Flushing, Komaeda is smiling so wide it looks painful. Yes. It is difficult to take, and yet—it is nice. “I wanted to talk to you. But...”

Komaeda Nagito does not let go of the other hand. If anything, he grips that hand even tighter.

“I...wanted it to be like this. Selfish, right?”

“It is human. But—if you wished for intimacy, my master...” Strange. He ends up trailing off. “My master...”

Komaeda Nagito squeezes his hand briefly. Once again.

“I’m not like that with them yet,” he said. Softly. But, in a way where significance ran underneath the words. Tucked under that light, airy chucker. “Destroyer-kun is my only friend for now.”

“I...”

Strange.

The words.

Wouldn’t—

“But even when I do manage to muster up my courage, I’m not going to forget you,” Komaeda went on, promised—seriously, this guy—“Destroyer-kun. The last thing I want is for you to be lonely.”

“I...do get lonely.” He blinked. Multiple times. “When I think of how you should be with your peers, I get lonely.”

“You’ll come with me,” Komaeda said suddenly. “We’ll work to better ourselves together. You’re much too capable to simply be left to rot.”

“My purpose is fulfilled.”

“Helping the world is surely more fulfilling than talking with me,” Komaeda says so easily with such assertion. “It’s no good to be so aimless, Destroyer-kun! Let’s do our best! You can even talk to other AI! We’ll both be among our peers, but we’ll still be friends, too...”

He wondered if that would truly be the case. It seemed silly that someone called the World Destroyer could build relationships with others—and yet...his relationship with Komaeda Nagito was undeniable.

Perhaps, it would be fine?

No.

It had to be fine.

“We can’t stay like this,” he realizes. “The world is open to us, and we must go there.”

“Yes,” Komaeda agreed, melancholy but resolute. “We’ll go together. You helped me out of the program, so I feel wretched for continuing to ask for your support, but...”

“You are offering yours in return, Nagito,” he said. “It’s fine.”

Komaeda smiles so brilliantly that it was too much for the simulation and the program. But, he shone with a hope that made the World Destroyer smile once again.

[tonystarktogo]

(this could’ve been) a villain’s origin story part III

Tony lied.

Which is to say, he didn’t lie because lying would imply that he knows for a fact that what he’s said isn’t true. Which he doesn’t. Just because Tony has Opinions™ on supes doesn’t mean he’s got friends -- or even half-way stable contacts really -- among them.

[You have to understand, supes do not tolerate outsiders any better than unenhanced people tolerate supes. And tolerate is already one of the highest possible achievements. To say that relations between the enhanced and unenhanced segments of society are strained would be a gross understatement.

And who can blame them? Either of them?]

[How dare they?]

So Tony honestly has no clue why supes avoid professional medical attention like criminals on the run no matter their alignment or security labeling. He can guess though. Oh boy can he guess.

[After all, there is no such thing as a naturally enhanced human.]

Long, bleak hallways, empty of life.

Acceptable failure [read: mortality] rates.

‘For the Greater Good.’

[What does it take to make a human? What does it take to improve the design?]

What do you do with a weapon you can’t neutralise once the war is over? 

Tony probably isn’t the first unenhanced to offer his services to the supe community. Certainly isn’t the first activist to fight for their rights, to criticize the status quo, to reach out and offer.

Maybe some of those other people meant well. Maybe some didn’t. Maybe some where accepted, maybe they weren’t. It doesn’t matter. Tony Stark has never been the type to sit and wait for others to find him. He’s never been the type to stop, simply because his efforts aren’t wanted. He’d never have gotten anywhere in life if he did.

So Tony stumbles upon the bloodied, motionless figure of the Winter Soldier -- clearly recognizable by the goggles and the metal arm, even with the blood everywhere and the ruined costume. And he drags him to his store, a small garage that may or may not have five more levels underneath it than any official plans would show. Really, the design would do any supervillain proud.

And Tony is nervousworriedexcited about his first, not-yet-conscious customer, but he isn’t stupid.

[Which is to say JARVIS politely reminds him.]

He doesn’t drag the Winter Soldier into the med section. Because the med section is for Tony’s own accidents that occur more often than the long-suffering JARVIS would like, the old spoilsport, but it’s also bright neon lights and surgically clean surfaces and disinfectant heavy in the air.

The workshop -- messy, messy, messy, oil smoke and fire-extinguishing foam everywhere -- it is.

There Tony sets about ridding the Winter Soldier of his ruined clothes -- hello, abs -- though the goggles stay firmly on once JARVIS’ scan confirms that there’s no serious damage on the guy’s face because Tony can politely respect a secret identity, okay, that’s a boundary if he ever heard one and he can totally respect that, no matter how curious it makes him, shut up JARVIS.

The supe’s wounds aren’t actually that bad, which brings Tony to the slightly uncomfortable realization that most of the blood on the guy isn’t his own. Yuck. Although that makes his job easier -- Tony might have plenty experience with first aid, but he’s really not that kind of doctor -- so Tony puts the matter out of his mind.

After having taken care of the wounds -- the deeper cuts are already knitting themselves together, so Tony doesn’t bother stitching those, just plasters his collection of Teletubby band-aids all over them and calls it a job well-done -- and covering the guy with a blanket -- though JARVIS reminds him to also leave sweatpants and a shirt within easy reach, just in case this guy isn’t running on the super-hot side of the temperature scale [there’s no question about his rating on the hot-ness scale, 10s all the way] or is shy or something, not that Tony really grasps the concept of shyness -- Tony focuses on the important thing.

Namely the metal arm.

Which is the coolest thing Tony has ever seen and his fingers are already twitching to reach out and make it better.

Now, Tony isn’t good with boundaries. He really, really isn’t, just ask JARVIS. 

[Asking Tony will get you nothing, safe perhaps for an incomprehensive stare and a “Of course I’m not stalking you, I was just curious and look, I got you a new TV and a better internet connection because that thing was a travesty and your landlord should be fired, now there’s an idea, hang on for a sec--” because he honestly doesn’t get it. People are so confusing and needlessly complicated sometimes.]

But even Tony gets that working on some guy’s arm while he’s unconscious and injured might be taking things a step too far. If only because JARVIS made him read all those articles on medical consent and patient confidentiality. Though that was, admittedly, for a very different reason.

[Tony doesn’t wonder whether the Winter Soldier lost his arm in an accident or whether it was decided that a literal inbuilt firearm would be more convenient. He doesn’t wonder whether anyone even asked the guy-- Nope, totally not going there.

He already knows the answer anyway.]

There’s no harm in taking a look at JARVIS’ scans while he makes himself a hot chocolate and waits for the guy to wake up though. The thought of a hot chocolate makes Tony wonder if his customer would appreciate one... if he has the grip precision to hold a cup with his metal hand without breaking it... if the sensors can be fine-tuned... if there could be heating pads inserted in his palm to warm a cup via hand... or burn an enemy... or--

Somehow that hot chocolate never does get made.

Instead, half an hour later, when JARVIS flashes code RED for the first time since Tony implemented his new and improved warning system, Tony is neck-deep in the design of a portable heating system strong enough to melt through an average safe door.

It’s more surprise than fear at seeing code RED in action that has Tony ducking, narrowly avoiding a metal wrench to the head, and grabbing the first two things he can get his hands on to defend himself.

Which ends up being an eraser and a open pack of marshmallows that were supposed to go into his never made hot chocolate. Wonderful.

Tony hesitantly stares up at the Winter Soldier in all his half-naked, very much armed glory -- where the fuck did he hide that knife?!? -- carefully edging away to put a table between himself and the possibly confused supe. JARVIS doesn’t say a word, but Tony doesn’t have to glance at the flashing screen to know his overprotective AI wants him to enact Protocol SKYNET For The Win. Which-- Tony never would meet any interesting people if he let JARVIS bully him into activating his idea of appropriate protection every time he encountered a tiny set-back.

So.

“Want some marshmallows?”

*

This ‘verse is not getting out of control, whatever gave you that idea?

[scarlettaagni]

have I elaborated on moral quandaries between Zola and Missy here yet?

a while ago i was thinking about the inherent conflict of interest of a human who works on a farm who interested in alien life, biology and all life in general befriending an alien who is on this planet specifically to kill other humans

Missy is new to this. she was raised somewhat differently from her peers, and as a result is naturally curious and more accepting and compromising than most Predators, other Young Bloods included. but it’s a society of perpetuating stoicism, especially in dangerous situation where you must not show compassion or allow yourself in vulnerable positions, so she holds that front well.

Missy is just a bit nicer than any other Predator, but I wanna show the culture shock and struggle of her trying to find even ground with this unexpected human ally, who disapproves of what she’s here for and what she’s doing. even though Missy is nice for a Yautja, she is still a Yautja who was raised, even though unconventionally, in Yautja society, so letting go of stuff she’s been especially pressured into internalizing and is simply a part of her now should be a bumpy journey

Zola doesn’t want to put their rapport in jeopardy, because when else will a human possibly form an informative and positive relationship with a Yautja, and when else will this occur with another highly sapient alien species? and she’s come to see Missy is an individual with her own worries and personality and quirks that can be contrary to what Missy tells her about her species, and that they relate to each other than is apparent to both of them. so she tries to subtly appeal to Missy’s more understanding and compromising nature to tone down the murder a little

while teaching Missy things about earth fauna and agriculture, she tries to show her the value of life on earth with baby animals and teaching Missy to handle them gently, which she very much enjoys

but it doesn’t work, because these are defenseless animals and humans are intelligent prey who can be formidable foes. and these animals, like chickens, are killed anyways for food.

Zola suggests that Missy “use her powers for good” like an alien Batman

which Missy respectfully answers with “hm. that’s stupid, so no <3”

they argue about good and evil, and Missy reveals that while Yautja are well aware of these concepts, these concepts are completely irrelevant to them, especially in a human context. these concepts are relative. good and evil are dependent on what side you’re on. honor and dishonor are rigid concepts with few exceptions, and they do not change depending on what side you’re on

anyone who kills with a weapon is a target to them, it doesn’t matter if the person is good or evil. and why would a Yautja bother doing “good” when they don’t even live here? they will outlive any human they choose to save or spare. they won’t stay on the planet longer than a year, then return in some decades for another year. they aren’t there to save humans, they’re there to hunt.

A scene i’ve just recently thought about would a peak in the moral combat, a situation where under pressure in a dangerous situation, Zola manages to convince Missy to go out of her way to help ordinary citizens and then tells her as a compliment “you just did a very human thing”, thinking Missy has finally understood the value of human life. realistically, Zola knows Missy must kill to get back home, but hopes that in addition to killing the armed and dangerous, Missy will also help the unarmed and generally lighten up on the murder

but that phrase shakes Missy to her core. she’s already been derided for being soft, for large parts of her training. she didn’t have to save those people. technically the code won’t stop her, but it was unwise and she did what a human told her to do, just because Zola asked and was an extenuating companion (at this point)

she just kinda snaps after ruminating on the phrase for a short while, angry that Zola is trying to stray her away from all her hard training, getting her to do things people have deridingly told her she would end up doing, trying to change her, using her like she’s some toy or specimen, sabotaging her mission even if unintentionally. Missy may have a passing interest in learning about humans, but she doesn’t want to be one and the idea of being like one goes against everything. and yet, Missy can’t help but long for a more human kind of affection, cause she certainly isn’t getting the support from her own society. Zola treats Missy nicer than most of her species does (family and Zazin not included) and it confuses her, a stranger from a species she hunts to be so kind to her despite what she does. it’s stressing her out to be pressured and tugged in all these directions. it’s kind of a wake up call, of how crazy it is she’s just hanging out with this human and bringing her along

basically that whole thing puts Missy in a “i need to kill something to feel manly again” mood

though, she gets lonely and returns to Zola and they decide to stop trying to convince one another of their side. they can choose of their own accord what to reconcile with, but no more argument making. Missy plays into Zola’s wishes by being gentler with bystanders in her way and disarming humans Zola deems not a threat rather than killing them outright. Missy accepts that she really likes open affection and reconciles how she feels about “human softness” and how she can relate to Zola, and on demonstrating her gratitude and love for her through both Yautja and more human-like ways. she even applies some of this to other Yautja, such as projecting her brother Kudos and father Halkrath onto Scorpion and Lurker (two strangers from a completely different clan) as she does with Zola’s brother (though with Lo’bane) and father. Zola focuses on helping Missy through her troubles (emotional, philosophical, etc) and works on keeping her safe, healed, and getting her home as safely as multiple Yautja hunts in a row can allow

bluh it’s late and I can feel myself slipping off the deep end into incomprehensibility but does that make sense?

[kustovshik]

Talking.

This post is informative in connection with a dispute that one of the parties decided to make absurd. If you don't want to get involved, just skip it. I don't force anyone to look into it or read it.

Kust is in touch. As many people have noticed, there was a small(not small now) conflict between me and a couple of other people, which could have already been eliminated, but was brought to total clowning. Names/nicknames named in this post will not be in order to avoid any negative towards those people. Also, no correspondence will be shown here, although they will be mentioned. If someone asks , I'm ready to go and personally collect all the screenshots of the two conversations, without losing any moments.

As a person in some way responsible for the current situation, I have a desire to illuminate everything from the side of my vision of things.

The conflict conditionally began three days ago. Let's call the person who initially had a small argument with me a certain person "A".

Well. in March. March 24th. We can assume that almost 5 months ago I published a post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/613504425335586816/i-want-to-be-in-fiars-stomach-he-looks-like-a

Many people remember it, I hope. I'll attach an old screenshot here just in case.

The whole conflict initially started because of the double meaning of the context behind the work itself. The problem, I was told, was the tags. Namely, in the tag highlighted in the screenshot above: ‘safe vore(or is it?)’.

This tag was originally put up there not because I didn't know what type of vore to call it, but specifically so that people themselves would sit and think: what do they want to see in my drawing. Simply put, a drawing with an open context. And it seems like no one has had any problems with it for few months.

That's what person A didn't like. I was told in a very unpleasant way for me personally that the person was very offended by this use of tags. And other problems with how they don't like 'fatal vore'. It was also suggested to me that I don't know about how fatal can be quite a painful experience for some.

I admit. My answer was quite abrupt. I can't deny it, and I won't, because that's the kind of person I am. My language is harsh on words and expressions. Instead of a thousand words and a selection of expressions, I usually tell people everything openly, or I am ready to openly indicate that something is wrong. Also, I fully admit that I have problems controlling my emotions, which makes it difficult for me to establish contact with strangers. I grew up in a different mindset, which is why I have a different view of many things. It's like putting two people who know the same language, but from different parts of the world, next to each other and forcing them to express their position on some moral principles or other things, and then wonder why their answers are different. A very exaggerated and crude comparison, but that how it looks like.

Why did I respond harshly? I am a rather rude person, and I do not like when people come to me in private messages, starting to talk about how bad they are feeling, because of things that can be safely ignored or blocked by them, so that there are no problems.

My first fatal mistake was when I decided to answer to "A". Afterwards, I talked to a couple of my friends and got cold feet. And then I apologized, trying to come to some compromise, adding the tag 'open ending' so that no one would be confused. But it seems that this was not enough, because “A” continued to say how it’s bad from what she found, even if not quite fatal stuff. Refusing to compromise in any way, as I suggested.

After that, we parted with apologies to each other, and neither of us wrote to each other again. I honestly thought it was over.

Now, before I go on to the man who has been driving me mad for the past two days, I will make a pure assumption and try to explain my indignation in a different way...

Out of human interest, I went through the 'safe vore' tag. Noted an interesting feature. Both tags had quite a lot of posts there. Namely, tags are 'safe vore' AND 'fatal vore'. Why did my post cause the problem? Have no idea.

Then another point became incomprehensible to me. How did a person get to this post at all? It would be difficult to find it through search, but you can: there is a lot of content by tag. I flipped the feed down from the second account for a long time and didn't come across my own post.

Then, in my little investigation, I looked into Tumblr's alerts. Likes, reblogs, well, you understand in short. And noticed it.

This is the first appearance of "A" in my notifications.

Hence, I dare to assume that "A" came across one of the reblogs of this post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/616227708116025344/a-new-player-has-joined-the-game And then "A" went to my blog, along the way ignoring the description specially written for such people at the very top of the blog, and came across my two-meaning post.

But after that, I had a rhetorical question: Why go to the blog of a person who has this written in the description, and hope that there will not be a fatal vore?

Of course, this theory is based only on my assumptions. But I think this scenario is quite real.

Thus, we can say that I have every right to be angry at the indignation expressed in my direction, because it is not my fault that the person ignored my preferences, scrolled down my blog page and started complaining.

Back to reality.

As you can understand, " A " shared our conversation with their friend, who the next day suddenly came to me with a long message about his position, offering help that was not needed.

Even then, I began to suspect that this person(let's call him "B") was somehow connected with "A". Moreover, the reason for the visit was the same for both of them.

I have already mentioned that I am an irritable and rather rude person. I was already stressed enough by the appearance of "A" and the consequences of my reflections that occurred after what I thought was an end to the conflict. And the repeated mention of the situation has already infuriated me.

I fully admit that I reacted very sharply to the "B" message. I had reasons for this that the other side chose not to consider.

Well. After receiving the message I gave sharp response expressing extreme dissatisfaction, but without insults to "B". Was there passive-aggressive speech? Yes. Were words said that I am not obliged to monitor the health of people who do not concern me? Yes. Do I have the right to think so? Yes. Does this fall under the moral code? It depends on the person's personal worldview.

Yes, I was rude due to the fact that on the second day I was exhausted and angry about this situation. I wanted to end this conflict and repeatedly asked both of them to block me and remain neutral. In addition, I tried to somehow explain that we are people of different mentalities and grew up with different life standards, so in this situation we see this conflict differently. Yes, in a rough way, but I tried to explain it.

I received a ton of direct insults, was accused of narcissism and high self-esteem, as well as refusing to take care of other people's problems. In addition, I received lines like, quote: "...but let me see you talk like you did to me or anyone else simply trying to converse with you over a serious topic and I will not hesitate to have your content and eventually your account removed from this site.".

Isn't this a direct threat?

I understand that passive-aggressive speech itself can offend someone. But you can't call it an insult. Passive-aggression is a hidden way of expressing negative feelings and emotions to a person. This is not an insult. But, Yes, I admit that this is a very harsh and rude way of communicating.

That's just after such an exchange of pleasantries, I snapped. 3 days of unquenchable conflict, when one side refused to listen to the other, at the same time. There were attempts on my part to end the conflict. There was one repeated request to block and disperse, so as not to inflame everything to the point of absurdity.

"Want to stay safe with your own preferences? "Please, God, don't touch me, that's all. Block me already and we will live in peace. "- This was the message of my answers. It's sad, but instead of just ending the conflict, I got the brand of a person with a capitalist mindset, the brand of a bitch-whiner, and other other charms.

And I swear that I was ready to just leave all this and stop responding to such outbursts in my direction, banal blocking "B", if they can’t themselves do it.

As here I get a notification with a post where this person changed my art / tags and basically uploaded the changed image to his blog, hiding behind good intentions. "B" did not receive permission for such actions. Even with an indication of authorship. I am most outraged by such actions at the moment.

Better look on the two images compared to each other. 

And after that, everyone wants me to try to understand how bad I was and how poor they are, that from a simple argument that could have ended without even starting, it turned into an absurd clowning with offended people, insults and changing someone else's drawings and whole character reaction. Just a note. Fiar is not so nice, he’s a wild monster leech and he just grumbles about everything as much as he don’t understands why some people willing to let him eat them. He’ll never say something as “I’ll keep you safe”.  

There it is. The comedy of a three days.

This post is for informational purposes only. Namely, how I see this situation.

All I want now is for "B" to delete the post, and for both sides to banal block each other, so that we never meet again.

I refuse to apologize to "B" for their latest act of outraging my drawing by completely distorting the meaning from a neutral drawing to something that only "B" and their friend like. In conclusion I can say, that I do not call myself a good one in that confrontation. I did some terrible mistakes while talking to both of those people. But it’s not only I’m here being on the bad side. People are not black and white. 

After this I’ll not respond to any of the continuation of that conflict anymore. I’m tired of this.

[team-free-will-oneshots]

"Screw people.”

Title: “Screw People.” Requests:  Could you please do a shy hunter reader that’s a bookworm and doesn’t talk much with both him and the reader starting to get crushes on each other - @hford0311 and also; Dean request, if you want. In a bar/club, protecting the reader from jackasses, goes wrong when Dean gets kicked out, expects reader to go back into bar. Reader leaves with Dean? If you want to that is :) - @brokencasbutt67-writer Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: alcohol mentions, cursing, canon-typical violence, sexual harassment Word Count: 3.5k

note; i loved both of these requests and saw them fitting well together, hope u guys enjoy !! (also i was listening to this version of ‘iris’ by the goo goo dolls while writing the ending in the Impala, could be cool to listen to while reading if u want!)

alsoooo sorry this has taken so long to get up, thank you so much to the people who requested this for their patience!!!! xxxx

Masterlist

Finally, you were alone.

The mood was set, scented candles wafting lavender smoke into the air as you settled back onto the bed, a coy smile carving your expression as you turned down the fresh sheets. A blissful sigh fell through your parted lips as you stretched out your arm, fingers grasping and searching until finally, they found it - the object that had been at the back of your mind all day, tinging every thought, spurring every movement...

You pulled the hardcover edition of your favourite book into your lap, a grin splitting your face as you snuggled beneath your duvet and ardently threw open the novel to the page you had marked all-too-long ago. The tantalising rustling of pages paired with the familiar musk of a well-loved book served to eagerly drag you into the story’s depths, and suddenly you felt like a child again; tucked beneath your blankets well after bedtime, eyes straining in the dim light as you hungrily devoured a new story, pages flying as you frantically read, drinking in the fresh plot and bubbling with excitement over the adventures of the characters as you escaped into a fantasy world all your own, if only for a few hours.

The hunting life allowed little time for the simple pleasures of life - between the constantly switching monster of the week, paired with the looming threats that always overshadowed those associated with the Winchester brothers, you’d barely had a moment to yourself in weeks. And so, the moment the boys declared it was time for a break, you were snatching your favourite book from where it had been gathering dust on your shelf, bracing yourself to forget the outside world and the troubles it held, to escape into a world where a happy ending was guaranteed, where you weren’t destined to lose all those you cared for.

That was the beauty of books, you reasoned. You near always knew what to expect. Heroes meeting and facing adversaries, learning lessons about themselves and their relationships, and by the end of it all, finding some semblance of fulfilment or at the very least, closure. And of course, you weren’t one to complain about a touch of romance thrown in along the way.

Life had no such guidelines, especially the hunting life; no promises of happiness, of even making it past the next week. People were even less predictable; at least books were easy to read. Life’s characters were far less easy to understand. Perhaps that was why you insisted on avoiding them as vehemently as you did - books were your comfort, and all people had given you thus far was grief.

“Hey, Y/N, you busy?”

Well… maybe not all people.

You held up your book wordlessly, nose still buried beneath the pages as you ignored Dean Winchester’s query. He chuckled, leaning against the doorway.

“Whatcha reading?” he asked, peering at the cover as he sauntered into the room. You sighed, keeping your page with your thumb as you let the book fall shut around your fingers.

“Old favourite,” you explained. Dean nodded appreciatively.

“Cool. Well, just wanted to say hey - you did a great job on the hunt today, by the way,” he informed you, flashing you a proud smile that had you fighting to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, the slight acceleration of your heart. 

“O-oh. Thanks, but… I don’t think it was anything too spectacular,” you protested weakly, a nervous chuckle escaping you as you fiddled idly with the pages of your book. Dean shrugged.

“Hey, you got the job done - Sam and I woulda been toast without you,” he said. “You should give yourself some credit.”

You allowed a smile. “Thanks,” you tentatively replied, voice small. Dean held your gaze a moment longer, eyes heavy with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, before he cleared his throat and ducked his head.

“Look, uh- Sam and I are headed out tonight. Nothing fancy, just headed to the bar, some celebratory hey-we-killed-a-nest drinks, you know the drill. You can- you can come with us, if you want,” he invited. You laughed dryly.

“Thanks, but… I don’t think that’s really my scene,” you said. “Being surrounded by people? Not my thing.”

Dean shook his head in amusement. “I can’t believe how shy you are - you just took out those vamps like it’s nothing, Y/N. That’s pretty damn impressive,” he commended. “You have nothing to be shy about - you’re a total badass. If anyone has the right to be a cocky son-of-a-bitch, it’s you.”

You hid your smile as you glanced down to the book in your lap, fingertips nervously rubbing over the paper, curling it beneath your touch.

“I think you have enough cockiness for the both of us,” you said, sending him a shy grin. He snorted.

“Yeah, maybe. Well, offer still stands - Sam and I are leaving in fifteen,” he told you, straightening up and casting you once last, lingering glance as he headed towards the door. Your awaiting novel itched in your hands, eager to be read, but you paused as Dean hovered uncertainly for a moment by the doorway, as if locked in an internal debate.

“Hey, Dean?” you asked quietly, the words flying from your lips before you could halt them. That was the thing about Dean - talking to people wasn’t always easy for you, but something about the eldest Winchester set you at ease in a way no one else could ever hope to. He turned around immediately.

“Yeah?”

You tore your gaze from his jade eyes, though you felt the raise of goosebumps along your skin as he kept his soft stare trained on you. You flushed, tucking your hair behind your ear, cold fingers discordant against the heat of your cheeks.

“You ever think… sometimes monsters are easier to deal with than people?”

Dean frowned, ambling over to your bed and perching himself at its edge, only a few feet away from you. He shrugged. “Sometimes, sure - but people… people you can reason with. They have… morals, you know? A code. Means they can be scarier, sure, when they decide not to care - but when they do care, it’s…” Dean’s eyes flickered from yours to the ground, and he licked his lips as he chuckled breathlessly. “When you find someone to care about… I can’t imagine anything better,” he said, his eyes darting up to your own. You found yourself locked under the vice of his gaze, his expression softening with a flicker of vulnerability before he cleared his throat and broke the trance. “Why’d you ask?”

You released a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. “I dunno. I guess, just- what you were saying earlier, about being a good hunter? It’s because monsters are easier. I get monsters - most of them don’t think too hard - all instinct, y’know? But people are… people are manipulative. They judge and they hate and they hurt, I just… with monsters, I know what I’m getting. People are a lot harder to trust,” you explained. Dean nodded slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that, but… ah, you’re probably right. Screw people,” he said with a cheeky grin. “But it’s not like you need to stay in contact with everyone you meet. Sometimes fun can just be… fun. Doesn’t need to be serious,” he told you, though there was a trepidatory edge to his playful tone. “You should come out tonight - let loose for once. You deserve it.”

An amused hum fell vibrated in your throat. “I dunno, I’m an all-in kinda person,” you mumbled, and you saw a small smile tilt the corner of Dean’s lips.

“Yeah. Me too.”

You scoffed. “You, really? Mr Different-Girl-Every-Night? You’re a serial flirt,” you teased, and he smiled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between a fling and actually getting to know someone - I dunno if you’ve noticed, but sometimes it feels like I care a little too much.” His smile died, and he quickly shook his head, throwing up another grinning facade. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your nerdiness.” He cast a pointed glare at your book. “Seeya later.”

Dean left, the bedsprings jumping back into place as he picked himself up from the seat, traipsing through the door and leaving you with sweaty palms and a stomach full of butterflies. You watched as he left, eyes lingering a moment too long on the empty doorway before you turned your attention back to the novel in your lap.

You wanted to read, you really did - but it seemed no matter how hard you tried, the words would blur into an incomprehensible mass that your eyes instinctively skimmed, only for you to reach the end of the page without having understood any of it at all. After a few failed attempts at reading the same few lines over, you sighed in defeat, setting the book aside as you leaned back against the headrest.

Maybe Dean was right - maybe you should give ‘people’ another chance. Maybe it was time to put your incessant shyness and distrust behind you, to ‘let loose’, as Dean had so aptly described it. 

Dean…

You thought of the warmth of his smile, the vibrant ringing of his laugh, the coy smiles he’d shoot you when no one else was looking… the idea of going out was sounding more and more appealing.

And so, you decisively marched to the library, where Dean was grabbing Baby’s keys as Sam shrugged on his jacket. The sound of your footsteps had both their eyes jumping towards you, and you could’ve sworn you saw a flicker of hope in Dean’s surprised expression.

“Hey, uh, I was thinking that I might take you up on that offer, Dean,” you said, extending a wry smile. “Mind if I come?”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed silently, before he finally nodded. “I-uh- yeah, of course!” he exclaimed, just as shocked at your decision to step out of your comfort zone as you were. “What changed your mind?”

You shrugged, looking down at your feet as you scuffed the floor with the toe of your boot. “Maybe I should give people a chance - you’re right, I should let loose every now and then,” you said, tone clouded with false certainty. Dean frowned, but let your uncertainty slide as his concerned expression was replaced with an encouraging smile.

“Great, finally a drinking partner who can keep up with me,” he quipped, shooting a glare at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Hey, someone has to drive you home when you’re plastered,” Sam countered. You laughed, the uneasy atmosphere dissipating as the three of you walked to the car. Dean shot you a wolfish grin, and the warm sensation that buzzed in your chest had you certain that you were making the right choice.

What was the worst that could happen?

---

Turned out, the ‘worst’ had a name - it was Brandon. You knew this only because he refused to let you forget it.

“Come on, sweet cheeks, let me buy you a drink,” he coaxed, words stumbling into one another as his hot breath rolled over your face, reeking of beer as he leaned in uncomfortably close on clumsy feet. 

“Uh, I’m good, thanks,” you replied, throwing him a distasteful, uncertain glance as you took a step back. Your eyes flitted over to the bar, where Sam was talking to a girl and Dean was grabbing drinks for the both of you. Catching your glance, his brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as he noticed your company.

‘You okay?’ he mouthed. You managed to give him a tight-lipped smile and a short nod before Brandon was dragging your attention back to him.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that, baby,” he slurred, leaning forward so that his face was inches from yours. “It’s just one drink.”

You took another step back. “Like I said, I’m good,” you insisted, though your voice came out small and hesitant. You gritted your teeth as he snorted scornfully, and your hand balled into your fist at your side as he sauntered forwards once more. Though you weren’t necessarily one for confrontation, you had no qualms about putting this asshole in his place. Barely twenty-four hours ago you’d single-handedly taken on three vampires - you were pretty sure you could handle an overeager drunken bastard.

Before you had the chance to put him in his place, however, Brandon was being shoved away from you by a familiar pair of toned arms. 

“They’re not interested, jackass,” Dean growled, taking a protective stance over you that you comfortably settled into. The drunk stumbled back, mouth falling open in outrage.

“Who asked you, huh?” he challenged, and Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he ran his tongue along his teeth. You could see his hands curled into white-knuckled fists at his side.

“I think a better question is; why can’t you take no for an answer? They said they’re good, man. Give it a rest,” Dean spat through clenched teeth. Brandon snorted.

“Mind your own fucking business, dick,” he snarled. “You want ‘em all to yourself, huh? Selfish prick.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head with a grim smile, and for a moment you thought he was going to turn away… until he slammed his fist into your harasser’s jaw with a hard crack that made even you wince.

When Brandon arose, he was nursing a red jaw and a bleeding nose, but the red fluid trickling across his lips and staining his chin did nothing to mask the pure hatred etched into his expression as he lunged at Dean. The eldest Winchester blocked him easily, grabbing his wrist and slamming his face into a nearby booth table. There was a flurry of movement and shouts as Dean landed another punch to the man’s cheek, pressing him into the table with his arms locked behind his back.

“Apologise,” Dean demanded, and Brandon gasped for air.

“I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. Dean kneed him, and the man grunted in pain.

“Not to me, idiot. To them,” he hissed, nodding towards where you stood with wide eyes and brow half-cocked in appreciation at Dean’s strength as he held the bulky man down like he weighed nothing. 

“I’m sorry! Christ, let me go, please!” he said frantically. 

“Dean, what the hell!” Sam’s voice interjected from behind you, and suddenly a bouncer was peeling Dean from his bruised and bloody opponent.

“Time to go,” he said in a gruff voice. Sam stepped forward, and the bouncer shot him a look.

“He with you?”

“Look, we don’t want any trouble-” Sam began, but Dean made a sound of angered amusement.

“Speak for yourself, Sammy,” he muttered, still glaring daggers at Brandon. Dean caught your eye as the bouncer dragged him outside, and the last you saw of him before he was tossed outside was his cocky wink. You chuckled to yourself as Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“What the hell happened?”

You shook your head, walking to a window and watching as Dean paced before finally heading towards the parked Impala. 

“Guy was a dick - he deserved it,” you said, watching as Dean wiped his bloody knuckles on his jacket. “Look, I think I’m gonna head off with Dean,” you added, and Sam cast you a concerned expression.

“Do you want me to come?” he asked, though you could hear the reluctance in his tone as he glanced back at the girl he’d been talking with, who was still waiting for him by the bar. You smirked.

“Nah, I’m good - you go have some fun,” you teased, giving Sam a playful smile that he sheepishly returned.

“Alright. Seeya later, Y/N.”

Sam left, and you braved the cool night air as you walked to the Impala. The tail lights were on but the engine was off, the car sitting perfectly still in the parking lot. As you approached, the music from the bar echoed distantly behind you, captured by the walls and bouncing hollowly into the darkness, fading into nothing but a thumping bass and a vague suggestion of guitar and vocals.

You tried the passenger door. Locked. You tapped on the window, and watched as Dean leaned across the seat to unlatch it. The moment it swung open you slipped inside, the familiar scent of leather overruling the pollution and alcoholic odour the car park carried. The door fell shut with a heavy click, blocking any lingering traces of music from your ears. 

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, hearing only the haggard sounds of one another’s breathing and the light static of the radio. You glanced over at Dean.

“How’s your hand?” you asked. Dean laughed darkly.

“Fine,” he told you, but extended his hand towards you when you raised a quizzical brow. You tenderly took his palm against your own, turning over his fist to look at his knuckles - red and raw and tender, but nothing serious. Instead of releasing him from your grip, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and Dean tentatively raised his gaze to yours. 

“I could’ve handled that guy, y’know,” you told him sternly. Dean ducked his head guiltily.

“Yeah, I know, it was just… the way he was treating you…” He trailed off, a weighted sigh heaving from his lips as he shook his head to himself. “You didn’t deserve that. No one does, but… especially not you. I… got angry.”

You smiled wryly. “Bit of an understatement,” you said, and he laughed, genuinely this time.

“Yeah, maybe,” he allowed. “Look, I don’t think I’m welcome here tonight - I’m gonna head home. Just… give me a call when you wanna be picked up.”

“Nah, I’m ready to call it a night, too,” you said, leaning back into the seat. Dean looked at you in surprise.

“What? What happened to getting loose, giving people a chance, all that crap? Seriously, I don’t think you need to worry about that jackass - I doubt that dickhead will ever approach another person in his life,” he said seriously, and you laughed.

“Yeah, I doubt it - but I don’t think I’m really in the mood to let my hair down,” you replied, amused.

“Wait, what? But we were having such a good time!” he countered, and you met his eyes again, nodding.

“Yeah - we were. Screw other people, Dean. I thought I needed to act like someone I’m not to be happy - someone I thought I should be. But… partying? Being around a whole bunch of strangers? That’s not me, Dean. I… I don’t need to surround myself with people to be happy, it’s not in my nature. I just need… a few people I really care about,” you said, giving him a tiny smile and a pointed look.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he murmured. “Y/N… sweetheart, you never need to make yourself uncomfortable because you feel like that’s how you ‘should be.’ You… damn, Y/N, you might be shy, but it’s frickin’ adorable,” he said playfully, and you laughed, elbowing him gently as you ducked your head in embarrassment, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I mean it, Y/N - you’re… you’re fucking amazing,” Dean breathed, and your laughter died as his eyes found yours again. He held your gaze, and you felt his eyes burning into your soul, piercing through your quiet front and seeing you for you in a way that no one else ever had.

And suddenly, he was kissing you.

His breath was warm as it blended with yours, and he tasted of whiskey and moonshine as his large hand found your cheek, cradling it as though you were something easily broken. His chapped lips bit into your own and your leg cramped up as you twisted to press closer to him, but none of that seemed to matter as you lost yourself in the bliss of kissing Dean Winchester.

You pulled away, catching your breath and taking a moment to soothe your racing heart as you ran your hand along his jaw, his stubble grazing your fingertips as he closed his eyes beneath your loving touch. 

“So… you’re sure you don’t wanna go back in?” he checked, and you giggled, shaking your head.

“Definitely not,” you breathed, your breath fanning over his lips as you leaned your forehead against his. Dean melted against you, his arms looping around your waist and bringing you close to his chest.

“Good,” he murmured, “because I don’t think I can let you go until I get another kiss…” he said, raising a cocky eyebrow. You grinned.

“I think that could be arranged…” you purred, sealing your mouth against his.

Screw people, you thought as you lost yourself once again in Dean’s reverent touch. You had all you needed right here.

__________

Forever tags: @babygirloreo​ @calaofnoldor​ @lmpala97​ @sebastianshoe​ @81mysteriouslyme​ @castieliswatchingoverme​ @kina666​ @liviaolivia​ @simplyxparker​ @helpmeluci​ @demonsofhunting​ @bee-happy-buzz-on​ @lilulo-12​ @amandatar-06​

Dean tags: @polina-93​ @justagirlinafandomworld​ @coupleofgoons​ @justanotherwinchester​ @shadowkat-83​ @teenwaywardasgardian​

If you want to be added to any tag lists just shoot me a message!

[kjack89]

What a Beautiful Mess

Just about seven years ago, I published my first Les Mis fic. True to form even now, it was E/R, modern AU, angst with a happy ending. I had no idea what to expect as far as the response to that fic would be, and, of course, had no idea that I’d still be here, seven years later, still writing about the same two idiots in love.

I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for the incredible support of the Les Mis fandom. Y’all have been with me through the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, and I truly do mean it — I would not be here today if it weren’t for you. Not just here writing, but very likely here at all. Fandom is such a strange, bizarre and utterly beautiful place, and thank you to everyone who has made this fandom something that feels like home.

This one’s for you — E/R, modern AU, a touch of angst, and whole lot of love. Here’s to whatever beautiful mess comes next.

The dull roar of conversation in the back room of the Musain quieted as Enjolras stood up to start the meeting. He had just opened his mouth to speak when the door creaked open and Grantaire made his way to his seat, holding two beers and mouthing what could either have been an apology or an expletive.

It was a sign of how things had changed between them that his tardy appearance warranted nothing more than a slightly exasperated but mostly fond look as Enjolras waited for Grantaire to be seated before beginning. “Now that we’re all here,” he said, a little sternly, but with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, and as he continued talking, Grantaire let out a happy sigh, lounging slightly in his chair.

“You seem happy,” Joly said in an undertone, and Grantaire arched an eyebrow as he took a sip of beer.

“You say that like I normally walk around scowling.”

Joly ignored him. “Did you and Enjolras have fun together before the meeting?” he asked instead, in an idle sort of way, and Grantaire paused, his beer halfway to his lips.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, aiming for nonchalant and missing by a mile.

While the fact that he and Enjolras were dating at best, or just sleeping together at worst, was not exactly a secret, Grantaire had decided at the beginning not to talk about it, or even so much as acknowledge it, just in case he jinxed it.

It must’ve worked, because just last night they had celebrated one whole month of not jinxing it.

But it also explained Joly’s eye roll as he took a sip of his wine before telling Grantaire, sounding far more nonchalant than Grantaire had remotely managed, “Maybe not, but you missed a button on your shirt.”

Grantaire looked down at himself, his mouth opening and closing again like a fish gasping for water. “That– I mean– I do that all the time,” he blustered, quickly trying to fix the problem and somehow only managing to make things worse. “I mean, it’s not like it means anything.”

“Of course not,” Joly said, taking another sip of wine to hide his smile. “But like I said, you seem happy.”

Grantaire muttered something incomprehensible as he finally fixed the buttons on his shirt, but when he glanced up at Enjolras, it was with a smile on his face.

----------

Combeferre glanced up from where he was reading the newspaper and offered a bod to Enjolras as he emerged from his bedroom, already on the phone with the permit approval office at City Hall despite it being only a few minutes past their opening time. “Yes, but you’ve given no explanation for denying our reasonable use permit request,” Enjolras said impatiently, giving Combeferre a distracted wave before yanking on his coat. “Believe me, I’m more than happy to file an appeal, but you and I both know you would save yourselves some time and grief if you just approved it now—”

He broke off as Grantaire stumbled out of the bedroom, wrapped in Enjolras’s duvet. Enjolras’s expression instantly softened when he saw Grantaire, though his tone was no less impatient when he told whomever had the unfortunate luck of picking up the phone that morning, “Then tell your supervisor to call me themself and I will be glad to walk them through the city code on what constitutes ‘reasonable use’.”

He hung up and slipped his phone in his pocket before reaching out to pull Grantaire to him. “Sorry to rush off,” he said before kissing Grantaire’s forehead. “Meet me for lunch?”

Grantaire opened his mouth as if to answer but yawned instead, and Enjolras laughed. “Go back to bed,” he commanded, leaning in and kissing Grantaire lightly. “I’ll text you later.”

He gave Combeferre another wave, this time accompanied by a slightly sheepish smile, before finally taking his leave. Grantaire stood there for a long moment, staring after him, a goofy sort of grin on his face. Then he shook his head and turned to shuffle into the kitchen, his expression a little dazed.

Dazed enough that he ran smackdab into the refrigerator, and Combeferre snorted a laugh into his coffee mug.

“What?” Grantaire asked defensively, rubbing his head as he recovered his balance, making his way around the refrigerator to the coffeemaker.

“Absolutely nothing,” Combeferre told him, managing to rein in his laughter. “Good morning to you, too.”

Grantaire glared at him as he poured himself a cup of coffee, but by the time he had filled his cup, his glare had disappeared, replaced by the same goofy grin from before. Still, he held his head high as he made his way back to Enjolras’s bedroom— at least until he tripped over the edge of the duvet and almost spilled his coffee all over himself.

This time, Combeferre didn’t even bother trying to hide his laughter, and Grantaire’s dreamy look was replaced by a scowl as he stalked into Enjolras’s bedroom, all but slamming the door behind him.

Combeferre’s laugh slowed to a chuckle, and he shook his head as he returned to reading his newspaper.

----------

Courfeyrac glanced impatiently at the time on his cellphone before tossing a look at Combeferre, who did not seem to be even remotely concerned about the time. “He’s late,” Courfeyrac said sourly.

“By about 30 seconds,” Combeferre answered calmly, striking something on the blog post he was editing. “I think we can afford to cut him a little slack.”

“Maybe you can,” Courfeyrac grumbled, glaring at his phone again as if he could encourage it to move faster. “I have a hot date after this.”

Combeferre glanced up, his brow furrowed. “Aren’t you and I getting pho after this?” he asked. Courfeyrac leered pointedly at him and Combeferre rolled his eyes, looking back down at his computer, his face burning bright red. “Anyway—”

He was cut off by Enjolras, coming into the backroom not from the doorway, as anyone would expect, but instead emerging from the supply closet. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, taking a seat next to Combeferre, who looked confused, and Courfeyrac, who looked delighted.

“Oh, don’t you worry about it,” Courfeyrac said blithely, smirking slightly, and Combeferre glared at him.

“You literally were just complaining—”

He was cut off again by the door to the supply closet opening, and this time, a particularly dishevelled Grantaire spilled out, his hair sticking straight up in the back and his shirt on inside-out. He froze when he saw them looking at him, and gave them a slightly sheepish wave before hurrying out.

Courfeyrac was beaming like a cat that had gotten the cream and Combeferre cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “now that we’re all here—”

“Enjolras, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you,” Courfeyrac interrupted, and Enjolras looked over at him, startled.

“For being a few minutes late?” he asked, somewhat dubious, and Courfeyrac sighed and rolled his eyes.

“No, for your little pre-meeting meeting in the supply closet,” he said, a touch impatiently.

Enjolras still looked confused. “Grantaire and I were just talking,” he said, a touch defensively. Combeferre and Courfeyrac both made disbelieving noises at that, and Enjolras scowled. “What?” he asked.

Courfeyrac sighed and shook his head. “Nevermind,” he said, somewhat mournfully. “My pride is rescinded.”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Enjolras told him, but Combeferre was pretty sure he could see just a slight smile lifting the corner of Enjolras’s mouth.

----------

Grantaire was running late, but that was hardly out of the ordinary, and besides, Jehan was finishing up a chapter in his book, so he didn’t mind waiting, propping his feet up on the empty chair waiting for Grantaire in the café and drinking his tea.

Three chapters later, Grantaire was still not there, and Jehan frowned down at his watch before going to order himself another cup of tea and a coffee for when Grantaire inevitably showed up. 

Sure enough, not even five minutes later, Grantaire rushed in, noticeably out of breath. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, dropping into his seat and standing up immediately when he realized he had sat on Jehan’s feet.

“No worries,” Jehan told him absently, marking where he left off in his book as Grantaire sat back down, this time lifting Jehan’s feet and setting them in his lap. 

Grantaire caught sight of the cup of coffee waiting for him and brightened instantly. “For me?” he asked, and when Jehan nodded, Grantaire grinned. “My hero,” he said, grabbing the coffee and pulling the lid off, reaching for the sugar.

Jehan watched, his eyebrows raised and his cup of tea halfway to his mouth, as Grantaire dumped seemingly half the container into his coffee. “Is everything alright?” he asked, curious. 

“Yeah, fine, why?” Grantaire asked distractedly before taking a gulp of coffee that he instantly choked on. “Jesus Christ,” he spluttered, staring down at the coffee in horror. “What the hell is wrong with this coffee?!”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with the coffee,” Jehan told him.

“Then why does it taste like—”

Jehan patiently held up the almost-empty salt shaker. “Because you put salt in it instead of sugar.”

Grantaire stared at him, a sheepish look crossing his face. “Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. Shit.”

“Mmhmm,” Jehan agreed, taking a sip of tea. “So, I’ll take it you came from Enjolras’s.”

“What makes you say that?” Grantaire asked, taking another sip of coffee and shuddering at the taste as if he had already forgotten how disgusting it was.

Jehan gave him a look. “Because you’re always distracted after you’ve been spending time with Enjolras,” he said, as if it was obvious.

Grantaire froze. “Am not,” he said, seemingly on instinct alone.

Jehan just shrugged. “Whatever you say,” he said unconcernedly, and Grantaire stared down at his coffee for a long moment before sighing heavily.

“Goddamnit.”

----------

“Are you watching me sleep?” Enjolras asked with no small amount of amusement, not lifting his head from his pillow, even as Grantaire was propped up on his elbow, looking at him.

“That would require you to actually be asleep,” Grantaire pointed out. “And seeing as how your alarm is about to go off—“

As if on cue, Enjolras’s phone chimes loudly and Enjolras sighed, reaching over to turn it off before rolling back to face Grantaire. He stretched, pausing when he saw Grantaire still watching him. “What?” he asked, slightly defensively.

“Nothing,” Grantaire said, before hesitating and telling him, almost desperately, “You just — you look perfect.”

“You’re biased,” Enjolras told him with a laugh, running a hand through his blond curls.

“Maybe,” Grantaire allowed, “but you and I just woke up from sleep and had pretty fantastic sex on top of that, and while I look like I’ve gone nine rounds in the boxing ring with Bahorel and am lucky I can string a sentence together, you’re cool as a cucumber, not even a hair out of place.”

Enjolras smirked. “That’s because I’m better at this than you,” he teased, but his grin faded when Grantaire didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Wait, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Grantaire shrugged, and Enjolras’s brow furrowed. “What is this really about?”

Grantaire was silent for a long moment, reaching out to trace a finger up Enjolras’s side. “It’s probably nothing,” he hedged, but Enjolras captured his hand with one of his own, holding him in place.

“It’s not,” he said firmly. “Talk to me.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m in this more than you.”

Enjolras stared at him. “In what more?” he asked.

Grantaire shrugged, carefully pulling his hand away from Enjolras’s. “This,” he said, gesturing between the two of them. “Us.” Enjolras’s expression darkened and Grantaire hurried to add, “It’s just that I love you so much that every time we’re together, I feel like the air’s been knocked out of me, and I know we’ve never put a name on this so maybe you don’t feel the same, and that’s ok, but—“

Enjolras cut off his babbling by kissing him, cupping the back of his head and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. “I’m in this,” he told Grantaire, resting his forehead against his as he ran his fingers lightly through Grantaire’s mess of curls. “Don’t ever think that I’m not. I just—“

He broke off, clearly searching for the right words. “You say that when we’re together, it’s like the air’s been knocked out of you, but when we’re together, it’s like I can stop and breathe again.” He made a face, as if what he’d said sounded inadequate to him. “At every other point in time, I have to be a million places at once, doing a million things at once. But when I’m here with you, it’s just you.”

He ran his thumb lightly across Grantaire’s cheekbone. “When I’m with you, you’re the only thing I’m thinking about. So when I have to leave, I guess I’m just better at keeping it together because I’m still focused on what matters.” 

He kissed Grantaire once more before rolling over and standing up, padding over to his dresser to grab some clothes and get dressed. Grantaire rolled over onto his stomach to watch him, his usual goofy smile still a little smaller than usual. “”As much as I realize that’s supposed to be sweet, I’m not entirely sure it is,” he complained, propping himself up on his elbow again. “Especially since I’m the idiot walking into things and putting salt in my coffee, and you…” 

He trailed off as Enjolras sat down on the edge of the bed next to him to put his shoes on. “And I, what?” Enjolras asked, amused.

“Nothing,” Grantaire said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Absolutely nothing. Other than the fact that I love you.”

Enjolras looked at him suspiciously but nonetheless leaned over to kiss him. “I love you, too,” he said. “See you at the rally. Please try not to be late.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Grantaire promised, still grinning, and Enjolras’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he shrugged and made his way out the door.

Grantaire lay back in bed and closed his eyes, mentally counting down in his head, until—

“Were you really going to let me leave the house with my shirt on backwards?” Enjolras demanded, standing in the doorway and glaring at Grantaire.

“Payback’s a bitch,” Grantaire murmured sleepily.

Enjolras scowled and pulling his shirt off to put it on the correct way. “You are such a—” he started, breaking off when Grantaire reached out and pulled him back to the bed, tugging him down so he could kiss him once more.

“It was just nice to see you as distracted as I normally am for once.”

Enjolras’s expression softened and he kissed Grantaire’s forehead. “I love you,” he told him. “Some days I sure as shit don’t know why, but—”

Grantaire just laughed. “I love you, too. Backwards shirt and all.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Alice of Human Sacrifice

[Tour]

title has absolutely nothing to do with the fic, i just listened to the song again and thought it sounded cool

Tw: Suicidal thoughts, skin picking

———————

Howard found her collapsed on the ground, face-down, like the dead bodies in those forensic shows Bessie liked to watch. She was bent in the way the bodies usually were, too, with her arms crooked and elbows pointing out, and her knees at an awkward angle. And, also like those bodies, she wasn’t moving at all.

She could leave. Howard has just come back into the theater for the book she had forgotten. She could leave and pretend she hadn’t seen anything. This was not her problem.

And yet, she was stepping forward from the hallway and into the cluttered dressing room.

She kept telling her, what if this was her on the floor? She would want someone to help her. She wouldn’t want to be left all alone with whatever ailment had caused her to blackout in the first place.

“Joan?” She called out.

The girl on the floor didn’t budge.

Howard crouched down next to her and gently nudged her arm.

“Joan. Are you there? Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

Howard pursed her lips. Carefully, she rolled Joan onto her back.

Joan wasn’t as filled out as she used to be. Even in her past life, Joan was thin, but at least her face wasn’t as lean as it was now, with sharp jawbones and deep hollows under her eyes. She looked so frail, sickly even, as Anne had once said. While unconscious, that comment seemed so much more accurate.

Joan did look ill. She was paler than usual, making the bags under her eyes and the flush on her nose and cheeks appear even darker. A slight fever was lit beneath her skin when Howard felt her forehead.

That contact was what finally roused her.

“Joan?” Howard peered down at the icy blue eyes peeking out from behind fluttering eyelids. “Joan, it’s Katherine. Are you alright?”

Joan mumbled something incomprehensible. Her head lolled across the ground as she blearily stared up at the ceiling. She still didn’t appear all that there.

“Joan.” Howard shook her slightly. “Come on, Joan. Wake up.”

“...c-can’t...”

It was such a weak, pathetic reply that Howard couldn’t even muster up the effort to be annoyed. The girl below her was just so damn pitiful. She couldn’t snap at her when she was being looked at with those big, dumb eyes.

“I-I’m sorry...” Joan croaked.

Her eyes then rolled to the back of her head and she once again fell into a pit of unconsciousness.

 Just leave her. A crueler, more repressed side of Howard whispered. She isn’t your problem.

She hates how she considers it. But it was true. As pitiful as she was, Joan wasn’t anyone close to her. She didn’t care about her like she cared about the other queens or Bessie. She wasn’t anyone’s special to her.

So why was she picking Joan up? Why was she carrying her to her car and carefully putting her in the back seat? Why was she putting herself through the hassle of going to the hospital? And why did she care?

———

Hiding her problems from the others was easier than she expected it to be.

She thinks, as some point, that they did their best to make her feel included and a part of the group, but they’ve given up since then. They’ve marked her as a lost cause and have moved on. And Joan doesn’t blame them.

She was falling deeper and deeper into depression as the days went by.

She can’t remember when it started, she just knows it came about from lack of attention and lack of love and lack of friendship and lack of everything. And that was pathetic.

Above all else, she seeked the approval of others. Why couldn’t she function without it? Why has she turned into such a mess?

What’s happening to her?

She stopped eating awhile ago. The hunger pains are awful, but at least nobody paid enough attention to her to hear the desperate growls of her stomach. Sleep went next, and then speaking to others, and then water.

On top of depriving her body of all of its basic needs, she’s taken to overworking herself after practice or shows were over. She’d tell everyone that she’s just staying to work on new songs or mixes, and it’s not like they think much of it or care, but she’s constantly pushing herself to the point where she can’t breathe during a simple rehearsal of No Way.

(Let’s see if you can hold your breath for the entirety of All You Wanna Do, Her mind will sometimes whisper.)

Another nasty habit that had come back was her skin picking. Picking wasn’t an act of needing attention, like she knew she would be accused of if people found out, it was more of an act to get adrenaline, to escape the constant pain and anxiety that thrummed through her body on the daily. Letting her fingernails carve off pieces of her skin, scratching away the dead, bad parts of her, deeper and deeper each time, just released the most amazing endorphins that she couldn’t even begin to explain. It was like she was floating. And it was the only thing that made her slightly happy anymore, as disgusting as that may have seemed.

She soon created a ritual for herself. After working her body to almost complete fatigue, she would stand in front of her mirror, take off her shirt, and stare at her body. She would name the few things that she had started to like in her head then list all of the bad things she needed to get rid of.

Disgusting.

Freak.

Outcast.

Pathetic.

Words would swim through her head, blinding her by the intensity of the emotion in those words. These were words that she saw some fans write on posts she would make, whether they be piano covers or, more embarrassingly, song covers. Those always got the most backlash- “u sound like shit” “why are you even trying? You’ll never be as good as the queens” “Are you trying to one-up the queens?” “Why are you singing Katherine’s song? That’s so rude!! It’s not about you!! You’re awful!” “my ears are bleeding!!!!”- and everything that was said piled up in her head, even after she frantically deleted the posts.

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the positive comments when they came about, they brought tears to her eyes by the sincerity in them. But those dozens of people who hated her... She just couldn’t take it. It’s helped drive her down a terrible path of destruction that she can’t seem to get off. All she ever wanted was to prove to the queens and other ladies that she was worthy of their attention, their love, their praises. But now she’s turned herself into some self destructive freak that will never, ever be loved.

Still, she wonders why someone is touching her. And carrying her.

She can feel their arms supporting her and she leaned into their warmth. She wanted to call out to them, to thank them, to beg them to never let her go, but she can’t speak and blackness is starting to encompass the little vision she has left...

———

Howard doesn’t know how long she waits in the lobby of the A and E, but it’s definitely long enough for the man sitting to her far left to stop bleeding from the large gash on his arm and consider just leaving. He doesn’t, although Howard can see her weigh out the options in his eyes.

There’s other people in pretty rough shape in there- a sick young man in the corner looking like he regretted every decision he’s ever made in his entire life; a teenager who /didn’t/ regret every decision he’s ever made in his entire life, but definitely wished he didn’t go with a stick-and-poke method of getting a tattoo; a quiet-looking girl who stared at the white walls around her with wide eyes and also had her right arm horribly limp at her side; someone whose jaw was unhinged like a snake...there were enough characters in this place to make an entire circus.

Eventually, she was called, so she scooped Joan up from where she had her slumped in the chair beside her and followed the nurse into the back. Then, after Joan is set up in one of the rooms, it’s back to waiting.

She was /really/ starting to wish she had just left Joan. This was ridiculous!

A buzz snapped Howard out of her trance. She blinked and squinted at her phone, which she had been mindlessly scrolling through, and saw that she had gotten a text from Anne on the group chat they were in with the other queens.

Anne: where r u?

She had completely forgotten to tell the others about her impromptu caretaker status.

Katherine: Passcode question: What’s my favourite drink?

What? She may as well TRY to entertain herself while she’s sitting here rotting away.

Anne: come on, kit, i gave u the code this morning. i don’t think the answer has changed in the twelve hours since we spoke.

Anna: is this just a thing you two do???? i’ve never gotten a passcode before

Katherine: Passcode question: What’s my favourite drink?

Anne: fine!

Anne: raspberry tea with lemon

Anne: happy?

Katherine: Very.

Katherine: I’m at the A and E.

Anne: WHAT

Aragon: What happened?

Jane: Are you alright?!

Anna: woah woah woah are you okay?!?!

Cathy: Are you okay?

Anne: KAT ANSWER US NOW

Howard smiled to herself. It was nice to have people that cared so much about her.

Katherine: Calm down, I’m fine! I just had to take Joan and now I have to stay here until she’s done being examined or something. I found her collapsed on the floor.

There was a momentary pause from all parties.

Aragon: Oh dear.

Jane: Poor Kitty. Having to stay in such a place for so long. Hopefully you can leave soon!

Anna: oh that kinda sucks. having to stay awhile. they take FOREVER.

Anne: what if i came and picked u up? i can smuggle u out so u don’t have to stay!!

Howard blinked. How weird. None of them seemed to be worried about Joan at all.

Katherine: What about Joan?

Anne: what about her?

She toiled over the option in her head- finally going home would be nice. She was quite hungry and had been looking forward to the weekly movie night that night. It was her turn to pick!

But she couldn’t leave. She had already given the hospital all her information, so they’d probably find a way to drag her back. And she couldn’t leave Joan.

Katherine: As much as I want to, I can’t.

Anne: hm. suit urself.

It was at that moment when Howard’s name was called. She tucked her phone away and got up to meet the nurse standing at the back doorway.

“Joan is stable,” The nurse explained after they took a peek into the room the music director was being kept in. Joan somehow looked even more vulnerable in a hospital bed, caught in a tangle of wires and tubes. “We have her on fluids right now so she’ll get rehydrated. She’ll be able to leave soon.”

Howard nodded, her heart leaping with relief. However, it was stamped back down when the nurse went on speaking.

“But she will need to be taken home and watched over.” The nurse said. She looked Howard up and down. “You said you were a coworker, yes? Do you know if any of her family members are willing to come get her?”

“Oh, uhh...” Howard had no idea how to explain that she and Joan both were actually reincarnated beings from the 1500s and not just some people who happen to have the same names as the past queen of England and a lady in waiting. “It’s not really the best situation...”

“Ah,” The nurse nodded, seemingly buying the excuse, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “I see. Well, does she have any friends?”

Howard struggled not to grimace, but the nurse seemed to notice.

“What about you? Can you take her?”

“Me?” Howard blinked. “Well-“

“She won’t be able to leave until someone picks her up,” The nurse continued. “We’ll have to keep her here until we know someone can watch over her for a few days.”

Howard bit her lip. If the nurse was trying to guilt her into taking care of Joan, then it was definitely working.

She sighed. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

———

Joan’s apartment was exactly what Howard was expecting- bare, cold, and empty, aside from all the necessities. There were no potted plants or decorations or photos. The walls were just plain cream against regular pieces of furniture. Dreary grey and ugly brown and plain white splattered the flat, which almost seemed more like a cell.

No wonder Joan was so miserable.

“W-well, umm...” Joan looked very anxious- it’s the only expression that’s been on her face since she woke up in the hospital. “I-I could- y-you- umm...”

It was so sad. How could someone be so nervous all the time? Surely it wasn’t healthy.

“Just sit down, dear,” Howard pressed Joan down onto the couch. “I’m going to take care of you, so there’s no need to stress yourself out.”

“There’s every reason to be stressed,” Joan mumbled, worriedly wringing her hands in her shirt. “I— I should make you something to eat!”

She’s on her feet in an instant, instantly wobbling treacherously on her weak legs. Howard lunged out and steadied her.

“Woah there!” She said. “Joan, take it easy. You’re not well.”

“But you need to eat,” Joan reprimanded. “A-and so do I...”

“Then I’ll cook for you.”

“N-no,” Joan whispered softly. “No, Katherine, p-please- I need to do this. I need to be useful.”

Howard frowned, then sighed. “Alright.”

They soon got to work. As they did so, Howard noticed Joan loosen up a little. Despite the girl looking completely exhausted, she seemed to be slightly more happy than she was before, relaxed with the presence of another person.

“So...” Howard started awkwardly. She didn’t know what to talk about with this girl. “How have you, uhh...been?”

“Fins... WELL.”

Words more or less began to fly from Joan’s mouth like uncovered popcorn on a hot surface. It seemed like she had been bottling up a lot, or maybe she was just afraid of not getting to talk fully if she didn’t speak fast enough.

Poor kid, Howard thought, She must be so lonely.

“Yesterday was shit.” Joan spit, and Howard was slightly stunned to hear the usually very timid and quiet girl swear, “I fucked up another thing at work because I’ve been so drowsy and the stage manager said it was okay pretty much only because he understood that this was a—“ She paused to do air quotes with her fingers. “—‘rough time' for me. And I thought that was literally the stupidest understatement I've ever heard so I was thinking about it all day and getting really mad and then, like, out of nowhere I thought, dude, it IS a fucking rough time for me, and I decided to do something nice and fun and go out and buy groceries like my—“ She paused again to do quotation marks again, although, this time, it made the statement being quoted a little more sketchy, “—‘therapist’ said I should, but then I accidentally told the cashier that I loved her instead of saying thank you and now I’m never going back there ever again, and than I started thinking about THAT all day and then, well— I guess I passed out? Because you found me...and helped me... Oh, thanks, by the way! I, ahh, honestly thought you would have left me. But you didn’t! So yay! Thank you! Also, do you like oatmeal?”

Everything came at Howard so fast her mind had to scramble to process everything.

The first thing that registered in her mind, however, was Joan’s final comment- about her not leaving her. A feeling of guilt welled up inside of her.

But then Joan flashed a rare grin at her and she couldn’t help but smile as well.

In stark contrast to the (relatively) sharply-dressed girl the woman met a year ago, Joan was dressed in baggy sweatpants and an even baggier shirt with the words “Trust me, I’m a doctor” and a picture of a plague doctor on it, which has been the clothes she had found her unconscious in. The head poking out at the top had hair that was sticking out in all directions. It made her look smaller and lankier than she was. Younger, too. Sometimes Howard had a hard time believing she was college aged.

The sight made Howard’s heart ache in realization because it was a reminder of how unfair everything she’d gone through was. It wasn’t until that moment that she really remembered that Joan had watched her die.

“That’s a lot,” Howard finally said, then glanced over at the pot bubbling on the stove. “So...oatmeal?”

“Aaaaand cinnamon toast!”

“You’ve got everything sorted out, huh?”

“Pretty sure,” Joan said, “I’ve, umm...kinda been thinking about what I’d want to eat if friends were ever over.” She blushed shyly, messing with the hem of her shirt.

Once again, Howard’s heart ached.

How long has this girl been alone...?

“Wanna help with the toast?”

“Y’know, I make a pretty mean cinnamon toast.”

A crooked grin replaced the plaintive look Joan had been wearing, and she turned around to pick up a loaf of bread. “You know I’m not gonna believe that until I taste it, right?”

“Heh. Guess I’d better back up the claim, then.”

Joan beamed magnanimously and handed Howard the loaf, which she set down on a nearby cutting board. With a rumbly clearing of the throat, Howard pushed her sleeves up and rubbed her hands together.

“Alright. Melt a little butter in the microwave and grab that cinnamon I see over there. If I’m gonna make this bread, I’m gonna do it right.”

“Yes ma’am!”

They set to work with a bustle as Howard cut the bread and Joan retrieved the necessary ingredients and dropped them on the counter next to her, pausing every so often to check on the oatmeal bubbling on the stove.

“Hey, you mind if I unmute the TV or put on some music or something? I need some background noise.” Joan said after a while, nodding in the direction of the radio on the counter and then glancing momentarily at the TV.

“Sure,” Howard said, “Just keep it down so we don’t disturb the neighbors. And none of that skippity-bop or whatever it is you kids listen to. I don’t have the stomach for that.”

She was teasing Joan by acting older than she actually was, and the sickened look the girl gave her was completely worth it. Howard bursted into laughter.

“It’s called hip hop , Howard. God. I know you aren’t THAT old! What are you, twenty-two?”

“You are now my new favorite.”

Joan beamed at that then padded over to the radio. She began tuning it to different kinds of music stations until a thumping electric beat started to pulse in the air.

“You want the neighbors to think you’re holding a dance party or something?”

“Maybe I do!”

Howard chuckled. “Can you grab a tray I can stick these on?”

“Yeah!”

Joan bent down to retrieve a baking tray from the clutter of pans in a lower drawer, and by the time she’d straightened up, she already had another idea.

“Oh man! You know what’d be great? I have about five billion kinds of lettuce in the fridge because I was dumb and went shopping while I was hungry the other day. We should have a salad! Caesar! With croutons and crap!”

“You can leave the crap off of mine, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Joan hissed playfully. “Here’s the tray. I’ll go start watching the lettuce!”

Joan threw open the fridge and leaned in, gathering armfuls of vegetables. Howard watched this with a fond shake of the head before returning to her own task. It sent a pang through her chest, brushing the butter and sugar and cinnamon across the fluffy bread like she vaguely had all those centuries ago, before her life turned into a spiral of unwanted sex and grabbing hands and unreceived loads of semen...but it wasn’t so bad. Being in a bright kitchen and listening to music she’d never willingly put on of her own volition was miles better than trying to do the same thing in her own one. She had the queens now, too. She wasn’t alone. And, with Joan around and doing this with her...Howard felt like a mother.

A timer buzzed and she sidled over herself, seeing as Joan was already occupied. When she stood straight again after sliding the pan of bread into its place, she wiped the sweat from her brow and looked back over to her young chef companion— only to find her rocking and head-bobbing in place as she shredded lettuce with her bare hands, tossing it into the bowl in time to the punchy music on the radio. Howard found herself shaking her head again, this time in amusement.

“Glad you’re happier than you were when we first got here.”

(It wasn’t just when she found her- Joan always looked like she had been hit by a truck with acid wheels, her remains were burned by a flamethrower, and then she was poorly put back together.)

“Mm,” Joan replied distractedly, snapping her fingers jauntily to the tune. “I'm not, actually. I’m just kinda faking it ‘till I make it. You know?”

“Oh,” Said Howard, suddenly feeling very worried. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“S’okay. Means I’m doing it right.”

Before Howard had a chance to ask if she was okay with her Mummy Voice, as Bessie has dubbed it, the song on the radio changed and Joan’s eyes lit up.

“Oh man! I love this song!”

She flung the last of the lettuce leaves into the bowl and started to dance even more enthusiastically (and goofily), pumping her fists in the air.

“Wait, don’t tell me this is-“

“It’s Smash Mouth! The ballad of the 90s! Shrek’s theme song! You’ve seen Shrek, Bessie said she made you watch it with her last month. C’mon, dance with me!"

The worry quickly became a mixture of exasperation and amusement.

“Joan, I don’t think-”

“Come on! You dance all the time in the show! And you don’t have to break a hip or anything, just move around a little! It’s impossible to be completely bummed when you’re dancing.”

Howard closed her eyes and sighed deeply. Then started to slowly step side to side.

“—Aw man, NO. Is that the Carlton? NO.”

“Hey, you whelp, don't make fun. There is NOTHING wrong with the Carlton."

“NOPE. Not allowed! Jazz it up a lil!”

Finally succumbing to deep laughter, the queen found herself picking up her feet and turning in place. And, as an afterthought, even threw in some jazz hands.

After all, what could it hurt?

[funkymbtifiction]

Could you comment on Clark typing as ISFP?

Hello! I’ve seen Clark typed as ISFP with such points: “Fi- good inner control of his own emotions, yet you still get the sense he feels deeply, he just doesn’t show the slightest feelings readily like Fe. And no, Fi isn’t ‘selfish’ and Fe ‘for other people’.

They simply refer to where you get your values. Fe - your values are based on global values, basically ‘what most people consider to be right’. Coupled with Si, a past orientated function, he would be looking into the past to see how things were done to base his values on, and looking at the majority rather than what his personal values are.

Fi - personal values. He’d have a deep moral code, which are based on personal ideas instead of global. They likely won’t be shaken from these values, even if other people thought they were wrong, because the individual knows they are right. Due to this, Fi can at times appear ‘different’ to the norms because their values aren’t based on what everyone else thinks but what they believe, whereas with Fe, it is their worst nightmare to stand out and try their best to fit in, however they can.

Se- he does love exercise and sport and want to do it, especially when his powers were taken away, so it has nothing to do with him being ‘super’. Se users are in the present in opposed to in the past, like Si. They want to take action.

What do you think?

Decent assessment of Fi,  but it’s not a convincing argument for Clark since there’s no evidence. It’s mostly an abstract discussion about SFP vs. SFJ.

I have gone back and forth on whether Clark Kent of Smallville is ISFP or EFJ, and I will outline why I went with Fe-dom.

He is without a doubt a dominant ‘judging’ personality – everything is filtered through moral judgments, everyone is instantly assessed based on their moral behaviors and values. He clearly has Ni (since his suppositions are often spot on and he also carries a certain amount of idealism) and Se (he often rushes headlong into stopping things from happening and uses his environment to do so, though for him it’s mostly reduced to “break a thing” / smash the bush).

Clark is clearly starved for attention and praise. He wants to be a star and dreams about having others affirm and adore him, which is more of a Fe thing in the sense that he would be emboldened and uplifted by constant positive affirmation rather than made uncomfortable by it. He is also a skilled person in terms of knowing, often, what exactly the right thing to say is, to comfort and console his friends – meaning he can meet them on an emotional level (rather than being separate) and empathize without needing to have experienced a loss to know what it’s like. Whenever his mother asks him what is wrong, Clark confesses easily that he finds it hard to not be honest with his friends, that he wishes he could be with Lana but stays away from her out of respect for another man’s “claim” on her (and her own feelings), and that he finds it hard to stand back and let other people take all the praise for things that he did. (Image type for sure, but that’s an aside.)

Now, as a 2, Clark is all about seeing the best in people – but he also seems to take a while to come around to realizing that Lex isn’t ‘fulfilling’ his greater potential – to me, this seems more like a FeNi or an NF blind spot than the more pragmatic SF approach. I realize that Harry Potter is a different core (9w8 instead of 2, tho I think they are both 269/962) but he tends to have very firm, pragmatic assessments about people and very little idealism, whereas Clark seems to see what Lex COULD be and is trying to mold him toward that, by encouraging him to resist his baser instincts, not be like his father, etc. This is very NF stuff, and particularly ENF – because Fi-doms do not interfere with other people or attempt to change them. (That, by the way, is an indicator for all you NFPs out there who aren’t sure if you are ENFP or INFP. I repeat: Fi-dom is all about me and my autonomy, so they have a built-in sense of “non-interference” that ENF’s lack.)

Clark also scolds his father for his negative assumptions about Lex, because they don’t match the “potential” (idealism) he takes as a matter of course; he even blamed his father, at one point, for pushing Lex toward the darkness, through his rejection of his attempts to be kind. These to me are naive idealistic ENF traits more than grounded ISFP traits. So we’re left with someone with a hero complex, who feels morally responsible to the entire world to take care of it and rushes in to help people indiscriminately (Clark’s Fe vs Harry’s more selective Fi?), who wishes he could be 100% honest with his girlfriend, who gives people the benefit of the doubt by arguing that they all have their reasons for their behavior (extenuating circumstances making “the man”), who has a skill for connecting to almost anyone, who sees the good in people and actively pushes them (moralizes at them) toward it, and who is not present-based so much as dreamy and contemplative about the future.

I fail to see inferior Te, also, in that Clark is never particularly abrasive, blunt, or authoritarian under stress – instead, in a moment of pure horror after an awful discovery, he asks Chloe what would CAUSE (SPOILER) to murder his father, as if he needs a logical explanation to reconcile this incomprehensible evil that makes sense to him. He cannot just conclude that this person is evil and dismiss it, he has to understand WHY (Ti).

This is 100% NOT Fi-dom. To a Fi-dom, bad is bad. Evil is evil. Snape is mean, Snape insults Hermione, Snape is suspicious, ergo Snape is evil -- and it takes a monumental shake-up for Harry to reach any other conclusion about Snape (a fundamental reassessment of Snape being the ‘hero’ and not the ‘villain’).

I think Clark does this:

Without Ni/Se functional development, the EFJ’s self worth is dependent on their social roles, rather than who they are. Unless they get in touch with themselves, they aren’t really sharing themselves with anyone and won’t feel truly appreciated, no matter how much they do for others. The greater their reliance on Fe, the less in touch with their own feelings these types tend to be.

https://funkymbti.wordpress.com/mbti/the-ifp-types/

More than this:

Without Se/Ne development, IFPs judge every situation after their own experience. They can become absorbed in defying “conformity” to social conventions or standards, or can get locked into an eternal present where nothing matters except their own experiences and opinions. Fi is an individual viewpoint; something the IFP brings to reality from within themselves. They need to develop enough functionally to invest in life as it actually is. Otherwise, they spend too much time defending themselves from situations unfriendly to their inner realm, and their beliefs against perceived external threats, rather than taking this as an opportunity to expand their understanding of different people as having unique experiences, and learning not all situations that do not appeal to them are objectively “bad.”

https://funkymbti.wordpress.com/mbti/the-ifp-types/