#(he still wants it. he still wants to feel that again. power or completeness or just not being alone in his body anymore.

[oediex]

You know what, yeah, that bell hooks quotation wasn't appropriate, it doesn't say what the person who added it think it says.

But I don't think it's fair to say that that man who everyone is pissing on somehow claimed we had to "hold his hand" or "coddle" him or whatever. Or even that women had to do it.

He never once even mentioned the word 'woman' in that post. I'm not excluding that that what he was implying - it's very possible! - but what he said was "the left", and let's be clear, this is his understanding of what the left is. I saw people saying that a "self-proclaimed leftist" should understand that his answer was still drenched in patriarchal thinking. But he never once proclaimed he was a leftist. Perhaps he thinks he is, but all he said was that he got "out" of the "alt-right". For all we know, that means he voted for the Democratic Party and we, who are on the left, all know that's not the fucking left.

The question that was posed was how do we keep young men from turning right wing, and he offered an explanation. An explanation! Not an excuse! Again something that a lot of people just assumed.

And yes, it was a flawed explanation, and yes he has some things to learn, and yes it was uncritical and terribly phrased.

But can we recognise that not everyone has the necessary critical thinking skills to completely dig their way out of the overarching ideology that fucking rules our lives? Critical thinking skills aren't something that we are born with. It's something that is learned, something that you have to train. It's a never-ending project. And from what I know of the educational system in the US? That's not where you get it.

Speaking of bell hooks, at least she understands this. In that book (The Will to Change) she writes that "most men never think about patriarchy - what it means, how it is created and sustained." She writes how the patriarchy sees men's violence and the one emotion they're allowed to have, anger, as "natural". Understanding the patriarchy is something that has to be learned, and you either figure it out yourself by reading, but most of us probably had someone in our lives who talked to us about it, taught us about it, and then we might have started reading more about it.

What if you don't have someone like that? What if all you hear is that the things feminists tell you is bad is what was imprinted on you as "natural" to you?

Here's bell hooks:

Yet no one talks about the role patriarchal notions of manhood play in teaching boys that it is their nature to kill, then teaching them that they can do nothing to change this nature—nothing, that is, that will leave their masculinity intact.

Here's what she says of her own brother:

As patriarchal thinking and action claimed him in adolescence, he learned to mask his loving feelings. He entered that space of alienation and antisocial behavior deemed “natural” for adolescent boys.

She clearly pinpoints the moment of these patriarchal ideas taking hold to be in adolescent, and the question that was posed was, what can we do to stop that from happening? I've seen people say that nothing can be done until we change the material conditions that make it so that men systematically have power over women. And yeah, undoubtedly that is a fight we need to have. But is that truly the only way we can keep (some) boys from falling into the grasp of the (alt-)right? Is there no hope in at least reaching them in the meantime?

I've seen a post saying, "omg of course he goes for misandry" and while misandry isn't real in that men are not systematically oppressed, that doesn't mean that there aren't some out there who express hatred or disgust of men. That's not what the left stands for, obviously, but it is not absent. Here are some comments from the notes on some of these reaction posts (and presumably these are all people who consider themselves leftists):

"you should be hunted for sport"

"makes me want to commit homocide"

"kys right now"

"'leftists constantly said i should die' yeah fucking right"

"we need to double male loneliness and I'm not even kidding"

"I HATE MEN AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. THEY HATE US MORE AND THEY HAVE ALL THE POWER TO DO ACTUAL HARM TO US. Misandry is NOT FUCKING REAL but I wish it was"

"we should kill people who don't get it"

Is that hatred of men (non-systematically)? Not all of it, but some of it definitely or possibly qualifies. And it sure does look like some people (who probably think themselves leftists) think this man (or men in general) are the "scum of the earth" and that they want him/them dead. How else do you interpret some of these phrases?

Now imagine that this is something that you encounter online, and with the help of the stranglehold of the patriarchy, whispers of right wing ideology, confirmation bias, and negativity bias? I can imagine you might end up concluding they "hate you for your immutable traits" (remember patriarchy teaches boys that violence and anger is natural to them) and that they "blame you for everything that's wrong in the world".

Is that the right conclusion? No. But as much as being able to use reason is part of being human, so is not being immune to ideology and propaganda. We wouldn't fucking be where we are right now if that wasn't the case.

How do we teach boys that anger and violence aren't "immutable traits"? How do we educate them about the power of the patriarchy? Well, where does it have to come from if not from the fucking left?

Does it have to be you? No. Does it have to be women? Also no. It's probably good if it's men, and especially men who themselves walked with the right at some point (if someone has already been pulled into the right, rather than catching them before).

It can be a woman though, if there's someone who wants to do it. I don't mind doing it if someone wants to talk about it. Will I be nice? No, I won't hold back and I will tell them if what they're saying is wrong. Will I coddle them? Fuck no. Will I keep trying if someone clearly isn't listening? No. Will I be compassionate? Yeah, I think I will.

Because compassion is really important when you're trying to keep people from falling into the far-right, or even if you're trying to get them out of it (which again, isn't what we were talking about in the first place).

Here's Pete Simi, professor of Sociology, talking about Life After Hate, an American non-profit that tries to help people leave the far-right:

The organization was started by former hate group members who have been doing a lot of outreach in terms of providing testimonials and trainings to schools and law enforcement and other community groups across the country. The focus of their message is the importance of using compassion to inform prevention and intervention efforts and aftercare for individuals who want to change their lives but may need various types of support. I think LAH is a very promising development and I hope it will continue to find the resources that it needs to expand the services it provides.

Being compassionate doesn't mean coddling. It doesn't mean holding their hands and it doesn't even mean being nice to them. It doesn't exclude holding people accountable for their views. It does require patience, though. And I understand that if someone is holding the belief that you are not allowed to exist, that isn't something you can do. And that's fine. It doesn't have to be you.

But somebody has to do it, and it has to be someone on the left.

Now none of that means that the suffering of men under patriarchy, and the fact that this has to be addressed loud and clear, are more important than the suffering that women, and especially women whose oppression intersects with other levels of oppression. I've seen some tags on reaction posts that stated "omg of course centring men in discussions of gender" - but the post was about men. That was the whole starting point!

Because men do suffer under the patriarchy. And it's pushing them to the right, towards misogyny and racism, unless they develop the necessary critical thinking skills to understand their own suffering. And you know who thinks so too? bell hooks.

Often men, to speak the pain, first turn to the women in their lives and are refused a hearing. In many ways women have bought into the patriarchal masculine mystique. Asked to witness a male expressing feelings, to listen to those feelings and respond, they may simply turn away.

Since men have yet to organize a feminist men’s movement that would proclaim the rights of men to emotional awareness and expression, we will not know how many men have indeed tried to express feelings, only to have the women in their lives tune out or be turned off.

It is a form of abuse that this culture continues to deny. Boys socialized to become patriarchs are being abused. As victims of child abuse via socialization in the direction of the patriarchal ideal, boys learn that they are unlovable.

The patriarchal model that tells men that they must be in control at all times is at odds with cultivating the capacity to be responsible, which requires knowing when to control and when to surrender and let go. Responsible men are capable of self-criticism. If more men were doing the work of self-critique, then they would not be wounded, hurt, or chagrined when critiqued by others, especially women with whom they are intimate. Engaging in self-critique empowers responsible males to admit mistakes. When they have wronged others, they are willing to acknowledge wrongdoing and make amends. When others have wronged them, they are able to forgive. The ability to be forgiving is part of letting go of perfectionism and accepting vulnerability. At the same time, constructive criticism works only when it is linked to a process of affirmation. Giving affirmation is an act of emotional care. Wounded men are not often able to say anything positive. They are the grump-and-groan guys; cloaked in cynicism, they stand at an emotional distance from themselves and others. Affirmation brings us closer together. It is the highest realization of compassion and empathy with others. One of the negative aspects of antimale feminist critiques of masculinity was the absence of any affirmation of that which is positive and potentially positive in male being. When individuals, including myself, wrote about the necessity of affirming men and identifying them as comrades in struggle, we were often labeled male-identified. The women who attacked us did not understand that it was possible to critique patriarchy without hating men. Indeed, recognizing all the ways that males have been victimized by patriarchy (even though they received rewards) was a way of including men in feminist movement, welcoming their presence and honoring their contribution.

“in order to create loving males we need to love males” means teach boys that they can be themselves without being less of a man. it means being encouraging and nurturing of their emotions so they don’t become cold and hateful. it means showing boys, early in their lives, that they have value outside of what our society deems proper masculinity. what it doesn’t mean is that it’s our job to handhold men who see women as walking sex toys through the concept of empathy, and maybe if we’re really really nice to them and don’t say things that hurt their feelings they’ll stop killing us for saying no

[vaguely-concerned]

To the ‘themes I am picking up on in Veilguard’ list, let's go ahead and add what I have a sneaking suspicion will actually turn out to be The theme:

— the world has changed and can never be as it was again.

— I have been changed and can never be who I was again.

— in this simple unavoidable truth there is endless grief and endless hope.

And I… may be getting a bit emotional about it haha. Let me show my work a bit: 

if da:o is a game about people who are already dead or half ghosts in some form (through societal forces, psychologically, functionally, literally, in body, through the joining etc.) coming together anyway to save the world from being swallowed by total nihilism and despair (symbolized by the blight) through the power of love and friendship and also this sword/potential heroic sacrifice that I found, da2 is a game about people who have lost their homes and been set adrift finding and building new homes in each other (while completely failing to save the world. also through the power of love and friendship. as well as years of petty bickering <3 we must imagine kirkwall if not happy then worth having been because the love was there the love was there and that's the only sanctifying force we can ever have in this doomed world and city of ours), and da:i is a game about old stabilizing-but-unjust comfortable lies vs. disruptive but potentially liberating uncomfortable truths, and the power of friendship to help us distinguish the one from the other and navigate through them...

folks… I'm starting to think that veilguard might be a game specifically about moving towards recovery and acceptance after trauma — about how even in this flawed, severed, scarred state, what is here right now is worth loving and worth caring for. even in an imperfect and impermanent world and self, there is worth and joy. and of course the first real tragedy — and threat — of Solas is that he just cannot find it in himself to accept this and move on, to let go of what was, the regret won’t let him go or he won’t let go of it. which means that even though on the surface it’s Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (and the will to subjugate and violate they represent) who are the main villains, the real antagonistic force in this story beneath that is the Dread Wolf’s despair. A despair Rook must make an answer to by the end of the game, one way or another, compassionately or with righteous fury, triumphant or pyrrhic.

The world will change again and again and so will you — BUT the crucial element is that so will everyone else who exists along with you, you are fundamentally not alone in this existential truth. all we’ll ever have is each other and my god that is plenty, my god that is enough!!! Which is the second thing Solas just can’t accept, he keeps himself separate and completely alone out of an awful mix of fear and pride and feeling himself unworthy of anything else. Rook and the player want to save the world of Thedas because it’s where everyone we love lives, Solas wants to go back to the past because that’s the only neighbourhood where he can still visit those he loved — and the person he himself was, before. A very sympathetic and human instinct/trap to fall into when touched by trauma, I think, if only it wasn’t backed by godlike power, a fundamentally oppositional personality, and a catastrophic lack of therapy to make it literally everyone else’s problem too lol. It’s varric and solas’ banter about the man on the island and where meaning in a life comes from all over again, writ large and with detail work — and the added idea of ‘what if there are also other islands out there, though. With other people on them that you could find if you reach for each other’. Rook with the best of intentions has to make choices to which there are no perfect outcomes and live with what happens — and not cut themselves off from everyone else around them even when there is regret or shame. You get back up every day and you make a life with other people doing the same and you do your best, and that’s the only victory this world will give you. In the end, that is more than enough, that is essential. And I um. I love that. So much. It’s why some of the writing clumsiness on top can’t hurt me because this thematic spine is so solid and so beautiful to me. It’s DA2 all over again that way for me personally — I forgive this story for what it isn’t and couldn’t be, and I love it with my whole stupid open heart for what it actually is. Thank you for coming to my TED-talk and goodbye etc.      

(For my fellow TLT heads out there — you know what this story is reminding me of most of all, actually? It has some big Nona the Ninth vibes down there in the deep. It’s about… the horror and unspeakable beauty that can only be found in liminality, and the role of love in making that basic fact of existence bearable. And also even more unbearable at the same time. I'm so sorry.)

[woozinhos]

A Beautiful Messy, Mess

Pairings- Dokyeom x female reader

Summary: You’re in an arranged marriage with Dokyeom and you’ve finally decided it time for him to take your virginity

Word counts- 733 words

Warning minors do not interact

Dokyeom positions himself at your entrance, looking down at you with a mixture of love and desire in his eyes. "I'll go slow, I promise. I don't want to hurt you."He pushes into you slowly, groaning at the tight heat that surrounds him. He takes his time, allowing you to adjust to his size and savoring the feeling of being inside you. You bite your lip adjusting to the size of him for the first time. He watches you closely, noticing the way your lips are bitten in pleasure. He can't help but lean down and capture them in a searing kiss, his tongue darting out to soothe the tender flesh. "You're so tight, darling. You feel so good around me..." You look up at him “Just so big,” He lets out a sigh of relief, realizing it was just a little discomfort. "Sorry, darling. I'll go slow, just a bit more. You're doing so well, you're taking me so good." He continues to push into you slowly, his hands gripping your hips tightly to steady himself. He groans as he finally bottoms out, feeling completely surrounded by your warmth and tightness. "God, you feel so good. So perfect for me." He holds still for a moment, giving you time to adjust to his size. He peppers kisses all over your face, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. "You're so beautiful, darling. So beautiful and all mine."

After a few moments, he starts to move slowly, pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back in. He sets a slow, steady pace, savoring the feeling of being inside you and watching the pleasure on your face. You gasp reaching out grabbing onto his arm. He notices your hands gripping his arm tightly, and he takes one of your hands in his, intertwining your fingers together. "It's okay, darling. I've got you. Just relax and let me take care of you." He continues to thrust into you at a steady pace, his hips moving with a practiced rhythm. He leans down to capture your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, swallowing your moans and whimpers. He picks up the pace slightly, his thrusts becoming more forceful and deeper. He can feel his own release building, but he's determined to bring you to another orgasm first. “Fuck seokmin,” You moan.

He groans at the sound of his name on your lips, his hips snapping forward harder and faster. "Say my name again, darling. Let everyone know who's making you feel this good." You smile up at him knowing the effect you have on him “Seokmin mmmm”. He lets out a guttural moan, his eyes darkening with desire. “That's it, just like that. Keep saying my name, darling. Let me hear how good I'm making you feel." “Fuck seokmin,” You look him in his eyes. He growls low in his throat, his control snapping at your words. He starts to pound into you relentlessly, chasing both of your releases with an almost primal need. He leans down to suck and bite at your neck, marking you as his own. His hand moves down to your clit, rubbing it in tight circles as he continues to thrust into you. "You're mine, darling. Mine to love, mine to pleasure, mine to mark. No one else can make you feel this good, only me." You smile looking up at him. “No one Seokmin,” He lets out a possessive growl, his thrusts becoming even more powerful as he claims you completely. "Damn right. You're mine, and I'll make sure you never forget it. I'll make you feel so good, make you scream my name every night. You'll never want anyone else, darling. Only me."

“Fuck!” He can feel you clenching around him, signaling your approaching release. He redoubles his efforts, his fingers working faster on your clit and his thrusts becoming more erratic. "That's it, darling. Come for me. Let go and fall apart for me." You feel your release approaching. “Fuck I’m cumming dokyeom!” He groans as he feels you clench around him, his own release following shortly after. He buries his face in your neck, biting down on your shoulder as he comes inside you, his hips stuttering against yours. He slowly pulls out of you, panting heavily. He looks down at you, his eyes filled with satisfaction and possessiveness.*

"You're a mess, darling. A beautiful, messy mess."

[greeniegirl23]

Isn't It.. Lovely? (Chapter 3#)

One month.

You had one month to make the biggest decision you'd ever make in your life. Part of you wondered why you didn't tell Alastor to have a field day with your Father's corpse, until you remembered that the other part of you still loved and cared for him.

He was still your Dad and once upon a time he was a very good Dad. Your parents were practically a power couple when your Mom was alive, after her death, depression fell on him like a bag of bricks. Leading him to find feeling again in glasses of wine and bottles of hard liquor.

Everyday you pondered on this, wondering if something would finally push you over the edge. If you'd snap and take revenge for yourself.

You didn't like having those thoughts. Yes, the idea of liberty made you feel elated but at the cost of the last family member you had? It was conflicting to say the least.

All that worrying came to a halt once Alastor began to solidify his place in your life.

Every night at 9pm sharp, when you were dressed for bed and your despicable abuser was asleep. Alastor used his powers to turn your radio into your own personal hotline. He was ever so happy to hear from you, happiest when he saw nor heard any traces of harm inflicted on you that day.

He soon found out that you were a curious one and a terrible over-sharer. It was obvious you never really had friends before and if you did, they left you behind long ago. You were as innocent and pure as the driven snow. Always asking questions about him, about Hell, and what it was like back when he was on Earth.

You loved when he told you more about his life. It was like he was reading you your own personal bedtime stories. Tales of speakeasies and the depression, parties that lasted from dusk to dawn, and of course, all of the completely justified crimes he committed before his demise.

As payment for his stories, you told him about your own and caught him up on modern day issues. He seemed especially interested in World War I, disappointed that he died a few years shy of when it started. You told him about your health science classes, your school, and he even became a good study buddy to help you out with your tests.

“Alright darling, last question.” He stated, a drum roll playing in the background. “If your patient performs a forward lunge, which plane of the body are they moving in?”

You chewed on the end of your pencil. “..Coronal?”

A bell dinging made you smile. “Correct! Well done darling, but I'd like for you to work on your confidence when you answer. No one wants a doctor that's unsure of what they're doing.”

“Yeah..I just get so unsure sometimes. I think I'm more scared of being wrong than being right.”

He chuckled. “Do not fret my dear! I've been doing these little pop quizzes with you long enough to know you have a sharp mind. Confidence is a tool that will solidify your place in the career you plan to pursue, so don't be afraid to utilize it more.” His voice was so kind and mentoirish. It felt like he was giving you life lessons almost every time he talked.

On one hand that made you embarrassed. Like these were things you should have already known but you didn't, but you decided to give yourself some grace. Life was different for you than everyone else, so obviously there would be some things you didn't experience to gain knowledge from.

You placed your pencil down and sat cross legged in your chair. Not being the type of person who could sit still, nor do things normally. “Is that how you become a radio host? Because you were super confident?”

There was a pause. “Well, it was something that helped. Being a professional at what I do required more than just believing in myself. Most people think it's easy, but it has its challenges. For example, I used to rehearse my script in the mirror to stop myself from unconsciously going ‘umm’ every 10-30 seconds. It also aided in preventing myself from fumbling my words.”

“That sounds like solid advice.” You smiled. “I should start keeping a journal when you're around and call it ‘Life Lessons As Taught By The Radio Demon.’”

A loud cackling broke out over the radio. “Ah, so the girl does have a sense of humor. A good one at that!” He said proudly. “And here I thought you were all doom and gloom.”

“Hey! I'll have you know staying positive at all times can be very exhausting.” You huffed, placing your hands on your hips in a pouty attitude. “It's really hard to smile when it feels like the world is against you...”

There was a stagnant silence in the air as you turned your head to gaze out the window, watching the rain drizzle from the grey sky. It was your favorite weather, even more so because of the friend it allowed you to find.

Alastor pondered over your words before he took a deep breath. “That leads to a question that I've been meaning to ask you for some time now. It's a rather sensitive one so if you'd prefer not to answer, I would understand.”

Giving the plushie your attention, Alastor's tone turned concerned as he asked. “I can’t help but wonder, Darling, where is your mother..?”

Without missing a beat, you replied. “Oh, my Dad murdered her.”

A sharp microphone screech omitted from the radio. It was safe to say he most definitely was not expecting that..

Not because he can't see your degenerate of a guardian doing something of the sort, he was actually more curious as to how someone as sloppy as your Dad could get away with something like that. No. What got him was even though you were saying words that no child should ever say until they're well into adulthood, you smiled. A soft one, filled with unspeakable pain and a lust for something you could not yet gain.

You could feel him hesitating to ask you some more questions on the topic, so you decided that you could quickly give him your life story. “Whenever anyone asks about it, I always tell them that she passed from cancer but, that's not true..”

Alastor’s signal chirped in curiosity, but he made sure to sound sympathetic. “What happened?..”

You chuckled a bitter melody.

“She was born a diabetic and I was around twelve.. Everyday my Mom took her medicine, the diabetes is actually what led her to becoming a doctor in the first place. Every morning my Dad would make her coffee, as a way of telling her he loved her. I snuck a few sips before only to find out she made it black, when she caught me she told me “Mommy can't have sugar…”

When I turned fourteen, they started arguing. A lot. I can remember hearing them sometimes. Mom threatened to leave him because he was starting to grow a gambling issue and she was tired of taking the brunt of most of the bills. He promised to change and that's when everything started to go downhill.. Weeks went by, she just started getting sicker and sicker seemingly out of nowhere. Still had her morning coffee though. I'd make it for her sometimes and she reminded me “Mommy can't have sugar.” Hardly able to do anything for herself, much less take her medicine. Of course he said he'd do it, he promised me he did when he took me to school..He still made her coffee, before he went to work and after she had been made bed bound..I thought it was a lie, that it wasn't true until I realized that she died that morning with a cup of coffee in her hand..”

A sour laugh left your lips, as you recalled that day you came home from school and found her lying there with blood on the pillow, blood that she had been coughing up for almost a month.

“That bastard was poisoning her with fucking sugar… Everyday he was putting a little bit in her morning coffee and not giving her the insulin she needed. She was a Type 1 diabetic and he did all of it for some fuckin insurance money..” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. Before yanking it in frustration and punching your fist through the nearest wall, your face was blank and unmoving for a second not even flinching as you removed your bruised fist from the drywall. “Mama couldn't have sugar..”

Alastor listened as you explained your mother's demise. His distaste for your father grew more and more as he recalled memories of his own childhood. He'd never tell you to your face, but he could see parts of himself in you from his younger years, if lead in the proper manner, you could become quite the promising killer.

He shook his head. Not the best thoughts to be having right now, not while you're on the edge of a mental breakdown.

“I..Would be lying to you if I said I knew what to tell you about such an awful situation..” He stated hesitantly. “But I can say that I am sorry, that you had to deal with something like this so early in life.”

“Don't be sorry, there's nothing to be done about it…She's gone now and I have to get away from him.” You declared, looking at your now bruised hand. “Now you understand why I made that wish. On any day, at any time, for any reason, that man could decide to kill me. To kill his own daughter in cold blood..”

Alastor hummed. “If you know this, then let me help you." He demanded. "I cannot sit idly by forever my dear, these links to your world are only good for short times to prevent other demons from causing other problems. No one understands the severity of this situation more than you. I would love to help you exact revenge on that putrid sack of skin but you must choose before it is too late and I am no longer around..

You sat in silence as Alastor did his best to help you come to a decision. As much as you hated being rushed, you couldn't deny that he was correct. But the decision was hard, harder than you thought it would be considering the fact that you still loved your father and the man he used to be…

All these thoughts ran through your head on a daily basis, everytime they made you wanna curl up and cry. Snatching up the plush doll, you gave it a good squeeze and hid your face in your knees, wishing that your Mom was still around.

The Radio Demon pursed his lips in thought, he wasn't good with others emotions unless he could feed off of the entertainment from it, much less comforting them. There was nothing entertaining about this, about you being sad. He didn't like it for a reason he couldn't explain, perhaps because you were so bubbly in the beginning?

You weren't trying to do anything miraculous, you just wanted to live your life in peace and possibly get justice for your mother. That was something he could understand. He wouldn't mind completely decimating your Dad, truly he wouldn't! It'd be on the house for you, truly you're the most pitiful soul he's come across in a long while.

He supposed he could pull a few quick strings to make you feel better in the moment. To bring back that smile of yours, full of wonder and a desire for life.

As you continued to seek shelter in your knees, you felt a gentle touch caress the top of your head, sharp claws softly scraping your scalp in an attempt to comfort you.

Wait..

WHAT?!

Quickly yet carefully, you snapped your head up to see none other than The Radio Demon crouched down right in front of you. His hand still rested on the crown of the head as you both stared at each other for a moment.

“I'm sorry.. am I dreaming?” You blurted out.

Alastor smiled, laughing in a low tone at your completely gobsmacked expression. “Fortunately for you, the answer is no my dear. As a gentleman, it'd be rude of me not to at least attempt to help a lady in emotional distress.”

You were still dazed and confused about him being here, much less t o u c h i n g you!! “Ida..I-- I didn't know you could-”

“Travel through the radio? It is quite possible but I only do so on rare occasions since it requires a fair bit of my power that cannot be overexerted in one day.”

Standing up to his full height, you realized how tall he was and thanked God that the ceiling was high enough for his antlers not to scrape. Crawling out of your chair, you immediately felt like an ant compared to him, the top of your head barely came to his collarbone.

“Holy crap you're tall." You blurted again. "I mean, I knew that you were tall but, you're really, really tall..”

Smirking with pride, he twirled his cane expertly like the show off you knew and loved. “7”0 exactly my dear, a foot taller than I was when I was a mortal! Though I suppose that was the universes funny way of punishing me for my crimes, I've bumped my forehead on door frames a good 50 times in both life and death!”

As you examined his real life appearance, you couldn't help but laugh. “Yeah well, the heels don't help.” You pointed to his shoes.

He huffed in feigned offense. “They are not heels, darling they are tap dancing shoes and it was quite common for them to have a bit of height back in my day.”

“Okay, Fred Astare.” You snorted as he settled himself on the side of your bed as you marveled at the fact that he was still taller than you even while sitting down. “And here I was preparing to offer you a dance in hopes of lifting your spirits, only for you to insult my tastes in fashion.” He hmphed, crossing his arms and legs while sticking up his pointy nose towards you.

In a daring moment, you sat right next to him crissed crossed, careful not to to touch him while he continued to play offended. “C’mon Al, don't be so huffy. I didn't mean anything by it.”

“ ‘Al’ huh?” He hummed. “Sounds like someone is getting rather familiar.”

“Hey, you call me 'Darling' and 'Dear' so often I think that it's only fair that I call you 'Al' on occasions.”

“I suppose you have a point. Nevertheless, I came here to try and boost your spirits, you seem to be doing better so if you wish to be bratty I can just go back home..” He teased with an evil grin.

“Wait!” You said just a bit too loudly. “Would you like to play a game with me? Ya know, before you go..”

Alastor raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he parted his lips to deny your offer, until you pulled out the big guns and gave him your best puppy girl eyes. A chill went down his spine from your usage of such cheap tactics, remembering his years as a lad and doing the exact same thing when he wanted something desperately from his dear mother.

“Okay! Okay!” He said, placing his hands up in surrender. “I shall subject myself to whatever game this is for one round, as long as you stop making that revolting expression..”

He watched as you smiled with pure enthusiasm. Such a beautiful smile you had, it made him irritated that you didn't do it more, yet proud that he typically was the source of it sprouting in the first place. Crimson eyes followed your movements as you shuffled off the bed to grab a small deck of cards off of your shelf. A part of him hoped you heard the chuckle that left his lips while you struggled to stand on your toes to retrieve this game.

“It's called ‘Uno’ �� You explained, walking back to him with a red box in hand. “It's a pretty simple game and the rules are easy.” Dumping the cards out of the box, the two of you sat parallel with one another.

”However, this simple game has been known to end more friendships than Monopoly and Mario Kart put together. It shall truly test our bond as companions, only the strongest survive it's trials..” You spoke in a dramatic tone while shuffling the cards and placing the proper numbers out for the both of you. Once you were finished, you placed the extra cards in the middle and looked the Radio Demon square in the eye. “Are you ready?”

“Yes yes,” He replied aloofly. “There isn't any possible way this silly game could cause such a staggering amount of broken relationships. I refuse to believe it's that bad.’

You chuckled bitterly. “You beautiful unsuspecting fool.”

---------------------- ( 2 Hours Later) ---------------------

“That's against the rules!” Alastor hissed underneath his breath as you threw out a fat stack of +2 cards.

“No it's not Alastor, you said you wanted to play stacks and this is how it's played.” You muttered.

The first round between you two consisted of showing Alastor the ropes. The confident man he was, he assured you that the game was easy enough for an infant to play and win effortlessly, especially since he won the first round. You then decide to spice things up by teaching him how to play stacks. He claimed that was easy as well and you allowed him to believe this as the next round consisted of him losing, and so did the next round, and the round after that, and the round after that…

Before you knew it, two hours had gone by and Alastor was determined to beat you at least once. It had gotten so intense that he resorted to taking his tail coat off and even putting his hair up, leaving him in his tight red office shirt and hair that framed his face like the scrumdiddlyumptious being that he was. The sight of his bare arms totally didn't have you blushing up a storm behind your cards.

While he was stewing over his next move, you got to confirm a few fan theories and ogled at his appearance.

Respectfully, of course.

But, the game wasn't over yet. Alastor sat across from you, irritated and with at least eleven cards in his hand, while you had three. The air was tense as he scratched his head and finally decided to throw out a small handful of 8’s, bringing his card count down to five.

Your poker face remained unmoving as you calmly threw out a wild card. “Blue.”

A warble of interference omitted from Alastor's person as his eyes scanned his cards carefully. You were actually surprised at how the tables had turned personality wise. In the beginning, it was Alastor who was calm and collected, but every loss slowly chipped away at the pride that fueled his unwavering persona. His usual smile was now looking more forced, making his disdain obvious.

Throwing out a blue card, you threw out two on top, leaving you with one card as you stated that dreadful word. “Uno.”

With a growl, Alastor tossed out a draw +4. “Red.” He stated blandly. A quick glance at the clock let him know he was late for a meeting with Charlie, but formalities be damned because he was going to win this game.

You took your cards quickly and deemed your hand an amazing one. He replied by tossing out a 2 and leaving three cards left. Victory was close and he swore that once he won he would ‘kindly’ rub it in your face.

But, just as you had been doing for these past five rounds, you had an ace up your sleeve. You tossed out the red ‘Skip’ card, costing Alastor a vital turn that could have turned the tables, only to metaphorically slap him in the face by cheering “Uno!” and dropping your final cards in the middle of the messy deck.

He suppressed a scream of irritation as you did your little victory dance, glaring at you both with gaiety and pure spite. He stood up and snapped his coat back on and his hair back down, he pinched your cheek just a little too hard. “That's enough cutting a rug darling, especially for someone that has two left feet such as yourself.”

“Stop trying to cease my dancing, I must wiggle out my joy.”

With a roll of his eyes, he tuned the radio on to his station to prepare to go back home. “Well you can dance until your heart's content, unfortunately I have to return back home to handle some business.”

Immediately your uncoordinated movements stopped, as you frowned. “Oh, right..”

Part of him felt bad. Not that he would tell you outright, but he didn't exactly want to leave you behind either. The thoughts of what your father could do unannounced made him concerned for your safety, but there wasn't anything he could do. Instead, he smiled genuinely and lifted your gaze up with his finger.

“Chin up, dearest. I shall check on you tomorrow as always and don't forget, you still need to make up your mind about what you want from the options presented to you.”

You didn't reply verbally, but you did nod your head sadly which would have to be enough for now. As he prepared to walk off, he was suddenly stopped by a tight embrace from behind. Anyone else who would have ever dared to think of such a thing would have been a splatter on the wall and he was just about to give you a kind yet serious talk about personal space until he felt something wet soaking through his clothes.

“..Thank you.” You mumbled through the fabric. Inhaling his scent as you sniffled and tried to calm down, honestly you were surprised he didn't push you off.

As mentioned before, emotions were not Alastor's think nor was physical affection. However in this moment, with you crying lightly and hugging him as if he were your only hope of survival, he decided that maybe, just this once, he would let it slide.

For his comfort, you didn't allow the hug to last longer than a minute. Once you pulled away you were embarrassed to say the least and prepared for him to possibly scold or never talk to you again. But, to your surprise, he simply pat your head and whispered, “Sleep tight, cher.”and was gone with a blink of your eyes.

To say you were sad was an understatement, but you knew that he'd be back tomorrow like he was everyday. The idea of talking to him tomorrow. To hear his voice in real time, talking to you and to offer comfort because he actually cared made your heart pound in your chest. As much as you didn't want to think this way, you couldn't help it. He seemed so concerned about you, in a way that no one else has until now.

You did your best to still your beating heart as you began to clean up your fun from earlier, only to find your cards were missing. You looked everywhere and still couldn't find them, ultimately you claimed into bed and decided that maybe Alastor snapped them somewhere you'd never find so that he wouldn't have to loose, I mean, play anymore.

Meanwhile…

“Alastor you're late!” Vaggie snapped as he came waltzing down the stairs, following her to where the rest of the group sat waiting.

“I am aware Vagatha, I was busy doing something else.” He replied calmly, only to make the fallen angel more irritated. “Whatever, I hope you brought something because it's your turn for a group activity today..”

“But of course! How could I forget?” He smiled impishly, before pulling out a red box with a familiar word on it. Once with the rest of the residents, Alastor clapped his hands together and pulled out a chalkboard seemingly out of nowhere.

“For today's activity being hosted by yours truly, we shall all be playing a game suited for bonding and the strengthening of relationships,” He beamed, writing out the title of the game in big letters for everyone to see.

“The name of the game is...UNO!"

------------------------------------------------------------

(Thank you for coming back for Chapter 3# of this story! I hope you stick around for the next one because I plan to make it the last. I've been so busy with life and stuff, it's kinda hard to find time or motivation to write, but I do want this to come to a close while still making room for a bit of fun between Al and the Reader.

For those who asked me to make a tag list, I'm not entirely sure how to 😅. Though I will try to figure it out for the next time I write a short story. Don't forget to leave your opinions behind in the comments and thank you for all the love you guys give me, it means a lot 💜

Stay Tuned! :D

Taglist: @twistedvanillacoffee @diffidentphantom @boldlyenchantingfox22

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Girl, it's not just an emotional rollercoaster it's a full on emotional CARNIVAL 🤣

I love this observation. That's exactly what I felt inherently when I was writing that line. It felt more powerful to me than "I told you so" or the like. It has the feeling of that, but with more of an edge, even though you know he cares about her.

The line is devastating. It ''bites." It's more than just telling someone that they messed up, it's also kinda catty lol.

LMAO I remember someone saw the preview of Part 2 and commented, "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." And I was like, YEP, that's exactly it. Mans playing with his life. 😅😅😅

He really bet it all. And I'm in love with the person who said "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." 😂

That's precisely how I intended it! Now looking back, I feel like I should have had her leave him by himself in his room to sleep in another room. But at the time I was writing, I was thinking that for her in particular, despite this being the biggest fight they've had so far in their relationship, he's still the one that makes her feel safe after a bad hunt. 💙

I think it would have been a bigger gut punch to Dean if she didn't stay in the room with him, but I still think that the her turning her back on him and not letting him touch her kinda hit the nail on the head pretty well too.

Aww thank you! 😭😭 Weirdly enough, that was one of my favorite parts to write? Maybe I just like the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff moments. The "better off alone" thing I thought was implied throughout the later seasons of the show after Dean lets go of Lisa and Ben, so I wanted to explore that deeper here, even though it hurt my heart to write it. 💙

It's not weird, I think that it's really fitting! And I also really like writing the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff too lol. But you're absolutely right, Dean really does adopt that mentality after Lisa and Ben and it is really heartbreaking to see him like that.

Everyone's crying!! 😭 YES ABSOLUTELY SHE DOES -- and she's a verified crier. I see a lot of fics where the reader is tough as nails, "doesn't cry very often," but I wanted to create a reader character who is a badass, but still has a soft heart. (Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL. 🤣🤣)

As much as I do love the readers who are "tough as nails" and "doesn't cry very often" I love the readers who are strong but are allowed to break. It makes them seem more real. Because as much as I believe that there are people who are completely just insane badasses, they've gotta have some kind of emotion or compassion or else they don't seem human. Also "Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL" I'm DEAD 😂

Sorry for jerking the angsty chain again there! 🤣 Poor guy, he went through an ordeal just as much as she did.

Please never apologize for the angst. I LOVE IT! And I really did also love how emotional this fic made me. It was wonderful lol.

Fun fact on her confession! When she says I love you twice, she's actually saying it in two different ways:

I love you, you’d said. I love you ("te amo," you're my love) and I love you ("te quiero," you're my family), more than you can believe and understand.

GIRL WHAT?! OH MY WORD THAT IS JUST SO MUCH BETTER! Thank you for explaining that to me!

Thank you SO very much!! Honestly you don't know how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this series so far -- and spoiling me with such lovely and thoughtful feedback. 🥰💕💕

No, THANK YOU for writing this wonderful fic/series! 😊

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster. 

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood. 

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming. 

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done. 

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his. 

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires. 

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest. 

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital. 

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead. 

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness. 

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?” 

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him. 

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead. 

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it. 

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. 

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. 

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.” 

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps. 

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks. 

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn. 

Dean calls your name in frustration. 

“What?” you hiss. 

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks. 

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything. 

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town. 

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own. 

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes. 

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back. 

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. 

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. 

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music. 

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts. 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. 

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips. 

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. 

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart. 

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.” 

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible. 

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.  

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. 

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—” 

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand. 

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it. 

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. 

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. 

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.” 

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea. 

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet. 

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.” 

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips. 

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.  

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve. 

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing. 

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.  

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand. 

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.  

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance. 

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing. 

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.” 

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot. 

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit. 

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest. 

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.” 

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance. 

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles. 

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss. 

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. 

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. 

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts. 

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine. 

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close. 

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.  

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. 

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there. 

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms. 

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze. 

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him. 

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye. 

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms. 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs. 

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up. 

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control. 

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls. 

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums. 

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk. 

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground. 

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit. 

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck. 

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.  

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you. 

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love. 

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze. 

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease. 

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts. 

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs. 

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.  

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.  

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase. 

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room. 

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest. 

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment. 

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room. 

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again. 

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]: 

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]: 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

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[fanficsandfluff]

The Wild Robot: A Funny Task

Fandom: The Wild Robot (2024)

Characters: Roz, Fink

A/N: NO WAY LEAVE ME ALONE MY FIRST FIC IN ALMOST A YEAR!

It was hard for Fink to be vulnerable. Even the thought of the word made him want to crawl into his den and never reemerge -- good riddance, island!

Then he'd curl close to the ROZZUM's carefully crafted fire pit in the chilly autumn air and succumb. To the warmth. To the softness. To the petting--

"Hey!"

The fox sprung to his paws and faced the wild robot. She'd grown some moss around her neck joints and along her back, making her appear all the more cuddly-- stop it, Fink! Roz had her thick finger pads buried close into Fink's fur for the previous seconds up until he jumped away from her.

"That was uncomfortable for you?" she posed as straightforward as a robot does, but with Roz's acquired gentleness.

"No, I'm fine," defense, defense, defense.

Roz's blue lenses refocused in on the fox and she skillfully grabbed him by the nape of his neck and placed him in her lap. Not a place Fink hated to be, but he usually did so while Roz was powered down, unable to witness, never to know of his cuddly side. So Fink squirmed.

"What is this, Roz? You gonna keep me here? Against my will?"

"Your will hasn't clawed at me yet, Fink," Roz astutely pointed out. Her fingers started their descent back into Fink's auburn fur, then flatted out last minute so it was mostly her palm doing the work. She stroked down the fur on his back. And Fink shivered and melted instantly.

"Wh-What's this for?" the fox grew shy, meek in his question.

"I've acquired a new task in the interim while Brightbill is gone. Make Fink comfortable. Are you satisfied with the service?" a playful tone was wafting through Roz's voice, odd and unheard before... or was Fink's mind playing tricks on him and she sounded perfectly normal?

"It's-It's great. It's definitely new, I mean, I haven't-- no one's ever-- Hey! Not the tail, please," a huge shiver shot up Fink's back when Roz ran her entire hand, cupped and feathery, gliding and tubing his tail from root to tip. Fink noted Roz's lenses crinkling from the bottom, which meant she was pleased. Why was she not taking in any of his concerns?? She wasn't affected! Even though it was all an affect, how would she know that??

His tail shook itself out over the lower rounded half of Roz's torso. An orange light emitted through her sensors on that side when he did so. Not the red of pain. Not the blue of understanding.

It took a second of silence, of Roz glancing down at her own side where the light shone, then on to Fink where she darted one speedy finger over the fur on his side. Fink stifled a noise, but his body flinched.

"New task acquired."

"Roz--"

The robot caught Fink once more before he did try to flee. She fluttered fingers into the soft underbelly on the fox's white fur and Fink kicked his legs out as giggles erupted from him.

"Roz! Nahahahahoho! Nohot cool! EEmmph! Hmmmhmhm!" Fink was still trying to fight it: his vulnerable side. Eck, that word again...

"A ROZZUM always completes its tasks," Roz mused, matter-of-fact, informative... and downright teasy.

"Whahahat task is this exACTly?" Fink shimmied as much as Roz's large robot appendages would allow.

"Make Fink laugh."

With that, Fink dared a look up at the robot's face, and he could swear if she had a mouth she'd be smiling. He knew she was. His tail whipped and flicked wherever it pleased, mostly trying to get at Roz's midsection. He was trying to keep track of when her sensors flashed that orange color. Clearly she was feeling this, too.

From the petting to the tickling, Fink didn't know which way was up. He was laughing, that's for sure. So, "Tahahahask complete! Stahahappit!" then a snort and Roz made a sound Fink knows he's never heard before.

It was a staccato trill of Roz's higher-pitched robot voice.

"Oh, wh-what have weHEEHEE - ROZ! Nooooohohohoho ahahaa!" Fink was almost back in control, almost back to his typical snarky self, and that's when Roz went for his ears. Oh it tickled, it tingled. But she laughed! Fink was certain of it!

"MIhihihission complete! Abort! Stop! Rohohohoz *snort* ihit ticklesss!" Fink was starting to feel self-conscious of the laughter coming from him. It was so much squeakier and lighter than a typical guffaw of his. He was having fun (BUT WOULD NOT ADMIT IT), and Roz was out here giggling her butt off at his expense! What was this world coming to!?

Roz's robot fingers found their way back to Fink's soft belly and his small paws pushed at her hands. She had lenses crinkled and glowing a newfound orange and pink hue, like a sunset. She was mimicking his laugh, that's what it started to sound like. ROZZUM was a talented mimic after all. But it was definitely morphing the longer she was at it into something unique and hers.

Roz took Fink up in both of her hands, holding him out in front of her. She used her thumbs to bury and knead once more into his now exposed sides. Fink's whole lower half curled up and his toes wiggled, tail thrashing. His giggles were in full swing.

And Roz stopped, resting Fink back on her lap, thoroughly pleased in her work.

"Lihihisten, is-is that all it took? Humor never got to you out there, we've tried. You're laughing at my expense!?"

Another brighter sound made it out of the wild robot. A burst of titters. Happiness. That's for sure.

Fink was lying on his back where Roz placed him, gazing up at her much larger form. He even chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I very much enjoy your laugh, Fink."

The fox's ears pressed flat to his head as his eyes grew wide as saucers, shrinking just as fast with a pink tinting his cheeks, "I, uh, yours ain't half bad, either." Look at him, laying belly-up, ripe for the taking again, all because he had fun and wouldn't mind having fun again. But Fink's overprotective side broke through and he flipped himself over. Making Roz laugh was the highlight of this season. That is for certain.

"More of this for now, then," Roz sat herself close to the fire and lifted her arm for Fink to rest comfortably in the nook between her body and metal appendage.

"Task complete," the words were verbalized, but not from the expected source. Fink sat cuddling close to Roz as the fire blazed, smiling at his quip. He nuzzled his head a little extra into Roz's side under the guise of getting more comfortable, and he was once more rewarded with the warm orange glow, and the buzzing giddy sound coming from his wild robot.

Maybe letting his vulnerable side show wasn't going to be the end of the world. More like the beginning of a beautiful one.

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 5: We Stay Silent

All jokes aside, Wade had too much stuff to deal with. Keeping up his mask was way too hard.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W, panic attack, mental health issues.

A/N: chapter five is up!!! this one is directly connected to the previous chapter, it's basically the same chapter but from wade's pov, so please make sure you read Part 4 before reading this one!! Please don't be made at me I love wade so much😔✊

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist / Previous Part

Wade woke up later than usual, sunlight already creeping through the blinds. His phone buzzed on the nightstand with a few missed notifications, but he didn’t bother checking them right away. He stretched lazily, rubbing his face. The apartment was quiet, almost too quiet. Logan and Y/N had already left for work, probably hours ago. Good. He didn't think he was in the mood for any morning chit-chat for once.

After throwing on his running gear and grabbing a water bottle, Wade slipped out of the apartment and into the cool morning air. He’d hit his usual route— nothing too long today. He wasn’t up for pushing himself too hard.

He never liked running. He always wondered what part of running was actually satisfying for some people. It helped him clear his mind, gave him space to think, or better yet, not think at all. Maybe he had a toxic relationship with running. Maybe it worked like a drug on him. But he knew he would rather run until his legs give out rather than go down the same path he followed years ago. He knew better now.

The streets were familiar, and Wade let his feet carry him through the neighborhood without much thought. His mind wandered, as it often did, from jokes he was working on to what gig he had next to the weird thing Logan had said last night. Everything felt scattered, but that was normal. He was used to living with his thoughts bouncing around like a pinball machine. His mind felt like a computer with thousands of tabs opened.

But then, just as he rounded a corner near the park, Wade froze. Vanessa.

She was standing there, a few meters away, looking just like she used to—like a ghost from a past life. She hadn’t seen him yet, thank god. His heart slammed into his chest, panic rising as he quickly debated turning around and bolting. Too late.

“Wade?”

Her voice caught him mid-step. He turned, awkwardly waving like an idiot.

“Vanessa, hey!” Wade’s voice came out higher than he wanted, and the grin he plastered on his face felt all wrong.

Vanessa smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners, looking genuinely happy to see him. “I knew that was you. How’ve you been?”

Wade’s brain scrambled for something, anything to say. How have I been? That was a fucking big question. How do you explain six years of missing someone without falling apart? He ran a hand through his hair, nervously glancing at his shoes.

“Oh, you know… same old, same old.” He tried to laugh it off, but his voice cracked.

She didn’t seem to notice his internal chaos. “It’s been so long, huh? We should catch up sometime, what do you think?”

He wanted to run. Run so fast he could break his legs and never even feel it. Catch up? What does that even mean? How do you catch up with someone you’ve been in love with since forever even after you both decided that being friends would be better, and bla bla bla, why was he thinking about this again?

He did his best at hiding his internal panic and forced himself to stay still, nodding like an idiot.

“Yeah, totally! That would be great.” He was still smiling like a maniac, but inside, every alarm bell was going off. Abort. Abort. Abort.

Vanessa seemed pleased with that answer, though. “Great! I’ll text you.”

“Yeah! See ya around, V,” Wade blurted before turning on his heel and jogging away as fast as he could without looking completely insane. He could feel her eyes on him as he sprinted, and he didn’t stop until he was several blocks away, breathing hard.

“Good job, Wade. You fuckin’ idiot,” he muttered to himself, wiping sweat from his forehead. His chest felt tight, but it wasn’t from the run. It was that familiar pressure building inside him, the one he tried so hard to ignore. The feeling of not being able to handle any of it.

———

Wade stood outside Blind Al’s door, debating whether to knock or not. He hadn’t seen her in a while, but she had been a constant in his life during the toughest times. Before Logan. Before everything fell apart.

He knocked, and her voice came through the door, as sharp as ever. “Took you long enough to visit, jackass.”

Wade smiled despite himself, pushing the door open. “Miss me, Al?”

“Not in the slightest,” she quipped. Wade knew she couldn’t see, but the way she was standing in front of him made it look like she was staring right through him, “Something’s going on with you. Spill it.”

Wade plopped down on her couch, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Ran into Vanessa.”

Blind Al didn’t react. She just sat back in her chair. “That so? And you didn’t completely lose your shit?”

Wade snorted. “Define ‘completely.’ I told her we’d catch up, and then I ran away like a coward. Does that count?”

“Yeah, that counts,” Al said, her voice gruff but understanding. “So what now?”

“I don’t know.” Wade rubbed his temples. “She seemed happy, like genuinely happy to see me, and I just… I don’t know what to do with that.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Al said bluntly. “She’s part of your past, and that’s fine. Doesn’t mean you have to dive back into that mess.”

“Yeah, but what if…” Wade trailed off, staring at the ceiling. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking.

“Look, you’ve got your life now. You’ve got Logan, and now this new girl, Y/N, right? Stick to what’s real. Don’t go chasing ghosts.” Al’s voice softened slightly, and Wade felt a pang of gratitude for her, "Or go for it. Just, don’t think about it too much. Let things go their own way." she added.

Easier said than done, but duly noted.

Suddenly, she got up from her chair and walked towards her kitchen. Wade watched her come back with a cup of not-at-all full of alcohol coffee and settle back in her chair.

"So, you didn’t tell me about that new roommate…"

He stayed with her for lunch and then they talked all afternoon. He told her everything she had to know about Y/N, and how Logan was doing, too. But still, he couldn’t shake the thought of what had happened that morning. Vanessa. Al was always right, but the pressure in his chest still hadn’t gone away. It wasn’t just Vanessa. It was everything. 

———

By the time Wade got back to the apartment building, the weight in his chest had doubled. He made a turn into an alleyway, the walls suddenly feeling too close. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his hands started to shake.

No no no no no, not now. Not here.

He pressed himself into the corner, knees pulling up to his chest as he tried to get control, but it wasn’t working. He felt like he was drowning, like the air was being sucked out of the alley. Everything was overwhelming.

Breathe, Wade. Just fucking breathe.

He fumbled for his phone and dialed his therapist’s number. He knew she had given him her personal phone number just for emergencies but maybe, maybe this time, it was an emergency. He needed it. Because breathing wasn’t working. After a few agonizing rings, she picked up.

“Wade? What’s going on?”

He could barely get the words out, his voice shaking. “I…I c—can’t »

“Okay, okay,” she said calmly. “You’re going to be fine. You know the drill. Slow your breathing.”

Wade tried, focusing on her voice. After what felt like hours, his breathing steadied, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked and Wade had no idea what to answer. Air was back in his lungs, yes. But that was it.

"I’m losing it. I don’t know what to do." He waited a few seconds for his therapist to answer. When she didn’t, he continued. "I’m lost. I can’t make a choice. I feel like a fuckin’ loser and I don’t know why people are still keeping up with me. And I called you, god, I’m so sorry, I know it’s supposed to be for emergencies only—"

She interrupted him, "Wade, this was an emergency."

Wade shook his head and he watched his free hand for a few seconds, it was shaking like crazy. He didn’t say anything for a while. "Can we have a session soon?"

“Of course, Wade. Can you get to someone, right now? A friend?”

“Logan,” Wade muttered. “I could go see Logan.”

“Good. Do that. You’ve got people, Wade. Lean on them.”

Wade nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Yeah… yeah, I’ll go see Logan.”

He hung up and dragged himself to his feet, wiping at his face. Get it together, Wade.

———

Logan’s classroom was quiet when Wade arrived, a rare moment of calm at the end of a long day. The coffee shop near the center was still open, so Wade grabbed a box of donuts and two coffees before heading over. Showing up unannounced wasn’t unusual for him—Logan never seemed to mind (he did– Wade chose to ignore it). Besides, the guy could use a donut break anyway.

But as Wade neared the door, that familiar tightness crept back into his chest. Logan’s gonna see right through me. He paused, forcing down the rising anxiety, plastering on his usual grin before pushing the door open.

“Hey, I come bearing gifts. You looked like you could use a sugar rush.”

Logan frowned as soon as he saw him. “You okay?”

I hate him so much.

Wade waved him off, doing his best to sound casual. “Me? Of course! I’m always okay. What’re you talking about?”

Logan didn’t press further, but Wade could feel his friend's eyes lingering on him, studying him like he could sense the tension beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Logan to ask again or not. Wade kept talking, cracking jokes, doing his usual routine, but something in Logan’s steady silence made it harder to maintain.

They sat together, sipping coffee and biting into donuts, the atmosphere light but heavy at the same time. He knew Logan saw through him. He always did. But Logan didn’t push, and for that, Wade was grateful.

As they left the center together, Wade kept the conversation rolling, letting his words spill out faster than usual, a habit he’d sharpened over the years. Keep talking, keep things light, and maybe Logan wouldn’t dig deeper.

“...and I swear, man, if this one guy hadn’t backed off, I would’ve–”

“You sure you’re okay?” Logan’s voice cut through Wade’s ramble, and oh my god, was he using a gentle tone on me?

The question sent a jolt of panic through Wade. He felt the familiar tightening in his chest again, the pressure pushing against the cracks. Not now. Not here.

He immediately forced a laugh, one that felt too loud in his ears, like he wasn’t the one laughing . “Of course! Stop worrying about me, peanut. You’ve got your own crap to deal with. Speaking of which,” Wade added quickly, redirecting the conversation towards something he knew Logan wouldn’t press on, “how’s it going with Y/N, huh? Been hanging out together without me, yet?”

Logan rolled his eyes, but Wade didn’t miss the shift in his expression. He knew Logan had caught the distraction, knew the guy could read him like an open book. But Logan didn’t push, not yet.

“She’s our roommate, Wade,” Logan said.

Wade threw him a wink, keeping up the act. “Sure, sure. Got it.”

Logan let it slide, like Wade knew he would. He always did. Pushing Wade for answers never worked. Logan had learned that a long time ago. He’ll ask again later, Wade thought, the weight of it settling somewhere deep inside him. But for now, at least, Logan let it go.

Wade kept talking, kept deflecting, but even as his voice filled the air, he could feel Logan’s gaze on him, steady, waiting. Logan would be there when the time came, ready to listen. Wade knew that. He always knew that.

But right now? Wade wasn’t ready. Not yet. So he smiled, cracked another joke, and pushed the feeling down a little further.

Maybe later.

XXX

[communistkenobi]

ok conclave thots (spoilers)

trying very hard to set aside my feelings on the Catholic Church to evaluate this movie. It’s quite beautiful, everything has a very solid physical presence, big wooden doors thunking, columns of stone and marble, thick robes, luxurious physical sets. Really enjoyed the cinematography. The cast was all really enjoyable aside from Stanley Tucci, not bc he’s a bad actor but I could not be sold on him being a cardinal. he seemed generally out of place. Although he was clearly there to be a bit ‘out of place’ as a figure for liberal Catholics, like definitely the type of guy who would think creating an anime girl avatar for the Catholic Church would be a good move to modernise the church. Actually maybe he was good in that movie I change my mind.

He did also demonstrate the complete failure of liberalism to respond to right wing rhetoric - all he says in response to Tedesco’s islamophobic rant about the need for religious intolerance is “you should be ashamed of yourself!”, just totally unable to address Tedesco’s fixation on conducting religious warfare. The film is centred around the church’s need to manage its public image, making multiple references to the recent international outcry over the church’s systemic sexual abuse problems, its homophobia & anti-abortion views that are increasingly falling out of favour, and the general trouble the church has with the press. There is a clear emerging clash between tradcaths and liberal Catholics that are fighting for dominance in the church. The film ultimately finds synthesis between these two poles in Benitez, a man who conducted missions in ‘war torn’ countries such as the Congo and Afghanistan (thus having a more genuine connection to religious intolerance than privileged, out of touch conservatives like Tedesco) but despite that still desires to promote unity and tolerance, and at the last hour is revealed to be an intersex man who was counselled by the pope to get a hysterectomy (and decided against it), as if literally embodying the tension between these two positions within the church. Not sure how I feel about that lol, intersex characters are so rare and he’s not treated as a punchline, they even do the “born this way” thing with it as like god made him intersex. so like props for that I guess.

overall a very goofy person’s idea of power and politics but it was a fun watch and I had a good time. Kinda soured on how ridiculous it is that Benitez would pull a super-majority from a single speech to Tedesco about him not knowing anything about “real war” and the need for unity - like idk I remember learning about Mehmet Ali Acğa’s assassination attempt of the pope and how virulently Islamophobic the response was from the public & media, the idea that there would be a “Muslim terrorist” bombing (they leave it vague in the movie but that’s clearly what’s being evoked) in Rome that damaged the building or church or wherever the cardinals were, and the cardinals didn't all immediately side with Tedesco is pretty mind boggling lmao. Again trying very hard to set aside my thoughts on history and religious politics and just have a fun time with this one, but it’s hard to distance those things when the history being dealt with is so recent.

Ralph Fiennes owns in this movie though, great job from him and just what I wanted out of a Ralph Fiennes character. I really liked this review of it on Letterboxd

[howtostartafight]

You really thought you did something? That uno reverse card is pointless (and dumb) when all of your points are untrue and don't even have a basis in canon. The Jedi (as written by Lucas) have never justified or even perpetuated a genocide and I have no idea where you are even getting your information when it is so blatantly untrue. (Anakin and Dooku were both no longer Jedi when they committed the atrocities that they did.) The Jedi don't even use violence as their first choice, they're diplomats first and foremost. They even offered Palpatine the option of surrendering before he killed Saesae, Agen, and Kit and Mace realized he was too dangerous to be kept alive.

The Jedi are not a cult by any definition, they don't brainwash anyone and they certainly don't force anyone to stay a Jedi. Dooku himself left the Order with no contest and even remained in contact with people there because they loved him and still thought of him as a friend even though he didn't want to be a Jedi anymore. And what "dark & unnatural families" are you even talking about???? Jedi come from all over. Dooku was a noble, Feemor was a farmer's son, Quinlan was royalty, Aayla was a slave, A'Sharad was a legendary Jedi's son. The Jedi came from all over and your attempt to generalize is sad. The Jedi don't need to "fix" anyone, they teach them the ways of the Jedi and if that doesn't fit with how the child wants to lead their life, they can join the Jedi Service Corps or, y'know, go home???? They don't even kidnap kids, the parents have every right to refuse. Hell, Quinlan's parents DID refuse and Tholme only taught him when he was younger because of how strong his psychometry was. Quin was never supposed to join the order, but his parents were killed by his aunt and then his aunt tortured him, and it wasn't safe for him to be on his home planet anymore. Jedi aren't hive-minded either, the Jedi Code is literally up for interpretation by members and they're aware they have differing interpretations

You also can't fucking remake the definition of genocide just because you feel like it??? A genocide is, by definition, "the deliberate and systematic destruction of a racial, political, or cultural group." The Jedi were most definitely a culture and their genocide was planned for over a thousand years, so definitely deliberate and systematic. The Jedi don't mold children to their box, because there's no single, perfect way to be a Jedi. They teach mindfulness and self-discipline, they value knowledge, balance, and teaching. They aren't victims of circumstance, their deaths were orchestrated and planned for and, again, a GENOCIDE. The Jedi were quite literally the most open minded people in the galaxy, they were inter-galactic diplomats and peacekeepers. There is no way they would have been able to do their job if they weren't open minded and considerate of other cultures.

Sure I'll give you that maybe the Sith weren't based on Nazis, but you can't say that Palpatine's (Nazi based) Empire is separate. Palpatine is a fucking Sith???? He is the culmination of over a thousand years of planning and manipulation. He IS what the Sith wanted. He and his Empire aren't separate from the Sith, the Sith RAN the Empire. He created it, he defined it, and he is exactly what the Sith dreamed of. Complete and utter power and control over the galaxy. The Jedi weren't even remotely similar to Nazis, they welcomed differences (including religions, so many Jedi practiced their homeworlds religion) and had the most diverse range of sentients in their ranks. They didn't even have to hide behind a halo, they knew they weren't perfect, because they were only human, and strived to simply be the best they could.

The Sith's core beliefs were not "self-empowerment and personal freedom"?????? Where did you even get that idea?? Self-empowerment literally means "making meaningful choices and positive change" and not a single change the Sith ever made was positive. Yes, the Sith were founded by a former Jedi, who wanted more knowledge and POWER through the dark side. They were driven by their hatred, anger, and greed for more than what they had. They spent a thousand years planning for a galactic takeover, they started a war for it, and began their takeover with a genocide. No sensible Sith was focused on survival, they literally killed each other to further their own power when the other showed weakness.

Sith concepts are the opposite of great??? They kill each other to further their power, which is part of the reason they fell (because of all the infighting). I have no idea where you got the idea that Jedi think people "need their saving" and "who you are is bad and wrong" because it's insane. The amount of differences welcomed and cherished by the Jedi compared to the Sith?? The Jedi openly allowed their members to practice their homeworlds religions and cultures (Bariss, Luminara, Shaak-Ti, and Ahsoka all do off the top of my head). Sure you may feel that way about the Sith, but that just signals to me that something about Star Wars was fundamentally misunderstood by you, because every time the Sith appear on screen, they do something AWFUL. (Genocide, murder, torture comes to mind).

Yea I know the Sith were former Jedi. Former Jedi who became fanatics and started millenia of suffering. They also left the Jedi themselves, the Jedi didn't "throw them away". They rejected their new practices because they were dangerous and built their empire on the backs of slaves and suffering.

Jedi were peace-loving warrior-monks. They spent their lives fighting for democracy and equality. If you had bothered to do your research, you'd know that both the Sith and the Jedi were based on "knighthood, chivalry, paladinism, samurai bushido, Shaolin Monastery, Feudalism, Hinduism, Qigong, Greek philosophy and mythology, Roman history and mythology, Sufism, Confucianism, Shintō, Buddhism and Taoism, and numerous cinematic precursors." Please point to where on that list Catholicism and Nazis fall. I beg of you to give me one good example of how the Jedi are inspired by either of those things. Just saying it is never going to make anyone believe you. And point me to where the Jedi were systemic liars, because I can point you to where the Sith were.

I am very far from media illiterate. Lucas wrote the Jedi as the good guys. Therefore, they are the good guys. It wasn't shades of gray where the Sith were right sometimes and the Jedi were right others. The Jedi were warrior-monks who kept the peace for centuries. I know exactly what I'm talking about. I have citations and proof. You do not. You have not given me a single example of your claims.

I didn't even call you either of those things, please get checked for cataracts. Don't even know where you got the idea that I was a weird church kid or I tell people they're "going to burn in hell" but honestly you clearly make illogical assumptions all the time so I'm not shocked.

order 66 was NOT a genocide. you can only genocide people & cultures, you can’t genocide a systemically deified super-religion that wants everyone in existence to either agree with them & exist their way or burn in hell for eternity. any decent ppl who went down with the purge forfeit their lives down the drain along with their family, home & very sense of self. they. had. it. fucking. coming.

from an indigenous person, fuck y’all for even comparing order 66 to genocide & talking all over survivors of real genocides to save face for your evangelical faith & the people you think are good guys. you are not about to disrespect the continent-sized OCEANS of blood that make up our ancestors & loved ones who were lost to real genocide. fuck off.

[smallpwbbles]

God bio shadow looks like he needs so many Amy hugs after the events of shadow 05

Dude needs like an entire vacation, there’s a whole list of things that happened to him

-found out he’s an alien

-found out he has a deadbeat alien dad and an alien half brother who hates him

-Said alien dad wants his body

- Scientist dad kept this information from him specifically cause he was scared of what Shadow could become if he had access to his alien powers so he made the move to repress them

-it doesn’t help Shadows still reeling from Gerald taking his autonomy and implanting him with false memories of his sister

-said alien dad nearly successfully takes over his body but it accidentally triggers his alien powers which are completely out of control and mutate him worse than he already is

-accidentally destroys and hurts his friends again in the rampage that happens because of the mutation

-kills his alien dad (he doesn’t feel bad about it) and in turn the rest of his alien race

-is left with scars and a half alien brother that still sortaaaaa resents him but they’re working on it

[castiwls]

Chicken noodle soup .ᐟ

Paring; coach!patrick x single mom!reader

Synopsis; flu season is a bitch. Luckily you have two boys who seem pretty keen on helping you.

Notes; I may start a tag list for this if I get enough interest? hm

Masterlist | coach!au masterlist

Flu season.

Last year you’d been lucky, Noah had managed to breeze through unharmed and in turn, so had you. Now though you wished you’d enjoyed those times more than you had. Lying on your couch watching whatever rerun was on you really debated never sending Noah back to school again. 

It had started with a small sniffle a few days after your son had come home from his father's looking like he was knocking on death's door. You knew the moment your ex had called because if there was one thing you knew about him; he never called you.

Less than half an hour later he’d showed up claiming he had to take an emergency shift before all but running down the driveway. Luckily Noah didn’t seem to mind, he’d been determined to stay stuck to your side at all hours of the day and before you knew it your son wasn’t the only one living on chicken noodle soup.

Luckily kids bounce back fast and within four days Noah was rearing and ready to go while you tried to push through the throbbing in your skull. 

Your plan clearly hadn’t worked as for the last 3 days your son's best friend's parents had taken over school runs. Grabbing another tissue you blew your nose for what felt like the hundredth time before groaning and letting your eyes flutter shut.

You had an hour and a half before Noah would be back from tennis - that was long enough for a power nap.

Maybe you'd finally be able to sleep this damn cold off.

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Shh. Quiet remember.” One voice whispered before a quiet giggle could be heard. Swallowing you grimaced slightly at the pain and the reminder that you were in fact still sick - much to your distaste. You opened your eyes just enough to see Noah appear in the doorway, and your head throbbed at the light from the window.

“Hi!” He smiled, his voice quieter than normal as he came over.

His little arms wrapped around your neck, his curls brushing your ear as he hugged you. “Hey, Sweetheart.” You murmured, your voice raspy. He hummed trying to climb up onto the couch but a quiet voice halted his movements. 

“I don’t think your Mom’s gonna wanna cuddle right now.” Noah pouted but relented much to your secret relief. He hovered by you for a moment before turning to the other person. Noah shifted. “Do we have to tell her dad didn’t come?”

It took you a moment to register your son’s words through the haze of sickness which seemed to smother your whole body. 

"Dad didn’t come."

Suddenly your eyes shot open and for the first time in the last few days, you felt alert. His dad didn’t come? Who the hell brought him-

Oh.

Ignoring the pounding in your head you turned just enough to look at the figure in the doorway. Patrick smiled sheepishly raising a hand in greeting. “I didn’t wanna call in case you tried to come yourself.” He mumbled stepping closer as you shifted to sit up, the blanket pooling over your lap.

The world spun for a moment as you took a breath. Noah climbed up next to you, keeping a slight distance as he ran a hand over the soft blanket. “Your dad didn’t come?” you asked quietly.

Your son nodded, a look of hurt on his face which made your heart ache. “I waited an hour.” Patrick cut in, crossing his arms as annoyance flashed across his face for a moment. What kind of guy left his kid knowing his Mom was sick?

“He never picked up when I called either, straight to voicemail.” 

You sighed rubbing a hand over your face. You didn’t have the energy for this. You knew your ex was an ass but this, this was a new low.

The minute you could talk without it feeling like you were being stabbed in the throat he was dead. He could be a dick to you all he wanted but your son? That was a completely different ballpark.

“Go get changed.” You said reaching over to smooth down the boy's hair for a moment. “You can get a snack as well.” You knew he was upset yet the mention of an extra snack of his choosing seemed to perk him up as he ran off.

Patrick watched you for a moment, taking in your pale skin and dark circles. “Jesus.” He mumbled. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

He smiled slightly. Even sick you still somehow managed to give him the same dry tone.

“Thank you for this.” Patrick blinked, shocked slightly at the sincerity in your tone. “I…I don’t even wanna think what would have happened if you didn’t stay.” 

“It's fine.” He waved his hand. “Kid's technically my responsibility till his parents come. Just doing my job.” He shrugged.

Looking around he noted the multiple tissues, medicine, and cups scattered by the couch.  It was clear that you'd barely moved and for a moment he wondered how the hell you were taking care of a child while looking like you'd been knocking on death's door.

Sighing he reached down grabbing a few of the cups. “What are you doing?”

He paused looking up to see you watching him with a small frown. “Cleaning up.” He answered simply before grabbing more. He quite impressively managed to get almost all of the cups and tissues before standing.

You watched quietly. A part of you was surprised, your son's tennis coach was cleaning up your mess. He’d just stayed back at practice to bring him home when you both know he didn’t have to do that.

It sent a small pang of warmth through your heart that he'd stayed. H

As much as he annoyed you, you couldn’t lie that he was a decent guy (sometimes). Most of the time he still made you want to rip your hair out.

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

Patrick smiled slightly at the way Noah seemed to immediately gravitate towards you. He burrowed into your side, slipping under the blanket draped over your lap. He watched for a moment as your eyes fluttered again your body slumping slightly as you tried to fight off the sleep your body was so badly needing.

The feeling of a cool palm against your forehead made you jump, your eyes shooting open just to come face to face with a pair of concerned green eyes.

Patrick's face was set into a frown, your skin was practically radiating heat as he held his palm there. 

A deep sigh left you as you subconsciously lent into the cool feeling of his palm. If he ever brought this up again you would vehemently deny any of this but in the moment you couldn’t find it in you to care.

You’d been trying to parent and nurse yourself back to health and you were simply exhausted.

“You're burning up." He murmured placing a hand on the arm of the couch to steady himself as he crouched down. Noah watched shifting to lean over your lap. A small frown pulled at his lips. “You'll be okay?” Patrick was quick to nod, soothing the boy's worries. 

“Just a cold bud.” He smiled gently easing him back off you slightly. “A cold I think you gave to her.” He teased. You huffed nodding in agreement. Noah pouted sitting back before a smile pulled at his lips as you poked his side.

“S’your fault.”

He shook his head. “Noooo.” He grinned taking a bite of the chocolate he'd taken as a snack. You hummed sharing a look with Patrick who just grinned back at you. “I don’t know.” He hummed. “I seem to remember someone missing practice last week.” He raised an eyebrow as Noah gasped, yelping when Patrick reached over to ruffle his hair.

The boy broke into a fit of laughter as he tried to shove the man away but he was quickly overpowered and scrambled to the other end of the couch. His eyes were bright as he breathed heavily, a bright smile on his face as Patrick raised an eyebrow, his own smile growing.

He finished off his snack before turning to you. “Can I go play before dinner?”

Nodding you mumbled a small “sure.” A slight pang of dread ran through you at the idea of moving. Taking a breath you prepared to face the dizziness again but before you could a hand pressed over your shoulder.

“Sleep. I got it.” 

“Patrick…you don’t have to.” 

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You have chicken nuggets, right? Kids eat chicken nuggets?” He paused looking to the kitchen with his eyebrows drawn. His cooking abilities were...limited to say the least.

A quiet laugh left you. “Yes, I have chicken nuggets. Third draw in the freezer.”

He nodded watching as you lay back down. “Just rest okay? I’ll handle Noah.” He didn’t expect a reply as you relaxed back into the couch, your breathing evening out as you fell back to sleep.

Standing from his crouched position he groaned, stretching his arms. Grabbing the remote he flicked the tv off before placing it down quietly. 

If only you were this agreeable all the time.

He chuckled quietly to himself, who was he kidding he loved your seeming distaste for him. It made it all that more rewarding that you hadn’t fought him on this.

He knew he was wearing you down. He didn’t plan on leaving anytime soon either. Sure you may think he’d gotten what he wanted.

You’d slept with him a month ago and yet he still found himself wanting to spend time with you and with Noah.

Throwing a look over his shoulder he saw that Noah was nowhere to be seen. Leaning down he moved the blanket up, tucking it around your shoulders before brushing a hand over your forehead.

If you wouldn’t stop to take care of yourself someone had to do it for you.

He didn’t mind being that person.

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 53/54

Prev | Next

Danny hugged Sam and Tucker. He would miss his friends, but there was no reason to stay. His dad and family were in the other dimension. Besides, even when they destroyed the portal, they could visit with Wulf's help.

Ghostwriter, who had been stuck in the thermos with Danny, had said he would look for Wulf so that they could facilitate communication between the friends. The other ghost had gone through the portal when they let him go to tell Raven they were fine and not to call other heroes.

Thank the Ancients he did because if time was slower in Danny’s home dimension, who knows how long it’s been in the other dimension? He didn’t want Auntie Raven freaking out. They already had to think of something to explain Danny’s disappearance. They didn’t need to add heroes to the mix.

They all went to the basement. Danny was wary; he didn’t want to see the Fentons’ bodies.

He was thankful Talia had cleaned up well. There wasn’t even blood on the floors. He did idly wonder where she hid the bodies.

Don’t think about it.

“We’ll miss you, Danny, but I’m glad you found a parent that cares about you,” Sam said as she hugged him again.

“Yeah, dude, you deserve some happiness. And who knows, you might have caught up to our age again the next time we see each other. You’re so shrimpy right now,” Tucker teased.

“Hardy, har-har, Tucker.”

His friends grinned, and Danny couldn’t help but give one of his own.

“We’ll wait for Wulf. We can trade letters or try to visit each other in the Ghost Zone,” Sam said with a sad smile. “It’s not goodbye. It’s an ‘I’ll see you later’ type of deal.”

Danny nodded, “I’ll miss you guys, but…”

Danny turned to look at his dad. He was standing by Talia and Jazz. Talia was tucking Jazz’s hair behind her ear and telling her something. Jazz’s eyes were still red. Danny couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Jazz had killed the Fentons to save him. It was his fault.

Talia had a maternal air around her as she continued talking to Jazz. Maybe he should accept her, not as his grandmother but as part of his family. She seemed to be helping Jazz after—after what happened.

Sam brought Danny back to the present.

“Live your best life; it sounds like you’re in a great dimension.”

“It has problems, but at least I’ll be more accepted with my powers. And the best part is, no GIW or Vlad!”

“I wonder what he’s going to do when he finds out Maddie is, well, you know,” Tucker said.

Danny tried not to think about it. He ignored the renewed sense of guilt at the thought of the Fentons’ deaths.

“You guys should go; we’re going to blow up this place and the portal. We don’t want anyone to think it was your fault.”

They hugged one last time, and then they were gone. It saddened Danny to see his friends leave, but he didn’t regret his decision. Besides, it was, as Sam said, it wasn’t goodbye.

“Are you sure about this, Danny lad? We can stay here. I have no problem leaving it all behind and, umph.”

Danny had tackled his father, “You’re silly, dad. I’ll miss my friends, but we can always visit. This dimension has left a bad taste in my mouth. I’d rather be home.”

Danny saw Batman and Nightwing’s tense shoulders relax from the corner of his eyes. Danny ignored them. They had been the main cause of his dad’s pain.

“Danny, chum, stop.”

“I’m not doing anything, daddy,” Danny said innocently. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t completely ignoring the two men. And maybe glaring at one of the founding members of the Justice League with glowing eyes wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t help it.

Dad laughed and hugged Danny, “I love you, chum, so much.”

“I love you, too.”

“I hate to break up this sweet father-son moment, but it’s time to leave,” Jazz said in a hollow voice, “I set the portal to blow up in ten minutes. That should give us enough time to get far enough away from it.”

“And you’re sure this explosion will stay isolated to the basement,” Batman asked. Which okay, it was a valid question, but why couldn’t someone less annoying have asked?

Jazz turned toward him, “Yes, I’m sure. It’ll only take out the basement and the portal. Nothing or no one else will be affected. Also, I know that you copied the data on the computer. I want to receive a copy. And that isn’t up to negotiation, Batman.”

“Busted,” Nightwing murmured.

“Seriously, old man?” Danny grinned at his dad’s pissed-off tone.

“Of course, I’m…sorry that I didn’t ask before doing so.”

“Somehow, I doubt that. Let’s go.”

Dad glared at Batman one last time before walking through the portal. It was time to go home.

____

Jazz drank a hot cup of tea as she watched the sun move across the sky. Ellie was sleeping beside her in a baby bouncer.

Thankfully, by the time they returned home, they had only been gone the whole night and part of the morning. They had made up a story about looking for Danny in the woods behind the school all night and having found him. The official story was that Danny had followed a kitten into the woods and gotten lost. It hurt Danny’s pride a little, but they had to come up with something.

The police had notified the school officials, and by midday, everyone knew Danny had been found.

Even Avril had shown up to make sure they had been fine.

“I’m so glad little Danny is well,” she crouched down to Danny, “Don’t follow animals into the woods anymore, sweetie; it could have ended so much worse. Oh, Sarah was so worried.”

Jazz couldn’t tell if the woman was being sincere or not, but they were all too tired to care about her.

After their statement had been taken, the little family went back home. Raven had picked up Ellie, and Jazz had wanted to hold her little girl after the shitty day she had.

They had let Bruce and Dick stay the day so they could rest. Bruce had overstepped his boundaries but still helped get Danny back. He even gave Jazz the drive and asked if he could review the information.

Jazz and Jason could let the two men rest at their home.

Jazz had been too restless to sleep, so she had offered her bed to Dick while Bruce had taken Jason’s. Jason had gone to sleep with Danny in Danny’s room. Raven had gone home but promised to return with Roy and Lian the next day.

Jazz took another sip of her tea, Ellie’s soft snores calming her nerves.

She let time pass her by without any real thoughts, which was her excuse for not noticing Talia until she put something wrapped in a white cloth in front of her.

It took Jazz a moment to recognize the shape of the item. It was a knife. Jazz’s blood ran cold.

“I doubt you would want to keep it, but I had to ask before taking that decision away from you,” Talia said.

Jazz took the wrapped dagger in her hands. Although it was clean, she swore she saw red specks on the cloth.

“It’s Danny’s; you should ask him.”

Coward, she thought to herself, making Danny decide is a cowardly move.

Talia put her manicured hand on top of Jazz’s, “It’s yours now, Jasmine. I can take it away, and you’ll never see it again, but you have to decide.”

For a while, only Ellie’s soft snores punctured the silence.

Jazz put the dagger down.

“I want to keep it, as weird as it sounds.”

That dagger was her partner in crime. Probably the only other thing that could understand her. After all, it had helped Jazz take Jack Fenton’s life.

Jazz tried not to think too deeply about her keeping a souvenir of her first kill.

She laughed hysterically: did she really think ‘first?’

Talia squeezed Jazz’s hand. “Jasmine, I am not a perfect mother or person, but I want to be here for you. I want to help you through this.”

Jazz looked at Talia and said sincerely, “You have helped me. Thank you.”

She got up and hugged the woman. Talia tensed with surprise before putting her arms around Jazz.

Jazz would get through this. She could try to find a therapist who specialized in PTSD, or she could ask Talia to find one who wouldn’t report her to the authorities and lock her up.

She would not let this consume her. Jazz had her future ahead of her; the Fentons had taken enough of her past, and they would not have her future either.

Hey everyone, just one more chapter to go through, and I'll finish this fic. I actually have tears in my eyes. I can't believe it's almost over 😭

[damieclipse]

Agatha is addicted to power, she loves how of a high it gives her to absorb other witches' powers. In Rio, she found someone who is enchanted by her special power, someone who is fascinated by her entirely, who does not judge her, no, Rio is completely intoxicated by all of Agatha, and vice versa, Agatha pulled Death, and Death pulled Agatha, they were unstoppable together. It gives both of them a high when Agatha uses her powers now, it makes it ever more fun, more addicting, because after, there's Rio. Neither of them can help their feelings when both of them have been wandering around with no one else but loneliness until they found each other, they're the perfect couple, they LOVE each other, so much so that Nicholas happens. And they know, they KNOW, both of them, that he can't live, but Agatha can't seem to grasp the idea, no arguments from Rio will make her accept what they both know will happen, all Agatha thinks is she needs to raise this child better than she was raised, she might be a serial witch killer, but she will NOT be a bad mother.

(Except she can't help it).

She runs from Rio, she begs Death not to follow her, and Rio does as she's told, Agatha needs time, and she will always listen and try to bend the rules for Agatha. The spirit witch spends her whole pregnancy running, from something that is imminent. She spends her pregnancy not doing what she's used to do, because maybe, if Death isn't close to collect her bodies, Death isn't close to them either.

(Rio is always close).

Agatha feels so weak by the time Nicky is born, and she goes to her old habits, and it's like giving an addict their addiction back. And she finds that it's so much easier with a child. She can't help it, it feels good, and maybe... just maybe, she could help Nicholas if she had power enough.

(She knows she can't, she keeps doing it anyway, conving herself it's for Nicholas. It's not.)

Agatha loves her child, with all her heart, every day with Nicholas, she feels like she's doing okay as a mother, even if they live in the woods, even if she uses him to lure witches to her. It's not every day, she tells herself, it's not even every week. They are happy.

(Except Nicholas grows up, and it's not that happy anymore).

Because Nicholas hates it, he doesn't understand, and how can Agatha explain to him if there's nothing really to be explained other than the fact that even with him, she's still addicted to power? Nicholas doesn't get it, Nicholas doesn't like it, Nicholas is not like Rio. He doesn't praise her, he isn't enchanted, he doesn't think she's special because of it, he just wants her mother. And Agatha is a good mother, she is, and her son loves her, he simply doesn't love what she does. But Agatha can't not do it.

When Rio finally takes him, Agatha hates her, and a part of Rio hates Agatha, too. She gave them time, she left them alone, and Agatha used him, their child, and for some reason, she is to blame in Agatha's view. Rio bent the rules. Agatha didn't use the time the way she thought she would.

(Rio forgives her, she knows Agatha too much, she loves her too much).

Agatha doesn't, she doesn't forgive Rio, and she doesn't forgive herself. But not forgiving herself is still not enough to make her stop. She makes it worse, she keeps on using her child, using their song to lure more and more witches, and it still feels good, so good.

Sometimes she waits for Rio to show up, only for them to have their fun together and then she runs off again, she can't have another child with Death, she also can't face her for too long.

(They look so much alike, both her loves).

But she also can't help how she misses the praising, the sparkle in Rio's eyes looking at her. Agatha finds her and Rio are still the best relationship she always had, even after a child. Rio is mesmerized, Nicholas wasn't. Rio doesn't ask for explanations, Nicholas did. They always fight, their relationship isn't the same, because Agatha can't handle the truth, and Rio just goes with it.

(They still love each other but Nicholas changed everything).

"The truth is too awful"

"I can't face him"

It's true.

[hydrangeapartridge]

My completely biased review and opinion about companions in Veilguard (major spoilers of course)

(Side note : english is not my first langage, I hope I can express myself clearly enough for you all to understand my points)

- Neve

I like Neve, she’s cool. I loved the detail of the noise her metal leg makes when she walks.

Her questline was however a bit bland. We had better portrayals of power hungry blood mages in previous games and Aelia wasn’t that good an antagonist. She lacks charisma and isn’t seen much before the last quest so you don’t really care about her. It could have been more dramatic, like if we had to fight people of Minrathos being controlled, idk. Also not much about slavery.

I get that Bioware tried to make Neve’s quest like detective work, searching for clues and stuff, but for me it wasn’t that exciting, and Venatori are the mobs I like the least, I don’t like the crystals you have to break in order mechanics and stuff.

I chose to make her the hero of Minrathos and it was satisfying.

- Harding

I can’t find it in myself to call her Lace damn it XD

Of course I was happy to see Harding again after Inquisition ! She is a ray of Ferelden sunshine. I really enjoyed her questline with the Titans ; it was mysterious and you really felt the danger in the deep roads, and the potential threat of her newly acquiered magic. I liked the giant oracle and the design of the lyrium caves. It was a nice throwback to the first games.

The end scene of her quest was nicely done, with Rook trying to reach her while the whole cave was collapsing and then a group hug.

I chose the path of compassion.

- Lucanis

His accent was more funny to me than endearing (as is his signature « Mierda ») and I was surprised to find that he was soft instead of suave. I didn’t save Treviso so I feel like I missed a lot of his quest (and the decision at the end) and in the end he was OK but not that interesting to me.

There was also the problem of Illario ; the second he was introduced I smelled the family treason nd so there was no suspense to this quest. It felt like a bad telenovella.

I like that Zara had a literal blood bath in the quest of the same name. It was a cool fight.

I didn’t bring him out much but I enjoyed that he ended up with Neve.

- Bellara

Bellara is adorable. I liked her quirkiness but her dialogues were sometimes terrible. When she talked I felt like she kept repeating the same things phrased differently and sometimes I felt the itch to skip (I usually never skip dialog!).

I had high hopes for her questline because of Anaris and finding that her brother wasn’t dead, but it all flopped in the end when Cyrian got killed by being sent flying away and Anaris didn’t turn out that scary. It felt stupide that Cyrian was not dead and then really dead…

I chose to keep the Archive but that choice felt like the less impactful of all the companion choices.

- Davrin

I didn’t expect Davrin to be so brash ! I enjoyed his banter a lot and the growth of his relationship with Assan. That griffin is an absolute cutie !

His quests were cute for the Arlathan ones and impactful for the one with the Gloom Howler. I enjoyed Isseya’s story and saving the griffins.

I still felt Davrin to be a little too « jock » coded, but his banter with Emmrich and Manfred was perfect ! I enjoyed seeing the wardens again (Antoine and Evka <3) and am glad he was a true Warden this one.

I chose to release the griffin in Arlathan because my Rook was an elven veil jumper.

- Taash

In real life, Taash is the kind of person I would have trouble connecting with. They’re obtuse and a bit rude. I felt like I was intruding during the parts with her mother (it is probably the goal of those moments but it made me uneasy). I wanted to be supportive so I was but I didn’t feel like my Rook and them ended up great friends. The identity crisis wasn’t handled that well I think, but it wasn’t as bad as people make it out to be and maybe I’ll get hate for that but they come out at first more Trans than non binary given their problem is being misgendered as a girl mostly or expected to do girly things? They even say it feels right to be called a man I think I remember? (but I respect whatever pronouns she chose in the end)

I really enjoyed the dragon hunt quests however and their last quest was cool too. Their mother’s death was a sacrifice that made sense and it pained me.

Their romance with Harding was cute (mostly because of Harding’s reactions and that height difference XD)

I chose to push them towards embracing the Rivein life, even if I think they could have made peace with both ?

- Emmrich

Of course my favourite. And not only because he is the handsome older man who swept my Rook off her feet.

To give us a scholar necromancer that was the antithesis of the cliché : a man poised but a tad insecure, nerdy, gentle, kind, a bit posh, extremly elegant and whose favourite colour is lilac ! Genius !

The Necropolis had such a distinct ambiance that every quest there felt special, with amazing details and wonders of finding a wisp, a spirit or hearing a dead’s last words.

To me his personnal quests are the ones with the best handled rythm. The first one in the peace and quiet of the beautiful garden sets the tone : serious but poetic, sad but hopeful, and dares to tackle very real and grave subjects. Death and regret but also life and love are perfectly handled in his story and brought me lots and lots of feels.

There is a great antagonist whose motives are simple but dangerous ; a friend turned rival, similar but so different from dear Emmrich. Johanna is simply iconic (her hand gosh and the fact that you keep her skull in the end, brillant). The fights are well balanced, the cutscenes and dialogues perfect for immersion. And don’t get me started on Manfred… I love this little guy to bits.

I chose to revive Manfred and for Emmrich and Rook to live the rest of his mortality together. In Undying Love

[amaryllis-sagitta]

Final thoughts on Solas after DATV 100%

So, after beating 100% I think it kinda gets better in the 2nd half of the game, but there's some moments where the Solas Experience feels just a little off... though it might sound nitpicky to those who enjoyed their time.

For the entire Act 1 and half of Act 2 I felt railroaded into hating Solas. Full on. The first 2 memories gave us an idealized picture of the rebel leader who's ready for sacrifices. Then the third memory destroyed that picture by showing how far Solas had gone in his sacrifices. That moment imo felt a little off because when Felassan pleaded to Solas, he looked so... smug. Then, midway through Act 2, it got a little better. After killing the first Archdemon, my Rook "earned Solas's respect" and their conversation felt sincere and much more on an equal footing. Then, the dinner with my Solavellan Inky who swore to save Solas shed some light on his motives. This section felt better because it didn't feel railroaded anymore, but more like a true exchange of perspectives, and there I felt I can change my mind, and even change Inquisitor's mind. That dinner with Inky gave me all I was missing - a chance to confront someone who had good information. Because Varric's advice has been trite and useless, and for a very good reason. So we were going off the opinions of people who only knew Fen'Harel The Warning.

All of this said, I feel like the reveal of Varric's death jumped the guns justt a little bit in bringing out Solas's trickster nature. I would have preferred if my Rook was given a chance to fail in that moment - to have a breakdown after they lose their first/ mandatory companion, for Solas to intervene then and do his thing. Then he could've come in with the same cold assessment that Rook can't make it. It wouldn't have hurt his treacherous characterization imo, because he still hid from us that killing Elgar'nan just like this would also tear down the Veil.

What puts me off just a little bit in that moment was how Solas is completely torn about some regrets and mentions others almost off-handedly, like tricking Rook is hardly a regret for him. I sincerely wanted to tell him to shove it when Rook got the dagger back in Minrathous.

Then, when we have made it after all and escaped the Fade prison with the power of Friendship, he wants to butter us up again and we are suddenly the best person to wield the dagger? I admit, I didn't suspect to see a moment when Solas would be... cowardly in such an unelegant way. But maybe that's how it's supposed to be? Maybe that's how much he feared Elgar'nan at the end of it all?

What follows re: Fen'harel's fight with Lusacan the Archdemon was 11/10. Sexy Dread Wolf form taking blows for us, almost dying several times and needing help? I LOVED the constant red herrings in Veilguard's "suicide mission" that kept me on the seat's edge about blorbos!

About Solas/ Mythal... I am still a little mad that an emotionally tethered, terrified victim is forced to face his abuser and be released by her to get his closure, that he needs to be told that HE IS FORGIVEN. BY HIS ABUSER. FOR THE CONSEQUENCES OF ACTIONS CARRIED OUT FOR HER SAKE... But on the other hand, no-one else indeed could have reached him and ridden him of the guilt about Mythal. He was too stubborn to let go by himself.

Many of us wanted a scene of Solas ugly sobbing as he experiences release from at least a part of his burden, and we got it.

So all in all, I feel the experience is a little bumpy in some moments but overally... more or less adequate?

[soo-won]

Hi Al! I'm not sure I have much positivity to share exactly but I still want to try to like? maybe give another kind of perspective that helps process things with more peace and acceptance?

very long post under the cut sorry..., but there is too much to say about Yona and the themes of the story!

To begin with, I don't think this scene says anything more than what we already discussed at length after chapter 257, it only confirms it even more, but this is really a time paradox huh. Hiryuu considered stopping things in his time, Hiryuu didn't throw his sword away, Hiryuu could have done everything Yona has done now too. But he didn't, because Yona was there and told him not to. Like...I don't think Hiryuu literally made Yona exists when wishing to live longer, she had to already be existing in the future for it to happen, so it's more that their soul connected through time and space in the one moment their heart called for the same. It doesn't make sense logically in term of timeline and cause/consequence because we deal with the divine and souls I'd say.

But I don't think Hiryuu had trouble reconciling with loss really? Yona definitely does, but Hiryuu wasn't really trying to like reunite with the dragons again himself. He left that to Yona. What caused him anguish is the idea of dying before freeing the dragons and especially Zeno. His wish to live longer is not so different from Suwon's, it's out of not wanting to leave things unaccomplished. To me what the gods say in chapter 264 imply that first of all they let the dragon warriors go on even having no idea whether Hiryuu would come back at all and when, and also that even if he did come back to them, they would have still not put an end to it because they just don't care. Like without Yona asking like she did they would have let the dragons die and be born again and kept Zeno immortal too. Even now I'm still not convinced they made Zeno mortal again, like isn't that something only the dragon in his blood can decide? And we've only seen 3 dragon gods out of 4 in ch264 so hm. However Hiryuu the individual is very much over and I think he was aware of it and accepted it. Again I swear I can't tell if Hiryuu realized Yona was from 2000 years in his future, but whatever he thought, he accepted to let her deal with everything after him and it means exactly that, we're after him. Hiryuu the person is no more. It is only speculations, but if Hiryuu decided to not return to heavens even after death, I'd say it's because as a soul without any vessel he maybe wouldn't have had any mean of action? But honestly what would have happened to Hiryuu's soul is complete mystery so I just don't know tbh, it's something that feels a bit pointless to theorize over for now.

But this chapter also implies Yona didn't really process in ch257 that what she was doing is dooming 2000 years of generations of dragons. She was in the middle of a quest to retrieve her friends, in that quest she was brought in that past where she stopped them from being completely erased from existence as they are now, and then chased after them again with a new resolve. Yona has a very finite goal in this arc: she wants to see her friends again. She wants to save them. She doesn't think about saving the world at all right now. That glimpse into the past was only that to her, her present is what drives her. It's not that she really doesn't care about the dragons' sufferings, it's that from her POV, it already all happened and she wants to make things different now. She had the power to make things different before we agree, but what she's doing now is trying to argue that she doesn't want the gods nor Hiryuu/her to have that power at all over the dragons or anyone to begin with. She throws away the sword, symbol of power over life and death, the one that has been teased since the prologue of the story that we thought was a flashforward to the ending...And Yona rejects it all. She's not being Hiryuu at all here I think. She's fully Yona. She's not some hero trying to restore the world from darkness like a hero of legend, she only follows her heart, and it's Suwon having that goal right now. She's not a King descending from the Heavens to make or protect a country like Hiryuu, the only thing Yona has ever done and is doing here is trying to help the people that she knows are in need, and here especially because she knows only her can do it. Of course, as the chagol arc developed she can see beyond her circle of close friends and she wants to find a way to end wars too etc...But the way she goes at everything is the same. In this chapter she realizes that she really made the dragons wait forever and all that suffering has to end here and now. She says it, she can't let them suffer any longer.

And in a way it's a nice twist to what the narrative hinted at until now. Many in the past (in universe and among us readers) thought that Yona is here now to save the whole country from some kind of "darkness" like Hiryuu in his time (supposedly), but that's not it. Sure, Yona did influence, change and help many people in her journey for real, but she finally found the meaning of her existence as Hiryuu's reincarnation: like Taejun said long ago, it is far more humbler or what we can call "selfish". The meaning of being reborn with the red dragon's soul is to save the dragons, not the world. The world doesn't need the gods after all, it needs the power of people. And driven all along by that simple prayer without even being aware of it, she indirectly moved and inspired others to protect the country and its people themselves. This is a bit different from Hiryuu too. Maybe he had similar feelings, but he failed to accomplish any of that in the end. He made the people depend on him, he saved them, but once he died they were lost and could not find the will and power to do anything but to cling on his symbol and depend on the skies again. In the end, he couldn't truly save and protect anyone in a lasting way. He himself points it out in Zeno's flashback arc actually: No matter what he does, war never ends. Maybe by then he had realized that his existence on Earth is actually pretty pointless and meaningless, that he can't give humans eternal peace. That it was arrogant of him to think he could just come and do that.

So I agree with you on this, and the story hasn't adressed this, but...Hiryuu loved humans I truly think so, but he still went at it like a god. Like? He became their King. He led people to wars. He was still very much above them. He accepted everything that made him special in the human world, he chose for them, then died and left everything behind. He should have died if not for the sword the Gods gave him and the Dragon Warriors. (By the way, the fact they didn't let him be killed is interesting? Like Hiryuu dying technically should made him come back to them sooner, yet they went out of their way to protect him like they did. Curious.) This wasn't explored at all for now but honestly I'm not surprised since Hiryuu was still new at this whole humanity thing wasn't he? That'd make sense to me that he either felt pressure to still be a special existence as a human and/or that he didn't know any other way to "help" them. He's more human than the other gods that hate anyone against them and love anyone worshipping them, but loving every humans whether they betray him or not without any conflict (as far as we know, like, we've never seen him be upset, have we?) is still pretty arrogant of Hiryuu. Yona is different because she was born human. She doesn't love and feel for everyone unconditionally and by nature. She hates and feels upset by others, she feels conflicted, she has to make the active effort to learn and understand others better, even those she doesn't like. Like what Hak said about Suwon (which was pretty unaccurate), loving everyone is the same as loving no one. Hiryuu surely developed deeper, more genuine feelings for the dragons (and I'd hope his wife and children too?), but it was already too late.

Another point is I believe what Suwon and Hak discuss in chapter 262 can apply here too. Suwon and Hak have no power to actually redo anything over, so when they talk about it it's only as a what if scenario, but the conclusion is that rather than changing or "correcting" the past by receving punishment, Suwon should rather find a better way next time in their life /now/, moving forward. And I fully agree with that. First because he didn't do anything wrong he should regret <3 But also because admitting that the way things happened was painful to him and Yona and Hak and that's the real tragedy of that night, then yeah, I want to wish for a way for Suwon to accomplish his ambitions without having to discard his feelings too.

But even if they had the power to go back in time and despite being fully aware of the suffering he caused to some, Suwon has no regrets, and yeah of course he doesn't! I wouldn't want him to! That'd be like rejecting all he accomplished and lived for and the people he helped and saved and worked with etc etc...It might have been painful and unfair at times but that's the only life he has. He wouldn't change a thing but he can grow and learn and use his past experiences to do better. So...I feel like the story applies that same logic to Yona and the dragons. Accepting to let Hiryuu put an end to the dragon warriors in the past is like accepting to reject all her life since she met them if not before, and the time she lived with them, and what they felt and accomplished together, and how she changed and could learn to stand on her own thanks to their help etc...They mean all that to her. And no matter how miserable the lives of the previous dragons were, it doesn't feel right to erase that completely either, right? They didn't deserve any of that but erasing this history and these existences doesn't do them justice imo. If there was a way to make all the past generations have fulfilling happy life without sacrificing the present that'd be amazing but then it'd feel like nothing truly matters too. Admitting we could ask for the present dragons' opinion, Zeno aside, I'd be surprised if they said they want that too. They're characters that /would be made/ to think that, sure, but that wouldn't be out of character, would it? The fact Yona decides for them still is a problem, that's true, but that's different from saying Yona made the wrong choice. As we discussed it's indeed also hard to not see things from the POV of the past, from Zeno's POV, from the hundreds of dragons who waited and suffered all their life in vain. But we're in a time paradox and we can only turn in circle about this like. Yeah that's terrible for all the dragons of the past and Zeno, but the other choice would likewise be terrible for the present dragons and everyone now, but then again it's terrible for the past dragons...etc etc...there's no end to it.

What actually bothers me more in this chapter is how easily Yona chooses to put an end to the dragons' powers in their stead. Like, the one thing people blamed Zeno for was how he took away their agency, but Yona does very much that again here. Sure it's kinda the only way to possibly free them AND keep them alive, and it's really a case of "what Yona thinks shouldn't matter bc it should be about what /they/ think, but alas to the gods Yona's opinion matters more so that's how it is" but that still leaves a bad taste in my mouth that it will supposedly be resolved like that for them. I wish things were executed in a way that showed them consent to it? like regaining some consciousness or being able to communicate with her in some way? or even hint at wishing for something of the like before? I...don't have any hope they will resent Yona for it at all since they'd probably be made more busy worrying for her next etc but I can only pray the story will dare to take some little time for them to process the loss of their powers and what does that make them now, and what can they do to help from now on etc. But wait and see.

So to me the core of the problem is not Yona's decision, it's Yona's writing overall. What we yearn for is Yona to be challenged in her beliefs. To be wrong. To fail. To be held accountables for her mistakes and grow from them. For the story to truly own the ways Yona is indeed not perfect, instead of making her not perfect but still framing it like she is. To me the solution to this isn't for her to kill Zeno with that sword or anything of the like at all. I want Yona to be wrong but not about everything and not about her feeling everyone deserves a better ending. I want akayona to reach its happy ending, I want Zeno to either be able to die happy with no such tragic conditions or either to be allowed to live a normal human lifespan from now on, I want the dragons to live as normal humans, I want the Hiryuu descendants to be saved and live long life too. But I want to see Yona struggle to achieve these. And by struggle I don't mean just the story throwing things at her that she has no responsibility over, I mean...doubting herself, falling, failing, correcting herself, learning from others and her own mistakes and not only the ones she made before the coup.

But akayona has carried this flaw since the end of the Awa arc lowkey, the spotlight is never on Yona admiring and learning from others (but Hak I guess...), it's always others admiring her and learning from her. Truthfully, I don't think that's true, and definitely she learns from others like Kouren, Meinyan, Suwon, Keishuk even lol but that's only something you can infer from what happens, whereas what is highlighted is always how admirable, noble and good and loved she is. I don't think this was much a problem before the Xing arc, as what happened in the Fire/Water tribe arcs compensated the beginning of this terrible trend for Yona's writing, but I'd say starting Xing (which I still believe is an arc with excellent character moments), every villain/antagonist only existed so Yona and the character she had more "complex" and interesting interactions with and that challenged her, could work together against a common enemy and resolve the lazy way all conflicts that existed between them. Like,, Gobi was just that for Yona and Kouren to me. Then Chagol for Yona and Meinyan (even if admittedly Chagol had more going on than Gobi lol), and now the gods for Yona and Zeno. If you zoom in, it's not just that, and I believe there is still good to be taken from how things turned out but...overall I don't think this serves Yona's character development in a way I'd find really meaningful. I assume it's this way exactly to convey the idea that all these characters are all driven by the will to protect something, and in different circumstances (like against a stupid common enemy) they realize they're not so different and are not "bad" people but I can't help but feel unsatisfied with how things are resolved everytime. She grows still but it's just like...she gains more experience and knowledge. There's nothing to resolve. It's not inherently a bad thing but it fails to move me like it did at the beginning and imo it can be a burden for the story akayona is telling.

Like I said, her goal in this arc is to save her friends but...there's nothing special or novel in that. This happened many times before. Of course she's going to save her friends. Like she always did. I fail to see anything meaningful in the new things Yona say or do now because I'm just "yeah that's nice, but it's not like she struggled with that before"(before meaning everything after the awa arc). It's so hard to feel it for me, because it feels like a given. And for a final arc I find this anticlimatic. Even now, I did want for Yona to be stuck in Heavens with the gods, but I hoped it would be a bit more the result of her own flaws than the gods 100% forcing her and her simply not realizing this would happen I guess? In a way you could call the current development a struggle, but you know, we have never seen Yona struggling defying the gods before like. She always confronted people with higher authority and/or more power than her. Kumji, Hiyou, Chagol. Sure these people have more and more power and she got hurt confronting them but it's not like Yona emotionally struggled against them the way she did with Suwon in the past, where you can clearly see her progress everytime she faces him and the people around him again. The only other place I see real progress is in her relationship with Hak like how she can more easily says she loves him now, or being able to protect him like she always wanted etc. Which is a shame because the development of these two (and more especially Hak I painfully have to admit) can actually be seen through their interactions with far more characters.

So now this is the part I make it a bit about Suwon I'm sorry... Because I can't agree with what I've read in the notes of your post about him. You did not say these things yourself but I still want to give my two cents on this as someone that loves him and often feels upset for him because of what akayona throws at him.

Things changed, god knows how much I hated it in the castle and chagol arcs pretty much for the reasons i listed just above, but despite everything I truly believe Suwon's very existence will always challenge Yona (just like she challenges his) and that it still does now. That again Suwon highlights Yona's emotional development well too (again, it's mutual). And that at least with him, nothing is resolved easily. Unlike with other characters, there was never anything more challenging for them but to work together against a common enemy. Being kinda stuck together in the Chagol arc only made things infinitely more complicated and painful and conflictual than they already were. The way it presented it was disconcerting to say the least, and I almost dropped akayona for real from it, but with them it never was as easy as "oh this person saved/helped me now I love them and I will do anything to help in return!", like, from both sides. And it's because even after chapter 221/224 and the Chagol arc I could tell Suwon would not simply end like Kouren or Meinyan or anyone Yona helped before in the narrative that I finally started to breathe slightly more easily. It can be similar in some ways, but I still see a lot more nuances with him than previous examples. And it's still not fully resolved between them. And Yona and Hak had to change their stance irt Suwon and the people around him continuously from the beginning to now too. (Yona moved me the most recently when she found Hyuri in this dark alleyway when she was in the middle of running after Zeno, stopped and sat at his level, and could talk about Suwon from the past like the child he was like no one did before, and that she could see Hyuri not as a crazy violent murderer like Hak and Mundok did in that same chapter, but the man watching over Suwon and protecting him, someone that Suwon needs by his side. That she can say she wants Suwon to live, and this time it doesnt feel like it's only about "dying selfishly on her" but simply the feeling of wanting him to be there, even if not part of her life, and that she could be grateful to Hyuri and thank him for protecting her friends...that's all immensely meaningful imo! Even if nghh Hyuri's monologue in response is siighhh...come on. (gestures) akayona.)

It's so damn slow with them, and Hak is still angry and will always have grips even if they reached a point they can help each other more honestly now, and Yona will never forgive Suwon, and Suwon will never regret what he did nor apologize for it. And Suwon still carries his own convictions and ideology that to this day still go at odds with Yona and Hak. I'm not saying Suwon is immune to akayona's problems at all, I'm painfully aware he isn't, but I still believe his existence in the story now has a lot of meaning and brings a lot of nuance and food to ponder more about everything else. And it's not a bad thing that Suwon accepts them more like...that feels like the natural progression. Of course they wouldn't always stay super distant and confrontional and they would slowly work together closer and closer as they all influence each other, grow, and understand each other better. We as readers might want for Suwon to forever act like Yona and Hak aren't special and important because yeah it's cathartic but...Suwon has never been like that. They were always special to him, from chapter 1. Suwon is his own character, not just a proxy for people tired of (gestures) the AnY narrative that makes everything about Yona and Hak. The same way the shadows can't accept how things changed and force Suwon to be what he's not. Of course, it doesn't change how irritating it is that yeah everyone sides with YonaHak eventually and tend to prioritize them over what they cared about before or themselves, like they're pawns more than characters, and of course Suwon isn't real and was purposely written this way and recently I feel so pained because I so wish it let other characters play a role in his development...but I'd say that tbh if Yona and Hak have to be special to someone I'm fine if it's Suwon. The way he chose the country over them is still so meaningful and admirable. Yona herself said she understood, Hak recently acknowledged that fact even if he could never do it himself. But it's at the same time true that it hurt him to kill his own feelings because of this ideology, and even more so if that makes him accept death so easily. Readers might do that at lot, but I genuinely dont think the manga actually judges if Suwon was right or wrong. It's not about that. It focuses on the characters' conflicting feelings in changing circumstances. As much as I think akayona has a problem with the way it frames things, Suwon's side included, it paradoxically still let a lot of nuances be. It often resolves things in a lazy, infuriating stupid way, yet it's not as bad it feels like either? If it makes sense. Once again it's not like Suwon throws away all his convictions for them! And that's part of the still on going tension and conflict! The execution stings half of the time I can't pretend otherwise but... No matter what I don't want to close my eyes to what is definitely there I guess.

Also, the fate of Hiryuu descendants weren't mentioned at all yet. I don't think it's a problem I think it will be adressed when the time comes. I don't want to wish on a star but my two cents now are: Yona freed the dragons from what tied them to the divine, and she pretty much used her divine authority to do so, but she didn't realize how herself is bound to the divine and probably needs to cut that tie as well. And I suspect that if there is a way for Yona to lose all connection to Hiryuu and be saved, then it will be the exact same key to free Hiryuu's descendants. And Suwon is on his way to the mausoleum, and Suwon famously hates Hiryuu and sees him as useless...Like if there's someone that is damn annoyed whenever Yona is perceived and treated like Hiryuu and by the crimson illness it's Suwon, so...wait and see... I'm sure Hak will have some major role as well but I don't like much when Hak has a role I don't really care about that for now, but recently I appreciate the way he's written so! (Like...flawed and struggling and having inner conflicts that he grows from and stuff...give that back to yona omfg).

In the end I think Yona's character is still meaningful in many ways. She doesn't move me like before, and it's painful to think she is not written like I'd want her to, in a way I can connect with again, but she is amazing to analyze and break down like that and she is the root of many fascinating questions. Like yes that's cool the narrative revolves around the feelings and experience of this girl in a male dominated world, i like the different layers of her identity as a normal girl, a princess and god reincarnated, it's cool it's about her gaining agency and power and that the male characters are here to support her, it's cool she hates that it's at the price of others losing that agency and she wants everyone to be there and free. It's beautiful that she always feels so grateful of people for helping her and hugs them and thanks them everytime. It's amazing that she's the kind of character to never give up, but also acknowledges she wouldn't have been able to without people being here for her first. I like how she cares for people, the "discarded" ones like she does. How even if she's ignorant and doesn't understand everyone's feelings and experience at first, she constantly tries to. I love that when meeting Zeno, believing that he had no power that could "protect" her like the others, she was glad to meet him only for his warmth and because she felt happy with him. I'm glad when she told Kija, that was always convinced he was born to protect Hiryuu, that she wants him with her even now that he feels like a burden. That she told them that them dying like that because it's their fate and duty is not okay again and upsets her, that she's grateful for Kija just being there even if he can't fight. I like that she wants to break all cycles and refuses the unfair destiny imposed to the people around her. She loves her friends, she loves people, despite the way she can be inconsiderate/insensitive/unfair too, which is important to point out of course. It's because it's not black and white that it's so hard.

There are countless things to say about her and she is more than either the perfect badass 10/10 queen everyone praise no matter what she does or the terrible person that doesn't truly care about anyone but herself and treats everyone like shit. I don't think she's shallow like that, one way or another. I do think the way people despict her in fandom space often is though, but I'm not interested in that Yona at all. I love how she stays so true to her feelings no matter what, I love that selfishness of her in the good and bad. I don't agree and I don't like when she says Suwon is selfish in chapter 252, but I don't mind that she, Yona with her very unique and personal experience and story, thinks that. Akatsuki no Yona is about people's heart and feelings clashing with reason and objectivity, and through Yona it chooses to show us things we can only see from her side of things. Yona herself is struggling with that. She wants to help her people as Kouka's princess, but she feels conflicted between her duties as a princess and wanting to save her friends. It felt easy to resolve it by Suwon avoiding her the struggle longer and just letting her do what she wants, but I think it did it this way precisely because the manga doesn't want to preach about what would be "right" here. There is no answer. There are only people doing their best to tweak things to find compromises. Suwon gave her the opportunity to follow her heart because "objectively it's better if it's yona dealing with this", and Yona uses it fully. Yet she still intends to come back too. A compromise again.

So what always bothered me is not Yona herself but how everything surrounding her is framed. Likee the narrative makes a ton about her when I don't think it's needed at all and kinda goes against the point. That it sides with her is definitely intended and meaningful in its own right, but I thought it was doing it much better before and I prefered when it was humbler about her and I felt like it was siding with more POV and characters but her (and Hak). So...she's not that protagonist I identify myself much with anymore (and the story itself kinda makes yona and hak's development something that we can only be a witness of outside of their head now, rather than following all the thought processes that make them grow from inside and their POV) but no matter how you process your feelings for akatsuki no yona in the end, keep being disillusioned, it's good! Keep being disillusioned about her and akayona as a whole again and again, and be disillusioned of your previous disillusions because that's the way to see it truly for what it is the most. Nothing erase the way akayona and yona's character are flawed, so there is no need to erase what is definitely there and good about it. Take all the good and bad and how they coexist. I just find it painful to hate everything so much that it makes doubt everything and blind to what is simply there so I don't want it to happen to you :').

Akayona is a mess like that, it's terribly flawed but it's also good in so many aspects and that's what makes it so damn complicated and frustrating! But also extremely interesting, and I think it's possible to appreciate it this way. So best wishes to you Al!! I love your akatsuki no yona writings and I'll be sad to see you stop and fall into that painful spiral, but it's also fine to take distances or drop it completely depending on what feels the best for you. I'll always love to discuss about all of this with you if you want!!

Critique ahead, read at your own discretion.

Am I understanding this correctly? Because of Hiryuu’s selfish wish to have more time on Earth, Yona was created, thus their soul did not return to the heavens to be with the other dragon gods. As a consequence hundreds of humans were damned with the dragon powers and short lifespans. If Hiryuu had accepted his own death as a natural course of life as a human and went back to the heavens then all of this could’ve been avoided. But it seems both he and Yona have trouble reconciling with loss. They’d curse strangers if it meant having more time with their loved ones. How is this not viewed as corrupt? Their resolve is painted as this heartwarming thing - that they’d bend reality if it led to the safety of those they care about. But what about everyone else? The world isn’t comprised only of those dear to your heart. They say Hiryuu loved humans but the more I examine his actions it seems he simply wanted control over them.

I want to love this manga, I have loved this manga, for many years. It was amazing seeing Yona’s growth and getting to know all the characters. Soo-Won, Shin-Ah, Zeno, and (earlier chapters) Yona will always have a special place in my heart. But the way the themes are being developed leaves a sour taste in my mouth. Idk, if anyone has some positivity to share about how things are progressing please feel free to do so, because at this point I’m disillusioned with YOTD.