#And that is true for good and bad emotions alike

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Please, someone stop me from listening to Josh Groban, because otherwise I will end up DRAWING ANOTHER "MOTTIE AT BED" ARTWORK.

Like seriously, I cannot.

When I hear him sing "You have no idea" all I can hear is Mathias singing to Dorothea AND MY HEART CANNOT TAKE IT.

IT'S EXPLODING WITH SOFT TENDERNESS.

(and I have become the joke of my own household, because my husband, loving Josh as much as I do, now DOES IT ON PURPOSE OF PUTTING HIM ON OUR SPEAKERS, especially when he sees that I am busy working on something not Mottie-related. He knows how my brain works. HE KNOWS IT. So if sometimes you see me derailing, IT'S MR. NEMO'S FAULT AS WELL).

[bandgie]

In Pixie Dust We Trust

synopsis: You're content with being Chris's best friend for all eternity. It doesn't matter how big your heart is, you're small where it matters most. That's what you think at least.

warnings: MDNI 18+, fem!reader, microphilia (reader is 7-10in/17-25cm), pussy eating, boobie sucking, reader used as a fleshlight (non-penetrative), cum eating (m!), jerking off, little bit of jealously in the beginning, does this count as monsterfucking? idk

notes: man, I did like 3 different rough drafts on this and said fuck it. ALSO?? I guess grammarly has limited help options now? fucking assholes

3.5k words

It would be impossible for Chris to hear you cheering for him amongst the dozens of shouting people, but you scream anyway.

“Go Chris!” You cup your hands around your mouth for extra volume, “Go, go, go!”

Mythics alike cheer for their representative species. Sirens, vampryes, lycans, and many more creatures roar for a winner. Despite the overwhelming number of Mythics, humans fill up a good portion of the audience to spur on Chris. He’s the only mortal in the swim meet, one of the rare humans to be able to compete against creatures like yourself. 

Truthfully, you’re not too aware of the rules when it comes to swimming. Something about a certain amount of meters, certain strokes, and when you’re supposed to come up for air. The explanations went right over your head when Chris told them to you, but that doesn’t stop you from screaming your little lungs out. 

“Jeez,” Felix rubs his ear. “Who would’ve thought a little pixie like you could scream so loud.” 

You give him an apologetic smile. “Sorry!” You decide it’s better to find a better sitting spot. Felix’s shoulder is always your go-to seat, but you don’t want to burst his eardrums from your screams. Your wings flutter rapidly, raising you high until you plop on his blonde hair. 

At least you didn’t have to pay for a seat. Being the mere size of a hand, you can easily sit on someone instead. 

You lean to one side of Felix’s head, “This better?” He nods, making your grip on his hair so you don’t slip off. “Yeah. You can cheer for your human boyfriend all you want now.” Felix’s head lightly shakes as he laughs. A sheep shade of crimson creeps up your neck and you yank on his hair. “Shut up! He’s not my boyfriend!” 

You only feel a little bad when Felix whines. He reaches his hand to fight you with the wiggle of his fingers that you slap away while giggling. “Ouch! That hurt.” 

“Whatever,” you slap the final finger away. “You deserved it.” Felix scoffs, rolling his eyes though you can’t see. “For what? Saying the truth? I’m a nymph, baby. You can’t hide those feelings from me.”

Now it’s you who rolls their eyes. As much as you would want to argue with Felix, he’s right. You may have the best friend title when it comes to Chris, but you want Chris in a way you know you shouldn't. You want to feel him hold you, have his lips pepper kisses all over your magical body until you can’t breathe. He doesn’t know how much you yearn for him when you sit on his shoulder, your wings bashfully fluttering when he talks low just for you to hear. 

It doesn’t do any good for you to think like that. It’s better to blink those thoughts away and keep cheering, pretending you’re perfectly fine with being Chris’s tiny best friend. 

But pretending is never easy for a pixie. Having such a small body does nothing to lessen the emotions you feel. Felix is doing everything he can to keep you from flying away and sobbing your heart out. When you two went looking for Chris to congratulate him on placing in the top three, neither of you expected the many female Mythics and humans to praise him. 

“Hey! He’s just feeling excited from the race, he’s just super hyped right now.” Felix laughs nervously. “It’s no biggie. They’re just all congratulating him.”

You wish that were true or that you believed it. Instead, you’re frozen at the sight of Chris smiling from whatever they’resaying. One of them goes as far as to whisper in his ear, earning a deep blush from his wet face. Felix panics more. “She just- She said- oh damn.”

It shouldn’t bother you. If anything, you should be happy that Chris is finally getting the attention he deserves. He deserves people supporting him. Someone who can give him a happy, normal-sized relationship even if they aren’thuman. Not a pixie who is barely bigger than the size of his hand. 

You blink your tears away, ignoring the ugly lump in your throat as you dejectedly fly next to Felix’s face. “It’s fine. Let’sjust go.” Felix whips his head to you, eyes wide with sincerity. “No! Pixie, we came out here for him. We can at least say hi then leave right after.” 

There’s a twinge of hope in his eyes. Felix has been rooting for you since you told him about your unrequited love. Although you would roll your eyes at his support most of the time, it did boost some confidence in you. Now you realize it was all foolish. A stupid dream you should have kept sleeping. 

You shake your head, “I can’t face him, Lix. Not when every girl in this damn city is trying to make him their mate. It’snot like he’d notice me leaving anyway.”

“You’re leaving?” Chris’s voice makes you and Felix jump. His hair is flat against his head from the diving cap he was wearing. It drips with water, leaking down his beautiful face to his naked torso. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

It’s only for a brief moment that you’re stunned. You weren’t prepared to see him so quickly. “Y-”

“No,” Felix quickly interrupts you. “She meant when is everyone else gonna leave. It’s so stuffed in here.” Felix looks at you wide-eyed as if to say don’t say anything before looking at Chris. “But dude! Congratulations!”

Chris’s signature dimple appears on his face. He wraps an arm around the nymph’s shoulder and brings him in for a hug.“I totally thought I was gonna get last. Those sirens are fucking fast.”

The embrace doesn’t last too long, not when Chris is eager to hear you praise him.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It was really impressive. I’m so proud of you!” It’s hard for you to do your normal joyful screaming, not when the bashful look he gave the mythic girl still lingers in your mind. You try to wipe the memory from your mind to focus on the mortal winner standing before you. The half-naked mortal winner that is.

“Yeah?” Chris lightens up at your words. His shining eyes warm your heart and your jealousy suddenly feels silly. “Fuck yeah! I knew you were gonna at least place in the top 5. But top 3? That’s Olympic shit right there.”

The flush on Chris’s face says it all. He rubs the back of his neck and giggles, a small squeak emitting from the back of his throat. “I would say thaaat.”

Felix laughs at the two of you, patting Chris on the shoulder. “I saw this Korean restaurant nearby - it looks super good. Minho told me that the chefs are all human. We should go before it gets packed!” The three of you look amongst each other and nod, humming about how hungry Chris must be.

“You can save a spot for us, Felix,” Chris smiles at him. “We’ll be there soon.”

You and Chris wave Felix goodbye. You wait until he’s out of earshot before you ask Chris, “Are we gonna meet up with him later?”

Chris smiles ear to ear. “We are. I was really hoping you’d come back to my place for a surprise.” Excited is the best word to describe him right now. His eyes shine with what you think is mischievousness. You can’t help the butterflies in your stomach. You smile at him back, “Now? Dressed like that?”

“Oh shit.” Chris suddenly becomes aware of his nude attire, save for the tight speedo. “Let me change first, then we’ll to mine.”

-

The naughty look on his face wasn’t for nothing. Chris didn’t necessarily plan to have you like this; nude and whimpering, but he isn’t complaining either. His intentions were pure, really. He had set up his apartment all sweet, miniature roses that could easily fit in your palms as he asked you to be his lover. 

You thought of everything wrong at first. How strange it might look for your dainty self to be involved with a human. For him to practically live in the waters while you stay in the sky. Different, too different to work you said. You couldn’t help but think of all the other Mythics flocking to him; ones that he could benefit from and most importantly, ones that he can properly love.

Yet, all your worries were washed away in his eyes, full of love and compassion. He would love you because you’re you, no matter what size.

Now you’re thinking there won’t be enough time to meet Felix at that restaurant he’s been revving about when Chris’stongue ravages your body. Kissing him felt weird enough, your lips barely able to lock with his bottom one. But having him lick and suck on every part of your body easily took the cake. 

Chris is holding you gently in his palm, your wings tightly tucked into your back so he doesn’t accidentally get them wet. The tip of his tongue dips down into your cunt before it swipes up to your breasts. You can tell he’s trying to be romantic about it, but there’s nothing soft in the way he suckles on your tits, how his saliva drips down the curve of your mounds onto his palm.

“Shit,” you moan when Chris finds your sweet, tiny pussy again. “You’re getting me so wet.” In response, Chris pulls away. You whine at the loss of contact. Your body shivers in his hold from the lack of his hot mouth. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” But he doesn't look apologetic at all. Not when he’s looking at you as if he might take a bite. Not when he licks his lips at the sight of your body spread out in his palm, twitching and soaking. 

You reach a small hand up and grab the tip of his nose, earning a giggle from his pretty lips. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” you push yourself up with an elbow to nuzzle against his face. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” the tips of his ears burn redder. “I like it too.”

The two of you share a laugh before you sprawl yourself back in his hold, opening your legs so his large tongue touches you where you need him most. Chris obediently nuzzles his tongue onto your cunt, flicking it upwards. Your hips chase the feeling, arching and twisting until he has to restrain you.

“Nooo,” you gently whine when he uses his fingers to pin your hands above your head. “Wanna feel it.”

Chris smiles, directing you to flatten your feet, spread your thighs, and arch until your back is completely lifted from his palm. It’s a weird position, but you wiggle in excitement when he leans his head down. “You will, baby,” he reassures.“Just gotta listen to me for a little, okay?”

You nod, forcing yourself still when you feel the familiar muscle on your core. It’s nearly similar to when you had the freedom to move, but there’s an extra layer of pleasure from being held back. For his tongue lick up and down, reaching up high to your stomach down to your ass. Chris doesn’t have to add much pressure, not when his tongue is half the size of your entire self.

The first taste of your orgasm builds when he swipes his tongue side to side. It moves your vulva perfectly, not focusing so much on your sensitive nub. Your hands grip his fingertips and you moan. “Channie…i’mma cum.”

He hums against your body, acknowledging your impending orgasm. Chris is too busy trying to get you on his taste buds. It’s more of a hint than a flavor of your pussy. If only Chris could drown in it. To feel these small thighs wrap around his head and yank him closer until all he can sense is you. But having your boobs and pussy in his mouth nearly at the same time is a huge win for him regardless. 

Your walls clench, a clear sign that you only have mere seconds before you cum. Maybe you could ask Chris to put justthe tip of his pinky finger in. It would stretch you so much, so good. If you can’t take his cock, you’ll take the next best thing. 

“In,” you mewl. “Want it in me.” 

Chris raises an eyebrow at you, clearly confused by what you mean. He can’t put anything in you, he doesn’t even want to think about it. He shakes his head with your pussy in his mouth, back to focusing on the task at hand.

“Channie!” You nearly scream his name. “Please! I’ve been good. I’ve been so good! Just the tip of your finger and-”

He sucks hard, making your entire body move from the suction. You wail, digging the back of your head further into his palm. He sucks and licks, obviously trying to get your mind off of being filled and instead finishing on his tongue. It works because all you can think about is flooding Chris’s mouth with your juices. You think about how good it’s going to feel to have his big tongue on you, licking you up.

You dig your nails into his fingers and tense. Chris places the tip of his tongue perfectly on your clit and you finally cum. 

He holds you while you shake. Chris can feel the trembling of your body, he can taste the essence of your orgasm, and he can hear your pretty little moans as you tip over. He can’t help but giggle at how your little hips roughly rock against his tongue. Deciding to give you a different sensation, Chris puts his tongue back in his mouth and puckers his lips instead. The plushness is the best way to ride out your high, gentle and soft.

You collapse in his hands when you come down. You can only whimper when he carefully nuzzles your body against his face affectionately. Chris peppers kisses on your body, from the top of your head to the soaked place between your thighs. It helps get you refocused by grounding yourself from his touch. You return his kisses, placing your hands on either side of his cheek and feeling his mouth against yours.

It feels like he’s trying to swallow you or maybe not trying to. You can’t really tell, but you don’t really mind. All you care about is how he whimpers against your lips, making you concerned about his state. 

You pull from his lips and adjust in his hands until you’re sitting. “It hurts. Doesn't it, Channie?” You don’t need to specify what you’re talking about. Not when you can see the need in his eyes, the pout in his lips. Chris nods, almost ashamed. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “I dunno what to do about it.”

He looks so dejected, so lost. Your wings untuck from your back and flutter until you’re lifted in the air. Chris’s eyes drop to your breasts as if he wasn’t just drooling on them minutes ago. You snap your fingers until he looks into your eyes. “I know what to do. Why don’t you sit down for me and let me take care of you now.”

You can tell he’s hesitant. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he doesn’t know how he wants to. Chris easilylistens to your instructions; how you want him stripped from the lower half, sitting on the couch with his legs sprawled open so his hard, leaky cock is pretty on display.

Chris looks nervous, you can tell by how he grabs a nearby pillow and hugs it to his chest. “Are you sure, baby? I don’twant you to hurt yourself.” 

How endearing your lover is. Willing to sacrifice his pleasure for your comfort.

You fly to his lap and rest on a meaty thigh. “You don’t gotta worry your pretty little head about nothing, Channie.” You reach out a hand to rub it against his cock. “I can handle it.”

Before he can say anything else, you quickly find your place on his shaft with your back facing him. You gasp at the warmth, the thickness of his cock between your legs. Your body is already wet from your orgasm, so it’s easy to gently slide against him. The veins from his cock seem huge this closeup and you can’t help the shiver that runs through your body when your clit goes over one. 

“You’re so big Channie,” you hum, looking back. “Almost as big as me.”

Chris giggles shyly, adjusting in his seat so he slightly slouches against the cushions. You turn back to face his tip and place your little hands on his dick to balance yourself. A whine leaves Chris’s throat when you grind against him higher. Your hands reach out to play with his tip, swirling around the sensitive flesh and having your fingers rub against his slit. 

His hips thrust up and you let out a surprised squeal.

“S-shit, sorry,” he moans. “I didn’t mean to.” Chris is being so careful not to have you slip off, but it’s nearly impossible for him to keep still. Not when he can see your entire body jerking him off, your little ass humping his cock so nicely. He especially loves the wet trail that you leave behind with every grind. 

You laugh, “It’s okay. Just means you’re feeling good.”

Since you’re just slightly bigger than his length, you decide it would be better to lay completely flat on his cock and slide yourself that way. It’s silly though, humping his dick in a way that reminds you of the nights you spent on your tiny bed touching yourself at the thought of Chris. Now, you’re able to put all that practice to good use.

With your legs wrapped around the base, you find it much easier to slide yourself. To go at a speed that has Chris moaning and fisting his hands into the sofa. Your tongue lolls from your mouth as you moan with him, effectively adding moisture that makes everything wetter.

“Baby! Baby, baby, you’re gonna make me cum just like that.” Chris pants. One of his hands shoots down below his cock, tugging his balls to help get him closer. You tilt your head to look down at the sight, whimpering at how he holds and rubs his sack.

It makes you go faster. You practically squeeze his cock with your limbs almost painfully. Chris only finds pleasure in your hold though. Without thinking, Chris wraps his other hand around his cock and you. Your wings immediately find cover behind your back so they don’t get damaged. The hand around you tightens slightly. 

“You want me to use you, hm?” Chris carefully drags you up and down his length. “Be my little cocksleeve, is that it?” You can’t even be a fleshlight to him, but you can be useful. it’s near impossible to nod with how he’s holding you, but you let out a breathy yes. Your arms are locked at your sides from his grip, legs open and limp so he has more access to use you how he wants. 

You underestimated how slippery you would get. How his precum would leak onto your hair and face. A part of you thought it would be uncomfortable being pressed up against his cock like this, but all you can feel is how warm he is. It feels good to have him use your body like this, having your clit brush against his girth. 

Chris isn’t as careful this time, not that you mind anyway. He grunts with every drag, squeezing your body tighter until you whimper. You feel his cock twitch under you and your cunt clenches in response. 

“Fuckin’ shit,” he grunts. “Wrapped around my cock so tight.” 

You whimper. There isn’t a chance that you would be able to cum again. Your cunt is roughly pressed against his dick to get any real friction, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling any pleasure. “You’re using me so good, Channie. You gonna cum on me too?”

There isn’t a need for Chris’s confirmation. Not when the hot spurt of his release spews from his cock. You can’t see how far it shoots up, how it lands up to his thighs and leaks onto his hand. The only ounce of cum you get is on the top of your hair, a sticky, warm glob of white.

Chris releases you quickly, letting you get the proper chance to breathe and rest on his pulsing cock. 

It doesn’t last long, not when two hands carefully lift you and bring you close to Chris’s face. His neck is a deep shade of red. The blood rushes to his face to give off a pink hue. Even the tips of his ears burn with the same color. As fucked out as he looks, he still has the energy to give you an endearing smile. 

Your lips twist shyly, “Why are you looking at me like that? You know I’m completely covered in your cum, right?” But Chris only leans in and uses his nose to nuzzle against your face. 

“Mhm. My very own pixie dust.”

[nocturnalnewsiestrash]

I was thinking more about this lovely post from the lovely @shaylogic, specifically the why of Charles' shirt changing to black immediately after Crystal talks to him about them staying friends.

And I think it has less to do with the fact that it's her telling him they should remain friends since she can't handle a relationship right now with all her trauma from David. I think this part, the "from her trauma from David", is really really important. Because from Crystal's perspective, she's essentially saying she cannot deal with romantic involvement so soon after David while he's still massively messing with her head and is in no way trying to say that it's because Charles is too similar to David, it's just that all her romantic memories are completely entirely filled with memories of David and when she's put back in the headspace of romantic feelings it brings up all the trauma of him and she needs more time to work through her trauma before she can revisit romantic feelings again.

Now from Charles perspective, he hears her saying that she can't handle a romantic relationship with him right now because of David being so in her head still. And Charles, ever the Reading People's Emotions boy that he is (built from his own trauma mind you) can tell that there's more to why she's saying it now. Like she quite literally just woke up screaming from a nightmare as she puts it and immediately says she's "fine" with an earnest nod to. With this context Charles is reading into why this conversation is immediately following this nightmare, which he has no details about so of course he's analyzing it and why she's saying this after it. Not to mention the fact that she pulled his specific move of brushing of concerns about your well-being. And we have to remember that this is following all the events of the Devlin house shaking his trauma to the forefront of his mind, everyone's look in their eyes following his attacking of the Night Nurse, and all the shaking of all his uncertainty about him being a Good Person and being Needed by the people he loves into the ruminating focus. So with all of this fresh in his mind, with him and David being referred to in the same sentence both with the same romantic context, even though it's entirely NOT what Crystal was saying, Charles still hears this, already in overanalyzing mode out of his worry for her and his own worries that are bouncing around in his mind so easily attach themselves to her worries and twist them until they look alike as overthinking anxiety often does. And to HIS brain he's now worried that he's like David. That now he has some "proof" that he might be a bad person in Crystal connecting him to David, at least enough proof for his own trauma induced "what if" anxiety to think that maybe these fears he's always had and repressed that are now being brought into reality somewhat actually ARE true. No matter what Crystal could have said in this scene he heard David and him in the same context and it became his own worry spiral even with his ever-present smile masking it.

So essentially in Crystal's attempt to explain without revealing her own trauma too much because she can't bear to do that yet she set off Charles own trauma response from dealing with his father of reading into every minute emotion and action to figure out how to understand so he can help her (and himself from the past) and this instinctive trauma response brings out his overthinking which then brings out his worries that he was already recently overthinking and they then got all mashed together in an overthinking sandwich and grew his what if I'm not a good person worries enough to take him down an entire shirt shade. His emotional well-being has been knocked down a whole nother peg from his new worries over any similarity to David. So that's why this conversation was the catalyst for the burgundy to black transition.

[supernaturalscribe67]

Unwarranted

Words: 4,983

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Team Free Will x Male!ExAngel!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Mention of past sexual harassment, sexual harassment, angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: Humans are interesting and complex creatures, and ever since the reader lost his grace, he had to learn to become one. Luckily, he had his friends by his side to help him through his trials and tribulations. What happens when he's face-to-face with a human experience he never anticipated, and how will Team Free Will help him resolve his issue?

Request:

Hi! I hope you're having a good day/night. This request is very specific. I would write it myself, but im awful at it. I hope you don't mind, lol.

May you do (ex?)Angel!Male!reader x TFW (platonic obv). You can make it where Reader joined after the angels fell and was castiels past battle partner and was good friends with him, or something else if you'd like.

Reader lost his grace after a rogue angel took it from him. He has no idea how to be human and struggles a lot, even with the help of Dean, Sam, and Castiel. Anyways, to get to the point- Reader picked a pretty attractive vessel, so both men and women hit on him a lot when the group goes to diners or bars and most of the time Reader wanders off to explore since hes never really gone to earth before so the boys never notice, and he doesn't know how to react or what to do when they start to get touchy, only that he doesn't feel comfortable with it at all, but he thinks if he tells them to stop its a form of being rude, so he never says so. the person usually stops when they realize Reader isn't having the type of reaction they were looking for.

When Reader mentioned this to the boys randomly, they realized that Reader didn't know that it was bad that they were touching him and explained what it was, what to say, and do when that happens and comforts him when he finally cries as a human.

Anonymous

A/N: I am so sorry for going off the grid for a while! Honestly, keeping track of dates and time frames has not been my strong point, especially with everything going on with work. Luckily I'm almost done with another request as well and will have that up by this weekend! I hope this gives the request justice. As always, feedback is very much appreciated!

~ Much Love!

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Humans are interesting and complex creatures, each with their own thoughts, wants, needs, and interests. When (Y/N) first joined Castiel on Earth two years prior, he was amazed by the array of personalities and emotions. No two people are alike, but, due to the vast differences, many of them can be categorized under three distinct titles; good, neutral, and evil.

The good people are the ones who are selfless. They take the first step when it comes to helping others. They aren’t perfect but they are as close as anyone can be. Only a small amount of people fit into the category of ‘good’, most of which find themselves canonized into sainthood years after death. Many strive to be classified under such a prestige title, but few make the cut. However, just because someone isn’t worthy of the title, doesn’t make them a bad person automatically. 

Neutral individuals are what most would describe as your ‘average Joe’. It is the category in which most people lie. They are neither good nor bad. The choices they make in life come with a mix of positive and negative intentions. An example of a neutral person could be someone’s English teacher, who partakes in volunteer work after hours, or your boss, who had just been caught cheating on his wife with Jim from the mailroom. Just because people do bad things, doesn’t make them inherently evil. 

True evil is much darker. An individual who would put a demon to shame with their actions, thoughts, and desires. One with little regard for the well-being of others. Ones that hurt others purely for self-gratification. To gain an advantage. Those are the ones that end up in prison or a seat in Congress. They’re usually manipulative, have a silver tongue placed in their mouth at birth, and can easily coerce those who are weak and gullible. 

(Y/N) had met his fair share of individuals from all three categories throughout his time on Earth, supernatural entities excluded. At first, with his angelic powers, he was able to make an assumption of others based solely on their thoughts. Ever since the fall, however, his judgments on people had become rather askew. He was able to get the full experience of being human - not able to truly tell what one was thinking during various interactions - and he would be lying if he said he enjoyed it. Rather, the lack of understanding when it came to others caused him to develop a sense of paranoia. The last thing he wanted was for others to assume the worst of him. Even as an angel, he would treat the worst of the worst with as much kindness as he could muster.

Little did he know that the paranoia would lead to his downfall and a deep realization of how evil some people could be.

The first couple of weeks after his grace was stolen, (Y/N) was lost. He knew next to nothing about maintaining the necessary needs to keep his body alive. It was all tedious in his eyes. Why did humans need to eat, drink, and go to the bathroom so much throughout the day? Who possibly had the time to do so? Do they have to thread their needs into their schedules for work and school? On top of that, why did humans need to pay for food and water? Were they not necessities? Why would someone need to pay to survive? (Y/N) held a plethora of questions in his mind that still go unanswered. 

Thankfully, Castiel, Sam, and Dean were all there for him, guiding him through the processes necessary to provide for his new form. It took a while for him to get the hang of it - the most overwhelming thing was when he was introduced to a large variety of foods. All the new flavors and textures send his tongue into sensory overdrive. Dean was more than happy to realize, though, that the two of them were rather fond of the same flavor of pie. 

With the loss of his grace came the depletion of his strength. He was no longer invincible to man-made weaponry. Because of this, and since Sam and Dean’s jobs were so physically demanding, they spent weeks in training. Blades, firearms, and hand-to-hand all had their challenges, but (Y/N) was a quick learner, something the brothers respected him highly for. Within a month and a half, he was on the road with them, hopping from case to case. 

Saving people, hunting things, the family business. 

And true it was. The time he had spent with Castiel and the Winchesters was extensive, and there was never a dull moment. Away from the darkness and the monsters that crept in the night, Sam and Dean were playful jokesters. Childish, yet mature when they needed to be. It was noticeable that Castiel had also developed certain aspects of their personalities, as he was more lighthearted than when (Y/N) first met him. As time passed, (Y/N), too, started to display those characteristics. He felt like a member of the team. A real Winchester. For the first time since the fall, he felt at home. 

*~*

(Y/N) had been to a handful of bars since he turned human, before becoming an honorary member of the Winchester family, and there was one fact he could confidently state; he didn’t like them. 

Sure, he met some rather nice people while at said bars, mainly the middle-aged female bartenders who gave off a motherly aura, but with every kind individual he saw, he encountered twice as many assholes. Those were the ones that drunkenly called him slurs even though they knew nothing about him, the ones that shoved him out of the way when they wanted to get to the bar, or the ones that continuously pushed their limits on his personal boundaries.

Unfortunately, he had experienced the latter more than he would have liked.

He couldn’t quite describe how he felt when he had those interactions. When a bar patron would press themselves against his back or chest, touch his ass or thighs, or even leave kisses on his neck, shoulders, cheeks, and lips. It was decided, though, that he was extremely uncomfortable. Why would he possibly feel that way? He assumed that touches and kisses were how humans expressed affection towards one another. So, why didn’t he like it? He chalked it up to not being used to that form of affection or affection in general. Surely, he was bound to get comfortable with it eventually. 

After-hunt celebrations were common with the Winchesters. Either the day of or the night after, they would all gather at the nearest watering hole, grab a drink or two, and then head back to the motel. Sometimes, Sam or Dean would abandon the group to retreat with a romantic partner, but (Y/N) would always stick with Castiel and the remaining brother. He never had any interest in human relations. It was a new, complex situation outside of learning to be human. He was just getting used to that concept, and he had no desire to learn about other aspects of humanity yet. 

Classy Cline’s sat on the edge of a small town in Washington state. While its name suggested an upscale establishment, the place was, in all actuality, a shit hole. The booths and barstools were ripped at every corner of the seam, the tables were chipped and scuffed, and it appeared as if the employees hadn’t swept or mopped the floor in well over a decade. They had all been to nasty bars in the past, but Classy Cline’s took the cake.

“I don’t even wanna drink from this glass,” Sam mumbled as he eyed the pint glass Dean had placed in front of him. 

While aesthetics weren’t on Cline’s side, the beer looked more than appetizing. An amber/gold liquid, topped with a beautiful, white head. Any beer enthusiast would foam at the mouth at the sight. The glasses, contrary to the floors, looked spotless. If they had put as much effort into cleaning the building as they did disinfecting the glassware, lines would be out the door, and Cline would be a millionaire.

“Oh, don’t be a baby, Sammy,” Dean rolled his eyes and gave a beer to (Y/N) and Castiel. “It may not live up to its name, but the beer sure looks good.”

“Thank you, Dean,” (Y/N) and Castiel spoke in unison.

“I’ll never get used to that,” Dean shook his head and sat down next to his brother. “It’s as if you two are constantly in sync.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows as he cupped the glass with one hand, condensation coating his palm. “We’re an American boy band from the 90’s?” He cocked his head to the side.

Dean froze, the glass inches from his lips as he shot him a questioning glance. “While I’m proud of you for remembering what I taught you about music, that’s not what I meant. ‘In sync’. Two separate words.”

“Oh…”

“(Y/N) and I have worked together for well over a century. We’re bound to have some similarities.” Castiel explained.

Dean shrugged. “I guess you’re right,” he took a sip of his beer.

(Y/N) noted Sam’s hesitancy to drink, so he took a moment to examine the liquid himself. It looked clean, safe, and better than many other beers he had drank before. He took a swig and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was still very cold. A layer of foam coated his upper lip. Sam picked up his glass and examined the bottom.

“Will you stop that?” Dean scolded. “The beer is fine, Sam, you’re not going to die. You look like an idiot.”

“Well, excuse me for being skeptical, Dean! Have you seen the state of this place? I believe I have a right to be concerned.” Sam hissed.

“The beer is very pleasant, Sam,” (Y/N) smiled as he took another long swig, downing half the pint. 

Sam slowly nodded. “I can tell,” he mumbled and glanced down at his glass. He hesitated for a moment before he took a careful sip, letting the liquid rest against his tastebuds before he swallowed. He hummed and raised his brows. “Wow, that’s pretty good.”

“See? Your big brother knows a thing or two about beer,” Dean smiled.

A bartender waltzed into view - an overworked twenty-something with her dirty blonde hair tossed back into a bun that she should have fixed hours ago. She sat a rocks glass in front of (Y/N), the ice emanating a clink inside as it shifted. He stared and intensely studied the dark liquid.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I didn’t order this,” he looked up at her.

The bartender sighed and gestured towards the bar. “The man over there sent it,” she grumbled, her voice unenthusiastic and laced with exhaustion. She didn’t give him any time to further investigate before she swiveled through the booths and tables, vanishing into the crowd of regulars. 

The group looked at the drink with curiosity before their attention shifted to the bar. Only one of the patrons had their gaze glued to the hunters. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with short, salt-and-pepper hair decorating the top of his head and a beard to match. Age lines crinkled the corners of his mouth and eyes. A leather jacket covered his broad shoulders and the jeans he wore left little to the imagination. When (Y/N)’s eyes connected with the stranger’s, the man smirked and winked. (Y/N) continued to stare at him, lips slightly parted, until he felt an elbow in his side. His gaze shot over to the eldest Winchester.

“Give him a smile and a wave. That shows him you appreciate it.” Dean said through a smile.

“Oh,” (Y/N) raised his brows and looked back at the man, whose eyes were still on him. He gave a small smile, followed by a timid wave.

The stranger grinned before he turned his head away. (Y/N) looked down and studied the glass once more. The liquid was a slightly darker shade than the beer, but more transparent. When he picked it up, the liquid sloshed inside. The smell was strong but slightly sweet. Whiskey. A sip of it caused him to cringe. It was Fireball. Not the best choice to send a stranger across the bar, but to each their own. 

Dean leaned in close to him, his cheeky grin still prominent. “You should go over and talk to him.”

“Why?”

“He just gave you a drink. He wants to talk to you.”

(Y/N) gave Dean a confused stare. “How does that-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean waved him off. “He’s flirting with you by sending over the drink! You should go flirt back.”

(Y/N) looked from the drink to Dean, from Dean to the stranger. He was a very attractive man, but (Y/N) was far from interested in flirtation. However, if Dean thought he should, what could go wrong? He trusted Dean’s advice.

Hesitantly, (Y/N) stood, the glass of Fireball in hand, and made his way over to the bar where the gentleman sat. He took the empty barstool next to him. The man looked at him out of the corner of his eye and smirked.

“Good to see you up close,” he said and turned his body to face (Y/N). “You’re even cuter than I thought. Chris,” he held out his hand.

This is a handshake. This is how strangers greet each other.

(Y/n) grasped Chris’ hand and shook it gently. He noticed how firm his grip was. “My name is (Y/N),” he said.

Chris smirked. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” he pulled his hand away and casually placed it on (Y/N)’s knee. “I’ve been coming here for, close to, fifteen years, and I have never seen anyone as good-looking as yourself. You new around here?”

(Y/N)’s eyes shifted to Chris’ hand before they returned to his face. “My friends and I are on a trip.” He replied. It’s a classic lie most hunters use and one that was taught to him early on in his training.

“Ah, and how long will you be staying?”

“I believe this is the last night we’re here.”

“You’re not sure?”

“My friend, Dean, drives us. He knows more about our itinerary than I do.”

“A ‘go with the flow’ kind of man. I like it.”

As they continued to talk, Chris’ hand ventured further up (Y/N)’s thigh, squeezing the flesh on his leg from time to time. Simple conversation switched to flirting rather quickly, the majority of it one-sided. What started as cheesy ‘first date’ type questions turned risque in the blink of an eye. At first, they were easy questions that (Y/N) could answer without an issue, but once they started to get dirty, his mind turned blank. Half the vocabulary Chris used was new to him. While he knew all of them revolved around sex, he couldn’t quite pinpoint the definition, regardless of the context clues provided. 

He could feel the familiar pit in his stomach as the questions droned on. The sensation that he couldn’t quite give a title to yet. At least, not an accurate one. ‘Uncomfortable’ seemed as if it fit too loosely for the circumstance. It felt as if there were a swarm of bees buzzing around in his stomach, moving from his gut to his chest periodically.

Chris leaned in close to (Y/N)’s ear, his warm, whiskey-filled breath caressing his cheek. (Y/N)’s eyes were cast down. He had lost the ability to maintain constant eye contact when the mood shifted, and the bees began their attack.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Chris asked. “I could show you a thing or two.”

When Chris’s hand landed on (Y/N)’s crotch, every muscle in his body was on fire as they clenched tightly. (Y/N)’s eyes went wide and his body froze. The bees didn’t just fly, they infiltrated his entire nervous system. He felt an overwhelming need to retreat like one would in a battle they knew they couldn’t win. But he wasn’t in a battle. It was a simple conversation. Why did he feel like that?

Chris pressed small kisses on the back of (Y/N)’s ear. (Y/N) inhaled and turned his head slightly, the need to get away from Chris strong. Chris immediately stopped and opened his eyes. He paused for a moment before he pulled away and sighed.

“I see you’re not as interested as I thought you were,” he gave a tight smile, pulled out his wallet, and slammed a twenty on the bar. “Thanks for nothing.” He grumbled before he got up and stormed away.

With his presence gone, (Y/N) felt a sense of peace and ease wash over him. The beating of his heart inside his chest began to lessen and return to a normal pace. With a glance down at his hand, he noticed the way his fingertips trembled. That hadn’t been the first time someone else had gotten so bold with touching him, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. When was that feeling going to go away?

After a minute or so passed, he was able to compose himself enough to stand from the barstool and wander back to the table where Sam, Dean, and Castiel sat. He joined them without a word, not wanting to interrupt their conversation, and grabbed his lukewarm beer. There was no chance he was going to drink anymore that night. Not with his stomach as uneasy as it was.

“Hey, you okay?” Sam asked.

“I’m fine,” (Y/N) spoke.

“You sure?” Dean chimed in. “Guy looked like he had a stick up his ass when he left.

(Y/N) shrugged. “I believe he just wanted to leave.” He tried to keep his voice as straight as possible. He could tell his nerves hadn’t fully recovered.

Dean shook his head. “Well, his loss.”

*~*

One thing (Y/N) adored about being human was the way showers made him feel after a hunt. He never quite realized how tense his muscles could get until the hot water caressed his limbs. It was as if all the adrenaline was washed from his body. It made him feel refreshed. Renewed.

That night, he got the last shower. The water wasn’t as hot as other showers he had taken, but he would accept warm any day. By the time he left the bathroom, clad in a pair of night pants and a loose t-shirt courtesy of the youngest Winchester, Sam, Dean, and Castiel were dressed to leave. Another post-hunt celebration. Dean glanced at (Y/N).

“You’re not coming?” He asked. 

(Y/N) shook his head and walked over to his bed. “Not tonight, no.”

“Why not? You never miss out on a bar.”

(Y/N) settled into the bed, and sat up with his legs crossed. “I notice that humans get very physical when they are at bars. I’m not quite used to it yet, so I think I’m going to wait until I’m ready.”

“Ready for what, (Y/N)?” Castiel asked.

“The touching.”

The three of them shared a concerned look before Sam waved his hand dramatically, eyes closed tightly. 

“Wait,” he reached a hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean ‘get used to’?”

“Well, I’m not accustomed to the way humans express attraction. I surely wasn’t aware that there was as much physical contact involved. So, I figured it was something I would be more comfortable with as time went on. I mean, I never knew strangers were so interested in touching each other’s genitalia.”

They all furrowed their brows, confusion etched perfectly on their faces, and slowly made their way over to the bed. Sam sat at the edge next to (Y/N), Dean stood next to him, and Castiel sat on the opposite side of the bed from Sam.

“(Y/N),” Sam started, his voice soft and steady, the same voice he used when talking to the families of victims. “Have you…given these people permission to touch you?”

(Y/N) cocked his head to the side, slightly taken aback by the question, as it was something he had never even considered before. Had he permitted them to touch him? He could not recall. Then again, he didn’t remember them asking. He took a moment to think back on the times he had been in bars since he became human.

“No,” he answered. “The first couple of times it happened, I pulled away from the touch, as it made me rather uncomfortable, but they would just get upset. One man told me it was wrong to ‘lead him on’ and then deny his touch. After that, I let people touch me. I would like a break from it for tonight.”

“(Y/N), other humans need permission to touch you,” Castiel said.

“But they get upset-”

“To Hell with them being upset,” Dean interjected. “No one has a right to touch you, especially if you don’t want them to.”

“Is that why that one guy left the last bar we went to left? You wouldn’t let him touch you?” Sam asked.

(Y/N) could feel his cheeks and neck heat up. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to hide his face. Was it because of the answer to the question? Was it because of the question itself? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the origin of the sense of dread, but he knew it wasn’t going to vanish anytime soon.

He shook his head, eyes cast down to his hands. “I let him touch me. I assume it was because I didn’t respond when he asked me to leave with him.”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he ran a hand down his face. “Son of a bitch,” he growled and began to lightly pace between the motel beds.

Sam slowly shook his head. “(Y/N), those people are horrible. You should never touch someone without consent, and you should never let anyone touch you if you are uncomfortable with it. Do you understand?” His eyes were laced with sympathy.

(Y/N) went to say something, but he felt a lump in his throat prevent him from doing so. Instead, he just gave a short, brief nod.

“I can only imagine how tough it was to become human. To lose all that power. You may not have the power to heal us anymore or read others’ minds, but you are still your own person, (Y/N). You have the power to tell people to keep their hands off of you. You have the power to let yourself have a good time at these places. It doesn’t matter what other people think about your choices. In the end, all that matters is you, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied, his voice shaky and barely above a whisper. 

(Y/N) sniffled, and he felt as if his head was pulsing. Tears sprung to the corner of his eyes and cascaded down his cheeks. For the first time since he lost his grace, he cried. It wasn’t loud and dramatic, but, rather, soft.

It explained so much. How he hated the way bar patrons touched him, the sinking feeling when they got too close, the panic that coursed through his veins. That was no flaw on his part, but a flaw on the strangers. What they did was wrong, not him.

And that validation broke him.

(Y/N) immediately knew he hated crying. His chest ached as the silent sobs racked his body. In a way, it was relieving, though. It felt as if all of the pent-up discomfort was being released. As if he was reborn. Still, it hurt worse than it did comfort him.

Castiel was the first to respond as he placed a gentle hand against (Y/N)’s back, Sam, being the closest, engulfed him in a near bone-shattering embrace, and Dean halted his paces to kneel beside the bed, one of his hands landing on the small of his back. (Y/N) closed his eyes tight and leaned his head against Sam’s chest. Their touch made him feel safe. This was a good touch. This was how touch should make him feel. He shouldn’t be forced to feel uncomfortable to please others, because, in reality, some people aren’t going to like him, even if the reasons are far from valid. It was a harsh reality, but as long as he had his family by his side, he didn’t mind if the whole world hated him.

After a few quiet minutes, filled with silent cries, the tears stopped. (Y/N)’s eyes were bright red and puffy, and he occasionally sniffled.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice soothing.

(Y/N) lifted his head from Sam’s chest and glanced over at him. Sam pulled back a bit so the embrace wasn’t nearly as intense.

“If you’re ever in a situation like that, where some douchebag won’t keep his hands off of you, all you have to do is say the word and we’ll kick his ass for you.”

“What if it’s a woman?” He asked quietly.

Dean opened his mouth to give a quick answer but shut it as he thought about it. “Then we will have Cas bring Jody or Charlie in to kick her ass. The point is; fuck everyone else.”

(Y/N) furrowed his brows. “Does that not mean to have intercourse with them?”

Dean sighed. “Sam, Cas, a little help?”

“What Dean is trying to say,” Castiel chimed in. “Is that you should not prioritize other peoples’ desires over your comfort. You are more important than a stranger. They are not important, you are, and what other people think doesn’t matter. If someone does not listen to you when you deny them, we will do everything in our power to protect you. We still care about you, and want what’s best for you.”

Dean pressed his lips together and nodded. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. That’s exactly what I meant.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hold back his smirk. “Look, we know how tough it is to be human. Dean and I have been dealing with this our whole lives. We know that there are setbacks that come with the package, but there are also a ton of fun experiences. We don’t want some jackass to ruin it for you. Cas said it better than Dean or I could. We care about you and want to do everything we can to look out for you. You deserve it.”

The tears reappeared, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of joy. Of relief. As if his heart would burst with all the love and care his friends will it with. (Y/N) took a moment to wrap his arms around each of them in an individual hug to show his appreciation. 

“Thank you. I am very grateful to have friends like you.” He smiled warmly.

Dean smiled before he cleared his throat and waved him off. “Alright, enough of the chick-flick crap,” he said as he stood from his spot on the floor, a groan escaping his throat that he tried not to make too noticeable. “What do you say we skip the bar tonight, order some takeout, and watch a movie? I hear Roadhouse is on at seven.”

(Y/N) cocked his head to the side. “What’s Roadhouse?”

Dean froze, wide-eyed. His jaw dropped in shock. “‘What’s Roadhouse’?” He repeated in disbelief. “Action movie? Patrick Swayze? Sam Elliott? Kelly Lumch? Julie Michaels? Keith David!?” With each name, his voice got louder.

“Are those actors?”

“I-” Dean threw his hands up as he turned his back on him and began to pace around the room once more.

(Y/N) flashed a worried look at Castiel, then Sam. Sam shook his head and chuckled. 

“Dean’s just being dramatic,” he whispered, which caused (Y/N) to let out a sigh of relief.

“I am not being dramatic!” Dean retorted before he stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “This is all my fault. I was so focused on teaching him about good music that movies never crossed my mind. Have you at least seen Indiana Jones?”

“Indiana…as in the state?”

“If it makes you feel any better, (Y/N), I, too, have yet to see Roadhouse or Indiana Jones,” Castiel said.

Dean deadpanned. “I have some work to do. Sam, go get us some food. I need to make a list of movies for them to watch.”

Sam snorted as he stood from his spot on the bed. “Yeah, yeah. Just text me what you guys want.” He mumbled and retrieved his jacket from the back of one of the chairs.

As Sam left to get them food, Dean began to ramble on about movies he determined (Y/N) and Castiel had to watch, most of which were either action or old westerns. He talked with such passion regarding the films that (Y/N) couldn’t help but smile. Dean was right, the opinions of others didn’t matter, especially those whose only goal was to satisfy their selfish desires, disregarding others’ wellbeing. They were foolish, scum, true lions in sheep’s clothing. Those hidden evil beings could make themselves look innocent. (Y/N) didn’t need to please them. Didn’t need to make them happy. He only wanted to make his family happy, just as they did him. For how much they’ve helped him on his treacherous journey into manhood, they deserve it, for they have taught him the most valuable lesson of all;

His worth was priceless.

…

“Hey, are you even listening?”

[valleydean]

Chapter 17 [Read Here]

CHAMPION Part III of Heavyweight a deancas boxing au by valleydean (emmbrancsxx0) read from the beginning | playlist

SUMMARY: Brooklyn, 1933. Dean Winchester, the number one contender, trains to become the next Heavyweight Champion of the World, and this time he won't let anything get in his way. Title holder Castiel Novak has second thoughts about retiring, especially when someone from his past arrives in New York and asks for his help. Meanwhile, a new contender rises to fame and threatens to complicate both of Dean and Cas' ambitions - and their relationship.

CHAPTER PREVIEW:

Dean strolled into the ICU with a box filled with Italian pastries in one hand and a white paper bag in the other. The ward was the same as ever: the frequent announcements over the speakers paging a doctor to a particular room, employees rushing around, nurses guiding slow-walking patients along the hallway for their daily exercise, and all the other intricacies Dean had become accustomed to over the last week.

He smiled and greeted some of the familiar faces, staff and patients alike, as he walked. Some of the newer faces gawked at him, a second away from asking for an autograph. Dean winked at one of the gaping kids as he passed by.

“Billie. How’s my favorite nurse?” Dean schmoozed when he approached the ward’s nurses’ station.

Nurse Billie barely glanced up at him from her paperwork. “You ask all the other nurses that, too,” she said, unimpressed.

“But do I make sure the bake shop puts in the sprinkle cookies the other nurses like? Huh?” he asked while placing the box on the counter.

She looked up at him fully, her expression still mostly neutral but also vaguely annoyed. All the same, she took the box and set it before her.

Dean slapped the counter as he slid away, sure that Billie would distribute the assorted pastries to the other nurses, like she’d done every day for the past week. “Enjoy.”

He walked in the direction of Cas’ private room toward the end of the hall, the best and biggest one money could pay for. On the way, he spotted Nurse Tessa walking in the opposite direction, her nose in a chart.

“Hey,” he called, stepping in her path. He lifted up the paper bag. “One cannoli from yours truly.”

Tessa smiled, accepting the bag. “You’re gonna make me fat.”

“Just a thanks for all your hard work,” he told her. Nodding to Cas’ room, he added, “‘Course, I’m gonna have to bring you two a day after he wakes up. Trust me, he’s not gonna be too pleasant to deal with.”

Tessa breathed out a small laugh.

Dean’s smile flickered despite how much he tried to keep it plastered on his face. Maybe she hadn’t known it, but he’d been fishing—hoping and praying she’d tell him that Cas was awake and everything was fine.

But she didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything.

Voice smaller, he asked, “How’s he doing?”

“Same as yesterday,” she said, her tone gentler. She must have seen the way Dean’s face fell, because she reminded him, “That’s not a bad thing, Dean. He’s healing well.”

A bitter smile twisted Dean’s face. “That you can tell.”

She gave him a tender look, touching his shoulder, before walking off. Dean stood still for a second, trying to brace himself against the tidal wave of emotion threatening to swell over him and trap him in its undertow. If he let that happen, he just knew he’d let himself drown.

He opened the door to Cas’ room and closed it again behind him, dropping the cheerful act he’d been putting on for the public.

The room smelled sweet and floral with how many bouquets of flowers were in vases on every surface. The orderlies did a good job at taking away the decaying ones, but it seemed like more fresh flowers were delivered every day. The same was true for greeting cards and handwritten letters from fans all over the world wishing Cas a speedy recovery. Dean had stopped reading them days ago and started tossing them into the discarded pile of envelopes on the windowsill.

A few of Jack’s drawings were around, closer to the bed. He brought a new one pretty much every day when he visited after school.

Crowley’s assistant had sent over a basket full of fruit and chocolates, as if that would somehow make up for the fact that her boss was partly the reason Cas was in the hospital in the first place.

Michael, Gabriel, and Balthazar visited most days. Anna had come twice, both times with Dean watching her like a hawk. Sam and Eileen had accompanied Dean for his visits a few times, always bringing Maura with them. Sam never said it was because he didn’t want Dean to be alone, and Dean appreciated that it went unspoken.

About a thousand people had sent gift baskets and casseroles to the house. Dean had started turning them away, because how many damn chicken casseroles could a person choke down?

And then there were the paparazzi. They followed him pretty much everywhere. Even now, they were camped outside the hospital. Dean had to call the police once or twice to get them away from the house. The damn vultures were looking for all the information they could get about Cas, and about what plans there were for the future of his career.

Balthazar had issued a statement days ago that, until Cas was fully recovered, all plans for the announcement they were supposed to make had been put on hold. The NBA didn’t make any comments either, and Dean sure as shit wasn’t going to talk, no matter how often the reporters asked him if he was going to make a bid for the belt “now that the way is clear.”

For the past week, Dean had barely left the house except to go to the gym or visit Cas. Whenever anybody asked, he said it was to avoid the paparazzi. But he wasn’t just hiding from them. He was hiding from everyone. From their sympathetic looks, somber and quiet, as if Cas was already dead.

Most of all, he was hiding from his own thoughts. The ones that said Cas was never going to wake up. The ones that cringed every time the phone rang and he was sure it’d be the doctor telling him Cas was dead. The ones that told him Cas had left him because he’d thought boxing was more important than their life together, and this time, Dean would never get him back. The ones that told him to start making funeral arrangements.

Those thoughts were a lot harder to hide from as he lay awake at night and looked at Cas’ empty side of the bed. Or when he looked at the mess Cas had left in their dresser drawers because he always expected Dean to fold the clothes back up. When he was brushing his teeth and saw Cas’ toothbrush and razor and aftershave.

Dean tried to banish all of those thoughts now as he approached Cas’ bed. Since Cas had first been checked in, some of his stitches and bandages had been removed. The patch over his eye was gone, showing off the stitches on his eyelid and the angry, puffy redness around them. Most of his bruises had run their course from deep blacks and purples to sickly greens and yellows. Some were completely faded, but others were more stubborn.

His facial hair had grown in, and Tessa had told him they needed a few more cuts on his jaw to heal before they could shave him. But at least some of the color had returned to his face. His breath wasn’t wheezy anymore, either.

“Morning, babe,” Dean said, leaning over him to press a kiss to his hairline. As he did, Cas’ ring, which Dean had put on a leather cord around his neck, slipped out from beneath his collar. Dean left it out and sat in his usual chair next to the bed.

He placed his hand on top of Cas’, still bandaged.

“Jo was over last night. She says hi,” Dean said, because Tessa had told him that talking to Cas would help. Dean didn’t know if that was true, but it couldn’t hurt—and it made him feel a little saner.

For the first time, he wondered if Tessa had meant it would help Cas or it would help him. But he guessed it didn’t matter.

Dean would keep talking, even though sometimes, he didn’t have anything to say. He just rambled and hoped that Cas would wake up and tell him to shut the fuck up.

“The dance hall she’s working at is having a week of jazz performers next month. She said Billie Holiday’s supposed to headline one night. We should go to that. It’ll be fun.”

If Cas was awake by then.

Dean dragged in a breath, hearing it rattle inside his chest. He pushed a smile.

“Anyway… Jack tell you about the new book he’s reading for school?”

[sunnysam-my]

Does anyone else dislike "Cotton Candy" song? Because I hate it. Ever since my friend joked that "Yeah, Hazbin Hotel songs are good, just too bad Vivziepop does let those Broadway singers actually use their vocal skills without autotune" I couldn't stop thinking about it. I think it's probably why I find Cotton Candy so nauseating. The vocals are so heavenly edited it genuinely starts to sounds like AI and kills all of the emotions that the singer can do.

You notice how in the part where she talks (which is also edited BTW) she literally sounds like a different person? Like, come on. It's giving Mitchell Hope in "Chillin' Like a Villain"

Listen to this and tell me you don't want to hear her sing without the autotune and other editing. It's not she can't sing.

Edit: So apparently it's not Kesha singing, instead a sound-alike singer, but my point still stands. Even if it was her singing, the same thing would happen. Don't ever try to defend this by saying that it's to cover up the different voices, because even if that's true, that's horrible.

[donutwatches]

MHA 2.14 - Bizarre! Gran Torino Appears - part 2

This is my first time watching so no spoilers.

Bakugo has such a confused mixed bag of emotions going on here. It is so hard for him to express anything other than anger it is like the attempt is breaking his face. 

It’s the denim giraffe man! This is who Bakugo chose to intern with?! Why do I hear vogue music playing in the distance? Strike a pose! The bdsm energy is rolling in waves from this guy.

But wait, if Best Jeanist is going to fashion police Bakugo into being a good hero, does that make Bakugo the Anne Hathaway of this scenario? I feel like Bakugo is going to regret his intern pick, but this is a fever dream come true for me. Presentation, self-control, and a moral code are all areas Bakugo would benefit from learning about, if he is willing to listen.  

Speaking of fashion disasters, is Kirishima’s single strip of fabric over his chest supposed to count as a shirt?  

These two are great together. I love the running gaga of them being identical. They think so much alike they unintentionally picked the same internship, lol. 

Ok so Momo, and the girl from class B are interning with Glam Medusa. This seems like a bad choice for both of them. They are serious fighters not glamour girlies.  

This is what I am worried about. They landed with a hero that is more onto the ‘being famous’ side of hero work. I hate this for Momo in particular since she needs to regain combat confidence after her disappointing turnout at the tournament.

Good, but won’t that be more difficult while working with him? I do not know how I feel about Shouto choosing to work in close proximity with someone who abuses him. I know that Endeavor is #2 and likely has a lot to teach on the professional side, but this stresses me tf out.

I highly doubt that. I feel like Shouto already knows more about what a hero is (in a being a good person way) than Endeavor does. 

Click here for part 3

Click here for the master list.

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

in which lunch is had, old stories are told, and a misunderstanding is cleared up.

part five of the post-marineford portion of the near miss fics! (1, 2, 3, 4) if you have no idea what i'm talking about but would like to read a shanks/buggy story about kissing in disguise and then having to deal with the emotional fallout of doing that, click on this link, that's the tag for the whole thing in chronological order. (plus some complaining about writing, one inspirational improvised musical number, and a snippet of shanks pov) if you do know what i'm talking about: my intense examination of the cover to chapter 581 and frustrated googling of phrases like “oden cart curtain name” has finally paid off! also, i’d apologize for where this part ends, but that would be an enormous lie, i’ve been planning on ending this part on that line from the very beginning. >:3c enjoy!

With heavier topics taken off the table, the flow of conversation became smooth and easy.  Shanks asked about Buggy’s crew, his recent travels, his plans for the future; Buggy asked about the best places Shanks had been, who he’d met.  At Buggy’s request, Shanks devoted a full twenty minutes to a detailed description of his meeting with Rayleigh; to Buggy’s delight, it turned out Rayleigh was in Sabaody because Shakuyaku, the former Amazon empress, lived there.  Buggy had always been impressed by her, if a little privately judgy of her taste in men, so hearing that the two of them had semi-retired together made him smile.

As did the revelation that Shanks had first seen a wanted poster for Buggy the Clown—his earliest one, actually, before he’d perfected the crossbones and had still been experimenting with lip tints—when Rayleigh pulled a copy out that day.  “He keeps an eye on all the newspapers, from the four big seas and the Grand Line alike,” Shanks explained, digging his toes into the sand. (Buggy had gotten tired of his push-pull relationship with the tides and insisted they move further up the beach.) “I think he’s found and kept a copy of every one of our bounties.”

Buggy tried not to be obvious about how much that meant, but he had never been good at holding back the waterworks when he got emotional.  Sniffing thickly, he said, “That stupid old man… your bounty’s gone up so many times over the years without the picture ever looking different!  What a waste of his space.”

One of Shanks’ eyebrows went up—probably, Buggy realized a moment later, at the implication that Buggy had also been keeping track of Shanks’ bounties.  Ah, well, in for a penny… “Seriously!  It’s bad design!” Buggy insisted.  “If the only changes someone like me ever noticed are that you grew that shitty little beard—”

“Shitty?”  Shanks pouted, running his thumb along his jawline.  “It’s not that bad, is it?”

“It’s worse without the mustache,” Buggy said bluntly.  Shanks played up his shock, gasping and grabbing at his heart like an elderly man.

Buggy rolled his eyes.  “As I was saying: if all I ever noticed was the beard and that your hat disappeared at some point, your average citizen’s not going to realize the Marines have released a new poster and the bounty went up!”  Jabbing a thumb brazenly at his own face, Buggy said, “At least I had something new going on each time.”

Shanks cocked his head at Buggy.  “About that… do you change your makeup style so often for fun, or are you still searching for the perfect look?”

Buggy scoffed.  “There’s no such thing as perfection when it comes to art, or fashion,” he said.  “There’s just advancing your craft.  Every time I change my look up, I’m incorporating newer and flashier techniques, and better supplies.  The makeup I had access to fifteen, even ten years ago would never have lasted a day in Impel Down, let alone weeks.”

“That’s true,” Shanks said thoughtfully, hand on his chin.  “The stuff you have these days is much—” He cut himself off, glancing over Buggy’s shoulder.  Buggy turned to see a cluster of men in ragged prison uniforms standing maybe forty feet away, staring at them and then glancing away awkwardly when they met Buggy’s eye.

“I told them not to bother me today,” Buggy grumbled, giving the group a half-hearted glare.  They visibly quaked, knees knocking, but neither moved nor explained themselves.

“I guess our presence is interfering with their shore leave,” Shanks said, slipping back into his sandals.

Looking past the men revealed the beach had gotten crowded while Buggy wasn’t paying attention—save for a fifty-foot ring of emptiness centered on him and Shanks.  These men had only approached them because there wasn’t anywhere else to be.  Sighing, Buggy stood up, brushing sand off the seat of his pants.

“Lead the way, then,” he said grimly.

With a polite smile and a wave to the former prisoners, Shanks walked back up the beach.  Buggy gave them a glare, and a threatening slice-your-throat gesture (made more emphatic by the way Buggy separated his neck as he sliced) to encourage their silence before following Shanks further inland.

The terrain got a bit jungle-like as they went on, but there were neatly trodden paths between the trees.  It was a civilized corner of nature, and Buggy found he didn’t mind walking through it with just Shanks and his questions for company, even when those questions started getting a bit specific for Buggy’s tastes. (What did Shanks need to know about his plans after he found Captain John’s treasure, anyway?  Was he trying to go after Buggy’s next prize while he was still busy with the current one?)

It was the middle of the lunch hour by the time their jungle path led them back into town, which was almost suspiciously convenient timing.  Buggy glanced at Shanks, trying to figure out if he’d planned this or was just aimlessly wandering.  Well, either way he’d better lead them somewhere soon—Buggy was hungry!  He wanted to eat the kind of food he couldn’t get back on the ship—nothing a typical chef in a typical kitchen could manage.  He wanted something that involved a deep fryer, or another equally specialized device.  Something that would be too much of a hassle to make on a ship.  Something…

“Hey!”  Shanks turned to grab Buggy’s attention, pointing at a yatai on the opposite street corner.  “What about that?”

Buggy spotted the word written in bold white letters on slate gray cloth and started to laugh. “What are we, on a themed vacation or something?”

“You’re the one who put the idea in my head!” Shanks said defensively, grinning.  “I know it’s out of season, but…”

“No, you’re right, we have to,” Buggy said, and led them to the oden-ya.  “I’m just going to look like I’m obsessed, is all.”

Ducking under the bamboo noren curtains, they found themselves in a cozy space, with three stools set up along a polished wooden table the same length as the cooktop.  A gorilla mink stood behind the partitioned oden pot, rotating skewers of fishcake in their niches within the steaming broth.  He glanced up at their entrance, a friendly customer service smile spreading across his face.

“Welcome!  Looking for oden this afternoon, or just something to drink?”  He gestured to one side, where beautiful little sake flasks and other bottles of alcohol were arranged on shelves that took up the whole side wall of the cart.  “I’d be happy to warm a flask of sake up for you on the stove if you’d like.”

“We’re looking for both, thanks,” Shanks said warmly, stepping up to the counter.  “I don’t suppose any of your sake is sourced from Wano?”

The mink wrinkled his nose thoughtfully.  “I may have some in storage, but that stuff tend to run a little pricier, given… well, if you’re asking for it, you must know.”

“Of course you have expensive tastes in booze and nothing else,” Buggy said with a smirk, bent down to inspect the sake that was actually meant for sale.  “Come on, look, they’ve got some West Blue stuff, you were always a sucker for your home ocean.”

“Oh?”  Shanks leaned over Buggy to get a better look at the stock, and a prickle of heat went up Buggy’s spine.  “Ooh, I do like that stuff.  But I really had my heart set on something from Wano…”  Turning back to the mink, he said, “Sorry to trouble you, but can you bring out what you have from Wano?  I promise the price isn’t an issue, and I won’t have any problem drinking a flask of each.”  The mink ducked around back without complaint.

“More like a couple flasks of each,” Buggy muttered, but he didn’t mean it cruelly.  Shanks liked a drink, he always had—and rumor said the last time he saw Whitebeard before all this he’d matched him cup for cup.  Whitebeard-sized cups, too, which meant he had to have a crazy tolerance these days.  Good for him.  Buggy wasn’t quite as capable, but he could hold his liquor.  He wouldn’t be any kind of ex-Roger Pirate if he couldn’t.

“Guilty,” Shanks said, sing-songy, reaching over Buggy’s shoulder to snatch one of the larger bottles of shochu.  “Can you grab a flask or two of the West Blue sake for me?”

Buggy rolled his eyes, grabbing two.  “One of them’s for me.”

“We can share,” Shanks said mildly.

Buggy snorted. “If by ‘share’ you mean I get one cup and by the time I’ve finished it the flask is empty, sure, we can share.”

Shanks laughed.  “Am I that bad?”

“You’re just too fast about it is all.  I like to linger over a drink, really savor it.”

“Oh, you like to take your time, do you?”  Shanks’ smile, already suggestively wide, spread wider still when this comment flustered Buggy.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he snapped.

“No?”

Why do you sound disappointed, Buggy was tempted to ask—except no, no he wasn’t, he did not want to know why Shanks might be disappointed Buggy hadn’t intended to be suggestive.  He had already decided he wasn’t going there.  “I just mean you rush things a bit.”

“…do I?”

Once again feeling like Shanks was reading things into what he was saying, but this time not at all sure what deeper meaning Shanks was taking from his words, Buggy averted his eyes, setting the pair of sake flasks down in front of the stove top.  “Yeah, I know you like getting drunk, but there’s such a thing as pacing yourself, you know?”

Before Shanks could respond to this—with who knows what kind of misinterpretation of Buggy’s words this time—the mink returned, a crate of sake in flasks and jugs of various sizes in hand.

“Here we are!”  With a soft grunt of effort, the mink set the crate down in front of Shanks.  “Let me know if anything catches your eye.”  He spotted the flasks of West Blue sake Buggy had set down and quickly made room in a pot of steaming water for them to sit and warm up.  “Now, were any items looking especially appealing today?”

Buggy glanced sideways; Shanks was occupied with intently inspecting the sake.  Well, if he wanted something specific he could ask for it later.  “Two bowlfuls of whatever the chef recommends, for now.”

The gorilla nodded.  “Coming right up!”  And he was as good as his word, quickly throwing together a wide, shallow bowl of savory golden-brown broth with a skewer of fishcakes, an egg, and a few slices of daikon for each of them. It looked wonderful, warm and familiar, and it smelled even better.

Before Buggy could take a sip, Shanks had flung his arm across Buggy’s chest, blocking the spoonful of broth from reaching his mouth.

“Hang on,” Shanks said, weirdly serious.  “You have to have this first.”  He held out a small flask of Wano sake, tilted just far enough to encourage Buggy to grab a cup and accept the pour.

“Not warmed up?”  Shanks expression didn’t so much as twitch.  Buggy huffed.  “Fine, fine... you and your expensive tastes.”  He accepted the cup, swirled it for a moment to breathe in the aroma—they really did make it different in Wano; was it something in the water, or the rice?—and took a sip.  Then blinked, goggled at the half-drunk cup, and slung back the rest with a warm floaty feeling in his chest.

Setting the cup down, he breathed, “Is that...?”

Shanks grinned.  “Special pure rice brew.”  He spun the flask around to reveal the maker’s mark.  “From the Kuri region of Wano.”

Buggy snatched the flask away.  Looking it over, he said, “Seriously?! From the same brewery?”

“And you wondered why I was so insistent.”

Buggy shook his head, laughing a little in disbelief, and poured Shanks a cup of the stuff.  He glanced up at their host, politely not bothering them even though he had to be confused, and said, “This exact same sake was the first drink the two of us had, back when we were—what, eleven? Twelve?”

“Something like that,” Shanks said, watching Buggy with a pleased smile.  “Stolen out of Oden’s rooms on a dare—”

“—you’re the one who dared me!” Buggy snapped.  Thinking back, he added, “And he must have let us take it, we weren’t sneaky enough at twelve to get past Oden—”

“—oh, definitely,” Shanks agreed.  “Bet he thought of it as a rite of passage, stealing your first drink from under the nose of your honored elders.”

Buggy snorted.  “Definitely,” he echoed.  Giving Shanks a look, he passed this flask along to the mink as well.  “This stuff isn’t so fancy heating it will ruin the taste, right?  Might as well try it the way it was meant to be had.”

“Of course,” the mink said with a gracious smile, adding the flask to the steaming pot on his stove.  He watched the two of them dig into their bowls—delicious, of course—without comment, but as he carefully retrieved the first of the West Blue flasks from its bath he said, “Now, I haven’t thought about this in a long time, so I’m afraid I can’t quite recall… which of you is Shanks and which is Buggy?”

Buggy blinked dumbly up at the gorilla, his mouth full of radish.  Next to him, Shanks was pulling a similar face.

Hastily swallowing his mouthful, Buggy cleared his throat and said, “You know… both of us by name? But not well enough to know which is which on sight?”

The gorilla smiled sheepishly.  “I wasn’t sure until you brought up Oden.  That’s Kozuki Oden, isn’t it?  Which means the two of you must be Shanks and Buggy, they were the only other young people on the boat in all the stories I heard.”

“What stories?”

“‘The only other young people’…” Shanks lit up.  “Do you know Dogstorm and Cat Viper?”

Buggy nearly smacked Shanks.  “Seriously?!  Not every mink knows each other, Shanks!”

“Heh, actually...”  Buggy stared up at the gorilla mink in disbelief as he shrugged, making an embarrassed expression.  “The truth is, I only learned how to prepare oden at Duke Dogstorm’s request.”

“Duke Dogstorm?”  Shanks whistled.  “Somebody’s moved up in the world.”

Buggy jabbed him in the side with a free-floating elbow.  “I don’t want to hear that from you, Emperor Shanks!”

Shanks winced—an exaggerated gesture for the benefit of their audience—and leaned away from Buggy.  “Oh, come on,” he whined, “it’s not like I meant to become an emperor or anything.”

“Oh, of course not,” Buggy said, rolling his eyes and shoving a piece of tsukune in his mouth.  Eyes shut, he declared, “I’ll bet I can tell you exactly how it happened, too.  You had a meal with some mediocre pirate crew and made friends. Then some shitty Marines started beating the hell out of them; they could’ve just arrested the crew, but they decided to torture them for their own amusement.  Well, you could hardly let this abuse go unchallenged, could you?  So naturally you had to step in, and sent the Marines running with their tails between their legs.  And it was only natural that the pirate crew was thankful to you, but you never dreamed they’d all vow to follow you forever, forswearing their own flag in favor of yours.  Not daring to call themselves true Red-Haired Pirates, of course, but Red-Haired Pirates adjacent.”  Rolling his wrist, Buggy concluded, “And then that happened another twenty or thirty times, because you never learn.”

Opening one eye a crack, he glanced at Shanks.  “How’d I do?”

Shanks, red-faced, his fist pressed to his mouth to hold back laughter, nodded weakly.  “Well, uh... you’re not wrong,” he wheezed out.  Taking a drink to clear his throat and calm down, he sighed.  “Though you make it sound like far more of a foregone conclusion than it felt like when it was first happening.”

“That’s the benefit of an outside perspective,” Buggy said snippily.  “And also hindsight.”  Waving a hand in Shanks’ face, he said, “But enough about you!”  Jabbing the pointer finger of that same hand at their host, Buggy said, “What’s this about you learning to make oden for Dogstorm?”

The gorilla mink smiled, his eyes wide, and Buggy suddenly remembered hearing once that gorillas didn’t actually smile, but instead bared their teeth as a threat against potential enemies.  He pulled back his hand as casually as he could manage it.

“Do you really want to hear the story?  I’m told I can be a bit long-winded,” the mink said, fishing one of the Wano flasks out of its water bath and offering it up.

“Yeah, let’s hear it!” Buggy said, pouring a cup for Shanks, then handing over the flask so Shanks could do the same for him.  “I don’t know about Shanks but I haven’t heard anything from Zou in years, I’m dying to hear what those two have gotten up to.”

Closing his eyes, Buggy took a sip of the warmed Wano sake, not knowing Shanks was doing the same thing at the same time.  They set down their cups and sighed in unpracticed unison.  Suddenly aware of their double act, Buggy scowled at Shanks, who ignored him and made an encouraging gesture to their chef.  “Please, go ahead. I’d love to hear news of Dogstorm and Cat Viper.”

A sad expression washed over the gorilla’s face.  “I’m afraid I can only give you news of Duke Dogstorm.”  At the looks on his guests’ faces, the gorilla threw out a hand and said, “Not to say—please don’t misunderstand! Lord Cat Viper still lives! It’s just that I have not met with him since he and Duke Dogstorm first returned to Zou.  They... keep separate courts, and hours, and my service has always been to the day.”

A wrinkle appeared in Shanks’ brow.  “They don’t talk anymore?”

“It always turns into a fight.  Often one with devastating consequences for their surroundings.”

Buggy frowned.  That didn’t sound right.  Well, not the destruction—that sounded like those two—but fighting so badly they couldn’t even share waking hours... “What happened?”

The gorilla sighed.  “As I understand it?  Kozuki Oden died, and neither could forgive the other for failing to save him.”  A moment later, he gave Buggy a concerned look.  “Oh, are you hurt?”

Buggy blinked.  Staring down at his hands, he realized he’d snapped his chopsticks in half.  “I... no, I’m okay.”  The gorilla carefully plucked the broken shards of wood out of Buggy’s grasp, along with a splinter or two that had tried to wedge their way into his palms.  Thankfully the Chop-Chop fruit could handle any kind of stabbing, from needles up to legendary meito, so Buggy really was fine.

While the gorilla disposed of the pieces of wood, Buggy clenched his jaw, feeling Shanks’ eyes on him.  “I can hear you thinking.”

“…it makes sense,” he said quietly.  “What else could come between those two but the loss of someone who was as important to them as Oden?”

Buggy shot Shanks a narrow look out of the corner of his eye.  “Pretty sure I told you this morning that I was done talking about sad shit,” he warned, and Shanks raised his hand in a placating gesture.  The gorilla confirmed that Buggy wasn’t hurt, pointed out the extra chopsticks sitting in a cup to his left, and at their insistence told his story while they returned to their meal.

Dogstorm’s court sounded like a sight worth seeing.  Minks of countless animal forms, musketeers and attendants! To think Oden’s retainer had retainers of his own now!  And to think that he acted like a guy with such noble dignity, after the way he used to behave.

As the gorilla reached the end of his story—having made the closest thing to oden as could be produced with ingredients native to Zou, with Dogstorm pleased by the effort but quietly unsatisfied by the taste, the gorilla had left the court making a vow to learn the secrets of the oden-preparing arts, promising not to return until he was confident he would be able to put a true smile on the duke’s face—Buggy nudged Shanks in the side.  He glanced at Buggy, a half-eaten skewer of fishcakes sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Can you believe,” Buggy said with a shit-eating grin, “that the noble, wounded Dogstorm this guy is talking about is the same one who tarred and feathered Mr. Rayleigh?”

Shanks nearly choked before starting to laugh.  “How did I forget about that?!”

“I’m sorry, Duke Dogstorm did what?” the gorilla said incredulously, staring between the two of them.

“Wait, wait,” Shanks said, before Buggy could start to tell the story.  “If we’re sharing stories of mutual friends, you have to share a drink with us too.”  He grabbed a clean cup from a stack to one side and handed it over to the mink.  Shanks gave Buggy a pleading look, and with a magnanimous smirk Buggy chop-chopped a hand to swipe another sake flask from the water bath and pour for both of them.  “So—”

“Don’t you tell it!” Buggy snapped.  With a grin and a wave of his hand, Shanks metaphorically turned over the reins to Buggy, and took the opportunity to return to his sake and his meal.  “So,” Buggy said to the mink, “the first thing you need to understand about Dogstorm and Cat Viper is that they acted like respectful little attendants when Oden was around, but when it was just the four of us?”  Glancing at Shanks, who was grinning around the skewer in his mouth, Buggy cackled.  “They were just as bad as we were.”

Buggy went on to describe the prank in loving detail, alternating bites of fishcake with the reactions of the crew (mostly hysteria, especially from Roger) and the multiple attempts to blame the prank on someone else (Dogstorm nearly succeeded in pinning it all on Buggy, but forgot himself and corrected Rayleigh on where the tar had come from).  Shanks followed this up with a reminder of another time the four of them had been absolute nightmares to the crew of the Oro Jackson, and the story Buggy told about that day brought their host to literal tears of laughter.

They went around like this for over an hour, topping off their bowls and drinks all the while, recalling old times with the golden burnish of nostalgia softening the edges, easing the hurts and offenses of youth.  Gradually, the last of the fear Buggy had been clinging to all day faded.  It was hard to think that your childhood dread mattered much when looked at from so far off, in so fond a way. It was easy to smile at someone who so readily smiled back.

Eventually the broth pooling at the bottom of their bowls grew cold, and the flasks of sake they’d bought ran dry.  Not a soul had tried to enter the yatai while they were present, and Buggy felt a fleeting burst of pity for the gorilla’s business… until he saw how well Shanks tipped. With a light heart, Buggy waved a slightly drunken farewell to the mink—he’d paced himself pretty well, but a half-dozen bottles of sake split between two men were still going to have an effect—and ducked back out into the wider world.

The air outside was not exactly cold, but it lacked the cozy warmth of the oden-ya’s atmosphere.  It set something within Buggy out of alignment—or maybe back into place?  He stood just outside the noren with a hand pressed to his chest, trying to place the feeling, when Shanks made his own exit and nearly ran into him.

The proximity of Shanks at his back, with the last traces of that soup-warmed air drifting in his wake, sent a burst of longing down Buggy’s spine so intense his knees went weak.

Shanks’ hand went to his shoulder.  “Careful,” Shanks said, hoisting Buggy fully upright, the flat of his arm firm along the breadth of his back.  “You alright, Buggy?”

Fuck.  Even though it was the wrong arm, something about Shanks putting an arm over Buggy’s shoulder made his stomach flip and his heart kick into high gear.  Stupid, loyal organs didn’t have the sense Buggy’s brain had been given, to recognize that feeling feelings for Shanks was a very bad idea.

“Fine,” Buggy croaked out, taking a few careful steps away from Shanks to confirm he was steady enough to make that lie truth.  He shook himself off.

“Your tolerance not what it used to be?” Shanks teased.

“My tolerance is normal,” Buggy insisted, not looking back at Shanks.  “Yours, on the other hand...”

“Yeah, unlike you I’m actually fine,” Shanks said, picking up his pace to match Buggy’s stride.  Glancing around, his back straightened involuntarily with recognition.  Nudging Buggy’s shoulder with his own, he said, “Here, there’s a park nearby where we won’t be bothered.  We can sit down, let you sober up a little before heading back to the ship.”

Buggy drifted in Shanks’ wake on some old instinct.  It was only mid-afternoon.  “There wasn’t anything else you wanted to do?”

Shanks glanced at Buggy over his shoulder.  “What?”

“I dunno, some... sight you thought I should see, or a shop you like or something?”

Shanks blinked.  “Buggy, I’ve never been to this island before. I asked the locals for recommendations yesterday so I could have a good time with you.”

Buggy’s face went hot.  “You—stop saying shit like that!  Don’t you know how that sounds?”

“How it sounds?” Shanks echoed. He led Buggy through a tall, metal gate, into a walled-off plot of land with very little to it, just rock-paved paths, plaques underneath oddly colored trees, and the occasional bench.  Closing the gate behind them, he spun on Buggy.  “How does it sound?”

Buggy scowled and stormed past him.  Like Shanks didn’t know.

“If it sounds like I’ve missed you—well, sorry, Buggy, but I have.  I thought I’d been pretty obvious about that.”  When Buggy turned an incredulous look on Shanks, the corner of his mouth turned up, amused.  “Obvious to everyone but you, I guess.”

“You—you didn’t miss me,” Buggy said, insistent.  “You missed—” he gestured vaguely between the two of them. “—someone knowing you, without you having to say anything.  You missed having a history with someone.”

Shanks shook his head.  “I would love to see many people from back then again, but I’ve never missed any of them like I did you.”

“Oh, come on!” Buggy spat, “what was there to miss?  A greedy little brat who couldn’t decide if he hated you more than he was jealous of you?  A coward who ran and hid from every fight?”  The memory of Shanks leaning in close, a hand on his face, shot through Buggy.  Resisting another stab of longing, he blurted out, “Some stranger’s pretty face?”

“I missed my best—” Shanks’ face screwed up in confusion.  “A pretty face?”

Buggy hadn’t meant to say that.  He grimaced.  “You know.”  Swiping a hand across his face, he chop-chopped his nose off for a moment, hiding the gap behind his free hand.  “This one, that you liked so much that time.”

Understanding lit up Shanks’ face.  “Oh, the gorgeous stranger with stunning eyes.”  A sheepish expression coming over him, Shanks looked away, askance.  “Can I tell you something embarrassing?”

Buggy blinked.  Not the response he’d expected.  “Uh, sure?”

“I only thought those eyes were so stunning because they reminded me of yours.”

Buggy’s jaw dropped.  “The hell they did!”

“They did!”  Shoving his hand over his eyes, Shanks smiled self-consciously.  “Oh, I felt so ridiculous later.  That poor guy, I thought, was deserving of more than my secondhand affections.”  Dropping his hand to look at Buggy, he said, “Though that’s nothing compared to how ridiculous I felt the other day.”

Buggy swallowed, mouth dry.

“I’m sorry, Buggy,” Shanks said after a long, silent moment.  “If I’d known it was you, I wouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Buggy blinked.

Well.  Of course he wouldn’t have.  That went without saying.

He stepped back.  “I know that.”

“You do?”  Shanks frowned.  “I… good.”  Shoulders hunched, he turned to peer down at a plaque mounted beneath a pink-leafed bush.  “That’s good.  I don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings between us.”

“What’s there to misunderstand?”  Buggy spotted a bench and sat down.  He immediately felt clearer-headed.  Maybe Shanks was right about his tolerance.  “I get it.  You kiss strangers, not old friends.”

Shanks paused mid-step.  “Are you…” He spun to frown at Buggy.  “Are you deliberately misunderstanding me?”

“Hm?”  Buggy had just gotten comfortable, hiking one knee over the bench’s arm.  What was Shanks talking about now?

“Buggy.”

Buggy craned his head back to look up at Shanks.  He looked tall from this angle, and taller still when he leaned over Buggy, resting his hand on the back of the bench.  Shanks’ expression was unreadable, but intense.  Buggy’s mouth felt dry again.  Oh, this was bad.

“I was not apologizing for kissing you.  I was apologizing for kissing you wrong.”

“Kissing me wrong?” Buggy echoed bewilderedly.

“If I’d known that stranger was you, I still would have kissed you, if you’d let me,” Shanks said bluntly.  “I’d kiss you now, if you’d let me.  But it wouldn’t be like that kiss, it would be different.”

Buggy blinked, dumbfounded.

Shanks… wanted to kiss him.

Not the stranger he’d taken him for back then, but Buggy himself.

Had wanted to kiss Buggy then.

Still wanted to kiss Buggy now.

Would kiss him in a different way from a stranger.

“Different how?” Buggy croaked out.

For a long, agonizing moment, Shanks stared blankly at Buggy.  A furious heat rushed into Buggy’s face—there was no way to take a sentence like that back.  He couldn’t pretend it was simple curiosity.  He couldn’t pretend he wasn’t eager to be kissed.

Slowly, Shanks grinned, infuriatingly smug.  “Would you like me to show you?”

[nomoreusername]

The First Tears (Part 2)

Pairing:Gally x gender neutral reader

Summary:After Zart keeps pointing out exactly how well you and Gally fit, you decide to talk to him.

I looked over at Zart and tried to listen to what he was saying. Honestly. I just wasn't doing a very good job.

"Are you still upset about Gally?"He asked, pulling me back to reality.

"I couldn't care less,"I shrugged, lying straight through my teeth. It was obvious that he knew I was too.

"You know the one bad thing about you two?"He asked after a moment.

"Just one? You're telling me there's only one bad thing you can think of?"I asked, not knowing if he was being serious. Judging by the expression on his face he was.

"You're both stubborn. You're so much alike sometimes that it drives this wedge between you guys. The way you're both always wanting to be right and never willing to be the first to say you were wrong shucks you both over."

"That's not even true,"I scoffed.

"Why?"He questioned, like the answer wasn't obvious.

"Because I didn't do anything wrong,"I defended.

He looked me up and down, clearly telling me I had just heavily contradicted myself. I wasn't though. Honestly.

"I didn't,"I protested.

"Y/N, do you know what's the hard part about love?"He asked.

"What do you know about that?"I asked, knowing he'd never been in a relationship.

"I may not remember life before this, but I remember feelings. So stop being stubborn and hear me out,"He instructed.

I didn't say anything as I dug my shovel into the ground. His words felt a little too real, too true. "And I know you miss him,"He added. I was about to deny it when he passed by us. My eyes felt glued to him for just a second. He looked back at me, and I tried to pretend I didn't hurt as I looked back at the ground. I didn't want to know how he was looking at me, anger, sadness, irritation. No matter what if any negative emotion was directed at me seeing it would kill me inside.

"Fine,"I sighed, hoping he'd move on if I just agree.

"Love means compromise, and sometimes that means doing things you don't think is fair. If you listen to each other though then you could understand each other's side. That's how you meet in the middle."

"Just try. He might just surprise you,"Zart pushed. At that moment it occurred to me that maybe he was right. After all, he knew me better than almost everyone. As my best friend that was obvious. Only one person could beat him.

Only Gally could truly read me like the back of his hand. I've trusted him for as long as I can remember, and it feels like I've loved him even longer. Ever since I came up in the box I felt drawn to him.

So yeah. I need to at least try to talk to him.

♡ - - - ♡

I nervously glanced around as my eyes fixated on Gally who was sitting alone under the Watch Tower. Zart lightly shoved my forward. Naturally, I was scared out of my mind.

Still, I walked over to him. He didn't acknowledge my presence for a while as I stood there with my hands at my sides.

"Nothing,"He mumbled after a moment. I just looked at him, confused.

Can I sit?"I finally asked. He shrugged, and I did so. "Look. I know neither of us are exactly the best with feelings and all that, but I mean, I can try. I just don't get why you always think I want someone but you. It hurts because I do love you. Not anybody else. You were always the first choice. It just feels like you don't believe me when I say that. It just seems like you don't trust me,"I explained.

"You asked what you get in return for loving me, and I don't think there really is anything,"He continued.

"Oh,"I said, not knowing what else to say. We just stayed with dead silence for a while until I couldn't take it anymore.

"It's not that I don't trust you. It's just that I know people don't exactly think I'm the most deserving of you. I'm worried that one day you'll think the same thing. It would kill me to lose you. I guess I did though."

"Gally. I don't care what anyone has to say. They don't see what I do. They don't understand all the parts of you I love. The kind, the bold, the good listener, the protective, and everything else. I wouldn't trade that for anything. I guess I did though."

"I'm sorry I made you think I didn't trust you."

"I'm sorry for not taking your feelings more seriously. From now on I'll listen to you more. If you wanted to get back together I mean,"I said, adding the last part quickly.

"Yeah. I'd like that more than anything,"He responded, failing to hide his smile. "Hey. Do you still remember what this spot is?"He asked suddenly.

"Better than anything else. It's where we had our first kiss."

"So what if-"

"Just shut up, and kiss me,"I interrupted.

And he did just that. Only it wasn't a kiss. It was a promise that no matter what every road we take always leads back to each other.

[isobellenoire]

Solas is Neurodiverse.

This is of course my opinion, don't invalidate me, if you find comfort in this character then I'm glad, join the party!

• Info dumping (You boost his approval by asking him about magic & the fade... and oh my world does he have a lot to say about it!)

• Strong sense of justice... freeing the slaves, wanting to right wrongs. He feels so strongly about injustice, especially when he can sympathise (mages & elves) a strong sense of social justice is often linked with ND people because we are marginalised, mistreated and ridiculed. I can often get angry, irate and depressed when there's injustice in the world and for a lot of my ND friends it's the same.

• Likes to be alone (he still has friends who are spirits, but he doesn't actively seek out companionship with people) prefers his own company. (Hermit tarot... come on! I'm crying in INTP/INTJ here)

• Always reading, writing, he even paints a whole ass mural on the walls as skyhold in a short burst of time, hyperfocus/hyperfixation.

• Comes across as blunt. I've been told I'm blunt so many times it's infuriating when I don't mean to be, I'm just firm in what I know to be true and will say it without dancing around the matter.

• Speaks 'strangely' in a poetic rhythm. While not an exclusive trait, given everything else it holds merit.

• He does have a great deal of empathy if you romance him/get to know him, but on a surface level he seems distant because he doesn't open up personally! It takes a LOT to crack that egg. I'm 4 years into a committed relationship and I still get told I don't open up enough when I'm struggling with emotions because I keep them internalised... probably a trauma response but in Solas' case... yeah, definitely a trauma response.

• Comes across argumentative when talking about stuff to which the group (Dorian especially during party banter) will ask if he's upset with them, and he says he isn't. ND people are always stuffed in the 'uncanny valley' and seen as outsiders, or stand-offish... we're just not very good with social nuances in terms of delivery, but are deeply self aware of that and prefer to observe, and I argue Solas is incredibly self aware. (Knows when he is being 'selfish' or 'foolish')

• Incredibly knowledgeable on a lot because he's intensively researched it, has to know everything about that subject and becomes deeply immersed in it.

• He never lied about anytning, he just didn't throw it out there... Autistic people can lie you know... however not once did he lie, he just kept his secrets hidden, that's very different to lying. Lying wild be 'Are you Fen'Harel'?... 'No' I've kept secrets from people for a long ass time to spare their feelings and my own self interest. (Not as bad as it sounds ahah! Just an example)

• History nerd... C'mon most of us have a favourite time period that isn't this one...

• I mentioned the paintings, he's also an artist, as well as a dreamer. A lot of us have infiltrated science or the arts... or both! Most of the world's leading scientists and artists are ND. He probably has an idetic memory.

I have more if people care to hear it, but in my opinion and based on my own personal experience being AuDHD, I'd say he is. I resonate with his character more deeply than the others because no ND person is alike and we all have our own personal struggles/wins.

A similar example in media to Solas would be (and hear me out ahah) Walter White (minus the drugs) but intelligence and the way he speaks to others, hides stuff from people (and assumes an alias to seperate himself) I definitely see WW as Autistic. So why not Solas?

Can we please stop infantalizing ASD, and applying the manic pixie lense to it, there's so much more to it that just 'quirky'. Cole is practically confirmed, people have debated Sera being ADHD, but also they are painted with a similar 'childish' brush.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk ahah.

[sineala]

Superheroes and ethics

I realized that I wrote this last month on Patreon and forgot to post it here. I got asked to write meta about superhero ethics with regard to Steve and Tony. I ended up writing mostly about how Captain America's Plot Armor interacts with his principles.

I have been asked to talk about ethics and philosophy with respect to Steve and Tony. Unfortunately, the only philosophy-adjacent disciplines that I know well enough to speak about with any confidence are formal semantics and pragmatics, which isn't really all that useful in daily life unless you'd really like to learn about the differences between entailment, presupposition, and implicature, and also the Gricean maxims of conversation, which are great if you want to completely ruin conversations by violating them as many times as you possibly can.

So I'm not a philosopher, sorry.

But! I can talk more informally about Steve and Tony and ethics.

And I know there's been a lot of meta -- and actual books -- written about their differing views. I have a book here, A Philosopher Reads Marvel Comics' Civil War: Exploring the Moral Judgment of Captain America, Iron Man, and Spider-Man, by Mark White, which I have not read yet but it sounds like this is probably the book you want to read if you want an actual philosophical analysis of this stuff. Judging by the reviews, the author decides to associate Tony with utilitarianism and Steve with deontology. That is probably fun. I am in no way qualified to talk about it. On an informal level, the thing I find fascinating about them is that, when it comes down to it, Steve and Tony are really not all that different.

I have been thinking about this for a while, because the last time I left anonymous asks open on Tumblr, the final ask I got before I decided that this wasn't a good idea was someone who wanted to pick a fight with me by asserting that Steve/Tony was a bad pairing because "they don't think alike, have different morals, different interests, and different emotional issues that the other is not capable of helping out with." This is one of the reasons why I don't have anon asks on anymore. But I thought it was honestly an interesting thing to think about.

So I have been pondering this on and off for a while, and I realized that the thing that really bugged me about it was that their general thesis was that Steve and Tony were bad for each other because they have nothing in common. See, I don't think that's true. I think they have a whole lot in common. But I am also willing to acknowledge that canon likes to put them in situations where they're at odds with each other and it seems fairly easy to come up with circumstances that will cause them to want to beat the stuffing out of each other. But, crucially, this doesn't mean they have nothing in common.

(I also think they actually have a lot of similar interests and are actually very capable of helping each other with their emotional issues, which canon demonstrates multiple times. But that'd be a different essay.)

For me, one of the reasons why Steve/Tony are so compelling as a pairing is because they are so similar. Let's call it, like, 95% similar. They are remarkably like-minded when it comes to their values and how they view the world. It's just that then they can fight, bitterly, over the remaining 5% of differences.

They work well together most of the time and it's just the bits where they almost work together that are so agonizing and provide so much material for fandom. Because it's not like they don't understand where the other one is coming from, what they want, or why they want it. They do. They just don't understand how the other person can come up with a different path to the answer given their shared goal and shared values. Steve doesn't understand how Tony is willing to do something that Steve thinks is wrong, and Tony thinks, I don't know, that Steve's ideals are too naive for the real world. Tony thinks Steve's plans are unrealistic and Steve thinks Tony's plans are unacceptable.

There's also an additional complication, which is that Steve as a character has a lot of plot armor that Tony doesn't. Steve decides what he thinks is moral and what he thinks is immoral, and he simply does not do the immoral thing. And the thing is that the narrative helps Steve out with this. It's fine if he's idealistic! It's even okay if his ideals are naive! He almost never has to go against them. I am saying this as a big fan of Steve. The story really helps him out.

For example, Steve thinks that killing is wrong, so he doesn't kill anyone, generally speaking. (Depending on the retcon you believe in, he may have in fact killed zero people in World War II, which is kind of ridiculous.) But in situations where the best of the options involves killing someone, someone pretty much always ends up dead. It's just that someone else does the dirty work. Steve surrounds himself with a lot of spies and assassins (Bucky, Sharon, Natasha) and those people kill the people who need killing.

In Civil War, Steve believes Registration is wrong, and he never has to change his mind. He probably still believes it's wrong. Instead of going on trial, he dies; he never has to face the consequences of any of his actions. The narrative shields him from that. When he comes back to life, Registration is gone and he gets a pardon from the president. It's all taken care of. He causes a lot of damage, and he doesn't even have to say he's sorry for trying to bash Tony's face in, in public, with witnesses, after having destroyed what looks like several city blocks.

So Steve never compromises his principles, because he has the luxury afforded to him by the plot so that he almost never has to be in a situation where he'd have to decide whether he should compromise his principles, say, for the sake of the greater good. He doesn't have to make that choice, because Marvel's not interested in writing stories where Steve has to make that choice. So it just… doesn't come up. He almost never has to put his ethics to an actual test. If you hand Steve the trolley problem, he'd just say, well, I'd save everyone. That's not an actual option in the trolley problem. But he's pretty much always going to be in a plot where he gets to do the right thing and save everyone.

Tony, though? Tony has to do terrible things for the sake of the greater good all the time. He doesn't get to opt out of the decisions. Even on a personal level, he has to do terrible things to himself. He has to decide probably at least half a dozen times whether he should wear the armor even if wearing the armor is hurting him -- say, when he decides to take on the LMD in the arc where he gets his first artificial heart, or in Armor Wars II, or in that storyline in the middle of Busiek's run after he gets beaten up by the Mandarin. And he always decides to wear the armor no matter what the personal cost is to his body. He ends up in a lot of fights where he has to take pretty bad damage to save the world -- and while Steve would also make that decision, Steve's going to heal up and be fine, like in his recent run where Bucky shoots him in the shoulder. He has a healing factor and he's fine in a couple weeks. Tony breaks his back in order to save civilians and then gets addicted to morphine and ruins his life for a good long while. That kind of stuff, with lasting physical consequences, just doesn't happen to Steve. Let's not talk about Streets of Poison.

It's pretty obvious when you look at their biggest fights (say, Civil War and the incursions) that Tony believes that the ends justify the means, and Steve doesn't. However, Steve doesn't exactly have usable alternate suggestions. The plot armor helps him out there. Steve espouses extremely noble ideas, life and liberty and all that… that are not actually workable plans.

And because of how the narrative treats him, he doesn't really need to have workable plans, either. It's not like he actually uses them. Because he's just going to be fine. (Except in the incursions, but everyone came back to life afterward so it's all fine.)

Steve doesn't like the SHRA. Okay. Fine. He believes it's an unjust law. His plan is apparently to just… keep fighting Tony and anyone else who tries to take him into custody for not registering. What's his endgame? Does he have one? His plan appears to be "be on the run from the government forever." As far as I can remember, he would prefer the situation to go back to the way it was but he does not, to my knowledge, ever propose a way of achieving that. He's not out there saying the law itself should be found unconstitutional or anything.

Similarly, with the incursions, after the Gauntlet breaks, the Illuminati have no solution for an incursion that isn't building bombs and destroying the other Earth in the incursion. Either they act to destroy the other Earth, or through inaction, both Earths are destroyed. Big ol' trolley problem. Steve refuses to play. Steve says he can't countenance that. Excellent moral stance. It's very him. He says, "I believe we'll find a way to stop it." He doesn't have any ideas besides "not the thing Tony is doing," which appears to also be his stance about the SHRA. If they'd let Steve stay in the Illuminati… what would he have done? I suppose the possibility exists that if he managed to flip one of the scientists to his side he'd get them to think up an alternate answer. He could have suggested that everyone evacuate Earth. But he doesn't actually have an idea, personally for what to do. Other than "nobody should die."

(That isn't even what happens, in the end. Of course, by the end, Steve is trying to hunt Tony down and kill him, so you could argue that he's not really behaving much like himself there, and neither is Tony.)

Anyway. When you think about it, what Steve wants and what Tony wants, in both scenarios, is pretty much the same thing. They have the same values and the same goals; it's just that the paths they're willing to take are different. But when it comes down to it, they both actually want the exact same thing. Like they do most of the time. They both want to save the world. Except now they're fighting about how to get what they want. The fights are about the details. At least in 616.

We can contrast 616 Civil War with MCU Civil War. I have actually only watched CACW once, so this is going to be fun and possibly inaccurate. The 616 SHRA and the MCU Accords are, very broadly speaking, about the same general topic: government oversight of superheroes. In the MCU, after the disaster in Lagos, the UN decides that they can't just have the Avengers running around wherever they want, exploding things and getting people killed. Tony agrees with the need for UN oversight. Steve does not; he feels that the Avengers should be able to go wherever they need to go without getting caught up in red tape. Here in the MCU, Steve and Tony not only disagree on what the right thing to do is, they disagree on what the right outcome should be, and the reasons for that. Steve wants things the way they were. Tony would be okay with some amount of oversight. They both have different visions of the way the Avengers would look and operate, because they value different things; Steve wants autonomy and Tony wants accountability. The fight isn't just about the details. The fight is about everything.

This isn't the case in 616 Civil War. No one is fighting for (or against) "I, a superhero, should be able to go wherever I want for superhero reasons." UN oversight is one of those things that all the Avengers, including Steve, have agreed about for years; there are panels of Steve asking to get UN clearance before the Avengers zip off to Russia to save Tony. What happens in 616 is that an inexperienced superhero team gets into a fight they can't control, destroying a school in Stamford, CT, with massive casualties. The SHRA is a US bill saying that all American superhumans (which is probably thousands of people) should register with the government, receive training if they want to be heroes, and provide the government with their real names.

Both Steve and Tony are opposed to this, before Stamford. Then, when Stamford happens, Tony realizes the SHRA is happening no matter what and decides to support it. Even with the SHRA in effect, both Steve and Tony think there should be superhuman oversight; Steve just thinks it should be the teams training people up, the same way as they've always done. They don't even disagree about that; Tony also thinks they should be in charge of oversight, but he means himself (and Steve if Steve would ever join him). The people training superheroes would in fact still be them, both of them, no matter which side wins the war. Neither of them trust the government to handle Registration well. Steve's answer is to object to the very idea of Registration and to stay away from the government, and Tony's answer is to get in there and keep the superhero database in his own head so that Gyrich won't get the list of names and start sending Sentinels after everyone.

So they both massively distrust the government's presumed right and/or ability to safely do this, and want to protect superheroes from government oversight as much as possible. That's basically the same stance. Steve just thinks no one should get anywhere near the government, and Tony thinks if he gets in there he can make it less bad. He can be the guy doing the oversight. People who don't register might get arrested but at least they won't be killed by Sentinels, because he can stop that from happening. Steve isn't willing to imprison his friends at all, probably because he doesn't believe Tony when Tony says the only other option is death (i.e., they can't go back to the way things were -- although of course that's eventually what ends up happening, albeit long after Civil War is over). He probably thinks there's a secret third option, because for him there usually is. But what they basically want is the same thing. Tony's just willing to go a little farther than Steve is to get there.

Sure, Tony's plans aren't perfect. But he does have them. Sometimes they're really lousy, because sometimes there is no good solution. I acknowledge that he does a lot of things in Civil War that are actually pretty rotten. I am saying this as a fan of Tony. He does some bad things. He starts a war with Atlantis. He manipulates Peter Parker into unmasking, which has terrible consequences. He builds a prison. He imprisons a lot of his friends. But none of these things involve the government massacring superhumans. The one really, really bad future he's afraid of doesn't happen. (And we know, thanks to that one What If issue, that that's exactly what would happen if he weren't running Registration.) Other bad things happen, yes. But not that, which is the worst.

Steve doesn't want anything bad to happen. Steve just wants the good solutions, with no moral or ethical compromise on his part. and he usually gets them eventually by narrative fiat. Sometimes he has to die first -- which is, of course, what happens in Civil War -- but, eh, whatever, it's comics. That's not really a major drawback for superheroes. And eventually he gets what he wants, because comics return to the status quo. Everything goes back to the way it was.

It's the same thing with the incursions. Neither Steve nor Tony want their Earth to be destroyed, obviously, but Tony is willing to build bombs to destroy the other Earths in case they can't find any other solution. Steve says he thinks there will be another way. And neither of them want to use the bombs! Tony doesn't want to use them at all! The Illuminati don't actually find themselves in a situation where they have to decide whether to bomb a populated Earth until the Great Society incursion, and Tony refuses to be the one to do it. After Namor does it, Tony is distraught and says he thought they'd find another way -- which is the exact same thing Steve said to him except nobody kicked Tony off the Illuminati for saying it. They both have the same attitude. They want the same outcome. They don't want to use the bombs. It's just that Tony's willing to build them. They're pretty much on the same side here about everything (including the desire to not bomb other planets) except the lengths to which Tony is willing to go to have a backup plan. Just like Civil War.

I suppose I would say that, overall, comparing Steve and Tony's relative ethics seems hard to do in a way that is fair to both of them because Steve is so often given the ability to stick to his beliefs in a way that Tony isn't. "What does Steve do when he actually can't do the right thing" is one of those questions that doesn't seem to get explored all that much, except possibly at the end of Hickman's Avengers run, in which everything was going to hell anyway, and it wasn't like he got to be in Secret Wars to try to fix it. He does also tend to quit being Captain America when he doesn't like the government, although I think in that case that's more that doing the right thing at that time is Not Being Captain America.

(Secret Avengers is also a pretty good look at a Steve who has to do bad things and really, really doesn't like the things he's doing. He doesn't handle compromising his own values all that well. I think that would be a whole other essay.)

But anyway, yeah -- I think 616 Steve and Tony are on the same side when they fight, more than you might think they are given how many panels we have of them dramatically punching each other. Tony believes that the ends justify the means, and essentially, a lot of their fights are because Steve disagrees with Tony's means -- but he is very often 100% on board with Tony's actual motives, which I think is a fact that often gets lost when we start talking about their conflicts, because at that point we… want to talk about their conflicts. But I think they really do agree with each other a lot, which is what makes their conflicts so interesting and painful.

[coldbloodeddevil]

I always still find it weird that Tek has never properly shown Kazuya caring about Jin, even just slightly. Like it's so weird because they have him genuinely love Jun, but like... not her son? That's also his son? Like for the longest time, he assumed Jun was dead - Jin is literally all that's left of the first woman he's ever loved, yet he feels nothing about it? Like I'm not even saying for the series to depict him as a loving father - it's just weird that the series never shows him experiencing conflict, or hinting that he may care. Or hell, even show us Kazuya's THOUGHTS regarding Jun and how she had THEIR KID. Fuck, they could've delved into Kazuya maybe even feeling guilty that he left Jun alone with a child (albeit not REALLY his fault bc he was Le Killed, but still)

It's just so bizarre to me that TK8 is pushing the "Kazuya DOES genuinely love Jun!" (a good thing) yet still writing him as Evil Ruthless Villain toward their shared son.

Some people try to say "oh but he HESITATED killing Jin in the last fight!" But honestly... I think that's just people trying to see something that wasn't really there. Especially considering he tried to kill Jin already in the start of the game yet never hesitated - not to mention the other times in the series, or in the alternate "bad ending" lmao. I think what people thought was "hesitation" was Kazuya just being exhausted from fighting for probs like an hour lmao

Anyway, this is something that both annoys me and perplexes me.

Right? It's so weird. They say Kazuya is this complex, almost tragic individual. In 2 they nailed it, well as much as they could through the minimal story. Through him still treasuring Jun, Jinpachi and Kazumi. Then turn around and make him a saturday morning cartoon villan. The annoying thing is, during four, seven and five they tease this multi layer to him.

In his midsection of four, he asks what Heihachi did with Jin, even going with him into the most obvious trap ever. In the start of Heiachi and his own ending, He almost looks concerned for Jin before Devil takes over. Little baby Birds back then even thought he merged with Devil to save Jin. Then nooope, he cackles and kills everyone in his ending and that's it.

In five, He's seen genuinely respecting and caring for Jinpachi. We even see babbu Kaz and him training. He calls Jinpachi JiJi and it's so cute...aaand then he kills him and cackles.

In Seven, we finally get to see that tragic cliff scene in full and finally learn Kazuya's true motivation. The reason he has fallen so far. At just five years old. Heihachi killed Kazumi, Kazuya's mother. Nearly everything he's done. He's done to avenge her. Mirroring Jin's own past and motivations. Could this finally be the end of the cycle? Nah, Jin spends the entire game comatose. We find out Kazumi sent Akuma from the streets to kill Heihachi and Kazuya. (With a heartbroken moment of Kazuya reeling from the reveal.)

A show of his good side in how he tells his empolyees to flee instead of stupidly risking their lives ina fight they'd never win. Then the climatic, emotional final showdown between father and son. A tragedy born of greif and hatred coming to an end. Were Kazuya finally wins.. But is just so tired (and sad) to feel any kind of closure before Akuma strikes again.

.....aaaand then he goes on to take over the world again and Jin finally wakes up. He becomes even worse, indiscriminately killng his empolyeed and enemy combatants alike, tries to kill his own son with. As you said, no hesitation. While randomly empolying the woman that killed his old empolyee. While also somehow still loving Jun.

Oh and Heihacji isn't dead after all. ¯_(ツ)_/¯

So yeah, Tekken is very confusing and werid.

[koalatysleep]

That time Togashi straight out told us the real story in YYH is in the subtext, through - what else - subtext 🤣

This was in the manga chapter immediately after Kuwabara seemingly defeated Toguro in the Yukina rescue mission, after he seemingly falls in love with her at first sight without even knowing her name or who she is. 🤣

In case you're wondering what this seemingly throwaway reminiscence from Togashi is referring to, here's the "translation" of his subtextual meaning: 🤣

Togashi in above notes: "I wasn't the type to blatantly and directly defy school regulations... I'm the type who live to defy the law in indirect and clever ways that eludes the notice of the teachers so I can play right under their noses without getting caught or having my fun (manga, games) taken away from me."

=

What Togashi means: "I'm not the type to blatantly defy the authorities like the censors or the powers that be at Shonen Jump by blatantly writing the real story in the main text, I'm the type who defies the authorities by cleverly hiding the real story in the subtext, which eludes the notice of the authorities so I can have fun right under their noses without losing publication or being forced to stop."

As though to make sure we understand that Yukina is a proxy character for Yusuke where Kuwabara's feelings are concerned, the official Chinese manga even has fourth wall dialogue to tell us through Hiei that Yukina was captured by slavers because she broke the rules to play with animals in the mountains and was easily discovered while playing.

Yup, Togashi told us through this fourth wall dialogue that he'd lose his freedom to play (i.e. tell the real story he wants to tell), just like Yukina lost her freedom, if he makes the Kuwameshi love story too easily detectable, coz that's against the rules. 😭

Also, the fact that Toguro was the one to inflict emotional torture on Yukina by killing her bird friends foreshadows how he's the one to torture Yusuke emotionally by killing Kuwabara in the dark tournament. Yup, the narrative itself uses Yukina as a proxy for Yusuke, just like Kuwabara expresses his feelings for Yusuke through the proxy of Yukina. And oh yeah, birds are a symbol of Kuwameshi romantic love in YYH anime. The depth of subtext is always mind blowing 🤯😜

As for what the real story is - well, Togashi & Anime Studio Pierrot told us this countless times throughout canon, through subtext that shows us what the real story is about, while telling us the narrative misdirection (i.e. the cover lie) of what the story seems to be about, fourth wall dialogue that straight out tells us things they want to make sure we don't miss 🤣, sequence of events which reveal cause-&-effect and thus True Character Motivations, mirror & proxy characters, body language cues, even lighting & background music of scenes, choice of clothing & colors for characters, etc.

Ya know, basically all the same techniques that are used in storytelling outside of anime in good live action films & series for adults, which makes YYH a Truly Great Work of Art that bears repeated viewings, because the subtext is so rich & deep, I guarantee it will blow your mind ;P

If you take nothing else from this post & ain't the type to read meta or subtext, just "trust me bro" on this 🤣- YYH is about Life and what makes life worth living, Death and what's worth dying for, all the ways in which we can destroy ourselves and each other, all the ways in which we can save ourselves and each other, the complex nuances and grey areas that people exist in outside of the simple duality of "Good" vs "Bad", Kindness, Mercy, living by your own Moral Code and standing up for it, Friendship, Family both biological and found, Humor, Tragedy, Marginalized & Misunderstood people and how at the end of the day we're more alike than we think, all the bittersweet ways Life can break your heart while filling it to the brim... but most of all, Yu Yu Hakusho is about LOVE.

Tagging @sadique-angel coz you enjoy YYH subtext and the way Togashi did it here with his seemingly throwaway reminiscence is brilliant 🤣❤️👌

[wooawi]

my favourite thing to write has got to be perspective. specifically “making the good guy look like the bad guy and vice versa”.

Lila is a compulsive liar and a heartless manipulator? No, Lila Rossi was the new girl in Paris. Just another face in the endless wave of day to day tourism the city saw. She was nothing special, not really, and everything around her seemed to remind her of such. But, with a new arrival comes a new life, and she decided that this was her chance for a change. Something unique, something special.

All it took was a few well-placed lies. A whisper here, a mutter there. Just little things, things so extraordinary that people would rather stare in awe than fact check her, yet insignificant enough that if she was caught, it wouldn’t matter. She was ready, prepared to live this exciting facade she had restlessly created.

But, as with all things, it wasn’t enough. She wanted more, namely what the superheroes of Paris had. The two most beloved individuals in the whole city. She wanted a piece of it, wanted to be loved with even a fraction of the feverish fervour their fans showed them. Besides, who hasn’t lied at least once about a celebrity or two? Something small, something childish but still awe-inspiring.

“Ladybug saved my life once.” She dropped to the girl who ran the semi-famous Ladyblog. All she got was a nod and a smile. Lila gritted her teeth in a wide smile and thought hard. She needed something more. Perhaps…

“And then, well. We became best friends.” There! Those looks! The bright eyes and intrigue! The rapid fire questions and curious approaches! That’s exactly what she was looking for. Nothing could have brought her down, she had thought. Nothing could’ve popped her bubble of joy and brought her back down to Earth; Back to commonalty.

Well, nothing other than Ladybug herself.

Swooshing down from the bright sky too fast for Lila to see, too fast for Lila’s brain to form a proper plan, a way out, an escape route–

“Well hey Lila! How's it going? Long time no see. I saw your interview on the Ladyblog, awesome job!” …What? The Ladybug, hero of Paris and beloved celebrity, knew of Lila? Sardonic tone be damned, Lila was known! She hasn’t shifted into obscurity like she feared, and never would if Ladybug knew her! Oh goodness, she could’ve kissed the hero where she stood!

Her hands were reaching out, about to cut the hero short to salvage what she could and turn this glorious opportunity to her advantage, but Ladybug flinched away from her touch and narrowed her eyes derisively. Lila flinched in turn, her hands frozen in the air with realisation.

But, no. No way. Surely a celebrity wouldn’t waste their time calling out one overzealous fan… right?

“Oh sure!” The hero sneered, her nose scrunching in distaste. “I remember our instant connection when I saved your life and we've been really good friends ever since! Practically BFF's!” Yes exactly, now please, please, go away. Lila was practically begging in her mind. The allure was wearing off, the true horror of what this meant for the rest of her life here stamping itself into her mind. All she had to do was put one word in and get Ladybug to stop talking–

“Uh actually, when did I save your life again, Lila? I don't recall.” Shit, shit! Lila glanced at Adrien’s emerald gaze, his curious eyes soft yet accusing at the same time. Her own eyes stung, a familiar yet unwelcome emotion gathering in them.

“Oh yes! Of course, now I remember. Never! And we're not friends either! Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her.”

Silence.

Ladybug’s speech had worked her up enough to heave the hero’s chest with unsung breaths, her cheeks flushed with anger. She stood waiting, her leg placed between Lila and Adrien on the bench, the divide palpable. Both of them, Adrien and Ladybug alike, kept their eyes on Lila as if the girl was an incompetent child on the verge of a tantrum. As if she going to lash out, to push back on a quest long failed and forgotten. Lila jerked her head away and squeezed her teary eyes shut.

Plip plop. The first two drops sank into her flimsy leggings leaving circular dark spots in their wake. Adrien gasped and Ladybug jolted hard enough for the motion to be felt across the bench. The clicking of a tongue could be heard.

“So I guess you aren't the descendant of a superhero either?” Lila didn’t dignify the ask with a response. Ladybug had aired out her dirtiest laundry in a fit of rage, for some reason known only to the hero, and Adrien had the audacity to push? One by one, her lofty ideals of Paris and its beloved were crumbling before her very watery eyes.

Ladybug scoffed when Lila didn’t reply. “She's more like a super liar.”

Yes, and? Lila wanted to say. It had never been a sore spot for her, her ability to weave falsehoods into palatable stories a thing of pride in her mind. And yet, Ladybug had managed to twist it into something to be looked down upon, something she should be ashamed of. Lila felt something hot and sickening unfurl in her chest.

“How dare you?” Lila wasn’t aware of the words escaping her mouth until she found herself staring up into Ladybug’s taken aback face. The brunette tried her hardest to glare through all the tears and snot, trying to make herself as intimidating as possible, trying to do something to avenge herself somehow. But…

But Ladybug rolled her eyes and turned away, her face changing to something softer once she was facing Adrien. With her back turned and Adrien staring back, mouth agape as if unsure what to say, Lila understood perfectly. She was left forgotten, discarded as an afterthought, as if she was nothing more than a bug squished beneath the hero’s shoes.

Lila choked on her half-formed words and gathered herself and the shattered pieces of her pride from the bench. Then, she walked away, her face scrunched and hands clenched.

[granulesofsand]

🗝️🏷️ RAMCOA intermixed with conspiracy theories

I forgot how out of pocket RAMCOA professionals(?) can be. Like, I agree we should believe people and support their healing the best we can, but this video I’m watching has more conspiracy theories from the admins than the survivors. There was one survivor who spoke about one big cult trying to normalize Luciferianism and pedophilia among other things, but they are also on the admin panel. One other survivor still hadn’t worked through the ‘specialness’ groups fed them and thought they had physical psychic powers, and even that was mild compared to the staff.

First admin to speak was the ‘global Satanic cult’ survivor, and they sincerely believe that vaccines are a lie and pandemics are made in labs. After them was a guy who was really insistent that weed and caffeine were common for mind control purposes, and that TV was made to normalize violence and put people into trace — which, he wasn’t entirely wrong, but also not too close to the bullseye there. Then one mostly normal guy who very gently asked whether the world was going to shit because of hundreds of coincidences or a plan, pretty open-ended and tolerable. Then the only guy with a degree listed seemed okay, and then started talking about abusers being soulless and COVID masking having no purpose but to remove loving emotion.

The intro to this video was a cringy song about saving the children, and the first speaker cited remote viewing as corroborating a facility in another state doing mind control (uncertainly, but he did say it).

Most of the survivor testimonies at least made sense, but half the video is over and it’s already been an hour and a half. I was hoping to add this to my list of resources for a new clinician we got through the DV shelter, but. I think not. Probably gonna go back to annotating Miller’s clinician book, cause it’s looking like that’s as good as it gets.

Yeah. We do believe governments participate in organized abuse and cooperate amongst themselves and local groups/people who can afford to get away with it, and we do understand that many products used and sold can aid in mind control, but that doesn’t mean that every piece of every story is true off the bat. Many drugs have a mostly normal history of getting onto the street, though many have ties to organizations in the present. Many trance-inducing mediums came to us naturally, though some are used (in a minority of contexts) for more nefarious purposes. They just don’t make the distinction, and the religious ideology bleeds into all of it even worse. We’re pretty open minded about sanctioned atrocities, but they go too far. And we were abused in a Satanic cult who killed children. Wild.

They just went on a whole tangent about saying COVID was overdone/a lie, and that both that and 9/11 were Satanic death rituals. Y’all. They did just get to how poverty and foster care was bad — nevermind they made it a Satanic thing again. They are taking all of these non-coincidences, but incorrectly attributing them to one big cult. Girl. The word ‘culture’ and ‘cult’ are alike because they are etymologically from the same Latin root. And they called transgenderism against humanity. It gets progressively worse. I’m listening in real time now and you can tell. Every mildly true take is followed by three more bullshit ideas.

It is an enemy of progress to assume that all issues are related by perpetrator. The events do intertwine, but we’re ignoring those intricacies and the true causes — and how to work with them as a result — to shove them under one cause we cannot prove. We will not find where they are tied if we have already decided it is this one specific way. It would be okay if it were true or at least undisputed, but much of what they talk about does not fit the research and existing examinations despite also not providing resources to support these theories. The strings laid out, I can see how they reached their conclusions, but I cannot get around the refusal to see other explanations. It weakens their argument so deeply it has nearly no integrity remaining. And they speak of rationality and sense as if they would know it if it came up and bit them.

The next segment is saying not to criticize them because it discourages conversation. I could be politer, good communication is important. This is the one guy who I would listen to again. I agree that we need to have more in-depth conversations to make heavy topics make sense. I am still not willing to tolerate faith tradition as science or accept any explanation without talking about it, but I would have a conversation with any of these people. I simply can’t listen to them speak conference style.

Why has it been so difficult to communicate? Because of you. Because you provide no sources except half-inaccurate non-academic works. Because you use every other sentence to attack another construct that is largely helpful. Because you don’t want to talk, you just want to say it. And the Christians are taking about their savior complex again.

Mmm, judges wear robes because global Satanic cult. All government is in on out. Again, some people are. There are symbols of faith traditions in government that don’t need to be there. Many stand-out details become easy places to meet or reinterpret for victims if they weren’t already made for dangerous purposes. There are many generational and governmental genuine conspiracies that do occur, people who do collaborate. Still infrequently that structured or globally involved. It’s a funky mix of things that can and do happen and calling it all one giant Satanic operation. Too many big claims with no backup.

These speakers talk about empowerment and shaking free, yet they use mind control tactics themselves. Tell us what to consume and how, from information to literal food. He called the TV a hypnobox. This is not safe. Educate people about why, host conversations about what they can do, but issuing commands and layering it with fear is half of what they are saying is Satanic.

We should be healthy. We should be watching out for dog whistles and nonsensical political decisions, but not every music video is a ritual and not every painting is a message. Talk to people with different opinions, see if your community’s ideas hold up against theirs. It’s not all wrong, but very little is right.

And they’re forcing spirituality again. Gross. We can believe in morals and kindness without having to share a faith tradition. And here comes Global Satanic Cult as the true enemy, describing introspection as soul. Icky icky. “Pedophile transgender agenda”. We’re not right wing conspiracy theorists tho. Created unnatural weather events. Use a source, any source, y’all are dropping these left and right. Psychopaths as any person we don’t like.

Re-educating children to keep them from doing away with gender norms. The guy talking about this one is preaching kindness while telling us we are evil for not being traditionally male or female, or, worse, transgender✨.

So basically Satanic global cult and gender roles. That’s what this was about. They spoke next to nothing about education or what to do to help survivors. Just fearmongering and ignorance.and a shitty ending song. I feel like those 2 hours were stolen. It was all just poking at wounds. Disgusting. I won’t be linking this video, I find it would cause more harm than good. We don’t need their shit, we’re doing better on our own. Good riddance.

[sammyemerson]

just little things about sam i love:

the way they dress!   all the color and patterns and crop tops nearly on the daily   —   even present day and year,   ​​​​​​​you will not get them to dress any other way.   they do dress with darker colors or all in black on certain days and for hunting but!   ​​​​​​​most of the time,   they’re dressed so brightly,   ​​​​​​​and it’s so true to them.   ​​​​​​​also,   this is a way they show they will never be broken down cause their father definitely tried to shut this down.   and they do not believe in gendered clothing so they’ll wear whatever they feel good in and look cute in.   you can see their style here. very early on,   sam refused the title hunter.   considering their family history and town history,   they don’t like what it implies and they prefer the title protector.   they learned very early on that not all vampires are bad or evil despite what most in their life believe,   and they will do anything that they can to help those that need it.   sam will happily protect humans and creatures alike   —   they will also definitely protect vampires from other hunters.   in the end,   they do realize and recognize that they don’t really fit in anywhere,   and it’s one of the reasons they never take on a hunting partner.   they only hunt with their beloved dogs,   nanook and tikaani!   of course,   at some point sam did have a hunting partner in charlie,   but then she passed,   and never again. i always talk about how they are so good and wear their heart on their sleeve,   how they are still so human even after being forced to turn,   and they refuse to be ashamed of their vulnerability and emotions,   but that’s so special to me because it was something that he was abused for when he was growing up.   his father thought them to be weak and too feminine and tried to beat it out of them,   but refusing to let it break them became their own way to rebel against it and survive.   this sticks even after they are turned,   because they refuse to lose themselves despite being forced into this new reality.   and that’s just something so special about sam honestly,   i always say that they were destined for the shadows,   but it doesn’t mean that they take over them ever. speaking of sam being turned and standing out from other vampires,   i always loved that even in canon they were different!   vampires in tlb have golden eyes and the classic long fangs,   but sam is shown to have kept their blue eyes after they were turned,   they just glow blue.   and they don’t have the two long front fangs,   but instead have smaller double fangs top and bottom.   their facial structure and body also doesn’t shift as much as it for the other vampires,   just minimally around the eye area.   to put it into tvd terms,   sam really does give werewolf who was turned into a werewolf-vampire hybrid,   which is amusing to me since i always said that sam would’ve been eventually turned into a werewolf if the vampires hadn’t gotten them first.

anyway,   rest assured that you can always find sam on the boardwalk with their dogs,   just headphones on and popping bubblegum.