#and yet. everything is still treated so black and white. good and bad. logic and creativity. math and art.

[7-oh-ta1]

"[...] that is, that man everywhere and at all times, whoever he may be, has preferred to act as he chose and not in the least as his reason and advantage dictated. And one may choose what is contrary to one’s own interests, and sometimes one positively ought (that is my idea)."

Stares up at my ceiling dostoevsky I need to have a conversation with you

[casterintherye]

Descendants 4 is Insane

The politics and themes of new Descendants movie is so bizarre and I just fucking need to rant into the void about it so bear with me. This will be long

-We're introduced to Red as "the only one standing up against the Queen of hearts", in a vigilante outfit that is so obviously in her exact style and doing various acts minor vandalism over a catchy pop song. Like she breaks some stuff and splashes paint on her mom's portrait and that's it. Lyrics like "appetite for destruction" are sung as she cuts flowers and breaks vases. It doesn't come across like she's in any way a liberator or fighting for justice, she is literally just having a rebellious phase.

-The Queen of Hearts is so obviously an Authoritarian dictator and this treated with such levity by the movie compared to the actual actions she takes. She stages a fucking coup (very easily I might add?) against Uma and nearly gets Cinderella, one of their most beloved public figures, executed, and yet Red spends most of the movie complaining about how her mom doesn't like her clothes. She's mad she can't leave Wonderland and can't go to the fancy boarding school and not that innocents are regularly being executed and freedoms are restricted

-FURTHERMORE, when Red goes back in time and meets her mother, Bridget, she is shown to be extremely caring and empathetic, completely opposite to her characterization in the first act to the point I still don't fully believe they were the same character. From vague lines said before they travelled, Red and Chloe deduce that a prank pulled on her mother during a school dance was the reason for her sudden shift in personality. Obviosly, the idea that one act of high school bullying can make a very normal, nice girl into a facist dictator is absurd, so I thought this was a very obvious bait and switch, and that throughout the movie we would see that Bridget's persona was some sort of mask hiding her evil nature. NOPE. They stop the prank being pulled on Bridget, and when they travel back to the future, she is nice and normal and not a dictator. HUH. In the canon of this movie a couple of school bullies pulled a prank so bad that it turned an empathetic caring young girl into an oppressive authoritarian presumably responsible for the death of thousands

-Also, about this prank: Red and Chloe spend a bit of the movie trying to figure out who pulled it in the first place. They witness an altercation with Bridget and Uliana (Ursula's little sister?) and her gang of villains, and are led to the very obvious conclusion that it is Uliana who will prank Bridget. She is oppenly saying she willb take revenge and everything. This would be a very logical conclusion if this wasn't a movie, in real life this is how these things work, but the thing is THIS IS A MOVIE. First rule of mystery in movies is the most obvious answer is never the real answer, there always has to be a twist.

My next thought was Cinderella. In the present, there are lines that suggest tension between The Queen of Hearts and Cinderella, and they are shown to be close friends in the past. If it was Cinderella who pulled the prank, it would give a reason for the sudden break in a seemingly very close relationship and also tie into Chloe Charming's arc about how not everything is black and white, and that good people can still do bad things. This was such and obvious and easy way for this movie to go, there is even a scene where Ella gets mad at Chloe for breaking something on accident, and is shown to hold grudges, and there are regular comments made by Chloe about how her mom isn't as "queenly" in the past as she is in the present. This would be so easy, it was literally my first thought. But no. The easy answer is the answer. In the movie whose message is morality is complicated and the heros and villains aren't always clear, the obvious villains are the obvious villains.

-AND ALSO, can we talk about how there is a school where heros and villains are both attending? Like, Maleficent is classmates with Cinderella. There is a character who is the son of Morgan le fay, going to a school where Merlin is the principle. This to me could mean two things

These are the villains before they committed their crimes. Maleficent isn't Maleficent, she's just a bitchy fairy mean girl

There is no system of accountability for these kids. Hades regularly tries to steal people's souls and the school can't/won't do shit about it besides give out detentions

Both situations are utterly insane to me, number two for obvious reasons, but also becaus there are already obvious clicks of kids whose main goal is to cause trouble for the school just vibing. Morgie, Morgan le fay's kid, introduces himself as such. This means Morgan is already well known, and I don't know what other reason there could be for that other than her villainy. Villains exist in this universe, these kids are clearly just diet villains, and the school doesn't seem to give af it's raising the next generation of evil muderers right alongside the realms most precious royalty

-and lets go back to that morality thing. There's a point in the movie where it becomes clear the most reliable way to fix the future is breaking into the principles office. Chloe is opposed to this, but later comes around, and breaking the rules directly results in the redempotion of Red's mom. Cool. Combined with Red's vigilante shit it the beginning, it's a clear message for the movie to have. Except it isn't. Because while Descendants is very liberal in painting itself in an aura of "coolness" by making its main characters the children of villains, and having all these themes of moral complexity, all change is made, in univers, by working within the system and rooting out the few bad apples in an otherwise perfectly functioning liberal democracy.

The VK's coming to Auradon is, from a real world perspective, an obvious PR stunt to make Ben look good for supporting the underprivileged villains. Auradon was a world where children paid for the crimes of their parents by being forced to live in poverty and squalor, being raised by parents who have literally killed people. They are very obviously shown to be horrible parents, and yet this rampant child abuse epidemic on The Isle goes completely unexamined by the text aside from that one cookie scene in the firsts movie. This would be cool to examine becuase it literally works perfectly with the stories themes, but it just doesn't. The King and Queen who made this system are never painted as anything other then a bit misguided, and not like, literal war criminals. All violence before this point has been shown to be evil, even if it was being done in the name of fixing this fucked system (Uma for example). It wants to endorse vigalante justice as an aesthetic and not in a way that would in any way challenge the real world systems of oppression it's pulling its aesthetics from. So no, this theme doesn't work. Auradon is the bad guy, full stop, and the movies can't see that.

It tries to advocate for restorative justice by giving all the Villains a "second chance", but doesn't examine any of the ways that would logically work, or the consequence of unleashing convicted killers who have a pattern for holding grudges on a society that hates them on some random Tuesday. Villains are villains because someone was mean to them in high school, authoritarianism pales in comparison to telling you daughter you don't like her outfit, and murder does not exist because it's not happening to our main characters.

Anyways Descendants is neoliberal propaganda which shouldn't be surprising because it was made by Disney.

[thanakite]

Just finished Good Omens season 2 and honestly cannot figure out the hate for it I've seen

Like for 1 you all do understand that Neil intends for there to be 1 more season so it is logical that this season didn't wrap everything up

For another if you are salty about the ending itself and that like Crowley and Aziraphale didn't run off together or whatever then I desperately need you to be aware that you haven't been paying attention

Crowley was always saying they should run off together and it was always Aziraphale who said no, who kept believing that Haven = good and Hell = bad, and truly believes that God has a set plan that isn't mean, cruel, or terrible but that the angels and others cause mistakes to be made, Crowley was the one who saw that both sides were/are essentially the same and that what he wanted truly was to be the middle ground that protected the place he enjoyed being (Earth) with the Angel he loved/loves while still being able to do all the things he enjoys doing (which is decidedly not being an Angel, but also isn't doing everything the demons want him to either)

To use an easy example from this season, Maggie and Nina

Now these two come to Crowley and compare their relationship and how they are to Crowley and Aziraphale, but what they don't get is that Crowley isn't Nina, he's Maggie

Maggie gets that she's in love with Nina, pined from a far, did what she could to be around her, get to know her, but also not saying anything out of fear

Crowley knows he's in love with Aziraphale and most likely has for a long time, he's a demon, he understands the goods and bads of the world and really without that dichotomy you don't get the full picture, so to him he would recognize a distinct love for one being over how he feels for everyone else but Aziraphale would likely have a more difficult time of it (he knows it's there but doesn't have to think about it too much because he is good and loves pretty much everyone and is simply kind and all that), Crowley pines for him from afar for a long while but continually bumped into him (a lot of times purposefully), and slowly got to know him, but never expressed his true feelings at least in part out of fear, fear of the consequences not just from Hell or other Demons, or even Heaven but from Aziraphale himself too

Meanwhile, Nina was in a hyper controlling relationship with someone who treated her poorly and yet she just kept doing what she could to stay together and to make things right, she has a very narrow way of looking at things, doesn't notice how much Maggie likes her, and overall seems to have a high sense of duty

Heaven could easily take on a similar role in Aziraphale's life as Nina's girlfriend took on in hers and in many ways we have seen these things from them, Aziraphale despite being on Earth so long still doesn't see how grey everything is but only a small middle grey with significant amounts of black and white, doesn't see how Crowley feels about him (and really a lot of things in their lives), and obviously has a big sense of duty

Like just look at the very end of the season, if Crowley and Aziraphale were humans with their same personalities Aziraphale would be the one who'd be like "Oh crap even with being up for 30 hours straight I gotta get to work and give everyone their coffee and stay open all day" whereas Crowley would be the one to go to his place of business and simply sleep the day away there

Aziraphale was always going to leave to take Gabriel's place and Crowley was always going to be the one who expressed his feelings first and said "let's just run away together"

And again we are in the 2nd of 3 acts, of course everything isn't wrapped up all neat with a bow it isn't over yet!

So yeah this season was great and if the ending is a disappointment to you then you likely haven't been paying attention and likely should wait until the show is officially over before judging it as incomplete or whatever else

[ignitification]

What the Future Holds

“It is the temptation of war to punish; it is the task of policy to construct.” (Henry Kissinger). 

There has been a lot of debate around what is going to happen after (the heroes win? AfO is defeated? The Villains are saved? - are all valid hypothesis), right at the end of BNHA. Long ago, though, someone asked - what would be the reaction of the civilians at large when this all goes down? We know for a fact that while, more or less, our protagonists are in the loop of what exactly went down with the villains (or at least that they have not had a lot of positive experiences and possibilities to grow up as good as them), the civilians know close to nothing (apart from Touya’s broadcast, which in hindsight should be at least enough to make space way for the possibility of civilians understanding the woes of the villains and trying to accept the change which this ending will brings, and yet) when it comes to this matter. Will they be able to accept ‘a hero’ saving ‘a villain’? Will the change in society, the abolishment of a Quirk Society in general and the aftermath of the war (likely the cancellation of the hero rankings, and just the demotion of the title hero as profession) be accepted eventually?

While these are question to which I would like to answer ‘It depends’, I’d say that it might be the case, but the change will be slow, gradual and likely painful. Let’s take the example of Heteromorph Quirks, which, so many years after the discovery and establishment of quirks, are still looked down upon. This highlights the struggle with which this society adapts, and that it adapts to only certain parts of the society (which are usually the pretty parts, while the ugly ones are or ignored or just thoroughly refused to look at). It is the same principle we see in not only the narrative of Lady Nagant (and the rose-colored glasses with which civilians see society and pro-heroes), and the villains themselves (as their Quirks made them unfit for the general public to be displayed or used) but also in the same narrative which Izuku carries - he struggles to accept himself as someone who is Quirkless, and takes his chances to inherit All Might’s power, a little because of his dreams and more because that way he can also be part of that same society who treated him like shoe’s dirt before he gained ‘power’ and a standing as a UA student with a Quirk fit to be a hero.

We can see and take a little bit from what is probably going to be the reaction to the ending, both by seeing the reaction we have to Dabi’s broadcast, the press conference of the Top 3 and Izuku going rogue and looking villainy, as well as the public’s reaction to him coming back to UA.

Being likely familiar with these scenario, it definitely does not hit as a positive-filled situation, but rather the outage of the small mindedness and the expectancy of a perfect world division in villains and heroes by the civilians. Yes, it is the famous panel of the dichotomy of heroes and villains and look who already did foresee this so long ago: a villain, which is hilarious in itself but also pretty logical if you think about it.

The thing is, that as told millions times before the core problem of this society is that it does not understand nuance (and so doesn’t this fandom, for that matter): everything should be white or black, good or bad, hero or villain. But in reality, this dichotomy falls short of understanding what is hidden behind the curtain: the ugly truth of the fact that sometimes there is no good or bad, and that maybe sometimes the good is not as good and bad is not as bad. And as said million times before again, this stems from the fact that a. society has been kept in the dark from the deeds that the HPSC has done all these years, therefore conditioning and manipulating society into believing that a distinction exists; and b. it is rather easier to separate the good and the bad guys by a simple principles like a working label and to stick to it, even in front of rather compelling evidence. In the end, it is clear that the public has trust issues at their finest, but it then shows what a shaky base these society has been built on: a rather fine balance, which has been topped over once the castle of cards has been knocked down. 

It is in the hands of the new generation then, to attempt and change how thing have been so far. Retributive justice, just like in the quote above, is always tempting - and it is no brainer that it will be likely very hard for the civilian to accept whatever is thrown at them in the end, which does not involve the imprisonment and therefore the punishment of the villains. But at the same time, it is also true, that slowly but steadily things are staring to look up: we have Shouto who wants to save his brother, and Izuku who instead is trying to understand the villains and why they become such, stemming from his will to understand and help Shigaraki. After all, their main power is to change things up: a change which, hilariously, can be seen concretely by Bakugou’s words in chapter 323. Bakugou, who is a byproduct of that same society, is admitting his faults and the fact that it happens at this moment is likely a foreshadow for a major scale change: after all, the entire society owes an apology to the villains, big time. It is not a case then, that the narrative is putting everything to its places and showing us the before, and the tough process of change and the consequences of it. In this scenario, Izuku, Shouto, Bakugou, Ochako and generally the UA kids play the role of policymakers: they are looking in the future, trying to get an overview of the situation which they know as true and the one the villains consider as true and then trying to do ‘the right thing’: unfortunately, there is never a right thing when it comes to these matters, and no shoe-fits-all solution. It will therefore be interesting how exactly things will play out and whether society (in a not so distant future) might accept the fact that the villains can be victims, and in search for the satisfaction of that same retributive justice they are trying to enforce on them. In my opinion, the effort made by the young generation in this matter will be crucial: some people will refuse to accept such a thing (blaming the villains for everything that went wrong since day 1), other will struggle with accepting it and likely will remain neutral (which, in hindsight, is even worse as it is somehow similar to the civilians that thoroughly ignored Tenko when we was clocharding of the streets) and the who begrudgingly might accept the fact that exactly like Dabi said, pro-heroes are not always heroes in private too and they have as much harm potential as villains, it just does not get publicly displayed. And maybe, slowly, society will come to the consensus that while not always the case, offering a hand to those who struggle, might save a life - and why not, maybe at one point they will stop classifying people as ‘heroes and villains’, and instead accept themselves as humans altogether. But such is the human struggle: lost in the will to put a label on things, and forgetting that unlike labels, humans have the infinite capacity to grow, expand and change.

[butwhyduh]

The Farm

Damian Wayne x Jon Kent

Summary: just 2 boys in love but won’t admit it. I have the attention span of a butterfly so this is as close as I get to a slow burn lmao. I just think they are adorable and I headcanon Damian as demisexual. I did actually age them above 18 but this is sfw. Only a little kissing. There’s a bigot but he gets punched.

“I heard about the farm,” Damian said as they sat on a rooftop in New York. “Sorry.” They were drinking milkshakes after saving the city. Well Jon was as Damian had a vegan smoothie instead.

“Yeah, they foreclosed,” Jon said, his bright blue eyes uncharacteristically stony. “Thanks. Just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

“You know I could help you.. financially. If you need,” Damian offered carefully. Jon shifted in his seat and took a drink of his shake.

“It’s not your job. I’ll figure out how to keep it. Don’t worry,” Jon said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Congrats on vet school. Not that it’s a surprise. You were top of your class.”

“Oh thanks. But seriously, I have no problem writing a check right now, Jon,” Damian emphasized. Jon stared at him silently. It was so tempting to let Damian solve his problems but that wasn’t the Kent way.

“I don’t know,” Jon said shifting uncomfortably. Damian noted that it wasn’t a no.

“I will be going to school in Metropolis in the fall. The farm in Smallville is a lot closer to the university than my place in Gotham,” Damian said hoping to come off as casual. Apparently not as Jon almost fell off the roof in shock.

“Live- with me,” he asked, his eyebrows rose quickly.

“Oh, I suppose. Yes, that is what I would be proposing,” Damian answered. Jon looked at him with wide eyes before clearing his throat and softening the look on his face to more neutral. Damian definitely wasn’t meaning ‘moving in’ moving in. He was just being practical. He wasn’t in love with Jon the same way Jon was head over heels for Damian since he was like 13.

“It would be practical for us both,” he said and Jon relaxed. Yep, normal Damian not thinking of the social meaning of his words.

“I don’t have a butler,” Jon warned. “And I sometimes forget to do laundry or dishes.”

“Then I will make a chore chart,” Damian answered and Jon’s heart soared a little at the domestics of it all. Jon nodded with a grin.

“So when do I get my roommate?” Jon asked lightly. Or what he hoped was lightly. His farm was saved and Damian was moving in. He was surprised he wasn’t levitating yet.

“I need to sell my apartment first. And pack,” Damian contemplated. “Also I need to buy the farm. I’ll need 4 days.”

“4?!? I mean- that’s fine,” Jon answered. He began immediately imagining all the work he needed to do before Damian could move in. “You work fast.”

“Yes, money talks,” Damian answered as if it was normal for a 20 year old to say. Jon nodded and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

True to his words, a moving truck showed up 4 days later. Jon had cleaned and organized everything, even scrubbing the walls and sweeping the barn. The workers quickly set up everything in the spare room just as Damian arrived.

Damian arriving was a sight Jon would never forget. Damian wore a black turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up and a tan pair of dress pants over shiny black leather shoes as he carried in a large paper bag of produce. Damian had grown so much from the tiny 13 year old Jon had first known. He was now a full inch taller than Jon and probably 10 lbs heavier. It was funny since Jon was the one currently running around as Superman.

Damian sat his bag on the kitchen counter and wiped sweat from his brow. Jon was much more casually dressed in old blue jeans and a white t shirt with a rolled up and open red plaid button down over it. An old blue baseball cap was thrown over backwards on his head and little curls stuck out.

“You brought food. You know this is a farm, right?” Jon said with a smile. “We’re kinda known for having food.”

“I brought food to cook tonight,” Damian said trying to be casual. He had actually taken far too long deciding on the perfect food for him and Jon to eat their first night as roommates.

“Are you cooking for me?” Jon said with a pleased smile. The moving company was leaving and it was just the two of them.

“Yes, I thought it would be a good start,” Damian said formally. “No need to be so happy. It’s just dinner.”

“Of course,” Jon said trying to straighten his face. But how could he when Damian was living with him and cooking for him? Impossible task.

Damian busied himself in the small kitchen, looking in every drawer and cabinet. He noted that in the dying evening light, it perfectly captured the sunset. That was something that people paid huge amounts to even glimpse from their place in Gotham and Jon got a 360 view everyday.

“Well I have to feed the animals but I’ll be back soon. Do you need anything before I go?” Jon said in the doorway to the kitchen. He had thrown on a pair of rubber boots.

“Tt, you dare care for animals without me?” Damian said with a frown.

“Well I just thought- I mean you can- but you’re cooking,” Jon sputtered and Damian smiled.

“I’m playing with you. I’ll see them tomorrow. Otherwise the meal will be ruined,” Damian said. Jon laughed and shook his head as he left.

Damian looked at the photos that lined the hallway, smiling as he saw pictures of Jon as a child. Jon holding a fish he caught. Jon swinging a baseball bat. Jon holding up one end of a tractor. Right above it was a young Clark Kent doing the same. Damian shook his head with a little smile. He would never admit it but he was head over heels for Jon. Had been for a few years now.

“That’s the first time I lifted a tractor,” Jon said beside him. “Dad was so proud.”

“I imagine,” Damian answered. Clark was such a sore subject for Jon. His father had only been presumed dead the year before. Jon took it hard. He didn’t speak but watched Jon from the corner of his eyes.

“He never wanted to force me to be Superboy. I practically begged him. He was scared it was too dangerous,” Jon said with a sad smile. They both walked in the kitchen and Damian finished the food. Damian brought it to the table just as Jon shyly brought out a bottle of wine.

“Mr Kent, where did you get that?” Damian said with a little smile.

“Actually there’s an entire wine cellar full of the good stuff. Your father is quite fond of giving wine as a gift and Dad never liked to drink. So he stored it here,” Jon said pulling out a wine opener. “I thought we could drink it for him.”

“That’s very illegal,” Damian said expertly opening the bottle. “We’re both technically underage.”

“Anything is legal with enough money,” Jon said with a little grin and Damian laughed.

I’m an awful influence,” Damian replied. They spend the rest of the night eating and drinking wine before both crashing in their separate rooms in the early morning.

Jon crawled out of bed only a few hours later to feed the animals and get started on his day. He thanked his Kryptonian DNA for the lack of hang over he worried Damian would have. He crept quietly past his roommate’s door on his way out.

Jon returned a few hours later, still rather early, and was surprised by the smell of coffee. Damian was cooking breakfast for him. For them, Jon reminded himself. Damian was just his roommate. Damian nodded and poured Jon a cup of coffee.

“I thought you would still be asleep,” Jon admitted.

“I don’t require much sleep. Plus I want a tour of the property,” he said. Practical Damian as always, Jon thought.

“Sure, I’ll take you around. The farm and then town,” Jon added taking a huge plate of scrambled tofu and fried tomatoes. Damian had anticipated that.

“That’s a good plan. I don’t want to stand out in town. Should I wear a plaid shirt,” Damian asked.

“Uh, yeah. If you want. T shirts and jeans are fine too,” Jon said.

“May i borough these clothing from you? Mine are not appropriate for a farm,” Damian said casually and Jon willed himself to not have any emotion that Damian was going to wear his clothing.

Damian was extremely handsome in Jon’s plaid shirt and a pair of jeans. His bright green eyes and tan skin popped in the shirt and he had brushed his black hair neatly back as it had gotten long enough to fall in his eyes. Jon couldn’t help but stare at his Damian in his clothing. Logic be damned.

“What?” Damian asked looking at himself. “Does it look bad? I don’t want to appear foolish,” he said about to pull off the plaid shirt.

“No! No you look good. Nice,” Jon said and Damian’s lip twitched towards a smile.

“Thank you. Would you like to show me town first? Before we get muddy,” Damian said.

“Sure, that sounds good. I need to pick up feed anyways,” Jon said. They loaded into Jon’s old pickup. Krypto hopped into Damian’s lap as if he always had done it and they set off to town a few miles away.

“Here’s the library and the best Waffle House in Kansas. Second only to Ma Kent’s,” Jon said as they drove around. He showed Damian all the important sights in town. Damian had a hard time believing that everything was so compact and so small. Even the diner that Jon said they would eat lunch because they had the best pie short of Ma Kent.

They both, and Krypto, got out at the feed store and they treated Jon like old friends. He grabbed a basket and pushed it to the back as he chatted about all the interesting animals people owned to Damian. The Ferguson’s owned a pair of alpacas and old Skipper Smith had a parrot and monkey as pets.

Jon didn’t pay any attention as he easily lifted 4 50 lb bags of feed and casually put 200 lbs of feed in the basket. Damian looked around to see no one near. Jon did it again.

“Should get us through the week,” he said with a grin.

“You do know that most people don’t pick up 4 at once?” Damian told him quietly as they moved to the register. Jon stopped before nodded and laughing.

“You know I’ve never thought about it. Let’s get going before the diner gets a lunch rush,” he said. Jon tried to act more normal putting up the feed bags but tossing them one handed like bags of bread into the bed of a pick up truck was far from normal. Damian couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

The diner had about 12 booths and a row across the counter like old times. It probably was an older restaurant with the light blue tile and actual jukebox. Damian didn’t know what rush hour could possibly look like with all 7 people he’d seen since entering town but Jon seemed pleased to be earlier than them.

An older lady laid down a menu between them both and offered them coffee with a big grin. Jon ordered a chicken fried steak and Damian ended up getting the waffles. It was the only thing probably vegetarian on the menu.

“Oh shoot, I forgot you don’t eat meat. Sorry. Should I change my order,” Jon said raising his hand.

“No,” Damian said grasping Jon’s hand and pulling it down to the table. Jon’s heart just about beat out of his chest. “It’s fine. You don’t have to change what you eat for me.”

“Okay,” Jon said and the waitress came back to the table with drinks and eyed Damian’s hand on Jon’s.

“This your new partner, Kent,” she asked and Jon noted the judge tone to her voice as she sat down their glasses. Homophobia was still alive in the country. Damian didn’t notice.

“Yes, I just moved in last night,” Damian answered and Jon was frozen in time. Damian doesn’t understand what he means, Jon thought. He can’t.

“Oh, is that right? Took off to the city and brought back a city slicker. Well, each to their own,” she said with a passive aggressive smile. Jon sighed as she walked away. He didn’t know how to explain that to Damian. Was Damian even gay? Too late now. The whole town thought he was.

After eating their meal, Jon asked the waitress for pie to go. The diner had filled up and far too many people were glancing at the pair. Damian assumed it was because he was new in town or possibly they recognized him as a Wayne. Jon knew it was that he had brought home a man. Damian also didn’t quite pass as white with his tan skin and Arabic features so probably a dash of racism too.

Jon drive down to the park at the edge of town and parked by the pond. He put on a nice face but worried that Damian wouldn’t have as easy time in Smallville as Jon hoped.

“Something on your mind, Kent,” Damian said, sitting on the back hatch of the truck watching, the ducks swim.

“Nothing. Maybe I’m a little tired. Should have gone to bed earlier last night,” he said with a laugh. Damian looked at him out the corner of his eye but said nothing and continued eating his pie.

“This pie is made with quality,” Damian said and Jon smiled.

“Better than Alfred’s?”

“Different. Alfred makes amazing meat pies but he never quite understood American pies,” Damian answered. Jon nodded.

“I have to work the rest of the week,” he warned Damian.

“I have plenty of paperwork to keep me busy,” Damian answered. Jon knew he never had to worry about Damian that way. He always kept busy. This was probably his longest break.

The next 3 weeks consisted of getting up early to care for the animals before Jon left to work at the local paper. Damian would jog 3 miles down the dirt road that the Kent farm sat at the end of. By the end of the first week, a few of the neighbors would even wave at him. Jon counted himself as having the will of a Green Lantern to leave before Damian returned every morning. Damian was a sight to behold in his post workout glow pre-shower. He would come home and most of the time Damian was cooking dinner for him. Jon was really falling for the domestics of it all.

“Don’t get used to it, Kent,” Damian warned after Jon complimented an amazing dish Damian made. “Once school starts I can not act as a housewife to you.”

“You aren’t- Dami, you’re far from a housewife,” Jon sputtered. “I know that Flamebird has been seen in metropolis a few times this week alone.”

“Well, I needed to keep busy,” Damian said with a shrug. “Eat your eggplant.”

“I’ve probably eaten more vegetables this week than I have since I would summer with Ma,” Jon said. “But this is pretty good.”

“You’re welcome,” Damian said with a pleased smile. After dinner they sat on the swing on the porch and swung as they watched the sunset like an old married couple. Damian looked at Jon more often than he needed to as they talked about nothing. Jon was so pretty in the golden light. His bright blue eye and freckles looked adorable to Damian.

“And then in August we harvest-“ Jon had been saying before Damian cupped his face and pushed his lips against Jon’s. It was rough and their teeth clanged together and Jon pulled back with an “ow.”

“Shit,” Damian said, moving to get up. “I shouldn’t have- forget I-“

“Wait,” Jon said and Damian froze. He looked so uncertain and Jon had never seen that before. “Can we- can we try again?”

“You don’t have to pity me,” Damian said curtly, getting up. “Forget I did that. I apologize,” he said going inside.

Jon sat for a minute in shock. He had been in love with Damian forever and Damian finally kissed him and he couldn’t even enjoy it. Jon went inside and stood in front of Damian’s door. His hand tentatively considered knocking but Jon couldn’t do it. Just as he turned to walk away, Damian opened his door.

“I have to go to Gotham,” he said suddenly.

“What? If it’s me, you don’t have to leave,” Jon said quickly.

“No. My brothers need me,” Damian said and Jon noticed he had his suit on under his clothing.

“Do I need to come?”

“No. It’s okay. I’ll be back later this week hopefully,” Damian said dashing outside. The screen door swung and slapped the doorframe loudly. Jon ran on the porch.

“Week?” He called as Damian’s car pulled out the drive.

Jon fretted and obsessively watched the news everyday. Krypto was getting anxious without his 3 mile jog every morning. Late on the fourth day after Damian left, Jon heard the front door open. He raced to the door. Damian looked weary and had a slight limp.

“Hi,” Jon said looking Damian over and Damian offered a tired smile. Nothing broken. “Do you need help?”

“No. I need to sleep and I will be fine,” Damian said stubbornly. Jon rolled his eyes and helped him to his bed.

“Do you need anything?”

“No thank you. I will probably sleep late tomorrow,” Damian warned.

“Sure. Of course,” Jon said slowly closing the door as Damian fell asleep. Jon barely slept that night and got up early and called out of work for the day. Damian got up uncharacteristically late around 10 am.

“How are you?” Jon asked, offering him coffee. Damian took the drink before sitting next to Jon. He had a black eye and that limp was still around. The sun shone in bright in the kitchen and Damian was once again reminded the vast difference between smallville and Gotham.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” he said quietly. Jon didn’t want to pounce Damian the first second he got home but it was very hard to not want to talk about the kiss.

“You got mail,” Jon said, handing Damian a big Manila envelope that had come in the day before. Damian wordlessly opened it as he sipped coffee.

“Oh it’s yours,” he handed it over to Jon. Jon opened it with a confused look.

It was a deed. The Kent farm deed. The Kent farm deed in Jon’s name. He looked up at Damian who had a tired half smile.

“It’s in my name. You put it in my name,” he said. “W-why?”

“It’s the Kent farm. There’s too many things with the Wayne name on it,” he shrugged. “Plus I’m far from a farmer. It should be yours.”

“God Damian,” Jon said with tears in his eyes. He pulled Damian into a hug who squawked a protest that Jon ignored. “Thank you. I can’t- thank you,” he said wetly. Damian ignored how Jon was quietly crying on him. His grandma and dad passing had affected him hard and Damian knew he was crying over more than a house and land.

“You’re welcome,” Damian finally whispered and Jon cried even harder. Damian softly pat his back awkwardly. Jon leaned back but didn’t let Damian go. He gazed at Damian with the softest look.

“God Damian,” Jon repeated. “Do you even know how much I love you?”

Damian froze and just blinked at Jon who had pulled back but not out of the hug. “What?” He simply said and Jon’s face started to contort in pain. “Hold on,” Damian said and Jon warily looked at him. Damian knew he had to lean in or Jon would take it back and Damian would be too scared to do anything until Jon did this again. And he wasn’t sure how long Jon would wait.

Damian gently cupped Jon’s face in his hands and Jon breathed in quickly. Damian was clearly nervous. Damian noted how his face was soft and his skin warm. This time he gently bent over and softly pressed his lips against Jon’s. Jon quickly reacted by leaning in toward Damian. Jon could feel the rough pads of Damian’s fingers and taste the coffee Damian had been drinking. After a short while, Damian pulled back but not away.

“I truly care for you too,” he said softly and Jon grinned. “I’ve cared for you for a long time.”

“Same,” Jon said before leaning in to kiss Damian again. Damian kissed for another few seconds before pulling back again. This time Jon tried to follow his lips before stopping. Jon’s breath was erratic and fast. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No. It’s okay. I’ve just never- I’ve never“ Damian started a bit lost for words. Jon understood what he meant.

“You’ve never been with a man,” Jon said gently.

“I’ve never taken the time for relationships with anyone. I’ve always been too busy,” Damian admitted. He played with the edge of a napkin nervously. He would never openly admit to being worried that his lack of experience was a flaw.

“We can go slow. Whatever you want,” Jon said and he finally looked at Damian the way he had never let himself before: like he was in love with him. Damian nodded.

“I’ve just never found anyone that interesting. I mean, beside you. After a while. I wanted to throw you off a bridge at first,” Damian said and Jon smiled.

“I know. You told me,” Jon said. “We should go out to eat. There’s a place downtown that has vegan options.”

“I didn’t even know there was a downtown here,” Damian admitted and Jon laughed.

“It’s a small town. Not a hut in the woods.”

The place wasn’t ‘rush hour’ packed but had plenty of tables with patrons. Damian and Jon sat at a booth and Damian almost couldn’t handle the lovey way Jon was looking at him. Jon was staring at Damian like he was the moon, even though Damian stood out like a sore thumb in the rural town in his turtleneck and dress slacks. But that was his comfort clothing and he had given up on fitting in long ago.

“I’m going to the restroom. Order for me?” Damian asked and Jon nodded. As Damian walked towards the back of the restaurant, a man in a brown jacket and rubber boots purposefully shoved Damian with his shoulder as he walked by. Damian turned to glare at him.

“Sorry, didn’t see any fruitcakes around here,” the guy said and Damian bristled. Before he could make a scene, Jon moved over to them.

“Hi Tyler. Do we have a problem here?” Jon said uncharacteristically cold. That guy didn’t realize that he picked the worst pair to insult. Tyler looked between Damian and Jon before deciding the fight wasn’t worth it.

“Nothing worth it,” Tyler said turning around. “Bad enough to bring a fruitcake to town, it had to a brown one too,” he muttered and Damian stiffened. He knew that he got looks when he went into town. He was probably the only person that spoke more than English or Spanish in town and certainly the only one to speak Arabic.

But before Damian could do anything else but feel disgust, Jon had punched the guy in the face. Well it was more of a flick with his fist but the guy went down like a rock. Damian hid his smile as him and Jon were hurried out of the restaurant with their food to go by a worried waitress who apologized to the pair.

As they walked back to the pickup truck, Damian reached out and grabbed Jon’s hand who lit up almost instantly. Damian ignored the butterflies in his stomach as he walked. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Jon either.

“You know, it’s not everyday that a guy gets Superman to defend his honor,” Damian said quietly but playfully and Jon laughed.

“Can’t handle bigots. I’ll let you punch the next one,” Jon said with a shrug.

“I would have punched that one,” Damian answered. He turned and pulled Jon to face him before taking his free hand that wasn’t carrying a bag. Damian gently cupped Jon’s face to place a kiss on Jon’s lips before going back to walking. Jon had a stupid smile all the way back home.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

Gabriel Agreste: Interesting Villain, Horrible Character (400 Follower Special)

I'm honestly surprised more people didn't want me to talk about Gabriel, especially with how often I rag on how horrible of a person he is. But, three character analysis posts later, and we're going to talk about why the main villain of Miraculous Ladybug is a real letdown.

Gabriel Needs to give the Whining a Rest

The interesting thing is one of the few things I actually liked in Season 3 was Hawkmoth. His plans actually made sense (for the most part), and by playing the long game, he managed to turn Chloe against Ladybug and deprived her of several key allies. Granted, Season 4 immediately undid the latter, but I was still impressed by his strategy.

Generally, one of the better aspects of Gabriel as a character was just how over the top he was as Hawkmoth. Keith Silverstein is clearly giving it his all with his performance, and he is just so enjoyable to watch as a cartoonish supervillain.

And therein lies the first major problem with Gabriel as a character. While he is fun to watch as a simple supervillain, the show tries to give him more depth and unintentionally makes him worse.

In Season 2, when it was revealed that Gabriel was Hawkmoth, many fans speculated on what he needed the Miraculous for, until the Queen Bee Trilogy showed it was to save his possibly dead wife, Emilie. The idea of that is so the show can give more depth to its main villain, and I think it's an interesting idea in concept. After all, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

The problem is just how radically different Gabriel is normally compared to how he is as Hawkmoth. He always goes on about how he's “doing this for Emilie”, but it's hard to really sympathize with him when you consider he constantly gives evil monologues and evil laughs, really getting into the supervillain role. And let's not forget all of the “I'm going to wear Ladybug's skin as a suit” faces he loves to make.

Clearly this man is the picture of mental stability.

Gabriel's motivation for being Hawkmoth when compared to what he actually does as Hawkmoth is shady enough, but the thing is that the writers clearly want the audience to at least feel a little bad for him. They want to make the audience sympathize with him despite the way he acts with or without the mask. Without Miraculous Ladybug, he is routinely putting innocent lives in danger and never once shows regret for his actions. All he talks about is how “he's doing this for Emilie”, or that “he'll get their Miraculous soon”. There's no real reason to feel bad for him other than “because the script says so”.

Let's compare Gabriel to Malcolm Merlyn from Arrow. His big plan in the first season of the show is to create a machine that will cause an earthquake to destroy a crime-infested portion of Starling City, claiming to be trying to help everyone, but it's clear he is only doing it out of revenge for his wife getting killed by a criminal from that part of the city. In addition, throughout that season and future seasons, he always makes sure his plans lead to him benefiting in some way, showing he isn't just some noble man trying to achieve his goals with a less than noble method.

If we got some moments that showed that what Gabriel was doing was selfish, it would make him a more complex villain. But we don't get anything like that. What do we get instead? Well...

I Could Really Care Less About Emilie Agreste

We have known Gabriel's motivation has been to save his wife for a little over two years at this point, but at the same time, it's hard to believe that motivation because of how underdeveloped Emilie is as a character.

There have been a total of two lines in the entirety of the show that explain what happened to Emilie, and they're both vague as hell. One of them was from “Feast” that implied Emilie used the broken Peacock Miraculous.

Adrien: My mom used to have dizzy spells… just like Nathalie.

And the other that outright tells the audience what's happening to her in a clip show that most people will skip.

Nathalie: As I've watched Emilie falling deeper into an endless sleep, my sadness for her has deepened, too

That is literally all we get for an explanation, and nothing else. We have no idea of what she's like as a person or what her relationship with her family was like other than Gabriel and Adrien saying they miss her. Other than the way the narrative says she's important to Gabriel and Adrien, we don't really have a reason to care about her as a character. There have also been some lines that imply she went along with Gabriel's questionable parenting techniques, like how he was apparently only homeschooled as a kid (Origins) and never had a birthday party growing up (The Bubbler), so how do we even know if she's a good person? In fact, why not set up this question as a mystery to make the audience wonder if Gabriel has another reason to bring Emilie back?

It ultimately turns Emilie into a plot device and not a character that Gabriel and Adrien only bring up to make the audience feel bad for them, and meant to justify Gabriel's actions by saying that he's “doing this for his family”.

But hey, if he's doing this all for his family, surely Gabriel's redeeming traits come from his relationship with Adrien, right? Right?

As a Parent, Gabriel is Far From the Best

I've talked about this briefly before, but parenting in Miraculous Ladybug is written in such a black and white way, even by the standards of this show. Parents are portrayed in one of two ways. They're either amazing people who love and support their children unconditionally, or they're awful people who treat their own children like trash. And much like a lot of things in this show, there are times where the latter is treated like the former.

There are so many times where the narrative insists on making you see Gabriel as a troubled, but wellmeaning person who tries his best to be a good parent to Adrien, but it is far from the truth.

I'm not going to beat around the bush. Gabriel is a terrible parent. Like, he is awful at being a parent in so many ways, even before you find out he's Hawkmoth. In his first appearance, “The Bubbler”, he delegates getting Adrien a birthday present to Nathalie, his assistant. He literally can't be bothered to take time out of his schedule to get his own son a present for his birthday. And as the show goes on, he becomes more controlling and forbids Adrien from going out with his friends in other episodes (Captain Hardrock, Silencer). While this could be used to show Gabriel getting worse, it's never acknowledged in-universe, with Adrien continually defending his father essentially keeping him on house arrest.

“But IOTA!” You might say. “Gabriel has made efforts to bond with his son in some episodes.” While that might be true, most of those come right after his Akumas have almost gotten Adrien killed. He only hugged Adrien and made an attempt to learn more about him after Simon Says invaded their home, he only decided to watch that movie Emilie was in with Adrien after Gorizilla nearly dropped him off a building, and he only hugged Adrien again in public after he was turned into a gold statue by Style Queen.

In fact, let's talk about how Gabriel acts in the Queen Bee Trilogy. He actually decides to quit being Hawkmoth, but it's not because he realizes all the damage he's caused. Instead, he gave up because his “magnum opus”, a stronger than usual Akuma that only got the advantage on Ladybug ironically because of dumb luck, failed. Sure, he says he can't keep putting his son in danger, but he rarely ever acknowledges that he does so in the first place. When Riposte wanted to fight Adrien, Hawkmoth did nothing to stop her other than giving her a stern warning earlier on and nothing else. Where was this attitude earlier?

Hell, even then, he immediately goes back to being Hawkmoth as soon as he sees an opportunity, not even a day after his “mAgNuM oPuS” blew up in his face (because I guess Scarletmoth was just Plan B). If he made such a big deal about caring for his son, why didn't he try harder to spend time with him? Has he ever had doubts about what he's doing before? If Chloe didn't show up as Queen Bee, was he going to follow through on his promise and try to be a better father to Adrien instead of trying to get Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous?

And yeah, the whole irony is that Gabriel is doing this for his family when he is unknowingly fighting his own son, which could lead to some interesting drama if done right. The idea of how Gabriel would react to his son being Cat Noir could really lead to some internal struggles for him to go through. But then we got “Cat Blanc”, which shows just how terrible of a character Gabriel is.

In an alternate timeline where he found out his son was Cat Noir, what does Gabriel do? Does he try to steal Adrien's Miraculous while he's sleeping? Does he reconsider his actions or realize he was endangering Adrien's life?

NOPE! He just decides to akumatize him all while emotionally tormenting him, before causing the end of the world.

This is honestly one of the most appalling things I've ever seen in any TV show, because it's basically an abusive father ordering his son to listen to him all while referencing his (kind of) dead mother to back up his point. And rather than use this to show how despicable Gabriel is, the episode decides to blame Marinette for this happening. Yes, according to the show, her present to Adrien caused several events to happen which caused Cat Blanc, but this logic makes no sense. It's like blaming the JFK assassination on the man who sold a gun to Lee Harvey Oswald, instead of, you know, Lee Harvey Oswald.

Not only was this episode yet another excuse to blame Marinette for something that wasn't her fault, it leads into the biggest problem I have with Gabriel as a character.

Sympathize with Gabriel? Surely, You Jest

After everything I've gone over regarding Gabriel as a character, after all the awful things I've talked about, are you really surprised that I don't feel bad for him at all?

Gabriel is just an awful character and a despicable human being, but the show just keeps wanting me to feel bad for him. It's just so hard to when you consider everything he's done has made him anything but sympathetic. I'm just saying, it's kind of hard to feel bad for someone who tries to start World War III with the only justification being “i'M dOiNg It FoR mY fAmIlY”, especially when he treats his family like crap.

The writers go out of their way to show how horrible Gabriel is as Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth, but they think because they throw in a few moments where he looks conflicted, we'll immediately feel bad for him. What makes so many people interested in seeing Chloe become a better person is that they can tell she's the victim of a troubled upbringing, and know that because she's only a teenager, she still has room to grow as a person, represented by having more honest moments of vulnerability. Gabriel is a grown man who once caused the apocalypse because of how terrible of a parent he is, and has even fewer sympathetic moments than Chloe does. Which one of these two is supposedly irredeemable? The answer may surprise you.

But the frustrating thing is that this kind of villain could have worked. Instead of making him this mustache-twirling psychopath, show how much Gabriel regrets what he has to do, but keeps pushing onward despite all the lives he's risking if it means that he can save his wife. Instead of making Gabriel like Lex Luthor, make him like Mr. Freeze, who is basic a better written version of him.

But as it stands, there's a good reason why Gabriel gets little to no respect as a character in the Miraculous Ladybug fandom, as a villain, or as a father.

[meanautisticenbian]

Lilith Clawthorne has Borderline Personality Disorder: an essay

Content warnings: mentions of abuse, cults, and self harm

I don't have much of an intro but I need to get some things out of the way. 

First off, this is an essay that I made mostly for fun and because I feel like more people need to hear about this. I am not excusing Lilith's actions in any way, though hopefully this may explain some of them. 

Secondly, as you might know I have BPD myself. I'm self diagnosed yes, but I still have enough symptoms. I see a lot of myself in Lilith, as well as several traits, and I hope that this essay will be informative.

With all that being said, let's get into the analysis starting with the symptoms that are only hinted at. One of the hallmarks of Borderline Personality Disorder is an intense fear of abandonment, which Lilith seems to display disgusted as her desire to cure Eda's curse. If it's not clear enough, Eda's really the only thing Lilith cares about, which makes sense since she's clearly the only thing she has. We know that she isn't super close to Amity, despite what fans want to believe, we don't know if she's formed any positive relationships with anyone in the Emperor's Coven and it would say a lot of she didn't. With all that in mind, she is clearly very close to Eda and whenever she tries to get away from her, Lilith is always either pissed off or saddened. Sure, this could just be because she wants to heal Eda's curse and is most likely being punished by Belos, and that's why this is listed as something that's hinted at. Then again, Catra from She Ra is BPD coded as well and she mostly wanted to bring Adora back to the Horde because Shadow Weaver wanted her and was an abusive piece of shit, but it was pretty obvious that she also just wanted her crush and only friend back, so I don't see how this can't be applied to Lilith as well.

Lilith seems to have a black–and–white view on the people around her and maybe even herself. Whenever Eda escapes her, she suddenly flips from being loving and caring to her and really acting like she cares about her to treating her like she just pissed on her waffles. Her way of viewing other people (mostly Eda) is another symptom of BPD, being a black–and–white view on everything and rapid changes in self image and views of everyone else. One moment she views Eda as a beautiful and loving sister, the next she's just an old woman slowing her down. One moment Belos is a trustworthy leader, next he's a monstrous tyrant. One moment Luz is an annoying child she can use as bait, next she's her only hope in saving Eda.

She seems to harbor some of these feelings to herself as well. One moment she acts like she's fully aware of the baddie she is, and next she seems to hate herself. Another valid explanation is that this could also be viewed as her hiding her insecurities since she is clearly one to hold back those emotions and she only ever seems to let Eda see this side of her (save for Luz in the season 1 finale) but this is still a common BPD trait that seems to fit her so it would make sense.

Now let's move on to the more explicit symptoms. If it's not obvious enough, Lilith has some major anger issues. She was ready to kill Eda after she did as much as annoy her in Covention and tell her how worthless her life is after she (actually Luz) escapes her in Once Upon a Swamp. It was certainly reasonable for her to be upset about Luz accidentally blowing up the side of a building, but she had a worse outburst over her sister rhyming.

Now we move on to what I think is her most obvious trait: her impulsiveness. Like I said before, Lilith tends to have sudden violent outbursts and act without thinking. It doesn't excuse anything she's done but it certainly does explain a LOT.

It could be a possible explanation for why her first instinct was to use Luz as a human shield while she was fighting Eda and threw Luz off a cliff in order to get Eda to use all her magic instead of making a new bubble for Luz or doing literally anything that WOULDN'T harm Luz. This could maybe (key word) also provide an explanation for why she cursed Eda instead of going and talking to her (assuming she didn't), but her disorder seems to stem more from trauma than it does genetics, both of which are ways BPD can manifest.

Mood swings are another symptom she definitely has, but that can easily be paired with the point about her changes in self image and how she views others, as well as the points about her anger and impulsivity, so I won't go into detail about that.

Depression, guilt, and ongoing feelings of emptiness are obvious traits that don't need much explaining.

The last major trait wanna bring up is self harm and self destructive and suicidal behavior. I couldn't really find any point in which she showed any suicidal tendencies or urges to hurt herself and it is most likely that she won't be showing those traits at any point in the future, though I do believe it is possible that the show may depict self destructive behaviors in her. Obviously, she wouldn't be shown cutting or burning herself, but maybe it could be displayed in a more PG fashion such as her not taking proper care of herself or having risky behaviors.

There are nine main traits of BPD and one needs to have at least five of them to get a diagnosis. Lilith seems to exhibit six and possibly seven of these traits. I could end it here by saying that Lilith definitely has BPD and needs a hug, but we're not done yet.

Despite what most people might say about borderline people and how we're depicted, we're more likely to be victims of abuse than we are abusers. Most of the time the trauma from the abuse is the cause of the disorder, for those who don't inherit it. Many people with the disorder have claimed to have been physically, sexually, psychologically or emotionally abused or neglected during their lifetime. We don't know the exact details of Lilith's time in the coven or what it was like for her, all we know is that it was basically a cult and she definitely experienced some form of abuse. We know that emotional and psychological abuse were definitely present in her and Belos's relationship, and there is definitely a possibility that there was some physical abuse as well. As for neglect, there isn't really anything that can support the claim even if it seems plausible, and logically speaking, she most likely wasn't sexually abused simply just because this is a family show, so unless Disney is ok with Dana going THERE, that one's a little too far out of the realm of possibility.

So, where does that leave us? Well if I'm being honest, she definitely seems to have a case of untreated and probably undiagnosed BPD caused by a series of traumatic events. And the thing is, she's only in 6/19 episodes in the series so far, and we've probably only really seen the tip of the iceberg. She could have a lot more going on with her that we will definitely see in season 2, I highly doubt she won't.

Lilith is definitely BPD coded, and whether the rep is intentional or not, it's still something I can consider good rep. It's super rare that you find borderline characters in the media that are not abusers, manipulators, or terrible, irredeemable people in general. Lilith is not a bad person whatsoever, and even if she's not much of a good person either, she's not irredeemable. She certainly has a long way to go, but with proper guidance and psychological help, she will get there eventually.

I would like to finish this off by saying I'm not trying to excuse or condone her actions, I am simply addressing how it's possible for her to be borderline, based on what screen time she has and my own experiences. I just want to express my appreciation for what rep we have, as well as analyzing her character a bit.

Thank you all for reading

- Sunny

[elen-aranel]

Hii! Disco Sarek is making me feel things. I never thought I’d ask for this but could you maybe write a Sarek x reader?

Dear Anon, thank you for the request! I am so sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy. I have set this in the past relative to Discovery, when Sarek is just getting to know humanity. Thanks to @starfleetstgmgr for some really helpful ideas!

<3

Regard

Pairing: Sarek x Reader (no Y/N) Warnings: Moderately frank discussions of human relationships, Diplomacy, gratuitous detail of Paris WC: 4.3k Rating: Teen

You have always watched people.

When you were a child, you watched your classmates as they fought and made up, sometimes finding you had a better memory for who was friends with who than they did.

When you were at college, you watched people go by through the window of your favourite coffee shop. And you messaged your friends, as you sipped your latte in breaks between reading, if you spotted any of their tutors going by looking like they were in a bad mood.

These days, as a Federation Attaché, you watch people negotiate. Sometimes it’s just a formality – the nitty-gritty of signing a treaty. Ambassadors, professionals, everyone on the same page, little details to hammer out. But the more interesting times are when the stakes are higher: people negotiating to protect their way of life. People negotiating who are personally affected. People who care.

This is your first time on a negotiation with the new Vulcan ambassador, Sarek. You’ve worked with Vulcans before, and you generally appreciate their logical approach to a situation. Unlike some other Federation diplomats, they don’t try to make everything about them themselves. But still, Sarek is different, somehow, and you watch him, trying to put your finger on why.

You’re on a Federation colony planet, Omicron Aquila III, trying to negotiate between the two factions of humans that live there. The land is very fertile, and the original colonists grew crops for export. But 10 years in there was a disagreement, and now the humans live in two separate settlements. Everything was fine until last year when a volcano, thought to be extinct, erupted, damaging farmland and water supplies. The colonists from Hebden and Longridge don’t agree on much, but they did agree that they wanted a Vulcan to mediate their issues, because they knew a Vulcan would use logic and come up with a fair solution.

Sarek remains unruffled as Representative Jackson Walker gets increasingly angry about Hebden’s south well. His voice stays deep, slow, and calm as he re-iterates the logic of allowing Longridge to use it, and you realise that unlike the other Vulcans you’ve met, he doesn’t treat humans like they’re inferior because of their emotions, even if he doesn’t seem to understand them. Representative Laila Patel from Longridge sits there with arms crossed, a grim smile on her face. But you’ve been watching her, and you’re pretty sure that when you get to the issue of land borders, she’s going to kick up a fuss.

“I hear your objections, Representative Walker. I think we should take an hour’s recess to consider next steps.” Sarek says, and both humans stand and leave, without so much as a goodbye. You stand, too, gathering up your PADDS.

“Ambassador, may I have a word?”

“Yes of course, Attaché. Please join me.” He leads you through into a corridor, then to a door you haven’t been through yet. You make a point to give him space as he holds the door, letting you take it from him; Vulcans are touch-telepaths and contact is frowned upon. You follow him through into a garden. It’s beautiful, with pink and white roses in bloom, perfuming the air. You think it must have been one of the first things the colonists built because the plants are mature, and you’re touched that in establishing a new home they put beauty at the heart of it.

Sarek leads you toward the middle of the garden, so you can talk and be sure you’re not being overheard.

“What is it you wish to say, Attaché?” He regards you, curious, and you notice his eyes. Stormy, grey-blue – how had you not paid attention to them before? You shake yourself, mentally. Now is not the time.

“Your proposal is fair and logical. But I—I don’t think you will be successful with it. The colonists think they want a logical solution, but they cannot stop their emotions coming into play.”

Sarek raises an eyebrow at you. “What is your evidence for this assertion?”

“The way Representative Walker gets particularly aggressive when you bring up the south well. According to their database his grandfather, John Walker, dug it personally, and for some time at the beginning it was the colony’s only source of drinking water. Representative Walker probably remembers his grandfather telling stories about that time. His family derives status from that well. I think you’ll likely find something similar if you challenge Representative Patel on this land.” You get out your PADD with a map of the colony. “When Hebden split from Longridge, her family grew the first crops here.”

“Yes.” Sarek looks thoughtful. “This does explain the behaviour we have seen, and provide a hypothesis which we may test going forward.” He looks at you again, something in his expression you can’t quite read. “How do you suggest we proceed?”

*

The bronze plaque reading “John Walker Memorial Well” is being installed as you leave aboard the USS Jemison. Sarek isn’t with you, since he’s returning to Vulcan on his own ship, and you find yourself thinking about him as you review the agreement between the settlements and prepare for your next assignment. He hadn’t been what you had expected, and after your talk in the garden he had checked with you over several other points of negotiation. You had enjoyed watching him work, and you wish you were able to spend more time with him.

And – you couldn’t really let yourself think about it on the planet, but he was attractive. His eyes. His face. His voice. Very attractive. But a Vulcan isn’t going to be interested in a human, you tell yourself. And who knows when you’ll even see him again?

*

Again is months later. There’s a Federation summit on Earth and almost the entire Federation Diplomatic Corps has descended on Paris. You’re supporting the Zaranite delegation. You wouldn’t admit it to anyone but you feel a little creeped out by their masks; you understand they can’t breathe in an oxygen atmosphere but you don’t really see why they have to cover their eyes, too. The black slits are intimidating and narrow, and you think intimidation must be the point since their field of vision must be constrained. Regardless, you can’t watch them, not in the way you like. You can’t tell how they feel.

You tell yourself, however, that you are a professional, even if you don’t understand them. And even if they aren’t especially influential they still deserve competent support.

But the work isn’t terribly interesting: there’s nothing personal here, no real stakes, just checking language, ensuring the Zaranites have the correct paperwork – well, PADDs – to hand.

Socialising with your friends in the Corps is more fun. You’ve always loved Paris, from the first moment you looked down on it from the Eiffel Tower, and it’s good to catch up with Mark, Kelechi and Evan who joined the service at the same time as you, over good food and wine. But when, at the bottom of one-too-many bottles of Côtes du Rhône, Evan hits on you... you just aren’t interested. He seems a little juvenile, honestly. But you let him down gently.

On the third morning of the summit, though, you are summoned to see Consul Galea.

“So, I’ve had a request for your services,” she says, without preamble, as her aide waves you straight into her office. Her dark eyes are slightly incredulous, you think.

“From who?” At least the Zaranites don’t appear to have complained, which is what you’d been worrying about since receiving her message.

“Ambassador Sarek,” she says, raising her brows. “Apparently you made a good impression on that backwater colony. He finds his current assistant insufficient and would ’value your organisational skills and clear thinking.’”

“Wow, okay,” you say, feeling your skin warm a little. He had made an impression on you, but you had not thought you would have made one on him.

“Naturally I can’t say no to the Vulcan ambassador. You’ll be supporting him for the rest of the summit. I’ll assign someone else to the Zaranites.” She taps a control on her desk. “You’d better get going; Sarek will need you at 09:00. I’ll make sure all the paperwork is waiting for you.”

*

“Attaché,” Sarek says as you sit by him.

“Ambassador Sarek,” you say, nodding. You’ve had half an hour to get up to speed on his part of the negotiation, and you hadn’t let yourself think about... him. But there he is, with those blue-grey eyes, handsome face, deep voice. But no. This is emphatically not the time.

You don’t have the time, anyway. You would love to know which of your colleagues left Sarek’s paperwork in such a mess so you can have a word about it; just because he’s a Vulcan and logical doesn’t mean he can do both his job and yours at the same time. But you apply yourself and get everything sorted, and by midday you’re on top of it all, and able to properly support the ambassador. There may not be personal stakes to this but Sarek’s part of the negotiation is a lot more interesting.

“Thank you for your assistance today, Attaché,” he says as the session winds up. “I have found your presence to be...” he hesitates. “To be... most helpful.”

“You’re welcome, Ambassador.” You nod and smile, stowing your PADDs in their case. What had he been going to say? He doesn’t give you time to speculate, however.

“I was wondering if you could be of further assistance to me this evening. I have been... struggling... to find appealing sustenance. I am unused to using the synthesiser for an extended period of time, but I am having difficulty finding alternatives in Paris which are compatible with my dietary requirements.”

You nod, understanding. Traditional French food is not known for being vegetarian friendly.

“Of course, Ambassador. May I ask – are you happy to eat non-meat animal products, like eggs and dairy? If the animals’ welfare is assured?”

*

You take him to a little galetterie that you and Kelechi had happened upon a few years ago, during your second time in Paris together. It’s small, on a back street near the Bastille. The sort of place that locals go rather than tourists. It’s one of your favourites, and you try to go back every time you visit Paris. You enjoy the traditional Breton food, and the atmosphere – it’s friendly, quiet, and unpretentious. And you’re confident they will have plenty of vegetarian options for Sarek, as you sit opposite him at a dark wooden table covered in a crisp white tablecloth.

You both have the galettes – thin savoury pancakes freshly made with buckwheat flour – folded round cheese, eggs, mushrooms in cream and garlic sauce, and vegetables. You enjoy your food, alongside Breton cider served in a delicately painted bowl. You think Sarek relishes his, too, although he drinks the non-alcoholic fresh apple juice instead.

You find his conversation very interesting. He tells you of the planets he’s visited, and some details about Vulcan and its culture. You have to hold yourself back, a little; you don’t want to pry but you can’t resist asking a few questions about him personally. He tells you his father translated Surak’s teachings into English, and you make a mental note to get a copy.

He asks you about your life, too. Nothing overly personal, but he asks about the town you grew up in. What human schools are like. Details about Earth from a human perspective.

It’s later than you expected when you leave the restaurant.

“Thank you. For the meal and the enlightening discourse,” Sarek says as you prepare to part ways.

“Thank you, ambassador. I enjoyed this evening.”

He looks at you, then, something appraising about his glance. You can’t tell what conclusion he has come to, though. He nods. “I will see you tomorrow.”

As a mere attaché your accommodation is out towards the suburbs, and you have time to think on the metro-shuttle back. You had enjoyed yourself, a lot. If you were being honest with yourself, you had a better time than you had with your friends. If Sarek were to hit on you...

But he’s a Vulcan. You know nothing about their relationships, and the first lesson you learn about Vulcans is that those are questions you do not ask. You sigh, staring out the window at Paris rushing by. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this week, anyway. He’ll probably go back to Vulcan, and Consul Galea will have your next assignment ready.

*

First thing the next morning you send a message to Marin, Consul Galea’s aide, and just after your lunch break he delivers. You hope Sarek doesn’t notice you quickly checking your personal PADD, but he’s busy in conversation with a member of the Tellarite delegation.

“Ambassador,” you say, as you pack away your work. “Have you made plans for dinner this evening?”

“I have not,” he replies, grey-blue eyes looking at you with interest.

“I took the liberty of doing a little research, and I have a personal recommendation for a vegetarian restaurant from an aide who works in Paris full time. Would you like to try it with me?”

“I would. That was very... thoughtful, Attaché.”

*

The restaurant, near the Place Charles de Gaulle, specialises in North African food, and you enjoy flatbreads with hummus and baba ganoush, tabbouleh, and a vegetarian tagine with harissa and apricots. But better than the food is Sarek’s company, once again.

You wish, as you stand at the end of the Champs-Élysées and look through the Arc de Triomphe at the angular Grande Arche de la Defence almost glowing in the distance, that the summit was going to last longer. But the signing ceremony is tomorrow, followed by the official dinner, which as an attaché you are too junior to attend.

*

The following day you work as normal, highlighting last minute changes to the treaty’s wording for Sarek to review and uploading his edits as he debates with the Andorian representative. But somehow you get the impression that there is something on the Ambassador’s mind. You think he’s watching you when he thinks you aren’t paying attention, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

You put it out of mind instead, and as the work winds down as preparations begin for the signing ceremony, you think about what you might do this evening. Perhaps go up Montmatre and look down on the city by night.

“That’s the last of them,” you say, as you had a PADD over for Sarek’s signature. The signing ceremony will be old fashioned with pens and paper, mainly for the media, but the actual agreements are signed off digitally.

“Once again I thank you for your support, Attaché. I believe we work efficiently together.” He pauses for a moment, giving you one last appraising look. “I am leading a seminar on human relationships on Vulcan next week, and I would like to ask for your assistance.” You blink at him, surprised, but he continues. “It seems logical to have a human present, and from our time working together I believe you would be a good choice to educate other Vulcans. I have sought permission from Consul Galea. She is willing for you to go, but wanted me to ask you since it is not strictly within the remit of your job.”

“Uh, yes. Having a human there would be logical.” You nod, trying not to sound too eager. “I will... assist.”

*

The seminar room in the Shirkar Academy is large and airy. There are floor to ceiling windows down one side, looking out over the city of Shi’Kahr, and there are two rows of pale wooden desks curved into a semicircle around a large screen. You can just see the desert in the distance.

Every desk is occupied, and as you watch the assembled Vulcans, you are nervous.

You have done your fair share of talks – to colleagues, and sometimes in negotiations. You could do the one on the Advantages of Federation Membership in your sleep (and according to Kelechi, who had been sharing a room with you the night before the first time you’d had to give it, you actually had). But this is different. You resist the temptation smooth your clothes; you may be nervous but you don’t need everyone to see it.

You had to admit that Sarek has done a good job with the presentation section. He goes through a through a brief history of types of relationships on Earth, including times and societies where women had been treated like property, and relationships and marriages were often treated as a property transaction. He also covers some things even you are not too familiar with, like societies that practice polygyny and polyandry. The audience seems engaged, taking notes.

He spends a little longer than you expect on arranged marriage before handing over to you.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself that the Vulcans are aliens who probably don’t have many preconceived notions on the subject so there’s no need to feel awkward, and begin.

“Thank you Ambassador. I’m going to speak to you today on the types of relationship you’re most likely to encounter in the humans you meet, and then open up for questions and discussion.

“These days humans will most often enter into a romantic relationship with one other human at a time. These may be casual, as in the case where the two partners are getting to know one another, or sometimes because they have other things going on in their lives like work or travel which preclude the formation of a more serious relationship. It could also be because they enjoy sex with each other and don’t want anything more...”

You go on to discuss love and long term relationships, marriage, negotiating things like exclusivity and cheating, and a brief discussion of the two parent family as a common basis for child-rearing.

“Finally, it is important to note: not all humans are in or even desire to be in a relationship. Some humans are uninterested in the concept of romance or sex altogether. Others wish to pursue careers or other time-consuming activities and do not feel they could give a relationship proper attention. And some humans would be open to the idea of a relationship, but haven’t found someone they would like to enter into one with.”

You look round the room. You can’t really gauge how things are going; they seem attentive, at least.

“Does anyone have any questions?” You nod at a older Vulcan on the back row who has raised his hand.

“Are there specific ceremonies for humans wishing to undergo marriage?”

You relax. A safe question to start. “At its most basic form marriage is a legal contract, so can be performed by someone with legal standing to do so, the couple wishing to marry and a witness. It can be as simple as signing a document. However, there are a lot of traditions surrounding marriage. A more common ceremony would involve the exchanging of vows, and often rings to be worn as a visible sign that a human is married.”

You go on to cover traditional ceremonies, elopement, wedding clothes...

“Does that answer your question?”

“Yes. I note that you do not wear a ring. Are you married?”

“No, I am not.”

He nods, and you gesture to a younger female on the front row.

“I have read about virgins and virginity in human literature, but I do not understand the concept. Can you explain it please?”

Oh gosh. “The most basic definition of a virgin is someone who has not had sexual intercourse. In the past in some societies a woman primarily but sometimes a man too would be expected to be a virgin when they entered into a marriage. This isn’t the case anymore but losing one’s virginity, having sex for the first time, can be... uh... important, to some people. And there may be a perceived stigma around humans who are older than say... mid twenties, who have yet to have sex.”

“Thank you. You said you were unmarried; do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend? Are you a virgin?”

You blink, resisting the temptation to look at Sarek for support. You should have expected this, you think, feeling a little weak.

“There are some questions that it is... inappropriate... to ask humans. Asking whether a human is a virgin is always inappropriate, even for another human, unless you know each other incredibly well. So I will not be answering that, and I would recommend that you don’t ask another human. But no, I do not have a—a partner, at the moment.”

Safer questions follow, on things like how long it’s appropriate to be in a relationship before marriage, and divorce and how that’s accomplished. Questions about how partners are chosen, and  even one about love at first sight. Then—

“How would you know if someone is interested in pursuing a relationship with you?”

“You—uh... it’s difficult. Someone might hit on you,” you say, wincing mentally, thinking of Evan. “That is, they may say something to express an interest. But a lot of the signs are physiological, and difficult for us to recognise consciously. Like... someone’s pupils may dilate when they talk to you. Or they may lean in toward you, mirror your actions. They may ask you questions, try to get to know you. Find opportunities to spend more time with you. But it can be difficult.” You shrug. “Sometimes it takes a friend to tell you they think someone is interested in you. But if you want a relationship, and think they may too... sometimes you just have to ask.”

*

You are relieved when the seminar is over, and gratified when the organiser at the academy makes a point to thank you, both for the presentation and your willingness to answer questions candidly.

Afterward you think Sarek will take you to the Federation Embassy, but instead he steers his desert flyer out of the city. Part of you wants to ask where you’re going, but you trust him, so you enjoy the ride as the city gives way farmland, and forest. You skirt the edge of forest and desert for a while, then Sarek turns the flyer through the trees and stops in an open area.

Your eyes widen as you exit the speeder; you have always heard of Vulcan as a desert planet, but in front of you is a large body of water, waves gently lapping on a sandy shore. You turn to Sarek.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you think you see satisfaction in his expression.

“This is Lake Yuron. This part of the shore is quiet and I frequently come here when I wish to meditate. I... appreciate the calm.”

He walks toward the water and you follow. You stand together, watching the waves as they go in and out. The water looks different, somehow, to lakes on Earth, as it reflects the more orange tint of the Vulcan sky.

After a while, Sarek speaks. “Today during the the seminar, you described some of the ways one can tell if a human is interested in pursuing a romantic relationship. I have observed you over the past few days, and I believe you have displayed many of these signs.” He turns to you, stormy eyes reflecting the lake water.

“Are you interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with me?”

You look down at the sand, and swallow, your mouth suddenly dry. But you have to be honest with him. “I am. I find you fascinating. I enjoy your company. And you... are very attractive.” But there’s just no way he can reciprocate, you think. “I’m sorry if I have made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention.” You look back up, hoping he can see the apology in your eyes.

“Although I am an adherent of logic, of Surak’s teachings, it would be... inaccurate to say that I do not experience emotion. I control and suppress the emotions that I feel, and generally that is... satisfying, to me.” He takes a step toward you, closing the gap between you both. He’s close enough to touch.

“I find you... compelling. I lack the proper language to express emotions, but… perhaps I can show you?”

You nod, mutely. You know about mind melds, even though you’ve never seen one performed, much less participated. Your eyes track his hand as he reaches up to touch your face.

“My mind to your mind. My thoughts... to your thoughts.”

The touch of his mind is like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and you gasp slightly at the extra dimension that opens up for you, in a direction you couldn’t even have imagined. But you feel safe; you can feel that he is keeping you from being overwhelmed. And then you for a few moments you see yourself as he sees you. Feel an echo of what he feels, even as you share what you feel for him.

As he breaks the connection the only thing you can do is bring a hand up to his face, and kiss him. It’s gentle, almost hesitating at first, but it feels so right as you press together, as the kiss deepens.

You have always watched people; you have never really thought about people watching you. You know they will, though, as you ride back to Shi’kahr: the human partner of the Vulcan ambassador. You won’t be putting on a show, but you find, as you think it over, Sarek at your side, that you don’t mind.

[linkspooky]

Do you have any thoughts on how Maki will develop technique and character wise later on in the series do you think she’ll see Toji and take it has inspiration and free herself from the Zen’in or will she start to lean on others and deviate from her I’ll be strong on my own mentality

Toji is set up as a bar Maki is meant to surpass in both aspects. Toji forced himself to choose between family and his pride and regretted his choice. However, in a sense he also really didn’t choose either. He kept wavering between them. He wanted to become the strongest and cut his ties to everybody, but he still loved his son Megumi. He loved Megumi, but was unwilling to let go of his pride so he chose to neglect his responsibility as a father and push Megumi as far away from himself. Rather than choosing wrong, Toji chose indecisively, he was out of balance - he couldn’t choose one until the literal end of the line. 

Which is why, Maki’s character isn’t about choosing one over the other, but finding a balance between the two. I’ll explain more under the cut. 

1. Maki and Nobara are Blind

Every character in Jujutsu Kaisen has a flawed viewpoint, but that doesn’t mean they’re wrong. Rather, I prefer to think of them as “out of balance.’ Jujutsu Kaisen isn’t about black and white ideas of right or wrong but rather a multitude of different perspectives. Selfishness isn’t bad, selflessness isn’t always good. Good intentions don’t lead to good results, sometimes bad intentions can help people. 

Rather than completely changing or flipping their views, because often the views that characters are hold isn’t necessarily wrong it’s much more likely they’ll be pushed to reconcile their views with the views of the other people around them. For a quick example, at the beginning of the manga, Yuji wants to save everyone, Megumi wants to seflishly choose who to save, rather than saying one or the other is wrong when Yuji hears Megumi explain himself he says that Megumi clearly put a lot of thought behind his beliefs. Rather than one of them winning over the other they come to an understanding. 

So, I think with that logic as the reason Maki will actually choose both, to free herself from the Zen’in, and also to lean on others more. 

Maki’s primary character flaw comes not from really being wrong, but a lack of understnading. She doesn’t really want to integrate the viewpoints of other people into her own views. 

Which makes absolute sense if you think about it, Maki is the scapegoat child of the Zen’in. She went through the same abuse Toji did, which was having everyone constantly look down at her. She was treated as a servant and an inferior to her own twin sister. It’s likely she responded the exact same way Toji did, by shutting everyone else, all their hurtful words out. Toji dealt with it by rejecting everything, both himself, and others. 

That’s why in comparison to Maki who is still struggling against the Zen’in family, and still has her life very much defined by her want to be better than them, and prove them wrong, Toji is aclled “the one who is free.” 

Toji’s way of coping is what Maki wants to do, which is to shut everything out and pretend she doesn’t care about anything. Only focusing on getting stronger. Maki has intenalized an unhealthy idea of what getting stronger is: not showing any weakness. Of course she has, that’s what the Zen’in household has forced into her head her entire life. Even if she escapes from the house she’s still affected by it. So then, here’s where the foiling with Nobara comes in, they both have the same tendency to shut others out, and they both tend to be blind. Nobara loses an eye, Maki is always wearing glasses.

There’s a reason the fight in the Kyoto tournament ended up being Maki and Nobara vs. Mai and Momo. 

Mai is the opposite of Maki, that Maki does not want to confront. Someone who cares about family more than being a strong willed individual. Someone who admits that she wants to cling to otherse.

Momo is the opposite of Nobara that Nobara does not want to confront. Someone who is much more open about how she cares about her friends. Nobara rejects the ideas of her friends, Momo indulges them to the point where she sort of enables their bad behavior and lashing out (but that’s a different meta). 

Momo is much more open about how much she cares about her classmates, (Nobara cares she’s just guarded about it) and the Kyoto group is as a whole much closer together even though they’re labeled as “weak” by mechamaru. 

Maki sees this dependance on others as a weakness. She still does. My best guess is her development since volume zero is that she’s come around to Gojo’s line of thinking that she wants strong comrades to fight alongside her, but she still doesn’t want to expose her weakness in front of somebody else. I don’t think Maki could ever openly cry in front of others the way Miwa can for example. 

Mai and Maki are two opposite extremes that need to be reconciled, Maki is independent, and Mai too codependent on her sister. We see the effects of Mai’s lashing out, but also I think it’s just important to understand the reasoning for Mai’s lashing out, Maki doesn’t really understand her own sister, what she’s going through, or how she feels.

It’s even in the flashback. We see Maki bravely walking past the curse, and Mai timid and afraid of it. However, the difference is Mai can see the scary curse in front of her, and Maki can’t. So of course it’s easier for Maki to charge fully ahead. 

Maki wears glasses all the time. Her vision in impaired. She can’t see cursed spirits without them. Symbolically, Maki is blind the same way Nobara is. There’s even more parallels in their backstories, they both come from environments where they had to shut everyone else out because they never really wanted to be at home. For some reason or another, they never feel home at the place that was supposed to be their home. 

They both live in complete rejection of the place they come from, while at the same time sort of being defined by it. Maki is still very much tied to the Zen’in clan, and Nobara is closeminded in her own way like the rest of the closeminded villagers she hated. Your environment effects who you are whether you want it to or not. They also think having left their own homes, they can’t really find any home anywhere else, except for within themselves. Which is why they don’t let people in. 

Which is also why we see the same consequences for Nobara and Maki they are, they keep getting blindsided. Nobara’s consequences come from not listening to people who have her best interest at heart: Nanami telling her to stay behind. As a result of not listening to him, she loses her eye in the fight against Mahito (symbolism). 

Maki tries to do what she always does which is prove that she’s stronger than the anyone else in the Zen’in household, only for this to fail. Maki not only doesn’t contribute much to the fight, she actively gets in the way, and has to be saved by Naobito, somebody she hates. 

Every strategy that Maki has used before, her determination, her stubbornness, her refusal to backdown, starts to fail in the fight against Dagon, and then Toji shows up and makes things worse (the thing he’s best at). 

Not only does Maki lose to Naobito, the head of the Zen’in family, she also loses to Toji, the reject of the Zen’in family. Playful cloud, the cursed tool that Geto used to beat Maki up all the way back in volume zero something she hasn’t recovered from yet, not only kind of rejected her, but is used way better than Toji. Pure and solid power, for this reason it’s strength, depends on the wielder’s strength. 

Maki is basically getting called weak by everyone around her, Naobito, Toji, even Playful Cloud which she couldn’t use to the best of her ability. But that’s not a bad thing. Realizing your weakness is a much better way to get stronger than just ignoring your weakness. Look at the symbolism as well, when she’s humiliated by Nabito her eye narrows, when she sees Toji her eye widens.

So, in effect this arc has presented Maki with the two options she has to go forward. 

Return to the Zen’in Family as she originally planned. Abandon everything for the sake of strength and her personal pride. 

Only to show her that she’s too weak currently to accomplish either. She can’t be Toji, and she can’t be Naobito. However, Maki has an option that neither Naobito nor Toji has. She has her sister. She has Nobara. She has the rest of the students at Jujutsu Academy. If Maki lets these people in, they can open her eyes, and show her that both are a possibility to her. She can be both strong as an individual, and still have a family to lean on, and lean on others. 

Her sister is someone she needs to reconcile with not win against. She’s not going to be Naobito or Toji, she’s going to be better than them both. 

[jokertrap-ran]

(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Main Story Chapter 2-18: 时间针脚 The Patchwork of Time Translation

“Why do you look like someone who got caught red-handed with their hand in the cookie jar?“

*Light and Night Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *Main story tag will be #For Light and Night

For the next one week, I threw myself into the making of Lin Yao's dress.

MC: It's finally done! Now all that's left is the fitting; but she's so busy, I don't know when she'll be able to schedule a fitting session.

Zheng Lin: You're lucky. Lin Yao will be coming down today for a shoot for "Neverland", a magazine that's under a subsidiary of Warson's.

Zheng Lin: You can contact her agent and check with them about it.

MC: Will do!

Because of her tight schedule, the fitting session ended up being slotted after the shoot.

The magazine's shooting location was at a studio near Warson. Brother Mao had already brought the dress over for me beforehand.

❖☆———————————★❖

By the time I finally finished my work on hand and headed out of the office, ready to cross the alley over to the studio, a spot of white at a corner of a wall caught my attention.

The person carefully looked around before slowly crouching down, seemingly in search of something.

MC: ...Why does that person look so familiar?

I approached the figure as I mused about that. A silver head of hair, dressed entirely in white; the answer clicked in my head almost immediately.

SARIEL!? What's he doing here!?

What surprised me, even more, was the fact that he was currently facing a couple of dustbins and a pile of discarded items.

Wasn't Sariel all about cleanliness!? The headlines were already flashing in my head. "The Black History of the Top of the Top Designer Scavenging for Rubbish".

I hurriedly shook my head and threw the absurd thought out of the window.

★Night Choice: Sneak away

I should hurry and sneak away before he realizes I'm here…

I lightened my footsteps and prepared to sneak away from him behind his back.

Sariel: You. What are you doing here?

MC: !

He saw me! I could only turn around and smile sheepishly at him.

MC: What a coincidence to meet you here, Director Qi...

He'd already reverted to his usual high and haughty self. He watched me with his arms folded.

Sariel: How coincidental, indeed. Why is it that every time I see you, not only are you not taking your job seriously, but also look like you're harbouring a guilty conscience?

MC: But, you were squatting on the ground doing god-knows-what earlier. Isn't that more…

Sariel: What did you say?

MC: Nope! Nothing at all! What great weather out today!!

The words had just left my mouth when a cloud gently floated past the sky above us.

Sariel raised his eyebrows, the contempt reflected in his eyes speaking larger than words. I had the nagging feeling that he was about to start berating me again.

Sariel: Don't change the topic. What exactly are you doing here?

☆Light Choice: Watch curiously

Logically thinking about it, I should sneak away while I still had the chance since he hadn't noticed me yet; but, I couldn't quite stop my curiosity.

Plus, seeing Sariel like that really gives people a lot to think about. Not only does he look terribly secretive about something, but he was also crouched by a dustbin in search of something.

MC: Just what is he looking for?

I followed his line of sight, but all I could see was a pile of yellow sand, a few steel frames, and two rubbish bins. I looked away in confusion, but my eyes were soon met with his inquisitive ones the moment I raised my head.

MC: D-D-Director Qi!

I was startled so bad that my words came out in a stuttered mess. Sariel had already stood back up, facing me with folded arms.

Sariel: What are you doing here? And why do you look like someone who got caught red-handed with their hand in the cookie jar?

MC: I'm only passing by for work purposes…

Sariel: Do I look that easy to fool to you?

MC: I'm not lying. I'm only passing by because of work! I'm headed to the shooting studio over there!

I hurriedly pointed to the shooting studio situated at the other end of the alleyway to prove my innocence. He glanced over before his eyes flickered back to me. He stared me in the eye for a while before finally breaking contact.

MC: Are you looking for something, Director? Do you need me to help look for it with you?

Sariel: ...What did you see?

He suddenly stiffens. That expression of his… Did I see something I shouldn't have?

MC: Nothing! Zilch, nada! I didn't see anything!

Sariel: I don't need your help. Hurry along your merry way now.

MC: Oh, okay… See you then, Director.

Sariel only released the breath he didn't know he'd been holding only after the girl's figure disappeared.

He picked up a small branch, meticulously giving it a thorough cleansing before surveying the area once more. After confirming that there was no one in the vicinity, he crouched back down. He poked the mound of sand. No reaction. He knocked on the trash cans. Nothing.

Sariel: …...

The sunlight shines upon the ground, highlighting the speck of dirt staining his shoe.

He resisted the urge to wipe it clean. Instead, he continued to poke the mound of sand near him.

And in the next moment, the mound of sand moved. The fallen leaves that had been above it letting out a crisp "crunch".

Sariel's brow furrowed as he used the stick to flick the sand away bit by bit.

Sariel: Come out.

A plump lizard poked its head out of the sand with great difficulty. One glance at Sariel was enough to make it burst into tears.

Lizard: Old Qi! You've finally come for me! Hurry and save me! I won't leave home again! I'm not complaining if you make me go vegetarian anymore!

Sariel: Silence.

Sariel unscrewed the cap of a bottle of mineral water, placing it on the floor before retreating a couple of steps.

Sariel: Wash yourself before you go. If I spot a single grain of sand back home...

Lizard: I'm gonna be turned into a braised lizard.

He let out a satisfied sneer before taking a big stride away, turning to leave.

Lizard: Hey! Wait up, Old Qi! Who's that human girl just now?

Lizard: I'd passed out, but I reawakened when I heard her voice!

Lizard: I can't help but feel like she sounds a little familiar. Like I've heard her before...

Sariel stops and suddenly turns back around.

Sariel: What did you say?

❖☆———————————★❖

MC: Achoo!

I consecutively sneezed thrice as I headed to the shooting studio. Is someone talking about me behind my back or something?

❖☆———————————★❖

I entered the shooting studio as I thought it over, only to see Brother Mao, who was standing by the entrance, the moment I looked up.

Brother Mao: You're here only NOW? Here, here. Come here!

MC: What's up, Brother Mao? It's still early, no? Why are you so panicky?

Brother Mao: The shooting ended early— No, wait. I suppose I should say that it's been forcibly postponed till tomorrow.

MC: Huh? But why?

Brother Mao: Because of Lin Yao's agent, of course!

Brother Mao: She said that the photographers weren't the ones that they'd chosen, so they weren't going to be shooting today. She said that they were going to do it tomorrow instead when the right photographers are here!

Brother Mao: You know how I'm usually fast to run my mouth? Well, the scariest thing was that I couldn't even put a word in...

MC: ……

MC: What did Lin Yao say about it?

Brother Mao: She only stood there, not a peep from her. From the looks of it, it looks like both mother and daughter are in agreement.

MC: Mother and daughter? The agent's her mom?

Brother Mao: Yeah. I think she pampers her kid too much. That's why she's being so picky and choosy with us.

MC: Well, that shouldn't be the case. All reports have said that Lin Yao is very sensible and easy to talk with.

Brother Mao: Hell, I don't know! Go take a look for yourself.

MC: And Lin Yao? Where's she now?

Brother Mao: She went to try out the clothes.

Brother Mao: I have a bad feeling, though. Her agent had a look of distaste on her face when she took the clothes earlier. I don't know if she—

BANG!

The door to the dressing room suddenly flung open with terrifying viciousness.

Brother Mao and I jumped in fright. A cold and shrill feminine voice sounded before we could even react in time.

??: You call these clothes wearable!?

Brother Mao: And that's the agent.

Following the rapid clicking of high heels, a woman dressed in a sleeveless dress walked up to him and stared him down with her hands on her hips.

Agent: Our Yaoyao is sincerely and earnestly putting in the effort for this cooperation. She even especially delayed her flight!

Agent: All for the sake of trying on her dress!

Agent: Yet, how dare you give us this half-hearted dress that's not even suitable!? I want to see your Designer!

MC: ……

MC: Hello. I am (Y/n), the Designer.

Agent: Is Warson treating us as fools? You're so young; you must be an intern! Warson can't just ride roughshod over its customers like that!

Brother Mao: Who says that being young equals being an intern!? She's one of our best Designers!

Brother Mao had a vein protruding on his forehead in his ire. I quickly reassured him that everything was fine.

MC: You can feel free to tell me just what about this outfit you're unsatisfied with. This is what this fitting session is for. I will try my best to modify it.

The agent coldly contemplated us for a good long while before turning and walking back into the dressing room. Brother Mao and I followed after her.

❖☆———————————★❖

Although I had a calm facade on the outside, I was a whirlwind of emotions within. I most definitely didn’t know what Lin Yao looked like, wearing those clothes.

Upon seeing her, I felt my heart plummet to the ground with a loud thud, as if it were a stone.

She stood there indifferently, positioned between light and shadows. Her skin was so pale that it appeared as if light could permeate through it. She looked like a dark elf emerging from the depths of the moonlit waters.

She slowly turns around at the sound. She had an expressionless look on her face. Was she in a bad mood?

Agent: What’s with this gloomy colour? Pink is what suits our Yaoyao best! Get it? Girly pink!

Agent: Also, this dress is way too short! It should reach below the knees at least so that it can highlight her pureness and innocence.

Agent: These metal tassels are inappropriate as well! God knows if they’ll think that she’s a bad girl wearing these!

Agent: Also, Yaoyao got injured while filming beforehand, so her scar must be covered.

Brother Mao: But, you never mentioned anything about scars beforehand…?

Agent: Who would want to be injured? It’s an accident.

Looking at the scars on Lin Yao’s forearm and wrist, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity.

MC: I will think of something for her scars. The other aspects of the design were designed to suit the character she portrays, that's why I didn't go for the innocent and soft look.

MC: I also hope that Miss Lin Yao here will be able to portray a different image to the masses with this outfit.

Agent: You are a Designer, are you not? It is your DUTY to help us make these adjustments.

I ignored her, walking straight to Lin Yao.

MC: Miss Lin Yao, may I ask if this dress is satisfactory to you?

MC: If you do not like it, then we can shelve this and I'll start designing a new one right now. You can just tell me if that's the case; there's no need to feel bad.

Lin Yao was silent. She seemed to be looking at me, yet not quite. She gradually pressed her lips into a thin line, as if making a hard decision.

I was just about to take her silence as a “no” when she finally spoke.

Lin Yao: Mother. This style is what's been recently trending. You can't deny that this might open more doors for me in the future.

Lin Yao: And, have you already forgotten the interview by the media the other day where they were asking when I'd be able to change my image once in a while?

Upon hearing this, her agent shot her a long and profound look, as if she’d wanted to say something, yet it wasn’t too convenient for her to do so seeing as we were also present. Eventually, she gave a reluctant nod.

Agent: Fine. I’ll go ask about the photographer issue again. Hurry and change back out of your clothes.

Brother Mao shot me a look before following after her.

❖☆————— ⊹ For Light & Night⊹ —————★❖

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-15) | Next Part: (Chapter 2-21)

[ectora]

Abigael is a person who is what’s considered a grey character. Meaning she has potential for both good and bad. And we’ve seen both.

But abi is also someone who arguably, from what we know, never really known kindness. She was abused both physically by her mom, her dad tried to murder her and then she got kicked out of her own house on the mere fact she was half demon. Something she had no control over.

So she chose the demon world. Because demons She understand. They are more logical, less sentimental. Darker. The treatment she got from her mother however, the one person who is supposed to love and support her unconditionally ? It was purely based on hate. Hate Abigael did not deserve.

So yeah she chose darkness. And I get that. She chose what she could understand. Demons understand power and fear. She can control that. It’s easier. It doesn’t involve as many emotions, it doesn’t involve letting people in and hurt You. It doesn’t involve rejection. And mostly ? It gave her a reason to fight. To prove she was more than what she was always reduced to. That she could rise and be at the top. It offered her an objective.

Then she met the sisters. And arguably probably one of the first time she witnessed people who weren’t as judgemental. They were a bit. But they probably treated her more fairly than she had in the past. And from that point you kinda saw her choose to do some better things. Yes she’s still manipulative and self serving. That doesn’t equal evil. But she didn’t have to keep the peace. She didn’t have to work with them. And she didn’t have to protect them when her own head was on the line. She cared more than she had in the past.

And she still has a mountain of defence mechanisms. She always wanted to present herself as more emotionless than she is. We witnessed that. Jordan called her out on it. She herself called out Mel because she knew exactly how it felt. But you can see for the first time in a long time she was actually letting people in a little bit more than usual. She kinda connected with them.

Like Abigael just isn’t black or white. She’s a mixed of both. It doesn’t excuse everything. Sure. Accountability is important. But that’s also what makes her interesting. And layered. And why so many people liked her.

She was a child who was abused for something she had no control over. Who was mistreated over something she didn’t understand. And a child that was seeing herself being refused a part of her being. Being hated because of it. So when the final straw happened, when she got fully physically rejected by her mother, kicked out of her house, it makes sense she fell directly into the one thing that has been denied to her her entire life and yet was the reason she was being punished for all along. Her demon side.

[everybodyscupoftea]

finally free

ole miss rafe x reader

rafe is tired, you try and help, and eventually the two of you get to drink

two in one day baby (almost?)

(warnings: cursing, drinking, hardly edited)

Rafe had been exhausted lately, cancelling dates to do homework and pulling at least one all-nighter a week. He’d decided to TA his first semester in the program, and while you were happy he got the subject of his choice, you were worried he was running himself too ragged.

It’s not like you had much room to talk, Vet School had been brutal, and the amount of work was what you expected, but weren’t exactly prepared for. A lot of the time you’d spent together starting mid-semester was takeout and homework in one of your apartments.

Your semester came to an end before Rafe’s by two weeks, and you spent the first week catching up on sleep, working out, and making actual home cooked meals for Rafe. You’d been practically living at his apartment, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Babe,” you called one morning, walking out of his room around 10:30.

He was sitting at the dining room table, and looked up at you, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, “What’s up?”

“About to head to the gym, want some breakfast before I go?”

“Had a bagel, thanks though.”

You nodded and kissed his forehead before heading toward the door, “Gonna get some groceries while I’m out and probably Strange Brew. Text me if you decide you want me to pick something up.”

He smiled at you tiredly, and you could see the bags under his eyes from across the room, “Thanks, sweetheart, I think I’m good though. Going to work for a few hours and then take a nap.”

“Please take a nap, you need it. How many days do you have left?”

“Three and then next week is finals. So I’ll have tests and papers to grade. Plus my schoolwork.”

“Are the tests multiple choice?”

“Yeah.”

“I can do those. So you can focus on your own shit and the papers.”

You couldn’t be sure, but it looked like his eyes filled up and the lines on his face softened, “That would be fantastic.”

“Alrighty then, sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in a few, you’d better be asleep when I get back.”

Rafe grinned and sent you a salute, “Yes ma’am.”

-

He had clearly just laid down by the time you got back, and when you walked in, arms full of grocery bags. Laid on the couch, he jolted, eyes snapping open. You winced, “Sorry, babe.”

Putting away the groceries, you went over the couch and knelt down before running your fingers through his hair. He hummed, leaning into your hand, “Not asleep like you told me to, sorry.”

You smiled softly, “S’okay, you almost were, I woke you up.”

“Groceries put away?” he asked suddenly.

“Mhmm.”

Without saying anything else, he lifted the edge of the blanket closest to you, a clear invitation for you to slide in next to him. Huffing out a laugh, you kicked your shoes off and laid down, half on top of Rafe.

Rafe wrapped a leg and both arms around you, adjusting the blanket until he was happy, and then promptly fell asleep. You smiled and rested your forehead on his collarbone, content to lay in silence with him for a little while.

It couldn’t have been more than two hours before an alarm on his phone under the throw pillow started going off, startling you out of the half asleep state you’d fallen into and waking him up completely.

“Fuck,” he slurred, “don’t wanna get up.”

“Sleep more,” you told him, voice just as quiet.

“Can’t. Got a paper on the Black Plague due in a few days, don’t have enough sources yet.”

“Baby,” you muttered, “you’re running yourself ragged. If you don’t sleep your paper won’t be good anyway.”

Rafe shut his eyes tightly, “I know. But I just can’t.”

“Is there something I can do for you.”

“I-” he paused, one hand coming up to rub his eyes, “you aren’t my mom, I hope you know I really don’t see you that way. I don’t want to treat you like that, you need to know that you’re my equal and that you don’t have to take care of me, that I’m capable of it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “I know. Where’s this coming from?”

“Can you,” Rafe sighed, clenching his eyes shut for a second, “would you mind taking care of my laundry? It’s been a few weeks and I’m almost out of underwear.”

“Yeah, of course. I need to do mine too.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. I did offer.”

“Yeah, but I’ve seen my friends act like children, treat their girlfriend like a glorified mother. I don’t want to be like that.”

“You aren’t,” you reassured, “I promise.”

He smiled wryly, “Let me know if I am, yeah?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

-

A week later found you and Rafe sitting on the floor, side by side, backs leaning against the couch. He had a key spread out between the two of you, and you had a stack of exams handed in by two sections of the class. He had an even thicker stack of essays in one hand, and a blue pen in the other. 

“Why blue?” you asked, twirling your own black pen in your fingers.

“Hmm?” he mumbled, looking over at you.

“Blue pen instead of black or red, why?” you asked again.

“Oh,” he smirked, “Ole Miss blue.”

“You,” your jaw dropped, “I hate you.”

“You so don’t. I’d even go as far to say you love me.”

“You know I do, please don’t act slick. You’re an MSU student now.”

“Uh huh, only two years compared to five at Ole Miss.”

“Grade your essays, I don’t want to talk to you,” you huffed, faking annoyance, and turned up the quiet music playing through the speaker.

He dropped his head back against the couch and whined, “These papers are so bad though. Like they barely even tried.”

“I’m sure they did, babe, but you’re used to graduate level writing now.”

“No,” he shoved one in your face, a strand of hair falling over his furrowed brow, “read this.”

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled it a few inches from your face to read. He stared at you as you scanned, and made a triumphant noise when you squinted,

“There are a few mistakes,” you mumbled.

“Generous,” he added, sounding smug.

“Don’t make fun of kids, they’re barely 18.”

“They’re assholes,” he corrected you, “like I knew it was a mostly freshman class, but goddamn. I hope I wasn’t this annoying back then.”

“You probably were. I mean, you were barely tolerable when you and I met.”

“No, I was relatively mature, I just didn’t know how to express emotion in a normal way.”

You put a hand on his shoulder and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, “You’ve come a long way.”

Rafe’s cheeks went a little red, and you cooed at him. He pushed your face away from his and muttered, “Grade the exams. You’re a menace.”

-

“Hey, sweetheart,” Rafe asked three nights before his last exam.

“Mhmm?” you answered, half asleep.

“Do we have Christmas plans this year?”

“Don’t think so, why?”

“I wasn’t sure if we were going to your parents’ house.”

“Haven’t talked to my mom in a while,” you frowned, “you think I should call her?”

“Up to you.”

“No, you’re part of this decision too. I know you’re exhausted, so if you don’t want to travel, we won’t.”

He frowned, “You can still go.”

“And leave you alone on Christmas?” He shrugged, not meeting your eye, and you pushed yourself up, staring down at him, “Rafe, you know I wouldn’t, right?”

“I mean, we’ve only been together for a year,” he mumbled.

“Not quite yet,” you corrected, absentmindedly, “but still, you’re important to me.”

“Well, in that case, call your mom, we’ll make the trip.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t you take a few days to think it over. I know you’ve never met them in person before. Doing it on a holiday would be a bit overwhelming.”

He laughed, “Yeah, I guess it would.”

“Sleep now, get back to me.”

“Fine.”

-

The afternoon of Rafe’s last final, you walked into his apartment to hear Christmas music blasting. Your boyfriend was sprawled out on the couch surrounded by beer bottles, and he gave you a lazy wave, “Sup, mamas.”

“Hey, Rafe. How’d the test go?”

“Excellent. Now I’m celebrating.”

“I see that.”

“It’s Christmas season now.”

“Now, huh?”

“Well the tree has been decorated for two weeks now, so I could argue that your logic is flawed.”

“No no,” he held his hand up, “it’s only Christmas now that I can focus on it.”

“You given any thought to Christmas plans?” you asked.

Rafe sat up suddenly, “Yes,” he pointed at you, “what if we FaceTime your parents instead of making the long ass drive.”

“Fine with me. I talked to my mom the other day and she told us that she’d put our presents in the mail anyway. They expected this.”

He frowned, “You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Great, sounds great.”

“Great,” you joked in response. 

Rafe rolled his eyes and shoved your shoulder, “Drink with me.”

“I will. Picked some stuff up this afternoon for spiked eggnog, by the way.”

“Oh fuck yes. Homemade eggnog?”

“Of course.”

He followed you to the kitchen, so close he was almost tripping over your heels, and you huffed, coming to a stop. Rafe ran into your back before stepping back, a sheepish grin on his face, “Sorry.”

“Can I trust you to help me or are you too gone right now?”

“I can help,” he nodded, doing his best to look sober.

“Fine, you’ll stir, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stood by the stove, wooden spoon in hand, feet spread further than shoulder width apart, dropping down to your height. You measured out the milk and cream and turned the heat up, giving him a weird look, “Why are you standing like that?”

“You were humming that song that’s like do you see what I see and I don’t, so I was curious.”

“It’s a song? You don’t have to take it literally.”

“Hmm, braincells gone. Everything is literal unless specified.”

You snorted, “Stir, dumbass,” before starting to separate the egg whites from the yolks. Keeping an eye on him, you started to whisk the egg yolks, pausing to help him add in the sugar, vanilla and nutmeg when the milk started bubbling.

“Smells good,” he told you, sniffing the mixture.

“It does. You ready to whisk it in?”

“Yes ma’am.”

Rafe very carefully poured and you whisked before pouring it back into the saucepan.

“You got a thermometer?” you asked him, flipping the heat back on.

He pulled open a drawer and brandished one eagerly, clearly proud of himself for being prepared, “Fuck yeah I do.”

“Put it in, tell me when it hits 160.”

Rafe stared, eyebrows furrowed, fully focused on the number. When he told you, you flipped the heat off again and poured in the rum and brandy. Making it a bit stronger than you normally would.

“Bro,” he said, taking a spoonful, “this is incredible.”

“Thanks, bro,” you answered, bumping your hip into his.

“Oh, hip check,” he bumped back, twice as hard, knocking you off balance.

“Rafe,” you glared, stepping away to pour two glasses, “don’t make me spill or you can make another batch on your own.”

“No,” he pouted, “I could never.”

“You couldn’t, no.”

You watched, appalled, as Rafe chugged his first glass, slamming it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his other hand.

“Shit’s good,” he told you earnestly.

“We’re not at a bar, Rafe. Take it easy.”

“Nope, blackout remember?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your forehead, “pour yourself another I guess.”

Rafe leaned in for a kiss, missing your mouth and landing on your chin, but it was like he didn’t even realize before he was moving around you back to the pitcher you’d poured it in.

It didn’t take many more cups for Rafe to be totally gone, curled up with you on the couch while the live action Grinch played in the background, eyes fluttering shut every few seconds.

“Tired?” you finally whispered, when you were pretty sure there was drool on your shirt.

“Huh?” he asked, blinking rapidly, “No.”

“Sure,” you responded, amused, “let’s go get ready for bed, huh?”

You put the empty cups in the dishwasher before guiding Rafe to the bathroom to make him brush his teeth and get undressed. 

“Tryna get me naked?” he asked, swaying in place as he pushed his shirt over his head lazily.

“Yeah,” you answered, rubbing moisturizer in.

Rafe followed you to bed, falling in after you, mostly on top of you, knocking the breath out of your chest.

“Jesus, Cameron,” you wheezed.

“Rafe is fine,” he mumbled into your neck, and was out like a light a few seconds later.

You sighed, squirming under him to try and get comfortable before falling asleep yourself.

~

day 7 of @obxmermaid​‘s holiday challenge: spiked eggnog or cider

[fiftyyearfilms]

50 Years Later: The Still Sweet Legacy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Image source: https://people.com/food/gene-wilder-death-willy-wonka-pure-imagination/

I first watched Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory during the summer of 2001, when I was four years old. Sometime after the end credits rolled, I waddled into our little English garden and decided to have a nibble of one of the buttercups poking through in the grass. You will be unsurprised to discover that it tasted acrid and bitter and that I promptly screwed up my face and spat it out again. ‘But— but- -’ little four-year-old me thought, ‘—but in Willy Wonka’s garden the yellow butter-tea-cups are edible and filled with a breakfast brew! The toadstools and mushrooms ooze sweet white cream! And the trees don’t sprout boring old fruit, but giant jellified gummy bears!' According to my four-year old logic, in Wonka’s edible garden these synaesthetic saccharine delights could exist and so in our garden they could too. So was the bittersweet belief that ‘Anything is possible’ the film inspired - bittersweet because, of course, it's not true. Today marks the 50-year anniversary of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, which premiered in the United States on this day in 1971. Time reveals a legacy that is more sweet than sour.

The 1971 adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1964 book ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ has an origins story that reads like a saccharine fairytale, complete with the requisite obstacles. Once upon a time, the story of Charlie Bucket and his lucky visit to a chocolate factory found its way into the hands of a 12-year-old girl called Madeline Stuart, the daughter of a Hollywood filmmaker, Mel Stuart. Madeline approached her father and asked him to make a film out of the story. In Stuart’s memory, his daughter’s innocent plea went something like this: ’Daddy... I want you to make this into a movie!’ A self-confessed chocoholic, Stuart said yes. And the rest was history? Not just yet...

The early 1970’s wasn’t Hollywood’s happiest hour. Low attendance and a struggling national economy meant that the U.S film industry was in a state of near-collapse and financing the movie was no easy feat; studios were cash-strapped. It was a stroke of sweet luck that the producer of the film, Mel Stuart’s friend David Wrober, had a connection to the Quaker Oats Company who, by happy chance, were looking for a way to break into the chocolate industry. In an unprecedented move in Hollywood, Quaker Oats agreed to finance the film on account of the fact that it would allow them to launch a ‘Wonka’ bar. A convenient if imperfect marriage was formed between the food company and the producers. A Happily Ever After? Still not yet...

There were active forces that didn’t want the candy man to make the leap from page to silver screen. Having long been vocal about Hollywood and its poor representation of black people, the NAACP objected to the adaptation because of the colonial overtones of the Ooompa Loompas in Dahl’s story (described as “a tribe of miniature pygmies” who were imported from Africa); they didn’t want additional attention being brought to the novel. The NAACP eventually suggested that “The solution is to make the Oompa-Loompas white and to make the film under a different title.” Mel Stuart agreed. The title was changed to ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, a change that would also benefit the marketing of the Quaker Oat Company’s ‘Wonka’ bar. After Stuart consulted with some black actor friends, it also was decided that the elf-like characters would be carrot orange with grass-green hair. Whether this amounted to ‘whitewashing’ or not is a matter for the individual to decide but changing the skin colour was the only way to adapt the book without making more significant changes to Dahl’s story. After all, it was the man himself penning the screenplay.

Image source: https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/search-perfect-willy-wonka

Dahl’s screenplay - bloated and too close an adaption of the book, was eventually revised by newbie screenwriter David Seltzer, but the fantastical elements of the author’s story remained largely intact: chocolate rooms with chocolate waterfalls and rivers, fizzy-lifting stations that send Charlie Bucket and his grandfather floating to the ceiling, and elevators that fly straight into the sky. Harper Goff, famed for his work on the 1945 Disney film ‘20,000 Leagues under the Sea’, was tasked with bringing Dahl’s demanding vision to life in the art department. Then there were difficulties in casting too, and a cross-country search took place for the Oompa Loompas and the lucky ticket-winning children (lamentably, only white actors were cast). With scouting and sketching underway, producers had the formidable challenge of finding somewhere to shoot the movie. After considering the Guinness Factory in Ireland and – wait for it - a national monument in Spain, producers settled on the Munich Gas works and Bavarian Film Studios in Germany as the central filming locations. It was cheaper than America and the location’s foreignness to British and American audiences would work in the favour of creating a ‘Neverland’ story.

Tinged with sweetness and sourness, pre-production on Wonka came to a close in late August 1970 and principal photography began. For the adults on set, budgetary problems were an ongoing source of stress and the unusual marriage between Hollywood and the food industry was one of the main causes. Unlike Paramount or Universal, who might have expected the film to go over budget, Quaker Oats viewed the film as one long advertisement for their new bar and were unsurprisingly less sympathetic when the weather was bad and shooting had to be delayed or when something went wrong on set and more money had to be poured in (or, in the case of the chocolate waterfall, a specially sourced anti-foaming solution). The kids also had their tribulations (and were only renumerated £60 per week for their hard labour). Stuart was a tough director. So tough, in fact, that the child actors used to joke that they deserved Oscars for their roles (or for putting up with Stuart). He treated the young actors as adults and perhaps that’s one reason why the performances are so strong. But Stuart reflected that overall, it was like ‘one big slumber party’ for the child actors. Stories from the set include Paris Themmen, who played Mike Teevee, releasing bees from underneath a bell jar in Wonka’s chewing gum machine. Denise Nickerson (playing Violet Beauregarde) and Julie Dawn Cole (Veruca Salt) fought over Peter Ostroff, who played Charlie Bucket, and took turns being his ‘girlfriend’ day-by-day. After lunch breaks, Ostroff and Gene Wilder, who played Wonka himself, would walk back to set together sharing a chocolate bar. There was an excitable atmosphere on set and, filmed without storyboards or pre-production rehearsals, it translated into authenticity in the final film.

Image source: https://www.thedelite.com/willy-wonka-and-chocolate-factory-movie-facts-you-never-knew/

Filming came to a bittersweet end in November 1970, cast members said their teary goodbyes, and then seven months later, Willy Wonka premiered in the United States. While time has judged differently, the contemporary reception to the film was, at best, lukewarm. From a $2.9 million dollar budget, the film only made $4 million in theatres and ranked as #53 in the box office. There were a number of reasons for this. Several reviewers panned the movie; a critic from the New York Times called it ‘tedious and stagy with little sparkle and precious little humor’. The fun and spectacle of Willy Wonka didn’t sit well with an anxious and cynical audience. In the Vietnam era, The French Connection, The Omega Man, and A Clockwork Orange were in, and optimism and fun were out. The film also had to contend with the declining weekly movie attendance across the U.S, which reached an all-time low of 14 million in 1971 (from 44 million in 1963). On top of this, Dahl didn’t exactly enthuse about the final product. Finally - and this is what the director attributed primary responsibility to: a lacklustre marketing effort on behalf of Paramount Pictures.

But box-office results aren’t everything. Like sherbet - sour at first and then Oh so sweet, Willy Wonka has gone on to gain a mass following of fans and gained the all-desirable ‘cult’ film status. The phenomenon happened over time. Six years after the film appeared on cinema screens, it was sold to Warner Brothers and became one of their best-selling video cassettes. Then, periodic screenings on cable and network television over the following decades meant that it gained an even wider following and stayed within Western cultural consciousness. The never-ending references to Willy Wonka in popular culture - from The Simpsons to Austin Powers to Marilyn Manson’s music videos, is testament to this. The same could be said about the upcoming Willy Wonka origins story, whether it turns out to be a good film or not. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory currently stands as the second most watched film of 1971 on Letterboxd (the Goodreads of film).

Re-watching the film in 2021, it seems almost inevitable that the film has found new and wide- ranging audiences and there’s one main reason for it: a stellar and totally captivating performance from Gene Wilder. The director attributed the film’s longevity to the fact that ‘it was made for adults; it was not made for children’ and it was Wilder himself that brought the grown-up fun. Wilder’s Wonka is sarcastic and witty, ensuring that the final film ended up as a ‘story for children’ only as much as After Eights are for post-dinner treats and Yorkie bars are just for boys. Wilder created a more nuanced and entrancing character out of Wonka than what is portrayed in the book - a Wonka who is dishonest but trustworthy, sarcastic but still empathetic, indifferent but deeply caring, and aloof but charming. Sure, the sets seem slightly dated (the chocolate room in particular) but watching Gene Wilder sing ‘Pure Imagination’ is so wholly captivating that one almost doesn’t notice the set’s limitations. Creating, let alone portraying, such an enigmatic version of Wonka is a tall order, but Wilder made it looks effortless. As evidence of his skill as an actor, Willy Wonka shows Charlie little interest until the very end of the film and then within minutes conveys a parental love to the boy that seems entirely believable. Wilder’s tantalising hot then cold, sugary then sour, sweet then salty performance sustains the whole film.

From the outset, it seemed like the Wilder-Wonka synergy was made to be. Wilder was a relative newcomer to Hollywood in 1970, making his feature film debut in the 1967 film Bonnie & Clyde, but when he walked into the casting room at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Mel Stuart knew he was the man straight away – ‘That’s Willy Wonka!’ he said. Wilder himself immediately seemed to have an intuitive understanding of how to bring the character to life, agreeing to take on the role on one condition: he said to Stuart, “I would like to come out [of the factory] with a cane and be crippled because no one will know from that time on whether I’m lying or telling the truth.’’ Like a magician, Wilder’s Wonka was going to draw you in and keep you in the palm of his hand. To the child actors on set, the Wilder-Wonka symbiosis was very much real. Julia Winter recalled that between takes the kids would crawl all over Wilder yelling, ‘It’s my turn to sit on his lap!’. In turn, Wilder would tell them jokes and stories; he ‘never got cross’. I remember feeling the same captivation as a child watching the film: I wanted to spend time with Wonka. It was only some adults who missed the magic trick. Dahl criticised Wilder’s performance as ‘pretentious’ and insufficiently ‘gay’. Wilder himself recalled hearing talk of mothers saying that the film was ‘cruel to the children’, but he understood that ‘maybe some mothers felt that way, but the children didn’t feel that way...there are limits and they want to know the limits’. The continuing classic status of the film is evidence that the kids (and Wilder) were right. The Wilder-Wonka magic has survived 50 years without souring. The only bittersweetness in watching the actor sing and twirl across the screen is knowing he is no longer with us.

Image source: https://cometoverhollywood.com/2016/08/29/musical-monday-willy-wonka-the-chocolate-factory-1971/

If Gene Wilder carried the film, then what about the story itself? The plot is simple, heart- warming, and doesn’t deserve close scrutiny. Willy Wonka really is a ‘show’, the story is secondary to the individual charisma of Wilder and the spectacle of the image and music. We don’t know if Charlie will be happy or sad once he’s inherited Wonka’s factory. We also don’t know what happens to the rest of the children after they’ve been punished. But who cares? The audience is taken to a joyful fun park where you want to eat everything on screen and play with all the gizmos and gadgets, and where the music is so catchy that you can’t get it out of your head for days and weeks after.

Select ideologues have (and will) taken issue with the story, discarding it as gauche capitalist propaganda. One Marxist criticism of the story even gained enough traction that the director took notice in later years. The parts seem to be there: a businessman running a competition by hiding five golden tickets in his candy bars, competition from other candy makers, the Wonka-Oompa Loompa relationship, and a ‘Rags to riches’ story for Charlie. But one might ask if this is an unnecessary and selective reading. The parts for an alternative vision are equally apparent: from the wild and uncontrolled creativity and experimentation inside the factory to the joy found within the chocolate work itself, and from the relentless drive forward ‘You have to go forward if you want to go back’ to the end picture of the elevator shooting through a glass ceiling and into the skies. If a critic really wanted to make the comparison, such images would sit more easily in Soviet Russia than capitalist America. Wonka might have a capitalist wrapper but take a bite and look closely inside and its ideological filling is incoherent (it is, after all, entertainment). One could imagine how the film might be set in a collectivist community rather than a ‘capitalist’ factory, but it would have made for a worse film. It is the sense of unease that runs throughout the film that has made it timeless, whether its Wonka’s frustration with August Gloop for polluting his pure chocolate river, his fear over someone leaking the secret recipe for the ever-lasting gobstopper, his nightmares in the tunnel sequence, or his anxiety over finding a worthy heir for the factory, which finally manifests as a misjudged outburst at Charlie. It’s the fraught relationship between abundance and greed that makes for such compelling watching. Anyway, as the screenwriter stated in an interview, the film is ‘...not the function of sitting down and intellectualising... it’s the function of scotch tape, cardboard, let’s put on a show!’ Why spoil the fun and examine the parts individually when the sum of the parts is a universal message people need to hear now as much as they did in 1971? Reward honesty and integrity, not greed.

A moral message delivered in an almost subversive tone is another reason for why the film feels timeless. Instead of adults dragging tired and bored children around, the adults in this film are at the mercy of their kids and Wonka. Young viewers can marvel at the gluttony of August Gloop, the smart-mouthed Violet Beauregarde, the wanton bad behaviour of Veruca Salt, and Mike Teevee’s devotion to cable. It’s escapism at its best to watch other kids do what you can’t do: speak back to parents and yell and scream. It’s equally as tantalising when the naughty children are punished in fantastical ways. Augustus, drinking from the chocolate river, falls in and then gets sucked up a chocolate chute. Violet chews forbidden gum and then blows up into a blueberry the size of a small horse. Veruca falls down a garbage chute. And Mike finds himself sucked into a television. Best of all, the parents are equally guilty of bad-behaviour as the kids - and, boy, do they pay for it. Wonka might be a film for children and adults, but you can guess who’s going to really have the best time. It is little Charlie, after all, who wins Wonka’s factory at the end of the day.

In the scene where Willy Wonka drinks from a yellow flower-shaped cup and then eats the cup, the cup itself was made of wax. Gene Wilder had to chew the wax pieces until the end of the take, at which point he spat them out. Adults that once watched the film as children now know that flowers in the garden aren’t edible. Our eyes can pick up the small imperfections in the film - the sweets that look plastic and chocolate river that looks like exactly what it was - ‘dirty, stinky water’. But through a child’s eyes - even coming to the film half a century after its release, the film really can be a ‘world of pure imagination’. In another fifty years, will children still wander into the garden, pick up a buttercup, and bite into it with all the belief in the word that it’ll taste like sweet, white chocolate? As long as parents continue to show children the film, they will - and what a marvellous legacy for a film to have. Fifty years on, it’s safe to say that Willy Wonka has had a sweet and indelible impact on our sadly mostly inedible world.

Sources for post: 

Mel Stuart, Josh Young, ‘Pure Imagination: The Making of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2001. 

Julia Dawn Cole, ‘I Want It Now! a Memoir of Life on the Set of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2011. 

Pure Imagination: The Story (Making) of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yyev_3S_Y4

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[finalgirlbrainrot]

I have two unpopular opinions 1) if roles were reversed and Dean was the one drinking blood, Dean stans would have excused the shit out of it and even liked it. 2) if none of Dean's trauma was addressed and ignored (like most of Sam's trauma is) Dean stans would fucking riot.

intensely aggressively strongly agree | strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

(sorry in advance, I ranted A Lot)

2) I'm gonna start with this one. YESYESYES I mean dean stans are already constantly unironically whining that dean's traumas never get acknowledged (EVEN THO IT'S LITERALLY NOT TRUE, HIS TRAUMAS ALREADY GET ACKNOWLEDGED MORE THAN ENOUGH. EVERY TIME HE STUBS HIS TOE. EVERYONE IS CODDLING HIM AND ASKING HIM HOW HE'S DOING. HALF THE SHOW IS LITERALLY DEAN MANPAINING ABOUT HIS TRAUMAS - but apparently that's not enough for them, so I can't imagine the uproar if it was actually true). meanwhile sam's traumas either get ignored or they get treated like a fucking joke? well I guess it's just another tuesday

I've also seen a lot of dean stans moaning about sam "forcing dean to talk about his traumas", because apparently sam actually acknowledging dean's traumas and encouraging him to open up about them and being always supportive af because he actually cares is unacceptable (and I'm willing to bet that if he didn't acknowledge them, they'd still complain because sam literally can't win no matter what he does)

but dean ignoring and never acknowledging sam's traumas (not even when he's directly responsible for said trauma) or making them all about himself (mystery spot, hallucifer, soullessness, gadreel possession) or vilifying and victim blaming him (being force-fed demon blood, soullessness, gadreel possession) or using said traumas to justify his actions (hallucifer) or making cruel, disgusting and unnecessary jokes about them ("you had a girl inside you for a whole week" [meg possession] "you know how wrong that sounds, right?" "you've like an episode of teen mom" [gadreel possession - let's talk about how these two in particular are a thousand times more disgusting than the rest since he's actually joking about a violation he's directly responsible for] "smores foot" [bmol torture] "crybaby pie" [cole torture] "you saw the [devil's] john [or butt]?" [the cage] dick of death jokes right, left and center) is perfectly acceptable behaviour

1) again YESYESYESYES. I mean, this isn't even a hypothesis, we already have an extremely similar storyline for dean - the moc - and everyone made excuses for him and glorified him, even tho he was worse than demon blood sam in every possible way

actually I wrote a rant on reddit a couple of days ago about the awful double standards between demon blood sam and moc/demon dean. I'm gonna paste it here because I'm Bitter Af

comparing demon blood sam and moc/demon demon is ironically and hysterically bitter because, logically, no matter how you spin it, s4 sam is much more understandable and easy to sympathize with - both in intentions and actions - and should have the moral high ground, while s9-10 dean was flat out awful and damaging. yet both the show and the fandom crucify sam and treat dean as some poor victim or a great martyred hero who made some great noble sacrifice and I just... don't get it. so let's break it down:

> reason for drinking blood / getting the moc

- sam: exorcising demons without harming the host, thus saving people (which apparently isn't that relevant to dean) and killing lilith, first because she sent his brother to hell and then to stop the apocalypse and because she was an actual threat

- dean: because he couldn't face the consequences of his actions after the gadreel mess and decided he wanted to kill abaddon, who, at that point, wasn't even their problem (she only became a real problem in 9x17, when they learned about the soul harvesting, so unless dean has some sort of prophetic knowledge, he had no reason to take the moc in 9x11) and was a real threat to no-one but crowley

> trusting / working with a demon

- sam: I've already said this before, but ruby was a master manipulator and went to extraordinary lengths to gain sam's trust and even managed to fool every single demon (aside from lilith obviously). as far as both brothers knew, she's done nothing but help them, saved their lives multiple times and helped them save others, fixed the colt for them, was there for sam after dean died, is basically hunted by other demons for helping them, has risked her life for them several times and even got tortured for them and was helping sam to go after the demon who was trying to start the apocalypse. sam had absolutely no valid reason not to trust her. I'd really like someone to look me in the eyes and tell me that, if anyone did everything I mentioned above, you wouldn't trust them

- dean: trusted a demon who they knew is extremely untrustworthy and self-serving and only does what's in his best interest and has screwed them over one way or another every time they worked together and has hurt people they're close to

> level of manipulation involved

- sam: as I already said, ruby was a master manipulator and spent two years carefully manipulating sam to get him to do what she wanted. not the mention everything azazel did to get him there, lilith pushing his buttons at every turn to get him to kill her and the manipulation from heaven as well, who were lying to the boys at every turn

- dean: while crowley was manipulating him, the level of manipulation isn't remotely comparable to the one sam went through is s4. crowley saying “let’s kill abaddon” and pretending to be afraid of cain is not comparable to a plan that’s been set on motion since the beginning of time and crowley wasn't the only one involved in dean getting the mark. cain was involved as well and he wasn't manipulating him (unlike sam, who was being manipulated by everyone involved). on the contrary, he was completely honest with dean and even offered to tell him more about the mark and DEAN REFUSED (like can you imagine how many problems would've been avoided if dean sat on his ass for one minute and listened to cain's warning???)

> actions

- sam: in s4 sam was trying to use something that was forced on him when he was six months old, and that he hated about himself, to do good because he felt like he had to and was literally SAVING PEOPLE and trying to stop the apocalypse, I literally still don't get why he's vilified for it????? in s4 sam killed a total of one (1) person: the possessed nurse and while that was obviously bad, 1) he was clearly upset about it and 2) I still haven't seen one (1) valid reason for why she's any different from the demons dean drained and killed in swan song or from any of the other possession victims they killed with the demon knife or the angel blade

- dean: meanwhile dean was going around murdering people left and right (also another example of fandom double standards: everyone defends moc!dean and demon!dean because "he only killed bad people" - which isn't even true, but let's say he was - and yet, I seem to remember a certain kitsune named amy pond, who was ALSO killing bad people (and not for the lolz of it, but to save her son) and dean killed her and the fandom defended him back then as well. is killing bad people okay only if dean does it?), tried to kill sam, beat cas bloody

> keeping secrets

- sam: keeping his powers and the demon blood a secret was his god given right, since it affected no-one but sam himself and the demons he was exorcising. not to mention, he had pretty good reasons for not telling dean, considering his bigotry, black and white views and judgmental attitude. and yet, he was, and still is, vilified by both the show and the fandom for keeping secrets and dean even punched him for not telling him about his abilities (something in particular about this point that absolutely drives me up the wall: in 4x04 sam accidentally revealed that he knew about what azazel did to him and dean got mad at him for not telling him about it, even tho dean himself found out about it and didn't tell sam and no-one - not the show, not the fandom and not even sam and dean themselves - notices the hypocrisy. they're literally saying that it's okay for DEAN to keeps something about SAM a secret from SAM, but not okay for SAM to keep something about HIMSELF a secret from DEAN. if you don't think that's super fucked up, then I don't know what to tell you)

- dean: no-one says anything about dean keeping the effects of the mark a secret, even tho, unlike s4 sam, lying about the mark directly affected other people and put everyone around him in danger, including sam

> general treatment

- sam: everyone treated sam like a monster in s4, dean straight up called him a monster, told him he'd hunt him if he didn't know him, forced him into a torture-detox that almost killed him, tried to control him and refused to see his point. at the end of s4 sam apologized to dean. in s5 dean repeatedly told him that he doesn't trust him. sam was blamed for everything that happened in s4 and his mistake kept getting brought up even seasons later

- dean: everyone and their mom was coddling him and helping to get rid of the mark. everyone considered the mark to be the problem, not dean himself. sam was unconditionally supportive. dean never once apologized to sam for any of the awful things he said/did to him while he had the mark. sam never once blamed dean for anything that happened in s9-10 and instead placed the blame on crowley and none of the things dean did ever got brought up again

> at the end of each arc

- sam: paid for his mistake by sacrificing himself and jumped into the cage and saved the world and got tortured by the devil himself for centuries

- dean: paid for his mistake by having his mother brought back to life

send me unpopular opinions

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Snap Part 2

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Warnings: roman angst and everything that goes with it. self-esteem issues, self-hatred, insecurity. sympathetic everyone

Pairings: roceit, platonic DLAMPR, platonic creativitwins

Word Count: 6113

Most things in life are flexible to some degree. You can push and pull and bend them in certain ways and, to some extent, they will comply with you. There are some things that you can bend and bend and bend. Creativity is one of these things. Creativity, imagination, dreams...they can be shaped and changed into whatever you want.

Bend...and bend...and bend...until they snap.

The first day is hard.

 The first day isn’t having your entire worldview turned upside down. It’s worse. The first day isn’t being betrayed by the people you value most to the extent that it rips a hole in your sternum so deep it threatens to swallow you whole. It’s worse.

 The first day isn’t realizing that the only reason you have your place, that you’re standing here right now is entirely based on how much you conform. It’s worse.

 It’s knowing all of those things, suspecting them, having them whispered in your ear in the middle of the night, for years, and being proved right all at once.

 Roman slumps against the wall, not bothering to fix the way it’s ripping the back of his costume up in shreds. He doesn’t deserve to wear the damn thing anyway. He’s no prince. He’s no knight. He’s not even the squire.

 He’s no hero.

 He’s never really been a hero, though, has he?

 He throws his head back with a silent scream, his jaw aching from the weight of it, his head thunking against the wall.

 Nothing. That’s what he’s worth now. Nothing.

 He gave up the callback for nothing.

 He gave up his dreams, Thomas’s dreams, for nothing.

 He stuck his neck out for J—for Deceit for nothing.

 He doesn’t deserve to say or even think his name. Not after what he’s done.

 Roman’s lips curl up in a smile; a horrible, bitter thing that stings the corners of his mouth and threatens to burn his cheeks.

 What Roman’s done…he’d tried so hard.

 For them.

 The worst part, Roman thinks as he buries his hands in his hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, is they actually think I believe it.

 They think he believes in only black and white. They think he genuinely believes Deceit is evil. They think Roman is crushed, throwing his temper tantrum, because Thomas told him he’s not as important as he thinks he is.

 Patton is the heart. Patton is feelings. Patton is Morality.

 Thomas likes Patton. Thomas listens to Patton. Thomas will always listen to Patton.

 So Roman listened to Patton.

 Patton likes—well, Roman sniffs, after today, who knows—black and white thinking. There is a right and there is a wrong. There is a good and there is a bad. There is a hero and there is a villain. So Roman tried his best to be the prince, to be the hero, to be good for Thomas. So Thomas could believe that good dreams can come true.

 Logan is the problem solver. Logan is the intelligent one. Logan is Logic.

 Thomas likes Logan too. He respects Logan in a way that speaks volumes more than the offhanded compliments he tosses Roman’s way on occasion. Thomas will always, always try and make room for Logan in a conversation, even if it doesn’t always go as planned.

 So Roman tried to be better to Logan.

 Logan is clever, beyond clever, and respects people that can keep up with him. So Roman keeps up with him, challenging him to get him to talk, to explain, to teach. Logan enjoys teaching, enjoys talking. And why shouldn’t he? He’s good at it. So Roman tried to make sure that if nothing else, he was the one that Logan could always teach.

 Virgil is the protector. Virgil is the caution. Virgil is Anxiety.

 Thomas didn’t always like Virgil. In fact, he told Roman that it was one of his dreams to get rid of Virgil. So Roman tried to do what Thomas wanted, treated Virgil like a villain, because that’s what was asked of him. But then Virgil had ducked out and now…now Roman was supposed to like Virgil. And he was confused because wasn’t this…not supposed to happen? But Thomas wanted Virgil.

 So Roman did his best to make up for what he did to Virgil.

 Virgil is fight or flight, always on guard, and needs a level of security to feel safe. So Roman tried his best to give that to Virgil, to be consistent, to help protect Thomas, to push for things that would help make Thomas feel safer. And…and if anything, it gave Virgil an answer. When Thomas’s dreams didn’t turn out the way he wanted, or a bump in a relationship made them all feel down, Roman gave Virgil an easy, consistent place to look for blame.

 Roman lets out a whimper and presses his fingertips hard to his eyes as his hair falls in his face. He’d tried, he’d tried so hard to make them all happy, to do what needed to be done to make them happy, to please them. He tried so hard.

 Then…then Deceit.

 Roman doesn’t know what to do.

 When Virgil first appeared, Roman was told that the Others were villains. So he treated Virgil like a villain.

 Then Virgil ducked out and they all realized that wasn’t the case. So Roman didn’t treat Virgil like a villain, because that was unfair.

 Then Deceit revealed himself to Thomas and Thomas didn’t like him. So Roman tried to keep him away from Thomas, called the Others the Dark Sides.

 Then the news of the callback came and Roman wanted to go, he wanted to go so badly he ached from it, and Deceit wanted to go too. And Roman suggested they hear him out because it wasn’t fair to treat Deceit as automatically bad, because that’s not what they did with Virgil.

 Then the other Sides tore him apart, spent the entire courtroom scene lauding about how Deceit was evil, that he wasn’t supposed to be here. Deceit dressed him up, not for the first time, stuck him in the judge’s seat with the gavel in his hand, giving Roman the final say. So Roman did what the others wanted and sent Thomas to the wedding.

 Then…then Remus.

 Roman doesn’t remember much of that day either, to tell the truth.

  Ha.

 He remembers rising up into the living room, being extremely confused, and then knocked out twice. First by his brother’s morning star, then by a casual flick of his fingers.

 He remembers coming to and having everyone’s reaction be disgust. Hatred. Fear.

 He remembers Thomas being so relieved that it was him, not Remus, and he remembers telling Thomas that Remus was everything he didn’t want to be. Thomas thought that meant vulgar, crass, shameless, twisted. It didn’t, but that’s what Thomas wanted to believe, so…Roman let him.

 And now…now the wedding.

 Roman whimpers involuntarily, scratching his arms until the fabric groans in protest. He’d messed up again. He’d messed up so many times.

 He hadn’t said the right thing when Thomas and Patton had asked him. He hadn’t made the right choice with Logan—had he ever made the right choice with Logan?—and his information. He’d messed up by—by mocking Deceit’s name.

 He’d messed up by saying 360 instead of 180.

 Roman growls, throwing himself to his feet and pacing wildly, still tearing his costume to shreds as he goes, his hair hanging in front of his eyes, his movements growing more and more frantic.

 He hadn’t misspoken. He’d said exactly what he wanted to say.

 He wanted to go to the callback. He wanted to talk to Lee and Mary Lee about skipping the wedding. He wanted to listen to Deceit.

 A pained howl tears itself from Roman’s throat and he all but collapses onto the floor, sobbing and still tearing the damned costume away from him.

 He’d wanted, so many times, and he’d tried.

 He wanted the romance, it was his job, and he failed, and Thomas is so unhappy that he failed, and Patton was so hurt that he failed, but when he tried to fix it, to get what he wanted, he was wrong. He was bad.

 He wanted the callback, and yet one of the biggest reasons almost no one else did was because Thomas winning the callback was so unlikely. They thought Roman winning was unlikely.

 He wanted his brother. He wanted Remus so badly. He wanted his brother back by his side, so they could work together again, they always worked better together, but Remus was taken away from him, because Remus was Bad and Roman was Good. And the only reason Roman was here is that he was Good.

  Good.

 Roman gasps, curled up on the floor of his room, his nails digging into his arms as bruises bloom across his body. He can’t even wince at the pain, can’t do anything other than gasp for breath around his sobs.

 What is Roman if he isn’t good? What is Roman if he isn’t the hero?

 Well, no.

 What is Roman if Thomas doesn’t think he’s a hero?

 Roman knows he’s not a hero. Heroes don’t mock people’s names in moments of vulnerability.

 Guilt wells up in Roman’s chest, making him gasp. Hot and heavy tears trickle down his face, through his hair, sending him into another pathetic, blubbering stupor. He doesn’t deserve to feel guilty. He’s messed up. He’s been so cruel. And what kind of horrible person views being compared to their brother as the worst possible insult?

 Although…it never really was about who Remus is, is it? Nor is it what Remus represents, not really.

 Roman rolls over, no better than a wounded animal, yowling out for someone to help it, flinching as he lands on a new set of bruises. Being the hero is how he defined himself for so long…and now?

 it’s not that he can’t compute non-black-and-white thinking, it’s that no one else cares that this is so important to him. Something that has caused him so much suffering is now being treated as insignificant and fickle by the same people that have enforced it on him for years. Because he has Remus around to show him how conditional everyone’s love really is and oh, wait, maybe it isn’t anymore.

 Because after all, if he had a mustache…

 Roman smiles again and laughs. It starts out low, a snort he tries to cover up. Then it bubbles up, frenzied, hysterical, and utterly humorless.

 There really is no good twin, is there?

 Remus doesn’t have this weakness, Roman thinks as he pushes himself unsteadily to his feet, his costume hanging from him in tatters. Remus is perfectly confident in who he is. Remus knows who he is. Remus isn’t bound by such weak and fickle labels like ‘good’ or ‘evil.’ Remus just needs to be listened to.

 Not like Roman, who needs to be told every single time what to do, and even then he gets it wrong. Who sucks up attention and affection like a parasite, using it to sustain himself.

 Because that’s who Roman is. Not the good twin, not the hero. The Ego.

 Patton may be the Heart, but it’s Roman that needs love. Greedily forcing it out of every corner he can just to keep himself alive. He wants their love so he does what they want. He wants love so he plays by their rules. He wants love so he tries to be the hero.

 Only to realize that, actually, he’s done a much better job of playing the villain.

 Roman staggers toward the giant mirror in the corner. He winces when he sees his reflection. He’s hideous, covered in giant bruises and lacerations, panting from the pain and the exertion, hair a crazed mess. His destroyed prince costume hangs in rags, even his logo is mangled horrifically.

 He doesn’t want to look like this.

 He doesn't want to be the villain.

 And yet, as he looks at his reflection, a tiny bitter smile comes to Roman’s face.

 “When has it ever mattered,” he whispers to an empty room, “what I wanted?”

 The second day is easier.

 He actually spent so long in pain, lying on the floor, as his body did its best to beat itself to pieces, that he missed the moment the first day became the second. But the second is easier nonetheless.

 He gets into the shower, barely allowing himself a flinch as the water instantly begins to steam. He scrubs his body inch by inch until he hasn’t left a single unmarred spot that isn’t glowing with pain. Then he turns the water cool and lets it wash over him, soothe away the sting, let him return to numbness.

 He dresses slowly, putting on an old shirt and sweatpants, and drinks a glass of water. Then he drinks another one.

 There is something comforting, Roman decides eventually as he pushes his hair out of his face, about realizing that he’s the villain.

 He may not believe whole-heartedly in the pure black-and-white thinking, but he can’t deny it’s been…useful in shaping how he approaches problems. There’s something extremely reassuring about a simple story where good is good and bad is bad. He has endless plans and instructions for how to get the happy ending.

 If you give him instructions, he will follow them.

 He can’t tell the others this. He knows if he even so much as mentions the fact that he thinks he’s the villain one of two things will happen. Either they’ll coddle him, reassure him that he isn’t a villain, and try to explain to him in that gently frustrated way that there are no good guys or bad guys. Or they’ll see him as whiny and attention-seeking, muttering to themselves that maybe he is the bad guy.

 Roman already thinks he is, thank you, no need for you to chime in too.

 But he doesn’t need to tell them.

 So. He’s the villain. He needs to figure out his redemption arc.

 Step One: realize that he’s been wrong.

 Been there, done that.

 Step Two: apologize.

 He’s…he’s done that before, but not the way he needs to. Not the way he knows he needs to now. That part’s going to be hard.

 Step Three: show that he’s willing to change.

 Of course he’s willing to change. He’s always been willing to change. He just…he just has to figure out what they want from him now.

 He knows sort of what they want. He needs to take a step back, that’s for sure. Give Virgil less to stress about, let Remus be listened to, let Logan be listened to, give Patton time to figure things out for himself, take some pressure off Janus. He has to be more considerate, adapt his princely persona to be less…obnoxious. It was convenient before, but now…now the role has lost its appeal. He must craft a new one.

 Well, it’s not like Roman’s a stranger to that.

 And maybe…maybe this time…maybe he’ll figure out who Roman is.

 He spends most of the day rehearsing his apologies. It isn’t hard to find the words; he’s tried to say this to so many of them, so many times. The hard part is knowing how much of himself to put into it. He knows if he just starts crying—which is the only thing he gets for the first…hour or so—it won’t work. So he runs his lines over and over, drills them into his head, then pulls out the Imagination and starts trying it in front of them. He’s set back an hour or so, just with…more crying, but eventually, he gets it to where he can at least make it through the apology and a few rounds of insults before he breaks down into a heap of tears.

 He knows he has to be more open with them, that they’ll be suspicious. And they have a right to be. But he also knows that he can’t tell them the whole truth.

 They won’t believe that either, or worse, they will.

 So he drills himself on being able to speak about things like they’re in the past. Like he’s reading off a card. Halfway through he actually creates a deck of cards and uses them to help. It makes it so much easier and he makes a note to help Logan with his in future.

 The third day wasn’t supposed to happen.

 Roman was supposed to be finished by the second day. He was supposed to have all his apologies ready, his new persona, his peace offerings, everything was supposed to be finished. He was supposed to shrug on a new copy of his prince uniform, hiding all the unhealed bruises beneath, and walk out with his head held high—chin up or the crown slips.

 That isn’t what happens.

 What happens is he loses track of time in the Imagination.

 What happens is a brand new smattering of bruises and scrapes interrupts his medical ritual and he has to start all over again.

 What happens is he hadn’t noticed the others trying to get inside and so they go to the one thing he can’t refuse.

 What happens is he gets summoned by Thomas and appears in the living room in all his bruised, battered glory.

 “Ro—“ Thomas’s voice chokes off into a startled gasp. Roman winces, still holding a bandage to his side. This isn’t how he wanted this to go.

 “…hey, Thomas.”

 “What happened,” Thomas says, rushing forward, “did you, like, go on a quest or something?”

 “No.” Roman winces when Thomas tries to reach out for him. “Easy.”

 “Right, um, can you—“ Thomas glances behind him— “do you wanna sit down?”

 “…what did you need?”

 Thomas looks back at him. “What?”

 Roman gestures to himself. “I was…in the middle of something, not that it particularly matters. I am simply curious as to why you summoned me.”

 Thomas stares at him and the pure confusion in his face causes a fresh splattering of wounds across Roman’s back. He grits his teeth and raises his chin, shaking his hair out of his eyes.

 “Tell me how I can help you,” he says, “and then I can go.”

 Thomas mouths the last words with him, before his jaw sets and he holds his hand out. “Tell me what happened first.”

 “Thomas—“

 “Please, Roman?”

  As you wish.

 Roman sighs, the pressure on his ribs never decreasing as he tries to remember the explanation he’d prepared. “Surely the phrase ‘bruised ego’ is one that you’ve heard before.”

 Thomas nods, his eyes still scanning up and down. Roman gestures to himself again.

 “There you are, then.”

 “W-what? But you—you’re…” Thomas’s eyes widen and Roman can tell the second he realizes what Roman’s trying to say by the way red and purple blooms on his cheek. “…oh Ro…”

 “Please,” Roman coughs as another fist drives into his gut, “try—try not to think about it too much.”

 “Is—is that why you look like you’ve—“

 “Come out of a fistfight with a meat grinder? Precisely.” Another swipe across his jaw and he winces. “Ow.”

 “Am I doing this to you? Am I hurting you…right now?”

 “You’re not doing it purposefully,” Roman mutters, suddenly finding it quite difficult to stay standing.

 “That’s not a no.”

 Roman sighs. “Yes, Thomas, you’re hurting me. No, wait—“ he hisses through his teeth as the ensuing pain in his side threatens to collapse him entirely— “shit. Don’t—don’t beat yourself up over it.”

 “No, apparently I’m just going to beat you up instead.”

 Despite everything, Roman’s mouth quirks up the smallest bit. Patton would’ve liked that pun.

 “The best way to help…not do that,” Roman manages, “is to get off this train of thought. Book another ticket. Leave the engine at the station.”

 “Okay,” Thomas says, eyes still wide with concern, “uh, what should I think about instead?”

 “Well,” Roman drawls—considering the circumstances, he’s quite impressed by how similar his voice is to his normal princely exterior--propping himself up on his knee, “why did you summon me?”

 Thomas scratches the back of his head. “The others were worried. Said you’d shut yourself away, or you—you—“

 Roman sighs. “You worried I’d ducked out.”

 “…yeah.”

 He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it. But that would be cowardly.

  Plus, Virgil’s already tried that. You can’t even be creative anymore, can you?

 Thomas’s eyes widen when yet another bruise turns the fingers on Roman’s right hand purple. “Oh no, is it not working? I’m trying, I—“

 “No, no.” Roman waves his hand—his non-injured hand. “That one was me.”

 A pained noise escapes Thomas. “You can do it to yourself?”

 “That’s also not intentional if you’re worried.”

 “If I’m—of course I’m worried, Roman!”

 Ah. Stupid, stupid Roman. Thomas still thinks he needs Roman—well, in the sense that he needs Roman as he currently is—so of course he’s going to try and fix things.

 “You don’t have to be,” Roman says gently, “it’s not like you can stop any and all criticism from hurting you, or even stop it at all. Just…” He motions to Thomas. “Keep going? You’re doing great.”

 “…how…how are you the one comforting me?”

 “You’re learning about this for the first time. I’ve got the benefit of years of—“

 “It’s been happening for years?”

 The twinge in his ribs is really not appreciating the constant sighing. Roman leans against the wall, trying to find the least painful spot. “Thomas, I’m your ego. It’s been happening since you had an ego.”

 Roman realizes his mistake again and shuts his eyes before gritting his teeth.

 “You were worried I’d ducked out and that the others couldn’t get into my room,” he says before Thomas can say anything, “so you summoned me to make sure I was still…around, yes?”

 Thomas nods dumbly. Roman smiles.

 “Well, here I am,” he mumbles, doing a pathetic version of his normal pose, “all in one piece. I have no intentions of going anywhere, I’m not going to duck out. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

 “I’m…I’m glad.”

 Roman nods, his eyelids starting to droop. At this rate, he’s not going to have enough energy to bandage himself up properly before tomorrow. He’s going to have to wear two undershirts, then.

 “Did you need anything else?”

 “Yeah, actually.”

 Clenching his jaw, Roman forces himself upright. “What is it?”

 “Can you let me…patch you up?”

 Roman blinks. “What?”

 Thomas gestures meekly at the couch and Roman follows, easing himself down. Thomas stands by his side, fingers twitching.

 “I, uh, I don’t know as much about first-aid as Logan does—well, not…not in the sense that I’ll be able to access it the same way—but…”

 Roman watches as Thomas grabs a first aid kit and sits on the coffee table.

 “…can I help?”

 “You don’t have to—“

 “I want to,” Thomas insists, “and it’ll—it’ll help me not make it worse for you.”

  Thomas wants.

 “Okay.”

 Thomas smiles shakily. “Thank you, Roman. Do, uh, do painkillers work for you guys?”

 Roman nods. Thomas passes him two pills. He dry swallows them as Thomas gets out a thing of antiseptic. Bottle. Bottle, that’s what it’s called.

 “I, uh, I’m gonna clean the ones on your face, do you…what…” Thomas waves to the rest of him. “What else is there?”

 “Mostly bruises,” Roman says, his eyelids beginning to droop again, “they’ll fade.”

 “I don’t have bruise cream…”

 “Don’t worry about it.” Roman lets himself sink into the couch cushions, ignoring the way the fabric rubs against the abrasions on his back in favor of soft. “This is…more than enough.”

 He hisses slightly when the antiseptic comes into contact with his cheek. Thomas’s movements are steady, if a little hesitant, as they clean him up and push his hair out of the way, and it feels…nice?

 “Crap, am I making it worse?” Roman blinks his eyes open at the note of fear in Thomas’s voice to see him pulling away. “You’re—you’re crying, Roman, does it hurt?”

 “N-no,” Roman mumbles, “I just…wasn’t expecting it.”

 “Okay.” Thomas holds the gauze out. “Can I…keep going?”

 “…please.”

 The gentle motion and just having Thomas here makes it so much harder to keep his eyes open. Roman…Roman doesn’t have to do it this time.

 “Roman?”

 He shakes himself awake a little more. “Yeah?”

 “Who…who normally does this?”

 Roman huffs a laugh, gesturing to himself. “Yours truly.”

 “…no one helps you with this?”

 “Well, I tend to return from the Imagination at…interesting times,” Roman says as Thomas covers the scratch on his cheek with a Band-Aid, “so I’m typically the only one awake.”

 “And what about for…this?”

 “…still me.”

 “Don’t—don’t the others help you?”

 Roman huffs, letting Thomas wrap a bandage around his hand. “Why would they?”

 Thomas gapes at him. “…do they not know?”

 Roman shrugs.

 “Not even Patton?”

 Patton. Roman grits his teeth. “Why Patton?”

 “P-Patton’s the heart,” Thomas says nervously, obviously picking up on the little bit of resentment that slipped unbidden into Roman’s tone, “isn’t it his job to help?”

 “Patton’s job is Morality,” Roman corrects, “and feelings. Your feelings. Not mine.”

 “Logan then? He knows the most about first-aid.”

 “Logan cares about solving problems, Thomas.” He raises his now bandaged hand. “This isn’t a solvable problem.”

 “…Virgil?”

 Roman just gives him a look.

 “…whose job is it to help you, then?”

 “That would be me.” Thomas still looks unsure. “It’s fine, Thomas, really. It…it looks worse than it is.”

 Thomas’s eyebrows raise.

 “Really, it is.”

 “It’s someone’s job to look after you, Roman,” Thomas says firmly, packing away the first aid kit, “whether you believe it or not.”

 Roman doesn’t believe him, not until later.

 It had been going well. He managed to heal most of the visible injuries the rest of that night, walking out the next morning to face the others. They…they accepted his apologies. They accepted him back. And they’d been telling him what they wanted and he listened. He’d been doing so good, the others were so happy.

 He was still working on the rest of the redemption plan, resolutely striving towards being better. The blows still landed, but thankfully they landed out of sight. He was doing so much better at hiding things now, hiding the fact that he was still hurt.

 A small part of him wanted an apology too.

 But he pushed it aside, knowing he wasn’t going to get the one he wanted.

 Then…then Janus had found him that day and—and for the first time in a long time, Roman let himself want. He bathed in Janus’s words, the assurances that the others wanted him, the assertion that someone cared about him.

 It felt…good.

 But it didn’t come free.

 Roman’s in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, thinking. Then a soft pop and he’s abruptly squished by the sudden appearance of another body.

 “Remus!”

 “Ro-Bro!” Remus drapes himself over Roman like a feral cat, going limp so Roman has to try and pry his dead weight off of him.

 “Get off me!”

 “Nope,” Remus says, popping the ‘p’ and snuggling delightedly into Roman’s shoulder, “it’s cat pile time.”

 “The phrase is ‘dog pile.’”

 “Pshh. Dogs don’t lie around on top of each other like this. Cat pile.”

 Roman sighs, only to immediately regret it when it just lets Remus wrap his arms tightly around Roman’s waist and squeeze. “Re—mus!”

 Remus lets up and Roman gasps, panting as Remus pulls back to look down at him, more serious than Roman’s seen him in a long time.

 “Am I hurting you?”

 Roman blinks. “What?”

 Remus indicates his weight. “Am I hurting you?”

 Remus is warm, solid, firm on top of him. And Roman is struck by the feeling that if Remus moves, even for an instant, Roman will fly apart.

 “…no.”

 “Good.” Remus lies back down, more gently this time, and Roman sighs again at the solidwarmsafereal pressure. Remus turns his head and nuzzles his shoulder. “Felt you were upset. So…cat pile.”

 “…cat pile,” Roman agrees, reaching up to hug Remus back.

 His brother is right. They used to do this before; lie around on top of each other, brainstorming or arguing or just…existing. The longer Roman holds Remus the more he realizes how much his brother planned this.

 Remus isn’t wearing his normal costume, he’s wearing soft things. He smells like he showered. He’s…he’s quiet.

 Remus cares.

 “R-Remus?”

 Remus shifts a little. “Yeah?”

 “I…I’m sorry.”

 Roman flinches when Remus pulls back, looking down at him. “For what, Ro?”

“Saying you were the evil twin.”

 Remus cocks his head. “When’d you say that?”

 “…the wedding, I—“

 “I thought Janny was the one that said that.”

 Roman falters. “…he was, but I…I shouldn’t’ve gotten so insulted by it.”

 “Ro, you already apologized for that,” Remus says, leaning down and bonking their foreheads together, blowing Roman’s hair out of his face, “and I wasn’t hurt by it.”

 “You weren’t?”

 “Heck no, Janny’s always so resolute about his whole ‘everyone is in shades of gray’ act,” Remus huffs, “you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for him to stop that shit?”

 “So…”

 “That,” Remus announces delightedly, “was the best moment of my existence. Plus, with the amount of nuisance that I am, it was offensive that he wasn’t calling me evil.”

 Roman can’t help laughing at the maniac glee on Remus’s face. When Remus sees it, his smile softens, leaning back down to cuddle Roman.

 “You don’t gotta worry about it, Ro,” he murmurs, “and you don’t have to apologize. Especially not to me.”

 “…you sure?”

 “I’m sure.”

 “I just…” Roman swallows. “I feel bad.”

 “Gathered,” Remus says, giving him a squeeze ‘round the middle. “Tell me more.”

 “I feel bad about it,” Roman mutters, “like…like I’m doing something wrong by not feeling fine. L-like the others have done something wrong and I…I want them to say that they did but they haven’t…not really. And I apologized, didn’t I? I…I shouldn’t be hurt by it anymore, but I…I am.”

 Something about Roman’s following silence must make Remus realize what’s running through his head because he sits up again.

 “Do you need an apology from me?”

 Remus is, in fact, the only person Roman doesn’t want an apology from. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 “Damn right I didn’t.” Remus stares at him, brow creasing. “What’s up, Ro? Why’re you apologizing again? Why’re you feeling so bad?”

 Roman fidgets under the gaze. “…Janus said something.”

 “I’ll kick his ass.”

 “No—“ Roman quickly wraps his arms around Remus and tugs him back down— “no, not like that.”

 “No one fucks with my bro except me,” Remus grumbles into his neck, cuddling into him protectively, “so what’d he say?”

 Roman swallows. “…Remus?”

 “…yeah?”

 “Am I…” He swallows again. Why is his throat so dry all of a sudden? “…have I been emotionally abused?”

 Remus stills. “Janny say you have?” Roman nods. “…shit, Roman.”

 Roman’s chest clenches. “So it’s not true?”

 “I didn’t say that.” Remus sits up, pulling Roman with him. “What do you think?”

 “I, um…” Roman twists his hands in Remus’s shirt. “It…the things he said…made a lot of sense. But he’s made sense before and he…”

 “He’s been lying.” Roman nods miserably. “What did he say specifically?”

 “That, um…that they’ve manipulated me into doing what they want. That they’ve shamed me into feeling bad and changing. That they’ve made me f-feel like I can’t feel how I’m feeling and it’s m-my fault when it isn’t.” Why can’t I speak properly? “That they’ve made me question m-my sanity.”

 Roman’s eyes widen.

 “O-oh,” he manages, “oh my god.”

 Remus catches him, holds his face tight despite the tears—when did he start crying?—and gives him a little shake. “Roman. Roman, look at me.”

 “Oh my god.”

 “You listen to me, Roman, you hear?” Remus looks at him with such an intense expression Roman’s eyes water all over again. “You absolutely are allowed to feel bad. You understand?”

 “R-Remus—“

 “Come here, bro.” Remus catches him in a tight hug, tight enough that it hurts, fisting the fabric of their clothes, heads buried in each other’s necks, as close as they can get. And it’s so much easier than trying to patiently navigate how to say this out loud without saying the wrong thing. This. This they both understand.

 “…have any of them apologized to you,” Remus asks after a while, when their arms ache, “at all?”

 Roman nods.

 “Properly?”

 The pause tells Remus all he needs to know. He curses and takes Roman’s face in his hands again.

 “Right. Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re feeling guilty about the fact that you want those apologies, right?” Roman nods. “You’re trying to forgive them and to some extent you have, but you still want those apologies, right?” Another nod.

 Remus leans closer. “Good.”

 “G-good?”

 “Good. They don’t get to turn around and decide they didn’t hurt you. You don’t get to turn around and tell yourself that you’re not hurt,” Remus says firmly, “you want an apology from them? You damn well don’t have to forgive them until they give you one.”

 “I—I don’t?”

 “Forgiveness is earned, Roman,” Remus says softly, wiping away Roman’s tears, “not bestowed.”

 “But I…I hurt them.”

 “So? You fucked them up, they fucked you up. Everyone fucked up everyone else, everyone is fucked up. Doesn’t make further fucking up okay.” Remus gives him a look. “And you got fucked up and you still apologized. You hurt people, be it intentionally or unintentionally, and you realized it and apologized.”

 “So I don’t have to forgive them?”

 Remus shifts, making them a little more comfortable. “You get to make that choice, Roman. But you don’t have to give them anything until they apologize properly.”

 Remus frowns when Roman ducks away, worrying his lip guiltily.

 “…I told him I loved him.”

 Remus’s shoulders slump. “…oh, Ro…”

 “I shouldn’t have,” Roman sobs, scrubbing his face with his hands, “I know I shouldn’t have but I was so tired and he was being so nice and it just—it slipped out.”

 “Is it true?”

 “Y-yes. I know I shouldn’t but—“

 “Why shouldn’t you?” Remus carefully lifts Roman’s chin, pushing his hair back. “Why shouldn’t you love him?”

 “Because—“

 Roman swallows.

 “Because he hurt me. He used me, he manipulated me, he didn’t care how much he was hurting me,” Roman spits, a wave of anger pushing the words into his mouth, “he—he lied to me, he set me up to fail and he made me think I was broken.”

 His breathing is heavy. His chest aches. His heart races. Remus holds him steady.

 “And do you still love him?”

 “…yes.”

 “And is that enough?”

 Roman blinks up at Remus in confusion. “What?”

 “Is that enough?” Remus repeats. “Is the fact that you love him enough to make up for all of that? To make up for the fact that he hurt you, so badly, and he hasn’t apologized for it? Is love enough?”

 Oh.

  Oh.

 “…no,” Roman mumbles, then raises his chin. “No. No, it isn’t.”

 “Good,” Remus says, “then don’t let it be. You love him. You love them. But that’s not enough. Don’t let them try and use it against you.”

 “Why,” Roman says weakly, “have I never listened to you before?”

 “Because you didn’t want to.” At Roman’s blanching expression, Remus softens, stroking Roman’s cheek. “Because you didn’t think you could.”

 “I missed you,” Roman whispers, “I missed you so much.”

 “I missed you too,” Remus whispers back, “and we’re not gonna go anywhere, yeah?”

 “Yeah.” Roman sniffles and wipes his face. “Yeah.”

 “Disney marathon?”

 “…cat pile?”

 Remus grins, flopping down excitedly as Roman squeaks in surprise. “Cat pile!”

 “Move your elbow, it’s digging into my ribs.”

 “Move your knee, it’s digging into my bladder.”

 “That’s my crotch!”

 “Hey! Put that hand somewhere else!”

 “…thank you, Re.”

 “Of course, Ro. You know I’m always here for you.”

 “I know…I love you, Remus.”

 “Love you too, bro.”

 “…it’s enough.”

 “Hmm?”

 “With you, it’s…it’s enough.”

 Remus stills, then he hugs Roman with a ferocity that takes his breath away. Roman hugs back. He may not have much, but he has his brother.

 Remus, meanwhile, is fucking furious.

 Not at Roman, no, never at Roman, but at the others. For doing this to his brother. And not apologizing for it.

 He tightens his grip on Roman and makes a silent promise.

 When Roman can’t say it himself, Remus will say it for him.

 He gets his chance a few days later.

Taglist: @cali-the-dreamer @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @princemesscharming @marshmallow-fluffy @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness

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[moony-meadow]

Going for Goldie (6)

Pt. 1 / Pt. 2 / Pt. 3 / Pt. 4 / Pt. 5

After Beelzebub departed, Mammon and I were once again alone together. The white-haired demon had resumed his place on the sofa, only now he was laid out on it with his back propped up against the armrest. This left me inside his stomach at a kind of incline. I’d taken to leaning against the back wall and was taking advantage of the surprisingly relaxing warmth the fleshy surface provided.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be stuck in here for hours,” I moaned, flopping my arm over my face dramatically. “So much for having a midnight snack.” It wasn’t uncommon for Beel and I to run into each other at the kitchen in the middle of the night. We both seemed to have a habit of craving late night treats.

“Well,” I felt Mammon’s hand plop down onto his stomach, causing a small tremor around me, “I could always swallow somethin’ for ya to eat.”

My face instantly formed into a grimace. “Don’t be disgusting, Mammon,” I chided. The idea of eating someone’s second hand food was positively repulsive. Though I knew the demon was joking, I still didn’t appreciate the crude commentary. A chuckle rumbled around me, but otherwise Mammon said nothing more.

“You know, I think since this turned out to be a lot more than a quick trip into your stomach, that you owe me Goldie privileges for at least three days,” I stated. Had I not already committed myself to helping Mammon keep his credit card from Lucifer, I might have abandoned the whole thing as soon as things got complicated. But, if I gave up now and made Mammon cough me up, then the whole thing might end up being for nothing.

A strangled noise of outrage came from Mammon. “Three days?! Ya gotta be kiddin’ me!” The stomach walls all pressed in around me slightly, I could only assume as a result of Mammon clenching his hand around his middle. “I--I’ll give ya two days, but that’s it!” he exclaimed after my lack of response displayed how serious I was about the matter.

“Fine, but you also have to take me out to dinner some night,” I declared.

Mammon unclenched his hand from around his stomach, but I could tell that he’d now tensed up all over. “Wha? You can’t be--pfft, like the Great Mammon would ever be caught goin’ out to dinner with a--with a human,'' he stammered. I had to stifle a giggle, I could just tell his face had become all blushy.

It was a pretty common occurrence that whenever I took part in some playful flirting with the Avatar of Greed, his face would heat up while he stuttered out insistences that he had no interest in humans. I knew it was just one of his defense mechanisms, so I had stopped taking offense to it a long time ago.

“It can be lunch if you prefer,” I replied, feigning ignorance.

“Huh? No--I’m only havin’ a meal with you if you’re the main course,'' Mammon finished the sentence proudly.

I rolled my eyes. “This is the last time I’m ever going to be in your stomach.” While I felt pretty sure of my own statement, there was a part of me that wondered if I really would be able to avoid being eaten again. Yesterday I would have said I would never let a demon eat me under any circumstances, and yet here I was sitting in the belly of the beast.

The pressure at the front of the stomach returned as Mammon rested both his hands on top of it. “Well ya better not end up in any other demon’s stomach,” he warned, a hint of possessiveness in his voice. “You are my human, after all.”

Being the Avatar of Greed, it wasn’t surprising to me that Mammon tended to be overprotective of his belongings. However, I never would have guessed I would be considered among those belongings. His possessiveness over me wasn’t only in regards to me being eaten, he had also expressed jealousy when his brothers tried to get a little too close to me. In a way, it was kind of endearing. Although, I always made a point to make it clear that I was not an object to be owned.

“I’m your friend,” I corrected smoothly, “and you don’t have to worry about anyone else eating me, at least not with my permission anyway.”

Mammon was silent, and for a moment I wondered if I’d made him upset in some way. But then his hand began to slowly and gently rub his stomach. I smiled softly and leaned forward to pat the outermost wall in response. The guy wasn’t the best at accepting compliments or genuine displays of affection, but he had his own little ways of showing his appreciation.

“Hey, Y/N?” Mammon spoke up, now idly trailing a finger over his stomach. “You’re not...I dunno, scared of me or nothin’, are ya?”

My eyebrows lifted in surprise. The genuine concern in the demon’s voice threw me off guard. He usually made an effort to try to convince people that he was an incredibly powerful demon that ought to be feared. And while his brothers often treated him as though he were weak, I knew better. Mammon was the second eldest of the seven Avatars, and therefore the second most powerful. However, the thing with Mammon was that the guy pretty much never flexed that power. For whatever reason, even when his little brothers smacked him around or called him names, Mammon never lashed out.

As a result of all that, it was easy for me to sometimes forget that I hung out with a potentially deadly demon on the daily. Of course, when Mammon had shrunk me I’d been reminded of that latent fear. However, I wasn’t about to tell him that. I didn’t know how he’d react to the knowledge that my natural instincts insisted I be wary of demons like him (especially when they were giant sized), but I certainly didn’t want him getting the impression that I was some scared little thing. Besides, logically I knew Mammon could (mostly) be trusted. Plus, having a pact with him meant I could stop him if he ever were to do something that really freaked me out.

“Oh please,” I dismissed. “It would take a lot more than an overgrown demon to scare me.”

“Hmmm,” Mammon hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe next time I should eat ya in my demon form, that might really give ya a fright.”

The joking tone of his voice was obvious, but I still sent a kick into the nearest wall in retaliation for the comment. “How many times do I have to tell you there won’t be a next time?” I huffed.

“Is it really so bad in there?” the demon inquired, once again prodding at the outside of his stomach.

I took a moment to assess my surroundings. It was just as pitch black as ever so I could only imagine what everything actually looked like. Surprisingly there was no foul odor, the stomach acid that was pooled at the bottom didn’t seem to have a scent to it. The temperature was a bit warmer than I’d prefer, but it was thankfully tolerable. And while the squishy stomach walls still kind of grossed me out, I had gotten pretty used to them already.

Being in the stomach itself wasn’t terrible, really it was the mere fact that I was in someone else’s stomach that I disliked so much. It was a matter of pride. Being in the Devildom, it was very important that I keep my head held high. Showing weakness would just encourage potential enemies to target me.

“It’s...well it’s not exactly the Ritz,” I responded, unsure of how exactly to explain it to Mammon. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to sleep in here either.” I couldn’t deny that it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, but I wasn’t really sure if I’d be able to fall asleep with the knowledge that I was literally inside someone’s stomach.

As if on cue, Mammon gave a yawn that caused everything around me to tighten for a moment before loosening once again as he exhaled. “Well, let’s test it out,” he announced. That was the only warning I got before Mammon sat up and got to his feet.

With Goldie safely tucked away in a pocket, I was able to easily brace myself against the walls with both hands. I felt quite secure--that is until the floor suddenly became a wall and one of the walls I’d been holding onto suddenly became the floor. “I suppose I should have seen that coming,” I thought to myself.

After a few moments of shifting as Mammon got situated, everything around me finally settled and I was able to get myself comfortable. It wasn’t like there was a ton of room to spread out, but it was plenty of space for me to lay flat. The stomach acid had seemed to dissipate shortly after Mammon had laid down, as if his body had finally caught on that I wasn’t going to be digested so it had no business sticking around.

“Comfy?” the demon asked as he went back to gently rubbing his stomach in a circular motion.

I snorted. “About as comfortable as someone can get in a stomach.”

“Good,” Mammon replied cheerfully, unphased by my grumpy tone.

“You better not roll onto your stomach,” I warned. While I figured the action wouldn’t necessarily hurt me, I doubted it would be comfortable being squished by the entirety of the giant demon’s bodyweight.

A chuckle echoed around me. “Don’t worry, I’m not much of a stomach sleeper,” Mammon promised.

With nothing else much to say, and exhaustion beginning to heavily set in, I said, “Okay...then goodnight, I guess.”

“G’night, Y/N.”

In a matter of minutes I could tell Mammon had already fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and even and his heartrate had dropped to a resting level. Honestly, the natural ambience of his body was kind of relaxing. The up and down motion his breaths caused almost made me feel like I was on a gently floating boat. It didn’t take much longer for me to drift effortlessly into a deep sleep.

The next morning, as soon as Mammon and I woke up, I demanded he quickly get me out and unshrink me. My urgency was in large part spurred by the fact that my bladder was absolutely screaming at me after having not been emptied in so long. I didn’t even get the chance to relish my return to normal size before I darted out to the bathroom, but not before ordering Mammon never to tell another soul about the previous night’s events.

After dumping everything I’d been wearing into the wash, taking an hour and a half long shower, and then absolutely stuffing myself during breakfast, I actually felt back to normal. Of course, I wasn’t about to forget the experience of being eaten anytime soon. And something told me Mammon wouldn’t either.