#despite like nothing of significance about her LOL

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

It’s here!! Not gonna lie I watched the Frontierland episode last night in preparation 😂 And I am so ready to lose myself in Western Dean Winchester. Not to mention ready to rekindle my childhood love of Spirit lol.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

Oh goodness the enemies to lovers is bubbling under the surface and I am already naming Dean and Mila's children.

This chapter really is one of the best scenes in Spirit, not to mention one of my favorite songs in that movie. "Get Off My Back" is legendary.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. "That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.” That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed. “He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

I love her already. I mean I loved her from the moment that I found out she broke that jerk's nose, but a strong defiant woman. Yes ma'am here for Mila 1000000%.

Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

He's already feeling!😏 And I really loved that he fought the smile when she spat in the Colonel's face. Because Dean is already smitten with this woman.

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

I really love this part, when Dean can sympathize with Mila and her people and why they continue to fight. It also really brings together the "realism" in this story. Especially with the "He doesn't always understand their way of doing things..." A lot of people fear what they don't understand and for Dean to have a more "open" outlook even being surrounded by people who don't is refreshing. And now Mila gets to show her all the wonderful things about her and her tribe! He's different and I love him.

I also really liked the background you gave him. His father being in the army and that being the reason why Dean joined, and I can just imagine young Dean and young Sam riding horses and breaking them out on their family farm.

Okay also the fact that Mila calls Dean "Green Eyes" had me literally screaming lol. I was like, "girl I see you and I respect you for noticing how beautiful that man's eyes are."

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Let's go PROTECTIVE DEAN ALERT!

I hope Roman falls off a watchtower and into a giant pile of poop (the size of the ones in Jurassic Park) and then dies. I mean he doesn't... because Dean destroys that man. BUT I hope that they shoveled his body away with the same shovel they use for all the horse poop. It's what the people want lol 😂

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

The descriptions of his hands made me hyperventilate. 😳 I am telling you the trope of a big strong man who has done terrible things with his hands and then is nothing, but gentle with his significant other WIPES ME OUT. Oh stars, I can't take it 😭

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

It's true love and now I'm scared of what's gonna happen to them.

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently. “Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

YOU TURNED BABY INTO A HORSE?! MASTERFUL! GENIUS! Oh my word I was not expecting that, but it made me so happy you have no idea lol.

Again, so happy Roman is gone. Man is a whole problem and Dean is a problem solver lmao 😂

Oh this chapter was absolutely wonderful and it was everything that I expected and SO SO MUCH MORE friend!❤️ Western Dean is quickly infiltrating my subconscious and someone is gonna have to raise Freud from the dead to work this one out for sure. I mean Freud's already gonna have to talk to me about Spirit, but that horse had an energy, it was voiced by Matt Damon, I was young and impressionable, and I can't be held responsible lmao lol😅 (catching myself in 4k)

I can't wait for the next chapter!!😊

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn. 

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly. 

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now. 

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.  

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock… 

COMING 11/10! (New chapters every Sunday.)

Or read Part 2 on Patreon now!

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[cerealmonster15]

ive been watching sooo many vids of people doing doll restorations and doll customizations... making me both fight off the desperate urge to attempt New Hobby just because it Looks Fun and also resisting the urge to repurchase the fave barbie i had as a kid on ebay,,,,

[f1letters]

karma | lh44

"karma is the guy on the screen coming straight home to me"

summary: seeing her toxic ex was never fun, but maybe it was less fun for him when he realized she was currently dating the GP winner on the screen, who happened to be his favourite driver

warning: overall fluff between the main characters, platonic!reader x valtteri bottas, mentions of a toxic ex-boyfriend, mentions of ex-boyfriend cheating, slut-shaming, swearing, alcohol consumption, reader is a little toxic to her ex (but he deserves it lol)

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

word count: 3.6k

note: everything in bold are song references and in italic are thoughts, which includes memories from the past.

it has been a really hard week for me with work, but I really hope you enjoy this surprise either way!

masterlist

You're talking shit for the hell of it

Addicted to betrayal, but you're relevant

You're terrified to look down

'Cause if you dare, you'll see the glare

Of everyone you burned just to get there

It's coming back around

Paddock life was equally as exciting and terrifying for Y/N.

Even after becoming a usual guest during race weekends during the last few months, the young woman couldn’t help but feel a little nervousness in her stomach every time she walked on the circuit, still not used to all the attention and eyes on her.

Since the first time Lewis decided to enter the paddock holding hands with a mystery woman, everything in her life had turned chaotic to say the least. Every single person in there was shaken to the core, especially because he wasn’t exactly known to be so public with his dating life through the last years of his career. So naturally, curiosity spread through the air like a disease.

Not that it mattered to Y/N, all of that amounted to nothing when she remembered the real reason for her presence there: supporting her amazingly talented boyfriend. Lewis had been her best friend, her lover, and her biggest supporter since the day they met. She tried as much as she could to be the same for him, knowing how much her being there meant to him.

And to be completely honest, she had a hunch on how much it pushed him to do better. Even if subconsciously, the driver always had his best performances in his car when he knew he had his girlfriend to impress, no matter how many times she told him he was the best regardless of his race results.

Despite all of that, of course developing a handful of friendships with some of the drivers, as well as their partners, gave her a significant sense of comfort there, knowing she had someone who she could rely on if needed. And the perfect example of that was the quick and playful bond she formed with her favourite Finnish driver, while he was still her boyfriend’s teammate at Mercedes.

“Well, well, well. Look at that. Miss Y/N L/N herself, in the flesh!” Valtteri said as he approached her, with his typical sweet grin on his face. The woman felt her body instantly relax at the sight of her good friend, the stress now forgotten on the back of her head.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my second favourite driver on the grid.” She laughed, giving him a swift side hug, as they proceeded their walks.

“Only second?” The blonde driver asked, hand on his chest. “Lewis is not even here, Y/N. You don’t have to lie, you know.”

Their conversation continued for a few minutes, as they now walked side by side, arms linked in a friendly manner. Him asking her how her Sunday was going, and her asking him about his unlucky DNF during the race that ended just minutes before.

As they reached the Alfa Romeo’s motorhome, in true big brother and little sister fashion, Valtteri kissed her on her cheek and messed her hair up a little, winning a shove from the girl as she tried to fix herself.

“Wow. You’re a groupie now? Never knew you could stoop so low.”

And I keep my side of the street clean

You wouldn't know what I mean

Ugh, not that irritating voice. 

Not him. Not in here. Not now.

She could feel her eyes betray her, as they couldn’t hide her shock and disgust when they landed on the big figure behind her. Of all people she could come across on the paddock, her lying cheating ex-boyfriend would be the one. Just my luck, she thought to herself.

“Oh fuck off, Jason.” She spat out, angry. After all, why would she even give that piece of trash the time of day? She tried to turn around and make her way back to the podium that was about to start any minute now but was stopped by a hand that tugged at her arm.

Unable to flee, Y/N was forced again to look into the face of the man she hoped never to see again. But you know what, she kept her calm. She had learned a lot from all those years and all those tears. 

Especially that what goes around always comes around. 

"So you're whoring around now for paddock passes?" He laughed in her face, for the thousandth time in his life. Jason had always made a point of trying to bring down the girl's self-esteem, so Y/N wasn't expecting anything different from him this time around.

As she prepared to answer him back, already tired and furious by the whole situation, the hairs on her neck stood up as she heard a recognizable click. Y/N's head followed the sound until she spotted the (unfortunately) familiar figure of a photographer, automatically panicking. She knew this man was known for having no boundaries and no respect for people's privacy. She could already imagine the descriptions given to these photographs out of context.

"AFFAIR? Lewis Hamilton's girlfriend seen in an altercation with a mystery man"

"Y/N L/N caught reuniting with ex while missing the 7-time World Champion's podium"

Can this get any worse, she thought.

"He must be confusing you with someone actually relevant. Why the hell would anyone want pictures of you?" Jason burst into laughter, shaking his head. "Damn Y/N, you must have been working well around here if you've reached that level of fame. How many drivers did you sleep with?"

It definitely can, she shook her head to herself.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

Karma's gonna track you down, karma's gonna track you down, karma's gonna track you down, the young woman repeated in her head like a prayer, trying to maintain her posture.

Although all she wanted was to ruin that clown's face right then and there, she knew that not only her image but her boyfriend's reputation were dependent on how she was going to handle this confrontation.

"This was a lot of fun and all, and I'm glad you enjoyed yourself with all the shit that comes out of your mouth, but I really have to go." She said so that only he could hear, not caring if she was being rude, and with her eyes studying what the photographer was doing from time to time. "My boyfriend is waiting for me and I have nothing to tell you. Goodbye, have a nice trip to hell."

"Boyfriend? Sure. Where is he then?" He continued to mock her, pretending to look around in search of someone. "I've heard better lies. But tell me then, where is that "boyfriend" of yours." He spoke, quoting on air when the word "boyfriend" was mentioned.

Oh.

You're going to wish you never asked that.

Spiderboy, king of thieves

Weave your little webs of opacity

My pennies made your crown

Trick me once, trick me twice

Don't you know that cash ain't the only price?

It's coming back around

"Y/N, I know we came on this vacation to unwind a bit, but you have to take it easy on alcohol." Her best friend said, trying to take the glass from her hand.

"Oh don't be a jerk, I deserve at least a good drink after all." She pulled the glass back to her mouth, spilling part of her expensive mojito on the floor.

"Yes, one, maybe even two. Not four in the space of two hours." Emma criticized. "I know you're having a hard time, I really do. But you can't go on like this. It's not healthy."

The young woman knew it was not healthy behaviour. But after discovering her boyfriend of 2 years, fooling around in their bed, in their apartment, with his co-worker, she felt she deserved a good time. 

Apparently, it wasn't enough to endure that awful relationship in silence: the dishonesty, the jealousy, the lack of support, the control over her life, and the constant disrespect. Having to come face to face with the man she shared her life with all that time with another woman? Karma tricked her once or twice, but not at this level. 

"We're in fucking Monaco, babe." She walked around the middle of the casino, eventually losing her friend, arms stretched. "Let's have some fucking fun-" 

Before she could finish her sentence, her back hit someone behind her. Drinks flew and her dress was now all soaked, as was the man's blue suit. Y/N heard some curse words coming out of the guy's mouth, along with an irresistible British accent.

Although the situation was not the most appropriate, she couldn't help but feel heat spread through her body at the sound of that attractive voice. 

She turned, prepared to flirt with the stranger until she recognized him as soon as she saw his face directly. 

"You of all people." She said, tipsy enough to no longer have a filter.

"Me?" 

And I keep my side of the street clean

You wouldn't know what I mean

"Yeah, you!" She pointed to him, touching his chest. 

The man couldn't be more confused. Had they met before? Was she a fan of a rival team to Mercedes? Did he win a championship against the girl's favourite driver? 

His life was Formula 1. He devoted all his time, all his energy, all his life to the sport. Therefore, the only justifications that came to mind at that moment were those.

"Do I know you?" His nose and forehead scrunched up in a puzzled expression.

"You don't know me." Y/N declared, crossing her arms in front of her figure. "But I know damn well who you are, Lewis Hamilton."

The way she said his name with disdain made the brit uncomfortable. So she knew who he is after all. Leaving Lewis speechless was something people rarely managed to do and at that moment he didn't know if it was motivated by the young woman's boldness or her beauty.

God, she was amazing. Okay, maybe she wasn't necessarily the biggest fan of him. Or at all really. But he couldn't help but admire her from head to toe. 

Her eyes revealed her state, showing that the girl was definitely a bit tipsy, but the way they sparkled, their intense colour, was the detail that impressed him the most. How her long, curly hair perfectly adorned the front of her short black dress. The way her crossed arms highlighted her cleavage-

"Hey!" She caught his attention, waving a hand in front of her own face. "Eyes are up here, buddy! Don't think that because you're a winner or a champion or whatever your fans call you that you can look wherever you want and no one will tell you anything!" 

Not a Formula 1 fan but she knew who he was. Out of the ordinary but noted.

"Ugh, you men are all the same!" She complained aloud. "No wonder that loser Jason is your biggest supporter."

"Sorry miss, but now you've lost me." He confessed, even more lost than before. "Who the fuck is Jason?" He chuckled.

"An absolute cheating, lying and disgusting clown, that's what he is." She replied as she sat down on a red sofa that was in the middle of the golden hall of the casino.

Interested in the matter (and above all, in the woman), Lewis took the seat beside her. Although he was used to the attention, the crowd of people that filled the room allowed them some privacy. No one was paying attention to him, everyone was focused on their own activities and groups, but his mind was totally on her.

"That sounds like a shitty ex-boyfriend. Especially the part where he's my biggest fan, not the cheating." Lewis told her, trying to cheer her up.

And for the first time in a long time, Y/n genuinely laughed. Not from the alcohol, not forcefully, but genuinely from the way his words warmed her broken heart.

They were silent for a few moments until the driver interrupted. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" She questioned, looking at him.

"I don't know. For your break up. For reminding you of him when he clearly hurt you." Hamilton admitted, almost ashamed.

"Nah, don't worry about it. It has nothing to do with you. I'm sorry for being a bitch to you when you are just an innocent person in the story." The woman, now beginning to sober up, spoke sincerely. "You know what, for an all-important celebrity, you're kind of a cool guy."

He laughed softly. "Thanks, I guess?"

Almost as if reading each other's thoughts, the two looked at each other and, although they didn't say it out loud, they both felt something they hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe even never.

"We should go out one of these days." He proposed.

"What?!" Y/N couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth.

"You know, because of your ex. Karma has a way of serving sweet justice." He shrugged, teasing her. "Not because of me, it has nothing to do with my personal interest at all."

She immediately sensed the joking tone in his speech and couldn't help but blush a little. After all, Lewis fucking Hamilton was asking her out on a date.

"Maybe we should, champ." The two smiled.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

The very next day they had a dinner date set at a restaurant of his choice.

Emma had laughed in her face when Y/N told her what had happened at the casino bar during the time they'd lost each other.

The truth is it felt like a fabrication, a total lie. Y/N couldn't judge her best friend for not believing, because even she still found herself pinching her hand, expecting to wake up in her bed from a dream at any moment.

Emma helped her prepare for their date, glad to see her happy again. She didn't care who the suitor was, as long as the smile on her friend's face remained from ear to ear.

It's safe to say that her jaw dropped to the floor when she opened the door to their shared hotel room and effectively saw Lewis Hamilton.

"Is Y/N here?" He asked as he stood there, in all his magnificence, in a simple white shirt, open enough to show his dark skin and the tattoos that decorated it.

"Emma, close your mouth." Y/N joked, holding the other girl's jaw. "Hey, champ."

God, here they were again. The butterflies in their stomachs.

The date was everything the young woman expected and desired. From the way Lewis opened the door to his black Mercedes for him, to the way he went out of his way to book an entire restaurant to allow them to have more privacy.

The conversation flowed naturally, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. What started as a misunderstanding over her attempt to forget a heartbreak ended up resulting in one of the best nights of her life.

As the night began to draw to a close, the girl couldn't help but think that this would be it. She would never see the man again. He would probably forget about her in a matter of days. And she found herself disappointed with that idea.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He questioned, as his hand intertwined gently with hers. He pulled her a little to stop her on her way back to the car, bringing the two of them closer together.

"I just don't want this night to end." The words were out of her mouth before she thought about what she was saying.

"This doesn't have to stop here, baby." She released a shaky breath when she first heard the affectionate nickname, but a slow smile appeared on her face.

Ask me what I learned from all those years

Ask me what I earned from all those tears

Ask me why so many fade, but I'm still here

After that magical night, he took her back to her hotel room and said goodbye with a loving kiss on her cheek and a caress along her cheek, keeping eye contact between them whenever possible as they said "see you soon".

Not goodbye but see you soon.

And it was said and done.

Not even two weeks had gone by before the driver was on a plane on his way to her, ready to spend his race-free week with his girl.

It became usual for them: him travelling to her, her travelling to him. They knew how quickly they were evolving, especially given the conditions in which they met, but when things feel right, why hold back? Out of fear of the consequences? Because of his fame?

He felt that he had finally found the balance he so desperately needed, without even knowing it. He found himself with his head on her and not his career all the time. She gave him peace, she gave him stability, she gave him everything he wanted and more.

On the other hand, she found in him the adrenaline, the enthusiasm, the thrill. Now she woke up smiling and went to sleep smiling. Something in her was reborn, perhaps her childlike spirit: the desire to know more, and the ambition to have and be more.

Together they were just that: more.

"So?" Jason interrupted his ex's thoughts. "I'm still waiting to hear from that little boyfriend of yours."

'Cause karma is the thunder

Rattling your ground

Karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter

Karma's gonna track you down

Step by step, from town to town

Sweet like justice, karma is a queen

Karma takes all my friends to the summit

Would it be toxic of her to rub her new relationship in her ex-boyfriend's face? Perhaps.

But, I mean, sometimes you and karma just vibe like that.

"Well... You see, this is a super funny story!" The girl smiled a little Machiavellian. "Actually, I have to thank you, for everything."

"To me?" He replied, totally confused by her change in tone.

"Yes, you!" She faked a grateful smile. "If you hadn't ruined everything between us, I'd probably still be stuck in that apartment I've always hated, and worst of all, with you!"

"What the f-"

"But no, since you don't have the ability to keep your dick in your pants, I ended up in a casino in the middle of Monaco and I met the best person in the world. Someone who treats me like I deserve, supports me like I deserve, LOVES me like I deserve!"

"You're just lying in an attempt to deflect the subject." Jason argued back. "So much bullshit talk and still no sign of your new boy toy after all."

"You can watch him on the big screen if you want!" She pointed to the giant television behind her, where Lewis was getting out of his silver car, ready to collect his prize. "However, I would prefer to see my man up close if you let me. Or rather, I don't owe you anything so I don't care about what you have to say. So enjoy the show."

Jason just stood there, motionless and disbelieving. Is she fucking kidding me? Lewis Hamilton?!

Karma is the guy on the screen

Coming straight home to me

Y/N ran across the paddock towards the podium as if her life depended on it. But when she arrived at the celebration, the trophies were already handed out and the champagne was already open.

Lewis smiled even more as soon as he set his eyes on his girl, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by her or everyone around them.

His speed in the race had nothing on the speed with which he descended the stairs from the top of the winner's spot to the audience, his path perfectly aimed at her.

"Hey, where were you?" He asked, wrapping her around the waist in his arms, kissing her immediately, without giving her time to respond.

Reminded of how bad her past had been and, above all, how happy she was by his side now, she returned the kiss with an intensity that was unusual for her. The cameras, the people, they were nothing next to him.

"Wow, baby." He expressed, giggling shocked by her public display of affection. "I missed your face when I got out of the car."

"Believe me, I wanted nothing more than to be here but you'll never guess who I saw." She shook her head, laughing as they started to make their way back to the Mercedes' motorhome.

'Cause karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Karma is the breeze in my hair on the weekend

Karma's a relaxing thought

Aren't you envious that for you it's not?

Sweet like honey, karma is a cat

Purring in my lap 'cause it loves me

Flexing like a goddamn acrobat

Me and karma vibe like that

They approached their destination, still wrapped around each other, eyes on each other, lips on each other.

Lewis, still completely in the dark about the altercation that had taken place minutes before, saw a mysterious figure standing there staring intensely at the two of them.

"Hey, man." He initiated a conversation, as he usually did with all the more timid fans. "Do you want an autograph?" He asked sincerely.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh, eyes still not straying away from her champion.

Karma really is a relaxing thought.

Karma is my boyfriend

Karma is a god

Uh-huh, mm

Karma's a relaxing thought

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[ardentpoop]

'sam is a john copy'

what are your thoughts on this take?

largely used by people who don’t understand sam at all lol. like they say this because A) they cartoon-villainize john, and B) they villainize sam as well in order to validate dean’s self-centered perspective on everything that goes wrong btwn the brothers.

they didn’t even make it up themselves; as usual dean handed it to them. 4.19 “jump the shark” is the key example.

most of the audience takes scenes like this at face value because dean is the character who they’re primed to sympathize more with. like yes of course, poor dean who as a young man wanted nothing more than to be like his abusive father but is a hopelessly inadequate copy because his Heart Is Too Big, he’s Too Soft, Too Bruised. disregarding that between sam and dean it is in Fact dean (by this point in the series especially) who is the spitting image of their father in terms of his temper, his emotional unavailability, his psychological dependence on violence, the control he exerts over his family in the interest of keeping them “safe.” there are cracks in his hardened exterior because he’s a person, just as john was a person.

also note that despite dean continuing to revere john after his death and despite dean believing that john’s role in their lives was ultimately one that was necessary and justified (if he didn’t believe this he wouldn’t have behaved the way he did from s2 onward), he does tap into a deep well of resentment for john from time to time. we see it so clearly in this episode, especially with adam’s experiences with john being contrasted against sam and dean’s in ways that make both of them hurt. of course, the audience’s attention is pointed squarely at dean’s hurt over sam’s.

sam and dean often switch sides in terms of which of them defends or disparages john, depending on what’s going on in their lives and their relationship. regardless of this it’s crucial to understand that john’s role - his control over the conditions of samndean’s lives and his authority as head of household - is definitively dean’s following john’s death. with this in mind: despite dean outwardly appearing to criticize the detrimental impact that john’s behavior/lifestyle had on samndean as children, he is very much simultaneously upholding john’s “wishes” and approaching the question of whether to get adam involved with hunting from john’s perspective - the same perspective that was responsible for the differences in how sam vs dean were raised and the negative psychological effects on one brother but not the other. sam is always in favor of arming vulnerable people with information because he was denied information and excluded from The John And Dean Team for a significant chunk of his childhood. dean is (mostly) in favor of “protecting the innocent” at the expense of their own feelings about this “protection” because that was the role that was carved out for him, as angry and hurt by it as he often feels.

dean is arguing from john’s perspective here, and sam is arguing from the perspective of his younger self. it doesn’t seem like it on the surface because dean is using his resentment for john to cut at sam while the strain in their relationship in s4 comes to a head as a result of sam bucking against dean’s authoritative role by embracing his powers and going against dean’s orders (yes, orders), as well as because sam giving in to his “fate” as a hunter after years of loss and grief and evidence that he’d been “wrong” to “run away” is framed by the narrative throughout s4-5 as sam being pointlessly angry and revenge-driven due to his Monstrous Nature, as opposed to it being a bid for autonomy in the other direction.

overall: john’s role is dean’s and mary’s role is sam’s. outside of that there are traits of each of their parents in both sam and dean and parallels that you can draw between all four of them. john was the civilian and mary was the hunter. mary wanted to “run away” but her plans were violently thwarted. mary made a deal with a demon that would change her life and her family’s lives forever. john was once Soft and defenseless. john kept meticulous records as a hunter to the point that they are still referenced years after his death and even after samndean have access to the MOL’s records. mary kept her family in the dark about hunting after her deal with azazel because she was dedicated to living “normally.” there was strain in john and mary’s marriage before she died and it is implied that they might have eventually broken up if the universe didn’t have other plans for them. etc etc etc. truly you can go nuts with it there is so much more you can do with this family than the average viewer realizes.

I know that got long so let me know if you want further clarification on anything :)

[lovemyromance]

If people are reading Feysand & Nessian interactions and thinking they parallel Elucien ... idk what to tell them.

Feyre hated Rhys - but she did not balk from him. She did not avoid him. She did not shrink into herself around him.

Nesta bickered endlessly with Cassian - but she was not losing her boldness around him. She was not leaving rooms when he entered, refusing to even speak to him.

I am all for an enemies to lovers story. We've seen it twice already with Feysand and Nessian, in a sense. But what makes it enemies to lovers? It's not as simple as "they hate each other and then they somehow fall in love". Enemies to lovers always starts out with initial attraction.

Feyre through Rhys was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. Nesta nearly gave into Cassian when he visited their manor while she was still human. Despite how they felt about their love interest, they could not deny they were attracted to them.

And I don't just mean like, physical attraction. I mean there was that intensity, that honed in focus on only them. It felt significant, like two magnets that initially repel each other but once flipped, are impossible to pry apart.

Elucien does not have that.

Elain actively avoids Lucien. She does not initiate conversation with him, even when Feyre tries to force them into the same room. She does not use his gifts. She shrinks into herself.

Yes, SJM has written countless enemies to lovers couples. Like... all of them lowkey are enemies to lovers lol. But if you really look at those couples vs Elucien, can you say they are the same?

No. They are not. The female in all the relationships she has written has never balked from her male love interest. They have not avoided the other male. They don't lose their personalities around their men. They don't shut down and leave the room.

"Oh Elain is just shy" - No, she is not. She is quiet, sure, polite, yes, but she is not shy. She interacts with the IC just fine. She has friends in Velaris. She tends to the gardens of other fae in the NC. She is not some shy thing that is so afraid of the fae world that she hides from her mate 🙄

You know who she doesn't balk from, though? Azriel. She calls his scarred hands beautiful, she can understand him without a single word.

What about that tells you she's some frail little terrified thing? Is it really so hard for people to believe she does not want Lucien?

It's not enemies to lovers slow burn between Elucien. They are not enemies. They are not even friends-barely acquaintances. There has been no space for any feeling to grow between them. They do not hate each other.

But they also have no obstacles in their path. Elain is not afraid of fae anymore and she's over Graysen, so what are the other obstacles? There's quite literally nothing standing in their way to get together but they haven't. Why not?

I stand by my opinion that if Elucien ever stood a chance, SJM would have written it any other way. She wouldn't have brought in Azriel, she wouldn't have stated endless times how Elucien avoid each other (not just Elain avoiding Lucien). If she wanted to, she would've written Lucien in place of Azriel saving her at Hybern. She would've written Elain getting Lucien presents at Solstice. Elain & Lucien sharing an intimate moment under the cover of the night.

But she didn't write that! So if all this couple has is indifference and a stale mating bond - why are people insisting Elucien is about to be some kind of grand love story? Make it make sense.

Enemies to lovers needs intensity, drama, and tension. Elucien does not have that. Elain avoiding Lucien is not to cause drama and tension - it's because she is uncomfortable. Stated multiple times in the text.

Feyre was never uncomfortable around Rhys. Nesta was never uncomfortable around Cassian.

That's the difference.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

how do you feel about j*nsas stealing and appropriating your theory Frankenstein style? I know I’d be pissed but on the other hand it’s funny because it’s still their strongest “argument” haha

It makes me laugh, honestly. Especially the way many shippers -- who have evidently never read The Hedge Knight -- place so much importance on the Ashford Tourney, the Ashford fair maid, and the Targaryen champion! Like, Lord's Ashford's daughter is so significant, she doesn't even have a name. And the whole thing with Valarr Targaryen was that he was a pretty awful jouster, and only held onto the position as the fair maid's champion out of nepotism, because nobody good actually challenged him. (Though his cousin Aerion threatened to, before deciding to bully someone else.)

And the most significant point, that Valarr didn't come out of nowhere, defeat all the other champions, and crown the girl queen of love and beauty -- lol, not in the slightest, he was a champion from the start, and the way the tourney was set up was that at the end of the third day, whoever were the final five champions would either choose to keep Ashford's daughter as the QOLAB or select somebody else to be. And either way, that never happened, since during the first night Dunk and Aerion had their altercation, Dunk never saw who any of the champions were on the second day because he was in prison, and the third day the fair maid/champion tourney was canceled and they held his Trial of Seven instead. There was no queen of love and beauty at the end of the story!

Like, this tourney does not compare in significance to, say, the Tourney of Harrenhal. Historically, the fair maid means nothing, the Ashford Tourney is only remembered for the Trial of Seven that ended with Baelor's death. And I only happened to think it was a bit of a funny coincidence that four of the first day's champions matched Sansa's suitors (that's how you know it was taken from me despite claims of independent creation, it was known as "the Fifth Suitor theory") and thought it might be an even more funny coincidence if Aegon ended up pursuing Sansa as a bride after (or in the process of) claiming the throne, which was a common bit of speculation in 2012 after Aegon was revealed to be alive (presumably) in 2011's ADWD. And the whole point I had was how futile said champions were in the face of Dunk's actions, and well, *cough*.

But it was always just a crack theory, a silly coincidence. That they've imbued it with such significance, well, um. Good for them I guess. It's certainly less worse than pointing to Sansa Stark daughter of Rickon and her half-uncle Jonnel -- when most likely that was a forced marriage to steal an inheritance like the uncles of Alys Karstark attempted with her, and Jonnel had no children with either Sansa or his second wife, died, and two successive brothers became Lord of Winterfell before the youngest had any children to succeed him. That is not a historical model you want to follow, I'm sorry.

BTW, this post of mine also getting appropriated by jonsas also makes me laugh (2 for 2 lol my god), because the point of that parallel was that Jon is indeed a hero from the songs -- since again, in 2011 immediately post-ADWD there was a fandom reaction pushing Aegon up as the actual PTWP and such. (Well. The ones who didn't decide Victarion was Azor Ahai lol sigh.) And that Sansa's words were the foreshadowing ones, I thought was significant, again in response to fandom decreeing her unimportant. It was not to make Jon specifically Sansa's hero or lover or anything where is that implied I have no idea oh shippers oh fandom sigh sigh sigh 😂😅

[cambria-writes]

welcome to the very final chapter of honey and the hatchet! 🎉 it quite literally took eight whole entire years to get here, but i finally made it!

big thank you to everyone who's stuck around, read and flooded my notes with likes and shares this story around. i cannot express in any language i know how significant and meaningful that is.

for those who might be wondering, i used these photos of a suite at the macarthur to kind of situate myself.

...also sorry for kind of maybe edging you at the end there lol anyways enjoy!

pairing: patrick jane x named reader/ofc word count: 4,883 rating: A for adult content, MDNI warnings: smut, wearing, i know nothing about opera, PiV, unprotected sex, mild dom/sub, sir kink, neck grabbing but no choking, hair pulling if you squint, mentions of planned murders, relatively minor injuries (jane might have a cracked rib it's probably find), confession, the L word, this was not proofread and i'm almost sorry, please let me know if I should take anything else!

previousmasterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕹𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: ℭ𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔷𝔞

Several Months Later

An opera house. A fucking opera house is where you end up spending Christmas Eve. It’s not something that a lot of people would get upset about, normally, and you know this. That’s why you’ve schooled your face into an expression that’s more rich, entitled boredom than resentful impatience.

But you’re in a box for a fancy show, wearing a dress that definitely costs more just to look at than your apartment likely does in a whole calendar year, and there’s free alcohol. Not that you’ve been indulging up until now, but it’s nice to know that there’s expensive, free booze for when you will be able to pay attention to literally anything else. 

Right now, your eyes are half-heartedly trailing around the stage, eventually halting at the Sopranist singing her heart out. You can’t make out the lyrics at all—never could, with how broad and loud the voices are in operatic compositions, nevermind the insane acoustics of this place—but the sound of the song feels appropriate. A slow build that keeps on building despite several fake-outs that make you believe you’re finally out of this eternal musical waiting.

Conveniently, it’s when the Sopranist pauses for a quick breath that you hear it. The drag of a foot against an old velvet rug. You whip your fan open and feign interest in the elaborate emotional display the singer is putting on. You’re not worried; you know you look like every other bored twenty-something in this place.

Patrick had personally made sure of that. 

“Enjoying yourself?” A woman asks, her deep, airy voice drifting around you as she moves to sit down to your left, French accent heavy in her words. She flips open a small hand fan with a short “thwap” before turning her attention to you.

Madame Jonquière is someone whose gaze feels heavy. Patrick hadn’t told you much about her. Just that she was at Stonewall and that he owed her a favour. Didn’t mention what the favour was for, and you didn’t bother prying any further. Madame Joncquière’s eyes go down to your hands for a second before meeting yours again. She smiles politely and inclines her head expectantly. You realize you haven’t answered yet.

“Sorry, yes,” you reply quickly. Clear your throat before looking back at the stage. “I can’t understand most of it but it sounds lovely. Thank you for letting me accompany you tonight.”

Madame Joncquière swings open a hand fan with a muted ‘fwap’ before fanning herself. “Oh no, thank you for your presence tonight!” she exclaims quietly, leaning forward closer to you.  You grin and leave over. “No one ever wants to come to the opera house with me anymore. They all think it’s boring!”

You laugh quietly along with her. Madame Joncquière leans back into her chair and fixes her gaze to the stage. You appreciate the space she’s leaving you. Despite the fact that she knows damn well that you’re here to make sure she doesn’t get assassinated, she seems to be taking everything in good stride.

You watch his back as he carefully pours a drink out of a shaker. You have no idea what prompted him to pick you up at 11:30AM for cocktail hour. On a Wednesday. In the empty, closed bar of some man who happened to also owe him a favour. You hadn’t expected an explanation. But Patrick had kept silent the whole car ride. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but the whole time you can’t help but feel like you’re being psychologically edged. You can only refrain from asking the slew of questions floating in your head for so long.

A highball glass filled with some strange red-purple liquid swirling enticingly inside it. The colours almost make the ice look like it’s sparkling. You’re dazzled for a second before looking up at Patrick.

“One Purple Haze for our esteemed guest,” he says, dramatically, with a flourish and a bow. You laugh quietly before picking up the highball. Hold the glass up to the light to watch the colours mingle.

“It’s definitely nice to look at.” Distracted, you don’t notice Patrick walking out from behind the island to stand behind you. You don’t flinch when his cold hands part your hair to slide down your neck and rest on your shoulders. “Am I really expected to drink this before lunch? I haven’t even had breakfast.” 

“I did tell you to get up early last night,” Patrick says, voice low, by your ear. “Sounds like someone snoozed their alarm four too many times.”

You don’t answer. You instead try to see how quickly you can down the purple haze that was handed to you. Hoping to maybe inherit some of its own haze. You only stop when you’ve gulped down half.

“It’s a bad one, by the way,” Patrick adds, pressing a soft kiss at your temple before moving away. He sits on the stool next to you, slotting his knees between yours. “You’re supposed to pour the liqueur last to let it settle at the bottom. It isn’t supposed to swirl like that.”

You hum in understanding a look at the glass in the light again. “Shame, it looks nice this way.” Bring the glass back to your mouth for another sip. “Why am I getting a lesson in mixology today?”

“You’re going to the opera,” he starts, and you chug the rest of the drink before bracing yourself for another briefing. “And I’m going to need you to remember to order this, and how it’s supposed to be made.”

You frown. “Okay, so if I get it and it’s well made that means… what?”

Patrick smirks. Your stomach flips, entirely unaided by his hands running up your thighs. “It means I might have gotten… held up.”

“And this is… bad?”

Patrick hums and leans in, brushes his nose against your jaw. “If you consider first degree murder ‘bad’ then yes, it would be quite bad.”

You scoff at the blazé tone he takes, but it’s half-hearted. His fingers are working their way up your loose shorts toward your hips. 

“It might be a bad idea to sip at something that might have been poisoned.”

Ah, so this was it. 

Patrick hadn’t kept you in the loop for the entirety of this particular… situation. Not only because Madame J had gone to see him directly rather than the CBI, for reasons that hadn’t been obvious at the time, but because this seemed to be a personal slight. You’d kindly asked to be kept at an arm’s length for it all; solving murders had been one thing, but actively trying to prevent one felt beyond you.

You put your hands over his to halt their movement. Patrick immediately pulled back, brows furrowed in concern.

“I feel like too much hinges on me here,” you say quietly, pointedly staring at your knees. You can see the veins starting to honeycomb on your hands. Your fingertips feel cold and stiff.

“You don’t have to,” Patrick answers, just as quietly, pulling one of his hands back to run down your face, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I can bully Rigsby into it.”

You can’t help but laugh a little. He’d probably love the chance to go out at the opera with someone who also wants to be there.

“How long do I have to think about it?” 

“Only until Saturday,” Patrick answers, and you can hear the apology in his voice. The last-minute nature of this annoys you–it only gives you three days, including today, to decide whether or not you want to be the final hurdle.

“I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.”

The evening goes well enough. You still can’t understand much of what’s being sung, but you enjoy the performance. The drama and emotion in the acting, while singing, is something that’s at least legitimately interesting to watch. 

You occasionally look over the audience as well. Your perch from the box gives you a fantastic vantage point to see most everyone in the hall. The hairs at the back of your neck have been raising every now and then. Same feeling as you get being observed in the dark. But every time you try to scan the crowd, everyone’s either facing the stage or canted forward in somnolence.

You hear a knock at the door of your box before the door opens. This is it, you think. You’d ordered drinks just as you were coming back from the intermission. You take a quick look at the dainty gold watch Patrick had wrapped around your wrist earlier in the evening. It’s been… fifteen minutes. Which seems like an awful long time to prepare a purple haze and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

You don’t bother turning at all until you hear the serving tray being gently placed on the table between you and Madame J. You note, with no small amount of relief, that your purple haze muddled to absolute fuck and back. Perfectly safe to drink then.

Your server speaks up just as you notice, reaching for your glass, that there’s quite a spill on the tray.

“Au plaisir, mesdames.”

A thrill runs up your spine. Madame Joncquière looks up while you slowly wrap your fingers around the cool glass. She almost makes a joyful exclamation, but seems to stop halfway through taking in a breath for you. Keep your eyes on your drink while you listen to retreating footsteps, muted on carpet, until you hear the door open and close again.

Madame J’s hand lands softly on your shoulder to give it a squeeze. 

“How wonderful of Monsieur Jane to come look in on us himself!” she says to you, barely above a whisper. “Shall we cheers to that then, chérie?” 

Your heart still thrums in your chest from the thrill of it all. You raise your glass along with her, but just before knocking it against Madame J’s, you draw your hands back.

“Would you mind indulging me?” you ask quietly, trying to control the smirk threatening to take over your expression. 

Madame Joncquière clearly sees the scheming glint in your eyes and doesn’t hide her grin. It’s toothy, like a fox. And you feel like a peer, having caught a rabbit dead to rights. 

“Absolument! What would you like?” She leans in closer over the small end table between you. 

You carefully move to grab her wine glass and press your glass to her palm. She beams and immediately gets your meaning. You link arms together, giggling quietly as you try not to spill your respective drinks. 

“Cheers to yet another wonderful night on this train wreck of a planet,” you say, tilting the wine glass to clink against the highball. 

“I’ll drink to that!”

No sooner has the wine touched your lips, you hear a small commotion in the audience. Not enough to interrupt the show, but not something that won’t be noticed. 

The wine is bitter and sour on your tongue and you don’t bother to school your expression into something tame. Madam J laughs quietly behind her fan and offers your drink back. You hastily hand her back her awful wine and nurse your significantly sweeter cocktail.

The rest of the evening is blessedly uneventful. Patrick doesn’t make another appearance, but you don’t expect him to. You were surprised that he showed up personally in the first place. At the end of the show, after having another attendant–a real one, this time–slips you both back into your coats. Opens the door and thanks you for your patronage and only closes the door behind you once you’re most of the way down the hallway. Madame J links your arms together as you walk, chittering away about the singers’ performance. 

Once you reach the lobby, excuses herself for a moment to make a phone call. You make your way over to a plush lounge chair by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows and take a seat. It’s fairly early, for a Sunday evening, so you pass the time people watching. Your phone vibrates in your coat pocket just as you see Madame Joncquière making her way over to you. Quickly look at your phone notification. 

‘Have her drop you off here,’ followed by an address and a room number. You don’t have time to respond back and ask where the fuck that is before Madame J extends her hand out to you. 

“I’ve been instructed to provide transportation for you, chère,” she says as you accept her hand to stand. “You’re alright to give my driver your address, yes?” 

Your body doesn’t seem to know if it should be excited or apprehensive. You acquiesce to Madame J after a second. Once you do actually enter her car–a vintage Cadillac with the classic wings–and let the driver know where to drop you off, she practically begins vibrating in her seat next to you. 

“Oh, please, you have to tell me who you’re meeting there!” she says, eagerly reaching for and grabbing your hands. The question must be written on your face because she laughs giddily. “Ma belle, the MacArthur is a veritable oasis in Sacramento. If you’re going there and you don’t know this, someone is very eager to make sure you enjoy yourself.”

This time the excitement wins over; you can feel your face heating up and you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing. You struggle to come up with something to say to that–what do you say to that?--but Madame Joncquière giggles some more and pats your thigh.

“So it’s Monsieur Jane, after all? What a man. I wonder who he conned into letting him stay there tonight.” 

“Probably someone else who owes him a favour,” you mutter. Your cheeks hurt from trying not to smile too widely.

“That would be a pretty sizeable favour to cash in on for leisure.” Her tone says she’s just thinking out loud, but you think you understand what Madame J’s trying to say.

Awful big favour to cash in on one woman. Must be a special one.

You try not to think too much about it.

The general manager meets you at the car. You wouldn’t have known he was the general manager if Madame Joncquière hadn’t turned into a gossipy 14 year old girl at the sight of him exiting the hotel doors. He opens the car door for you and helps you out with a hand.

“Lovely to have you, Ms Benraft. I’m Stephen Crawford, General Manager,” he introduces himself, taking a moment to lean forward to address Madam J. “Always a pleasure, Madame. Your friend will be in good hands with us.” 

“Always a pleasure, Monsieur Crawford. Have a wonderful night, chérie,” she finishes while addressing you, tossing a wink. “À la prochaine!” 

The general manager understands his cue to close the door, and the Cadillac slowly pulls away. 

You’re guided through the main building, where Stephen explains the history of the hotel and its various accommodations, all of which go into one ear and out the other. You’re taking directly to your lodgings, and  the general manager assures you that all amenities have been accounted for, including a late dinner and, in his words, “a small wardrobe in anticipation of whatever you would find comfortable”. 

You’re starting to understand why Madame Joncquière reacted the way that she did. Patrick has treated you to luxuries before–dinners, various events, even a trip out of the country–but none of it felt quite this… decadent. Almost overindulgent, actually. 

It truly feels like being spoiled rotten, and you’re still not sure how you feel about it.

Stephen hands you a very intricate key and steps back to wish you a good night, and that the front desk is available 24/7 should there ever be anything you need. You thank him and wait until he’s out of sight before turning back to the door. 

Your blood feels like it’s effervescing in your veins.

You consider knocking first, but decide to just let yourself into the room. You’re expected, after all, so it shouldn’t really matter, right? 

The first thing you notice is the fireplace. Then, the plush chairs, then the bed, then the bay window. The lighting is dim; only two lamps lit and the faint glow from the electric fireplace. The last thing you register is the sound of a shower running. 

You carefully close the door behind you and shrug your coat off, throw it in the direct of one of the chairs to your right. Walking further in, you spot a desk in a took to the left of the door with a chair conveniently pulled out. You carefully sit down to remove your shoes. Beautiful as they are and however aesthetically pleasant it was to have them match your dress, you’re happy to have them off. Carefully massage the soles of your feet, rotate your ankles, before leaning back in the chair.

This is lovely. You almost feel like you’re in one of those secluded little getaway suites in Bali or something. The vibes certainly match, even if late December weather is a bit too chilly. If you actually just let yourself enjoy everything for a second, and stop worrying about what it cost, this is just very nice. 

Maybe you’re starting to feel a little less spoiled and a little more pampered.

You’ve half dozed off by the time you feel warm hands on your shoulders. You sleepily hum, content, and sit up a little straighter. Stifle a yawn behind your hand and hear Patrick chuckle behind you.

“Have fun?”

You groan as you stretch. “Mm, would’ve been more fun withou–”

You cut yourself off after turning around and actually lay eyes on Patrick’s face. His lower lip is split on his left, and there’s a cut above the brow on the same side that you immediately know was from getting decked in the face. There’s also a disconcertingly large bruise on his left side, above his ribs, and you can’t fathom what would have caused that.

“Oh my–shit, are you okay? What happened?” 

You get halfway to standing up before Patrick gently presses you back down onto the chair. “Nothing too bad, I promise,” he answers, almost cajoling. Well, he’s breathing fine, from what you can see and hear. And he doesn’t seem like someone who got stabbed, you don’t think.

You still let the fingers of your left hand glide over the bruise. Patrick does a decent enough job to hide the wince, but it’s still there.

“Can I at least know what caused this one?” “Fire extinguisher.”

The words take a second to sink in before you start laughing. The image in your mind is absolutely far more cartoonish than what actually happened, for sure, but after an entire night of holding your breath, you can feel the tension start draining from your shoulders.

You turn back to face away from Patrick, and he resumes kneading the stress out of your traps and your neck. Thumbs dig into your neck on either side of your spine. It feels heavenly. Your breath catches when a shudder runs up your spine. There’s a heat that flares at the base of your spine when you feel his fingers gently wrap and brace against the sides of your throat.

“You did well tonight,” Patrick whispers into your hair. Takes a moment to brush your hair away before pressing a soft kiss to the back of your neck. 

You temper the rising, bubbling pride. “I didn’t even have to do anything.”

You can feel his laughter at the back of your neck. Hands slide down your arms before you feel him resting his forehead on your shoulder. 

“Switching your drinks was a clever idea.” You feel Patrick pulling away, squeak in surprise when he grabs the sides of the chair to spin you around. Crouches in front of your–and only now do you realize that he’s only got a towel around his waist, which parts dangerously wide as he lowers himself. “Made it a lot easier to catch our guy.”

Whatever tension in our shoulders Patrick hasn’t been able to dispel and disperse with his hands just… vanished. It had been a relief, initially, to know that Madame was safe and sound and not at risk of dying a slow, horrible, poisoned death. For the past 48 hours, it’s been a struggle to reign in your mind. You could barely sleep at night just for trying to distract yourself from what would happen if you didn’t pay well enough attention.

Patrick runs his hands over your thighs, up to your hips, tapping twice with his thumbs.

“I’m here,” you say airily, shaking off your thoughts to look Patrick in the eyes. “Just basked in the fact that it’s over now.” Lift a hand up to his face and gently smoothing your thumb below the cut at his brow. “Starting to wonder if I should have been worrying about you this whole time, instead.”

“Probably should have,” Patrick shrugs, and there’s a thrill that runs through you when you think, Of course I should have, of course you’d be getting yourself in some kind of mess.

He doesn’t say anything else when he stands back up and extends a hand out to help you to your feet. You feel silly for it, but you giggle when he makes you twirl, puling you back in with a hand at your waist. 

“Love the dress,” Patrick says, dipping in for a peck on the lips. “Where’d you get it?”

You scoff to compensate for the blood rushing to your face. “Some absolute scamp made me wear it tonight.”

Leading you into a slow, gentle sway by the fireplace, he puts on a show of looking offended. You laugh lightly at the exaggeration, but clear your throat once his expression settles. 

“I suppose the scamp should take it back, then,” he answers, voice low as the hand that held yours skips over ribs and moves up your back. 

You tilt your head when he begins to place opened-mouthed kisses down your neck. You let him pull your zipper down but otherwise don’t help him. Not that he needs much help; once the zipper stops, nearly at the very bottom of your spine, the top of your dress simply crumples away, taking the rest down with it.

Patrick takes a moment to pull back, hands smoothing down your upper arms as he takes a look at you. There’s a very self-content smirk on his face when he takes stock of the lacey, racy lingerie you’re wearing. A hand reaches down and tugs at your garter before letting it snap back into place.

God, the way he looks at you with such open, raw hunger continues to do things to you that you hadn’t known anyone was capable of. Until him.

“Even happier to see someone can follow instructions,” Patrick comments, sounding every part like the cat that got the cream. Both hands both over your hips, up your ribs, thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts.

Patrick leans in, lips barely brushing against yours. “Think you can keep following instructions?” 

You sigh shakily at his tone. “Yes, sir.”

You can feel his chest vibrate with his rumble of appreciation. He doesn’t speak when he tugs you along to bed. Doesn’t need to tell you what to do when he sits, tossing the towel from his waist in the general direction of the sitting area, leaning against the headboard. You dutifully install yourself on his lap, slowly settling your weight over his thighs. 

With two hands firmly on your rear, Patrick pulls you in as close as he can. Thrusts his hips up as he does so. Just the heat of his erection, throbbing against your damp underwear, has you moaning behind tightly sealed lips.

“That’s it,” Patrick encourages when you begin to rut against him without prompting. “Take what you want, I’ll give you the rest.” The rest of his sentence is almost unintelligible as he takes turns between kissing and nipping at your breasts. The bra is a pathetic excuse for fabric, and you understand why he had you wear this particular set; it almost feels as though there’s nothing at all between your skin and the wet heat of his mouth.

It doesn’t take long before you have to brace yourself against Patrick’s shoulders, and soon after that you find yourself whining as you toss your head back. The friction and heat are both wonderful in their own respect, but the angle is wrong, and it’s not nearly enough. 

You’re ravenous, and Patrick is a meal that loves to hold himself out of reach just a bit past long enough.

“Use your words,” he breathes into your collarbones, one hand moving us to massage at one of your breasts while the other moves lower. Down past the delicate lace waist of your panties, thumb teasing around your clit. 

“Fuck,” you choke out, unable to keep yourself from grinding down harder and faster in the hopes that something will change. 

“Not quite enough words,” Patrick quips, and you growl, annoyed. Bring your head back forward and do your best to maintain eye contact. 

It still feels embarrassing, even now. To say it out loud.

You’re learning to accept that… maybe you’re just. A little bit into that.

“Please, sir,” you start, clearing your throat and swallowing thickly. “I would very much like you to fuck me, please.”

Patrick practically purrs, satisfied. This part, too, is well rehearsed. You muster just enough self control to raise your hips. Enough room so he can pull his cock forward. Enough for you to gather saliva in your mouth and let it dribble down. Over Patrick’s hand, and over his cock.

He groans with the feeling of it as you exhaled in something you think might be awe. His eyes are close and head tilted back. He looks debauched, you think, but not quite enough. 

“Can I–can I touch, sir?” you pants, hands already raised by the sides of his head.

“Can’t say no when you ask so nicely,” he breathes out. You immediately run your hands through his hair, digging your fingertips into his scalp. He moans, a drawn-out thing that has your cunt clenching in a desperate way. 

A shudder like electricity shoots through you when you feel Patrick simply pulling aside the gusset of your underwear before lining himself up with your entrance. He takes a second–during which you whine in complaint–to get a hand at the back of your head, fisting the hair there just enough to get your attention. Look down at him with impatient, hooded eyes. 

“You’ll forgive the terrible timing,” he starts, sounding about as breathless as you’re sure you currently do. “But there’s been something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“You’re right,” you groan, leaning your head forward to rest against his. “It’s terrible ti–”

Your sentence is blissfully interrupting when Patrick thrusts up into you. Not quite hilting himself, but damn well near it. You’re not sure what you would call the sound that cracked its way out of your throat. He groans in unison with you, and you’re not sure who’d trying to pull who in closer.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes out, one hand guiding your hips to slowly move against him, the other smoothing the hair at the back of your head. “I love you.”

You keen, a quick, sharp pitched sound. Push yourself just far away to look him in the eyes. Takes him a second to build enough composure back off to raise his head and look at you straight on.

He’s been unguarded before, sure, but not like this. There’s something swirling in your chest and low in your abdomen. Something heavy, heady. 

“Christ,” you exhale, lifting your hips before slamming them back down. Your sharp inhale catches in your throat and Patrick bites back another groan. “Worst timing. Other women would question your motives.”

“Mmh, good thing you aren’t any other woman.” The end of his sentence is punctuated by a particularly sharp thrust upward. You can feel the tip of his cock just brushing against your cervix, and the jolt it sends through has you grinding down back in turn. 

Patrick winds his arms around your back and presses your against his chest. You feel him bracing his feet against the mattress, immediately move to grab the edge tof he headboard. Feel him chuckle under you, flinch when you feel teeth against one of your nipples through the sparse lace.

“Fortunate that I love you too, then.”

You don’t get to properly register the sound you hear bubbling up from the back of Patrick’s throat before he thrusts back up into you. Sets a pace that might’ve been brutal, but even in the haze of oxytocin in your brain you can recognize that this is relief. 

A man that’s been alone and snarling at and against the world for so many years just… just told you he loves you.

When you feel a hand make its way around your throat, you take the cue. 

It’s a tomorrow problem.

Tonight you can just feel, and bask in several jobs well done.

Tag List

@fucklife-or-me @mamacakeishereforfun @newavenger @yearningforsappho @natsukee @piper570 @rikuisthesweetestboy @berry-blink @wandabillywrites @leftovers-and-headrubs @pauphs @gamingfeline @racoonkitty @dogmatic255 

[katamaridamacyonline]

tell me all of your ace attorney headcanons

to make it easier, maybe for maya fey specifically! I feel like you probably have a lot of thoughts on her

HI sorry for ignoring this ask for 12 days im gonna do it now (very very long post like holy shit how did i even type this much)

okay so for maya i have. a lot of hcs. basic stuff first she it trans (she/her), lesbian, poly, fat, and mixed black+japanese. actually there's a bit more to the fat headcanon cause i think she gains weight as she gets older, sort of as a "weight gain to represent healing" type of thing. i think around aa1 timeframe she's closer to her canon design but as she reaches more into adulthood she gains weight over time and is happier that way (part of this is because gaining weight is usually a good thing for transfems on estrogen)

okay anyways here's the part where i rant about trans maya stuff. actually i should probably talk about trans mia first cause theyre both trans in my hc and her transition actually plays an important part in maya's experience. basically mia was the first trans kurain spirit medium, before her it wasnt known that a trans woman could be a medium, but that all changed after mia realized she was a girl. for a while (months? years? not sure) mia thought that she would never be able to channel and just accepted the fact that she could be a woman but she wouldnt be able to channel, but eventually eh found that her realization of being a girl actually awakened significant spiritual power within her.

so anyways, onto maya, similar to mia she realized she was a girl when she was young, some time after misty left but while mia was still around. when mia came out, misty was very accepting in letting her transition, but with them under morgan's care they were both worried things wouldnt go as well. fortunately, mia would not let anything stop her sister from transitioning. i'm not completely sure if i think morgan would try to stop maya from transitioning or not (like yeah she's evil but idk if i see her as transphobic lol???) but if she did try to stop her mia would fight back no matter what.

anyways, maya transitions, but unfortunately things end up harder for her than mia, as maya isn't able to channel spirits. while she shows some signs of having spiritual powers, she's not anywhere close to as powerful as mia or any of the cis mediums in the family. this is deeply painful for maya and becomes a horrible source of dysphoria. how she sees it, if she can't channel spirits, she'll never really be a woman. in reality, this dysphoria is entirely false, plenty of cis women in the fey clan don't have spiritual powers (even morgan!). mia comforts her by telling her this, that she will always be a girl even if she can't channel spirits. this helps maya a lot, but it still isn't enough to fully rid her of her irrational dysphoria. it's all very hard for her, and i think morgan would definitely make everything worse for her, likely reminding her of her inability to channel for no reason other than to hurt her and make her feel inferior. but mia's positive influence helps her make it through everything, even if she does struggle a lot.

anyways, aa1 happens, and she's finally preformed her first channeling. but there's still a ton of doubt in her mind. despite now knowing she CAN channel, she's still struggling with this same dysphoria. probably thinking along the lines of. 'the only was i can channel is if i'm an urgent situation. If i was a real woman, i could channel at any moment, but i can't. I'm still just a man and nothing more." this all culminates with her inferiority complex in Turnabout Goodbyes. I actually really like reading into Maya's struggle in turnabout goodbyes as a representation of dysphoria, because the way she's hurt by not being able to channel mia is heartbreaking. hell, she literally says some genuinely suicidal things after the taser scene.

ultimately, I think maya finally begins to move past this dysphoria not because she learns to channel better, but because she finally, fully accepts mia's words to her, and i think Phoenix is really the person to finally help her out of it. sometime after turnabout goodbyes, maya opens up to phoenix about how hard this all is to her. tells him about how hard it is to feel like her womanhood is entirely dependent on a skill she struggles to grasp. phoenix would choose this as the time to finally come out to her that he too is trans, and would try his best to comfort maya, telling her how he's always seen her as a girl, how she should never doubt who she is just because she's not as skilled as her sister or mother. i think phoenix would feel some sense of guilt at this point, as he would feel like he played a part in maya's dysphoria since he was always hoping maya could channel mia again. with this, he would feel very motivated to help her through everything, both because of this guilt and just because he's now very committed to protecting maya. this of course wouldn't immediately fix everything for maya, but phoenix's continued support as they spend their days together would end up pushing her into learning to finally accept everything. over time, she's finally able to accept that no matter how strong or weak her spiritual abilities are, she'll always be a girl no matter what. of course, eventually she does become a very successful medium, but that takes much more time, and gradually freeing herself from her painful dysphoria helps her make it there.

okay wow i typed a lot what the fuck i was gonna write some stuff about other characters but this post is so long uhhhhhh apollo athena juniper trucy ema katherine sebastian adrian jinxie penny and a bunch of other ones i forgot to mention are trans women lol

[uyuforu]

After reading the potential time for marry it got me thinking, is it also possible to see potential children in the chart?

Id love to see their children!!!

Potential Time for Children in JK's Solar Return Charts

It's hard to see children in Solar Return Chart, as it can be tricky, and there aren't a lot of asteroids for it! So let's see!

ೀ SRC 2027-2028: A lot of planets in 5H can indicate having children, so directly after marriage (if he marries that year), he can have a child directly the year after LMAO. 5H being full in a SRC can be the first indicators for children/ pregnancy! He has Sun, Jupiter, Venus, Moon there! And moon rolling women and pregnancy in the 5H, I wouldn't be surprised if that happen. Having the ruler of the 5H in the 5th house is also an indicator, and it is there that year! AND Moon sextile (almost) Mars that year. Gurl. AND Ceres is in the 5H... I got nothing more to say. He would be 30-31 yo.

ೀ SRC 2031-2032: 5H is full of Venus and Mercury there, and it's also got Briede Asteroid there. It could be a desire to make his wife pregnant that year (LOL) or her desire to be pregnant that year! Talking about having a baby a lot too. The 5H in Leo got me feeling like there could be a possibility of getting pregnant or having a child that year! Ceres also conjunct the 5H Cusp! He would be 34-35 yo those years.

ೀ SRC 2033-2034: Moon sextile Mars that year, which is an indicator of pregnancy! Also, Jupiter is in the 5H, it could represents feeling blessed or lucky in this area of life, mostly children. And Pisces is in the 5H despite not being on the cusp. Traditionally, Pisces is ruled by Jupiter! This can be an indicator to have children this year again lol. Pluto is there also, expressing a drastic change in JK's life. He could consider himself a dad from this year rather than an artist or a singer/ performer. He could think more of his family and children more than anything. His identity changes at that time. Ceres conjuncts mars that year too. He would be 36-37 yo!

ೀ SRC 2040-2041: Ceres is in Cancer that year, it can be an indicator, but 5H is empty. Yet, 4H is FULL, literally. So I don't think it's a child indicator, but an indicator of being a year focused on children! Or he would often think how happy he is to have children. Or being with his children would sometimes make him want another one, yet it doesn't seem like he will? He would be 43-44 yo.

-> I'm gonna stop there but it seems like there are 3 Solar Return which are significant for having children! JK will most likely have 3 children!

Thank you for reading!

back to index ; ask ; request ; schedule ; rules

[littlejuicebox]

Midwinter Carol 8 / The Scheme

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 2.4K

Story navigation: [1][2][3][4] [5] [6] [7]

Summary/Setting: Based on the prologue/premise from my OneShot “A Midwinter Carol.” / Astarion and the OC broke up after his ascension. She left Baldur’s Gate for fifteen years, only to return just recently. Following the events of “A Midwinter Carol,” Ascended Astarion has been convinced to pursue a new beginning. Will he be able to change who he has become, with the help of his ex-lover or will he ultimately fall victim to himself?

Preview:

“You’re far too comfortable within our arrangement, darling. Now, simply stand there and look pretty. It’s what you’re best at,” Astarion had finally drawled after a long silence between the two of them, feigning nonchalance at her comment while the white-knuckled grip on his goblet told another story.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore / Violence / PTSD / Astarion’s past trauma

A/N: Took two weeks, but we finally got there! I am going to try to start posting my longfics on a more consistent schedule. Stay tuned for the schedule, once I've figured it out lol!

-----

Delilah loathed people in power. She hated the moneyed patrons looking down their noses at her, always with an air of disgust. The wealthy acted as if they were doing her a favor; as if they weren’t the ones begging for her skills.

The elite she entertained in the brothels might have different kinks, different preferences, and different fantasies that she danced around… but one rule applied to every entitled, powerful individual that purchased her time: they loved to hear themselves talk.

It was quite comical how much her clients would share when they perceived her as an idiot. They often thought her beneath them; nothing more than a glorified decoration, a plaything. An empty vessel to spill their seed into. 

But Delilah was far more cunning than she looked. She wouldn’t have been a whore, if only her circumstances had been different. Her aspirations had always been higher than sex work, and despite loathing people in power, she knew one of them would eventually be her meal ticket out of her situation. 

She was too smart to be a whore and yet too desperate to shy away from any opportunity that came knocking upon her brothel door. 

So when Astarion first spoke to her in Elvish, insulting her in the process, Delilah knew to stay silent. From almost the beginning, she intended to play the long game with the vampire and figured it best to appear ignorant. 

She assumed his goading to be a test. She felt the silver-haired elf wanted to know if she understood his native tongue, though she didn’t quite understand why at the time. So instead of giving any indication she knew Astarion had just called her a filthy whore, Delilah simply smiled and purred a superficial compliment; it was something about how sexy he sounded speaking Elvish.

He bought it. 

After that initial test from Astarion, he would often speak in Elvish when she morphed into Eirianwen’s shape. Most strings of his mother tongue were simply sweet nothings and lamentations he clearly would have preferred to say to the real woman, not the one he paid to portray her. It was tedious to endure the Ascendant as he relentlessly plunged in and out of her body, speaking sappy nonsense as she performed exactly the way he expected her to.

He always took forever to finish.

The ordeal was ridiculous, really. But her suffering proved worthwhile, for a time. It bought her connections to other elites, a new apartment, and — perhaps most valuable of all — pieces of information. 

Over the years, Delilah collected many useful bits  of knowledge from Astarion. The bastard loved to hear himself talk, in and out of bed, just like all the others. She sold some of the lesser information to his enemies and kept the most significant pieces stored within her mind. 

Delilah knew he held the secret to true power – it was etched upon his back — and she wanted it for herself. She spent years assembling pieces of the puzzle and carefully unlocking the vaults of his psyche for that one purpose. It was no easy task. 

But those years passed, and Delilah grew more impatient with the passing of each season. Astarion was dramatic, self-obsessed, privileged, and almost always held an air of missing that stupid sorceress. Constantly soothing his ego became a full time job, and Delilah began to think she loathed him more than she loved his money and connections to power.

Eventually, she thought she would simply convince Astarion to make her a true vampire, cut her losses, and just take those powers as a consolation prize. Her time enduring the Vampire Lord had been more than enough, and she was ready for it to end. She felt she understood why the real Eirianwen left him; if she’d had the means, Delilah would have been gone long ago, too.

But not everyone is a trust fund baby. 

So, one evening, at another party almost identical in theme and guest list to the soirée they’d attended the week prior, Delilah broached the subject of immortality with Astarion. Her frustration quickly rose to the forefront when the Vampire Lord denied her far too quickly, as if he’d considered the option long ago and decided against it. 

“Why not?” she’d pressed, her arm wrapped around his, simply playing the all-too-familiar part of a decoration at his side as they walked about the great hall of some noble’s mansion.

But, even as she asked, Delilah knew the reason: she was a glorified shell in his eyes; nothing more than a novelty item. She was hardly permitted to be in her own chosen form for these parties, or in general, after all. Astarion never wanted to see her as her. He always made her rotate her appearance as his date, instead. She was never supposed to be Eirianwen in public, of course, because imagine the scandal; but she was always some beautiful being. 

Just not herself. 

Among the many strange aspects of the egotistical man she’d tied herself to for years, Delilah found it odd that Astarion seemed to prefer the appearance of rakishness without actually being a rake. Though she suspected he liked the idea of appearing unattached, should the real Eirianwen ever flit back into his life. Idiot.

“I am not currently paying you to speak, Delilah,” Astarion had warned in a low hiss, his jaw tensed as he’d refused to look at the woman holding onto his arm. 

She was in the form of some gorgeous, pouty-lipped, large chested brunette she’d seen while working in Waterdeep years ago. Astarion always seemed to prefer silver-haired dates, so Delilah intentionally gave him anything else when she was particularly irritated with the bastard.

“It’s been half a decade… she isn’t coming back, you know,” Delilah had snapped in response, unable to hold back her frustration after tempering herself for ages. 

Five years had been far too long. 

She’d been attached to this vile man longer than his precious sorceress ever had been and still played second fiddle to a memory. The thought made her insides boil with rage.

Not that she loved Astarion. Absolutely not. But she felt he still owed her something after all this time. Because truly, he was dreadful, and he would have done nothing of note with all that money and power if she hadn’t pushed him in the right direction. Hells, he couldn’t even sleep properly when they first met, let alone play political dragonchess with dignitaries and crime bosses. 

No, the majority of that had been her doing. But of course, in his pride, the Vampire Lord was certain it had been him all along. 

“You’re far too comfortable within our arrangement, darling. Now, simply stand there and look pretty. It’s what you’re best at,” Astarion had finally drawled after a long silence between the two of them, feigning nonchalance at her comment while the white-knuckled grip on his goblet told another story. 

But the shapeshifter knew her value was severely underestimated. She was more than a common whore, more than an attractive escort, more than just a shell of someone else’s form. And after years of catering to Astarion’s massive ego, one would think her other talents would be of value to the Ascendant – at least enough to consider turning her.

Apparently not.

Ultimately, Astarion kept refusing Delilah’s requests for immortality. Eventually, the shapeshifter decided she’d had enough; she would have to find another route to power. 

She’d wasted too much time already.

*

When Delilah first planned to break into the Palace, she knew entering through the dungeon would be most convenient. Waltzing in right through the front door, while potentially possible in Astarion’s form, would attract far too much attention. The servants swarmed him the moment he entered any room. Plus, she suspected her target happened to be in the bowels of the Palace, away from prying eyes – the dungeon would be faster, too.

It would be a quick job – get in, get out, get back to her new boss, get turned. 

She knew the secret entryway into the dungeon was enchanted and required a password spoken in Astarion’s voice. At first, this had been a significant dilemma. Delilah’s shape shifting was flawless, and yet she always failed to adequately reproduce voices. However, thanks to his unwilling donation of DNA at the auction, the woman successfully brewed a potion that perfectly captured Astarion’s haughty tenor. 

One utterance of “aeterna amantes” later and she found herself in the frigid cobblestone dungeon underneath her ex-lover’s abode. 

She could not help but feel pride for her multiple talents at this moment. If Delilah had been able to afford tuition at Blackstaff thirty years ago, her life would be inconceivably different. Self-study and natural talents could only get her so far, unfortunately. 

Locating the Jathiman Dagger – or “The God Killer,” as it had been called in the texts she read on the subject – had been effortless in comparison to her first trial. The ancient blade was rippling with arcane magic, and Delilah simply reached out to the Weave for guidance. Like a compass, the Weave led her straight to the second hidden passageway in the dungeon, this one much less guarded than the first. And there, behind an illusory wall, was the ticket to her future in the form of a well-worn, rusted dagger.

In truth, the woman thought the weapon that could kill anything from a god to a devil – and certainly a mere Vampire Ascendant, by that logic – would be far grander in appearance than just a simple serrated blade with a leather-wrapped hilt. At first, Delilah worried it was a decoy. But the arcane thrum when she touched the weapon was undeniable; all that was left on her end of the deal was to get back to Lady Lysandra and deliver the dagger. She could leave Edmund to rot if she wanted, Lysandra had indicated him to be disposable in their scheming. 

But standing on the precipice of her future, and try as she might, Delilah couldn’t bring herself to take the final jump and leave the stupid spawn. Not after the time they spent together the past few months. He’d been, over all, a gentleman. And when she finally propositioned him after weeks, he’d never asked her to change into any other form, despite knowing she could… that had been a first for her. 

‘Leave him, leave him, leave him,’ she thought as she made her way toward the secret tunnel leading out of the cobblestoned torture chamber.

And yet, against her better judgment and with half of her mind screaming in disbelief, Delilah stopped just before reaching freedom, tucked the dagger into her robes and began to climb the cobblestone steps of the dungeon. She willingly walked straight into the lion’s den.

*

Finding Astarion and Edmund had been simple; she only had to follow the pained grunts of the vampire spawn and the deranged shouting of her ex-lover. But as she walked in that direction, under cover of a simple invisibility spell, Delilah passed the master bedchambers where she’d laid under Astarion more times than she could count. Out of habit, she glanced into the room and spotted Eirianwen sound asleep, instead of writhing in pain like she should be with Delilah’s poisons working inside her body.

And gods that enraged Delilah. She wanted Astarion to suffer in the worst way, to watch the only person he ever seemed to love be tortured beyond belief, lose motor function, and eventually die after a long, chronic battle with the side effects of Delilah’s concoction. 

He deserved it, and by extension, Eirianwen did, too. She made him what he was, after all. 

But how was this possible? 

The knowledge-seeker in the shapeshifting woman decided to take a quick detour, temporarily ignoring the tortured cries from Edmund in the next room. He was strong, surely he could endure for a mere moment longer as she examined the sorceress, she thought.

After a quick study of Eirianwen, Delilah notices the ring on the sorceress’s blackening hand and realizes it's the flimsy golden band that’s protecting the woman. She remembers the auctioneer toting the magical abilities of the rings Astarion ultimately paid far too much for. 

But Delilah doesn’t dare touch Eirianwen to try and remove the ring. The newest potion coursing through the elven woman’s system had been a rush job; Delilah was not certain how potent the paralytic was or if it would transfer to her, another living being, via touch. It’s why she’d had Edmund carry the bottle around at the party, just in case there had been a mishap; her necrotic concoctions were much less potent on the undead, but on the living they were always particularly nasty. 

A flurry of curses on the other side of the wall, followed by more vitriol from the Vampire Lord, all coming from the space next door she knows to be Astarion’s office, finally rips Delilah from her thoughts and pushes her forward. She doesn’t have a plan. She really did not expect herself to risk her neck for this random spawn. 

Delilah morphs into Eirianwen’s form, mangled hand and all, and slowly edges her way toward the office. At minimum, she can distract Astarion and hopefully Edmund can break away with a bit of her assistance. He’s certainly strong.

When Delilah turns around the corner, she quickly realizes, much to her dismay, that any hopes of saving Edmund are gone. Astarion is crushing the other vampire’s skull in with one hand and plunging something into the man’s chest repeatedly with the other. Splatters of blood are sprinkled about the office like stars in the night sky. The man she’d spent months scheming with, fucking, and for whom she’d idly considered killing his master for once she achieved her goal is lying limp and mangled underneath the Ascendant. 

Edmund is gone. And the realization elicits a genuine, horrified scream from Delilah. In that moment she realizes that perhaps she actually cared for him… as much as someone like her could care about anyone. When Astarion’s eyes snap to her, Delilah forgets she’s in Eirianwen’s form and runs.

Before long, the woman recollects herself as the silver-haired elf shouts down the hallway, calling after his precious Ani. She turns to look at the Vampire Lord, her face filled with hatred, and misty steps as far as she can away from him, back toward the dungeon entrance on the lower floor. Delilah was supposed to leave the murder of Astarion Ancunin to Lady Lysandra… but she just decided that she changed her mind. 

She was going to kill Astarion in his own home, and she was going to savor every delicious moment as he watched the woman he loved stab him to death. 

-----

A/N: Special shoutout to a reader, @lil23akira for absolutely calling this! I love that you were able to pick up on all my foreshadowing. And thank you to @leomonae and @tallymonster for reading this and providing feedback as I worked through what was the most difficult chapter to write thus far.

[sneezemonster15]

Found this message under the post that I reblogged today, just below this one.

Like lol. This is why I say - People who don't get SNS don't get the story. They don't get the sentiment behind the story, they don't get the messaging behind the story, they don't get the themes, they don't get the tropes, they don't understand narrative. But most importantly, they don't have the capacity to feel what Kishi wanted to make his readers feel. FEEL.

FEEL

If you truly understand the story, you simply cannot deny SNS. It's a love story. Full stop. It's not a matter of interpretation, it's just a fact. Whether or not you approve it. That's immaterial. Your inane theories don't cancel out the actual narrative that unfortunately most people in this fandom just don't understand or want to understand despite having been told.

At the end of the day, that's what it's all about isn't it? That's what the story is geared towards, that's why the author wrote it the way he did. So that he can convey what he wants to convey with visuals, dialogues, tropes, panel placement, editing, sound effects etc. The ingredients that make a story. And all of it combined gives you the experience any piece of art or audio visual story is supposed to give you, that's how you judge that piece of art. How impactful it was, how detailed it was, how meaningful it was and why, what kind of effort went into it. What does a piece of art make you feel? What does it make you think?

And this is what fans like these who write shitty anti SNS posts don't understand. And don't bother to. People, I suspect from western countries who see everything in the world with their very limited worldview and eurocentric lenses, don't know why shinjuu is considered to be the zenith of expression of love. It's not just in Japan, its concept is quite popular in South East Asia as well. Popular stories, I grew up listening to these stories. To die for each other and with each other is the ultimate expression of love, it's spiritual, it's not for funsies, it's not because it's so darkly romantic. It's meaningful and significant because it's the only way for the said lovers to be with each other in a world that won't let them be together while they are alive. It's rejecting the ways of the world and subverting its rules by defying them in this way. If the world will not allow this love in life then in death. But be together, they shall. That's what it means. It's an evolved sentiment, you need to be up there to get it. These are all layered stories where the said lovers/characters have other obligations as well, they have their own worldly burdens to carry. Like for example, in Love suicides at Amijima by Chikamatsu, which is one of the inspirations for this manga, the man is already married. He has a wife and kids. He is a businessman whose business isn't doing very well, he is under debt but he needs to gather enough money so he can pay out the owner of the brothel where the woman he loves works, so he can be with her as he is meant to be. But he doesn't have it, and his wife knows about it, she knows about this other woman that her husband loves but she carries out somehow. She is written as a sympathetic character. So is the man, so is his lover.

Not everything is black and white, nothing is black and white. But people, especially of a kids' target group, are only shown media with black and white margins. A thing is either good or bad. No nuance. No critical thinking. No curiosity. No redressal. No need either.

Toxic ex bf shit. Lol. Ex bf shit I get hehe.

But toxic? Lol. Like people in this fandom simply loooove to put everything in its convenient little labels without understanding anything. They have no understanding of the character, character arcs, character traits, their motivations, their goals, their belief systems. But right at the top of the queue when it comes to criticizing them. Like nicely done. Lol.

Love is not rational. Emotions aren't rational. Emotions are multi dimensional, they are complex. These fans are used to watching Netflix chick flicks and rom coms and naturally, measure everything by that yardstick. They don't even know about the very significant and important cultural element such as double suicide or shinjuu which is very much a part of the romantic literary imagination of the Japanese public. And public from other Asian countries too. Fans don't understand what kind of obstacles people face in these countries, what with their identities and their values and monolithic social structures they operate in.

Only today, I was told by the admin that as long as I am part of their organization, I can't write anything problematic about the govt on any platform, can't even breathe about it, not even in jest, not even refer to anything negative, can't attend protests, can't speak at rallies, cannot document and publish them, can't write anything subversive, can't put pictures, nothing. Doesn't help that my own socio politico cultural identity already makes me a target in my country. But I can't even seek redressal because for that I will need to talk about it and the moment I do, they will put me behind bars. Heh.

People in such situations are vulnerable in a thousand different ways. But you have to know about them before commenting on them. If you are from a different culture or background, at least do something to learn more before commenting. But such decided fucking statement from these aristocratic elites, it's like a decree. They have said it and it's a line not to be crossed, or else they will harass you. Won't pay attention to useful stuff but would get primed to fight in an instant. So silly.

At least show some curiosity man, if the writer has taken such pains to write it, he must have been thinking something no? Nothing comes out of oblivion. This is simply common sense. But no, they would rather spew cheap, ineffective venom but won't move a finger to learn.

Toxic is what Sakura does to Sasuke. Who doesn't pay attention to his wishes, comfort, his dreams, his past, his goals. All she is concerned about is herself and WANTS a yes from Sasuke, no matter how he feels.

Naruto did everything to understand Sasuke. When Sasuke yelled at Naruto with pain and frustration in vote one, about how he doesn't understand what Sasuke went through, loss of his entire family and clan in one fell swoop by the hands of his own brother, so he won't understand why Sasuke was doing what he was doing (going to Oro and jeopardizing his life). And it makes Naruto stop in his tracks. He is devastated but he tries to understand. He spends the entire Shippuden understanding him.

This is after Pein arc, when Tazuna and Inari come to visit him in Konoha and help rebuild it (but like we all know who did the most of it, psst Yamato lol). Naruto lost Jiraiya in this arc, so he understood how Sasuke felt because losing Jiraiya was like losing family, and Naruto didn't have one to begin with. This is the import of this scene here. You can see it in the flashback.

This is Kage arc, on the bridge. Naruto was just visited by Obito who told him the truth about the massacre. So he understands Sasuke's motivations. He is clearly saying it. Sakura wonders what he is talking about but doesn't care to know still. She still went to assassinate Sasuke with a piss poor strategy. Naruto was ready to lay down his life for Sasuke in the same scene where Sakura tried to stab Sasuke in the back.

Lol. I am sorry but you don't understand what toxic means. Obviously. You also don't understand what love means. You just don't. You can't control love, it's a feeling. You cannot rationalize love. You just feel it. And you know it when it's reciprocated. In Sasuke and Naruto's case, it's both sided. Why else do you think Sasuke gave up his life for Naruto is land of waves arc when he didn't apparently even like him?? Why did he cushion Naruto's fall when he himself was half dead during the fight with Gaara? And why would he monopolize the right to kill Naruto when Obito expresses his intent to kill Naruto and Sasuke shields him? So no one gets to kill Naruto except for him? Naruto is his to save and his to KILL? Call that toxic too why don't you? Toxic ex bf shit. Lol.

Naruto's love for Sasuke is so impactful, even emotionally inept characters such as Sai are inspired, it changes their direction in life, their goals. What toxic man? How is this toxic?

Look how Naruto looks when he talks about Sasuke. Look at his passion, look at his reasons to love Sasuke. Where are Sakura's reasons to love Sasuke? There's none because Kishi didn't write it, said it would look contrived lol. And he is right, Sakura's character doesn't gel with it.

If you love someone, you must know the reasons no? Sasuke knows it, we see it when he is dying in land of waves arc. And we see it in Naruto's case as well. No one accepted his existence like Sasuke did, he was Naruto's friend, the bond they have is unlike any other. Tell me what's so toxic about an orphan relating and resonating with another orphan? What's so problematic about him trying to protect him from bad guys? What is so toxic about how deeply he feels for him? Especially when he KNOWS Sasuke feels equally strongly for him too? How do you connect with people? Don't you look for an intersection where you both just connect? Sometimes, it just happens. These days, people call it vibin I guess? Lol. Tell me what's so toxic about finding a kindred spirit that you can confide in? Or would you rather prefer someone like Sakura who doesn't understand or even attempt to understand what it means to be in Naruto and Sasuke's shoes? She dismisses Naruto's feelings, she dismisses Sasuke's feelings, doesn't even care to know. She realizes Naruto has had a hellish time in Konoha given he is a jinchuuriki, but does she improve her behaviour? Sasuke tells her multiple times that he thinks very lowly of her, she doesn't understand his feelings or goals, she is still the same and still cannot see anything beyond her own nose. She is annoying because she doesn't change despite Sasuke trying to make her understand. But does she change? Hell no. Still keeps pestering a clearly disinterested, disengaged Sasuke. Now THAT is toxic.

What's so toxic about Naruto finding relief in finding someone like himself in a village where there's no one else like him? Isn't this how people meet? Connect? That common thread? Because Naruto knows by instict that Sasuke, being an orphan and alone, will understand Naruto like others won't. Like I said, it's a matter of feeling. What's toxic about finding someone similar like you by the grace of which, you want to establish some connection? It only reflects compatibility and mutual understanding. What's so wrong with that?

Look at the second panel. Naruto looks so soft, so introspective, so loving when talking and thinking about Sasuke. He never thought he would have a bond like that, he never thought he would meet anyone who he would relate to so much, he, an orphan who never had the advantage of people understanding him or caring for him, which he finally found in Sasuke and Iruka. Why wouldn't he wanna protect him? Why wouldn't he love him? What's stopping him exactly? What's so toxic about him wanting to be like Sasuke? So that he can feel like Sasuke's equal, so Sasuke won't dismiss him. Naruto was insecure at this time but he is not some monstrous manipulator people think he is. Like fuck, what do you expect him to do? So just because you cannot place yourself in his shoes, and won't even attempt to even though Kishi puts so much emphasis on it, you get to mischaracterize him? That's just immature. Like I feel sorry for you. You missed out on so much. Naruto is someone who is strategically written as the underdog that we are all supposed to root for. Which means his character is written to evoke sympathy and wring the most melodramatic emotions from the readers so as to get them even more invested in this story. If you came out thinking Naruto is the bad dude, you clearly didn't get this story and you clearly don't get storytelling, doesn't matter if you approve of Naruto's character or not.

Naruto loves Sasuke and he would go to any lengths to save him. Just like how Sasuke did in land of waves arc. Just like how Iruka protected Naruto in chapter two. That's what Naruto knows. Loving someone is protecting them to death. No matter what the consequences. That's what he knows from his context and that's what we understand by reading this story. He would rather remain a fool but not give up on Sasuke.

As long as you see everything through your little, limited, juvenile lenses, this is what you will get from media. Explore, learn, talk to people, listen to them, do your own research and thinking and then come to your conclusions. How else would you understand anything?

Y'all Sasuke lovers are fucking dumb I gotta say. You should be happy for Sasuke that he has someone like Naruto to love him and care for him. (Ending not considered, since it's just fuckall anyway, a high pricetagged bandaid. It's contrived, a deus ex machina'ed ending.) Just like Naruto stans should be glad that he has someone like Sasuke to love him and care for him. You don't get Sasuke and Naruto stans who hate Sasuke, you don't get Naruto.

People who deny or criticise SNS, sorry but you don't get love. Not the feeling or its expression in stories and media. You don't know romance tropes, you don't know cultural elements, you don't know how other cultures see and understand love. They say everything is fair in love and war don't they? It's meaningful, it didn't come out of oblivion.

This story is about love, the point of this story is that true love is bigger than entire nations and all the restrictions and limitations it puts on you. That's why Naruto chose Sasuke over Konoha. This is not rocket science either, if you were paying attention rather than concocting your headcanons, you would have gotten it too. But it's much too effort isn't it? And more than anything else, you don't wanna break your circle of joy/mutual wanking bubble by acknowledging their love. How else would you project and self insert?

Sasuke and Naruto both love each other madly and deeply. It's mutual, they fuel each other's feelings and hence actions, that's why their feelings are so big. That's why they feel so righteous about it, because they know that the other person feels it too.

People do crazy shit for love. My aunt absconded with a man who worked for her father, my grandfather. He was much lower in class and status, these things mean a lot in some societies. They make or break relationships. So my aunt knew my grandfather will never allow it, neither will the society. So they absconded and lived a miserable life, without much capital or any connections. They were ostracized from society. Absconding with someone is a taboo of the first order. Not even their own parents talked with them. But they stuck together through thick and thin. He got a brain tumor but she nursed him through it while looking after the kids. She was so devoted to him, that you wouldn't believe. He relapsed some time ago and this time the cancer was terminal. She devoted herself to his care again. Her daughter, my cousin used to tell me: My parents love each other more than they love us, their children. They only have eyes for each other.

Hehe. And it's true, I saw it. In fact, I always felt a little uncomfortable with them in the same room, it used to make me feel like I wasn't needed there. They were so focused on each other.

You underestimate love because you have never felt it. Not everyone is equipped or capable of loving like Naruto and Sasuke. But have a heart man, you can understand it if you just removed those homophobic and dumbass cobwebs from your eyes.

[deepseafoamdiver]

I'm just going to blast out some mystical thoughts here as I've seen people talking quite a bit about this stuff in AAA.

Like we have the "black heart" which has appeared in different contexts, seemingly pointed at Rio and Billy. Or Billy not drinking in the house when everyone in the coven was supposed to. Or whether Sharon counts as a member of the coven at all. Etc.

I think what is being missed here, comically, is that this is magic(with a k, if you like). It isn't science, despite what the early MCU tried to say, or even how the 'sorcery' of Doctor Strange has been systemitized to the point that he and his cohorts largely just shoot sparky lasers, and whip sparky laser whips, and open sparky laser holes. This isn't even D&D style spells, where the variety is there but it is still just an encyclopedia of effects a user can cause.

The "black heart" has no intrinsic meaning. Whatever it has(significance, power, purpose) comes from what is ascribed to it, both within the story and with the audience. When Lilia wrote it down, who did she mean? Assuming it was Billy, Agatha took it to mean Rio. Rio is a black heart that beats for Agatha, Billy's boyfriend texts him a black heart, Lilia writes a black heart. They are all true, one does not supersede the other.

Same with the exact nature of the coven. The coven is a group of women witches who band together. Our group bands together but also includes a non-witch and a man. But they are all part of the group and sing the song and walk the road and do the trials.

As Agatha said(in a derogatory manner, lol) in the latest episode, it is subjective. Magic is an art and a craft, not a science ruled by laws.

Lilia has the gift of prophecy and knew/knows/will know/has known of her own death since she first got her gift. Despite the predestination trap, she still chooses to flip that card and flip that Tower. It might seem paradoxical to say she has seen how she dies and yet she still has a choice in the matter but that is magic, baby.

Everything has meaning when it is given meaning, the Tarot means nothing until it means everything. Agatha has been a queer character long before she explicitly set herself apart from a "straight lady".

Rio is Death. She is a Black Heart who climbs out of the grave of Mrs. Hart. And yet she is a Green Witch whose name can be roughly translated to "River of Life".

Magic and mysticism is sea of floating signifiers, it is the magician's, the wizard's, the witch's job to find meaning by giving meaning.

[buckybarnesss]

I was literally thinking about all the fics where Stiles is like "and then Derek pushed me around 🥺" like... Derek did the steering wheel thing because Stiles made him STRIP FOR A SIXTEEN YEAR OLD BOY.

I started to read an article that opened up by criticizing the "physically abusive sterek ship" and backed out immediately, like you people need to remember that the show exists and that is not based in reality.

Pack mom Stiles.... gah. Stiles would never help Isaac with his homework. Derek would!! But Stiles? Hell no.

Stiles is literally a fucking creep. He walks around telling everyone that he loves Lydia. He has no boundaries. I love him that way. He's a snarky little asshole who would definitely just show up in Derek's apartment one day and Derek would be like "how did you get in here?" And then Stiles reveals that he pretended to be a doordash driver with a delivery and then picked the lock on Derek's front door.

fun fact my url before this one was creeperderek. i am fond of that url. he of loitering at tree lines and creepily disappearing into shadows in the boy's locker room for no fucking reason.

stiles does have a lack of boundaries and really intense anxiety about the people he cares about.

he listens to the police scanner regularly and monitors his father's diet due to his intense, almost uncontrollable anxiety about his father. he's terrified his dad will die and has an intense fear it will because of him.

all of that of course stems from his mother's death when he was so, so young and how claudia in her cognitive decline blamed stiles and accused him of trying to kill her.

this anxiety also extends to scott and melissa to various degrees due to their significance to the stability of his life for so long and why he's irrationally scared to tell his father the truth despite knowing if the sheriff understood what was really happening it would help more than hinder.

than there's other things like how he has a copy to the key to the mccall house that melissa isn't aware of and it's made pretty clear that stiles took the imitative. scott didn't give it to him.

scott doesn't seem all that bothered by this but scott is one of the few people who knows and mostly understand stiles. they live in each other's pockets. scott would be oddly touched but also be like bro what in the fuck? because really, stiles what the fuck?

people find that fucking weird and creepy.

it truly wouldn't surprise me at all if stiles had a copy of the loft key and derek knew he did and said nothing about it because these two are weird little freaks that probably have frequently creeped on each other.

we do get indications they speak outside of what we're shown. two little maladjusted bastards sharing one brain cell to creep on each other.

if stiles showed up in derek's loft derek probably wouldn't even be surprised. in fact he'd tell stiles he took longer than expected, peter did it better and he sucked.

it's so funny that fandom developed the idea that derek sneaks into stiles's bedroom all the time via the window and we literally never see this. it never canonically happens. though it's not said how derek got inside in wolf's bane so maybe a window but frankly i find it more plausible derek just, you know, broke in the house via a door.

putting a read more on this because i had a lot to say lol

stiles and lydia. ooh boy.

sentiment within fandom swayed a lot on these two and i've seen the common argument that sterek fans don't like stydia as a paring because it's not gay, or something to which i say lol no. i, personally, don't ship them romantically because for like 2 seasons stiles didn't see her as person and she mostly ignored his entire existence.

he fixated on lydia in the 3rd grade which would've been around the time claudia declined and than passed away. he held onto that crush tightly, put lydia on a pedestal making her more into an ideal than a person.

there's moments where we see them genuinely connect but there's so many scenes between the two of them until like season 3 that are cringe and uncomfortable. my main issue is that lydia never really says much about it either.

it's like until she becomes a real girl to stiles her position doesn't matter even when we see her be uncomfortable or weirded out around stiles.

we actually do see stiles and derek develop boundaries with each other. stiles uses derek to literally queerbait danny in wolf's bane. both derek and danny seem to realize this as it occurs and derek pointedly, purposefully retaliates with violence which isn't great but it makes it clear that derek is not okay with what stiles did and a line had been crossed. s2 has derek also indicate to stiles it's not okay to touch without permission.

remember the finger tippy taps stiles's gives derek when boyd dies? that's stiles having learned derek's physical boundaries over 3 seasons so that he is able to offer him comfort in a awful, terrible moment.

in conclusion derek and stiles aren't abusive and it's odd people latched onto that idea. they're abrasive assholes to each other and lack boundaries in the beginning because their maladjusted people for various reasons while also just being two little freaks about each other.

[ramjam]

i just know you're cooking up something crazy with the jericho stuff

maybe i will talk about it. i just haven't been too in-depth about my theories because being potentially catastrophically incorrect about this would be SOOOOO embarrassing LOL but i'll put my foot in the ring here. i wanted to wait until i caught up with the new episodes to see how the anime adapted the scenes but i'm bored, so.

the idea that's been floating in my brain almost since those chapters dropped is that she's under some kind of mind-manipulation. we do know arthur has that capability, he's been using it to control the people he makes work for him.

since the main villain is literally "chaos", choosing to use her as a tool in such a traumatic and destructive way like this would just make a lot of sense. and could serve a lot of purposes for arthur. theory is a bit long so it's going under the readmore.

i'm currently under the belief that he warped her mind this way for one (or all) of these possible reasons.

to generally just cause chaos. it's implied that jericho and lancelot were investigating the chaos knights and this would be an insane way to get back at her/mess with her life for it.

to push lancelot away from guinevere. he may be aware that lancelot and guinevere's fates are connected to each other. he wants guinevere for her power, he can't let an opposing force connect with her.

arthur may believe that fighting this lancelot guy is crucial to his own destiny and goals in some way? so he did something to cause him to hate him. he acts quite smug about this when they first meet officially. it seems like he's asking a question he knows the answer to. more-or-less indirectly saying, "yeah. i did something to piss you off."

arthur didn't know that lancelot was one of the four knights, but he recognized his name and had a strong reaction to it. he's also seen his face before, but didn't connect that significant name to this boy. maybe it's because jericho's future vision of lancelot is explicitly really, really feminine (interesting choice, nakaba...) he looks nothing like lancelot, basically.

you could say he's just aware of him because of jericho, but this response comes across like the name has importance to him, and not just simply him recognizing lancelot as jericho's former student. hearing "lancelot" nearly stopped arthur in his tracks. this is before arthur officially abducted guinevere, too.

i'm under the belief that arthur was clued into the fact that guinevere has been searching for lancelot-- she's been doing this for years, investigating at random trying to find him by her own words. if arthur has been tailing her, there's no doubt that he'd have heard lancelot's name come up.

okay please stick with me i have to do a brief analysis on her introduction with guila in order to elaborate on my point here.

something else that i believe supports this is the fact that during guila and jericho's introduction together in the sequel, guila's mini-arc with gowther was brought up for the first time since chapter 168 of the original manga. ie: when she was brainwashed to love gowther for his own selfish experiments/motivations.

throughout the series, guila and jericho tend to parallel each other a lot. even when they're separated, their arcs often coincided. in the end of the original manga, it concluded with their epilogue being "together." their introductory scene in the sequel put heavy focus on the fact that they parallel each other. the way they couldn't land any hits on each other because they know each other's bodies and movements so well.

despite jericho being full villain mode, she still didn't want to hurt guila. there was a softness here. she refused to harm her unless guila did first, she gave her many chances to leave so it didn't have to come to that. jericho is lancelot's teacher, older sister, and supposedly in love with him. but her introduction is all about her fated connections with guila and the care she has for her, even when she has to face her as an enemy.

if jericho's relationship with lancelot was truly meant to be genuine, i feel like nakaba would've introduced jericho in the sequel by fighting lancelot instead, and not guila. but he doesn't. we have this multi-chapter fight with heavy emphasis on her relationship to guila and the way they always find each other again after falling apart.

two sisters-in-arms, fire and ice, forever linked together. her fight with guila is actually a direct callback to her introduction with fighting ban in the prison, too. which is um... an interesting comparison to make, all context considered.

the title of this chapter refers to the sudden reveal that guila managed to master some kind of body horror ability with the latent demon power she has in her. but in my opinion, it refers to both of them. so how has jericho "transformed" in such a way that can be directly compared to guila's shape-shifting?

and despite the significance behind the plot-twist with jericho and lancelot, the databook that released doesn't reflect this at all. jericho's main quote here is when she's speaking to guila. the japanese text is the line she's saying in the panel i'm adding alongside it. the line nakaba chose to represent 4kota-jericho is her telling guila that she'll be forced to kill her if guila isn't backing down. nothing to do with lancelot at all.

(guila's quote on her databook page is when she tells jericho that she has a duty to uphold as a holy knight, so she can't back down. they're directly speaking to each other. just to further emphasize this.)

meanwhile, the panel about loving lancelot is a tiny blurb. not even her personality description mentions it. it's just kind of a side detail. ultimately, she's still being centered around her dynamic with guila, like she always has been. i think this detail is fascinating and important.

anyways, jericho also had a really sudden shift in personality the moment lancelot entered the scene and touched her, like it triggered something. i'm really curious to see how the anime handled her voice-work at this moment.

circling back to the gowther situation being randomly brought up. the fact that jericho was being more like her old self (although a bit villainous, like her arc one personality) with guila and then having a sudden personality change when lancelot engages with her, reminds me a lot of this.

(edit: i'm dying, i forgot the punchline of this scene was that jericho became disturbed since she knows guila has no men in her life besides her little brother and couldn't think of anyone she'd be referring to. more emphasis on how jericho is very much not for predatory behavior.)

in the original series, jericho's presence seemed to have temporarily disrupted gowther's brainwashing, only for guila to suddenly have this insane shift in demeanor the moment gowther appeared again and she was forced to question her memories. this is also the first time the audience is clued into the fact something is deeply wrong here. it's so similar that it's difficult to ignore.

this panel in particular when guila first brings up lancelot reminds me of guila's reaction when jericho questioned her about how she managed to survive unscathed. like their true memories were getting mixed up after suddenly having to question reality.

kudos to my friend ren for this next observation: guila and jericho have also strongly paralleled hendrickson and dreyfus respectively as early as the original manga. guila suddenly having demon powers is a reminder of that. if you recall, an aspect of hendrickson and dreyfus' dynamic is the fact dreyfus ended up being a corrupted figure in power because he was having his mind tampered with in an extremely similar way.

so not only is jericho's current situation possibly reflecting what happened to guila before, it may also be further connected to dreyfus.

in regards to what i mean by the "shift" in personality: before lancelot directly makes contact with her, she's still in her smug-battle state.

the chapter where this reveal drops is called "a burning, freezing heart" which still draws more connection to her dynamic with guila than lancelot. the title is very much a reminder of their relationship-- especially after that huge focus in the battle where jericho froze guila's fire-- and not really necessarily about lancelot at all.

despite lancelot showing up-- this boy she supposedly loves-- her focus here is on guila more than anything else initially. her dialogue here in japanese is less "no hard feelings [from me]" and more her asking guila, "please don't hate me for this." but once he engages with her to save guila's life... something shifts.

there's even this notable focus on her gasping at the contact. all attention on her delicate relationship with her friend and partner shatters in an instant.

nakaba also visualizes this by having lancelot touch where the brand arthur left on her body is. and now all of a sudden, her demeanor became wildly different. it feels unnatural.

especially with the entirety of jericho's character in mind. she's exceptionally good with kids, acts as an older sister to both zeal and lancelot. one of the films also dedicates a scene to how good she is with children, when she's on patrol with guila and they encounter some kids playing in the street. she's an honorable knight with a strong moral code.

the two-parter movies also back this idea up, in my opinion. they take place about a year before the sequel manga begins. jericho is still watching over lancelot from a distance and behaving like her usual self.

nakaba could've used this point in the movie to set-up the whole "secret admirer weirdo" thing, but instead it's just her being the cool level-headed sisterly master that she was to him. sometime between then and now, she was taken in by arthur as a chaos knight and began to act a lot differently.

the one-shot has a moment that i feel serves as a red-herring for this plot point. out of context, you'd think it supports the idea that her words to lancelot are 100% legit and serious. in-context, it's not inherently weird and even elaine says so herself after the fact. she's literally just doting on him. lancelot only initially interpreted it as weird because he was just told the same thing by someone who had ill-intent with him. i think this scene exists to create doubt.

not to mention the fact that if jericho had been harboring these feelings for the three years they were spirited away, lancelot would know. he's a fairy, he can read hearts. he does it a lot, almost constantly using it so he's clued into everything around him. lancelot was doing it in that scene i just posted, too. he would've known. but he had no reason to suspect this was supposedly happening.

because it... probably wasn't! this is likely a new development manufactured by arthur for some villainous motivation, to create tragedy and conflict. this is not jericho's first run-in with being dragged into a cult and manipulated to behave in ways that go against her moral codes. she's a professional at this point.

the reason jericho up and left lancelot (if the version she tells turns out to be a fabrication) remains a mystery. i think it's possible it had something to do with his well-being. especially if she was looking into arthur, and we know arthur was aware this mysterious lancelot guy is a detriment to his goals with guinevere. i think it's possible she also could've made a deal of some kind but things got out of hand and she became a pawn, kind of like what happened to her in the first series.

if i'm wrong i'm going to be so embarrassed that i jump into traffic.

[austinslounge]

As funny as this article is, I do think someone close to both Austin and Kaia is sending info in. It's always very specific compared to other media outlets. Also L&S pretty much pulled a reverse uno card here by stating the two are pretty much having problems and it's not getting better. Despite that poor attempt at damage control last week. Where all the media outlets, mainly Page Six, were gushing about their "romantic" date night. Where was the romance? LMAO.

So basically what I got from that article is Kaia maybe has finally come to terms with reality. Austin is checked out. Nothing she tried to do all summer kept him interested. Now she wants this relationship to end. She wants to be single and free to go out, without everyone thinking she's cheating on Austin. Which is valid. She's 23 years old. She doesn't need to be tied down to Austin.

Austin flat out doesn't want to date Kaia anymore, as it's been stated in multiple L&S articles. That's been obvious all year.

Couples therapy may have been a solid option for Austin and Vanessa. They were together 8 years. Austin and Kaia? Nope. Just break up.

Cindy never seemed to be a fan of Austin. Especially with the way she talked about him with Andy Cohen. We all know how Presley feels about this relationship lol. I would actually applaud Kaia if she told her mom to shove it and broke things off with Austin. Cindy sounds like a terrible mother. Her kids are so screwed up. Pushing marriage and couples therapy on your 23 year old daughter? Almost makes me feel bad for Kaia.

Girl -- All of this! 💯

I totally agree with everything you said here. It's so obvious what's going on atp.

Austin flat out doesn't want to date Kaia anymore, as it's been stated in multiple L&S articles. That's been obvious all year.

Exactly! Body language does not lie. And there's been nothing that we have seen with them this year that screams "happy and in love" as a couple. I was even telling a Tumblr friend in my DM's just today that Austin has seemed checked out of this relationship all year.

Couples therapy may have been a solid option for Austin and Vanessa. They were together 8 years. Austin and Kaia? Nope. Just break up.

Thank you! Couples therapy on a couple that's only been dating each other for 2.5 years? 🥴 I said in one of the comments section that couples therapy I can see for a married couple, or maybe a couple that's been dating each other for a significant amount of time. But a couple that's only been dating for 2.5 years? No way.

It's time to move on.

I'm sorry, but if Austin is already losing interest like so many of these articles are saying, then it's only going to get worse. If he's already lost interest 2 years in, his interest is not going to get better.

Kaia needs to just go and be a 23 year old and be single for a while. Or, just go date a guy closer to her own age. She's so young. She is looking like she wants to live the single life tbh. 👀

Cindy never seemed to be a fan of Austin. Especially with the way she talked about him with Andy Cohen. We all know how Presley feels about this relationship lol. I would actually applaud Kaia if she told her mom to shove it and broke things off with Austin. Cindy sounds like a terrible mother.

Yea Cindy sounds crazy if this article is true. 🤪 I almost feel sorry for her kids tbh.

And yea, Presley unfollowing Austin is sus. And he still hasn't re-followed him back.

[misshoneyimhome]

Okay okay I’m thinking, our angel boy had a big heart and a dense brain - plus he’s Swedish and as a person who has lived in Stockholm for a while moving from North America…getting those boys to a point where you are dating and finally saying the first “I love you” feels like a million years compared to Canadians! So maybe you’re like on the edge because like duh he’s who you see as your life partner and you know I’m your bones you love him but you still haven’t said it after being like 5 months in so you just casually drop it one night lol rip the bandaid off, what’s his reaction? Dealers choice bby😚

Alright, so I was in the mood for something overly candy-cane sweet, and perhaps something that could maybe be close to reality? (I have no idea, but let’s roll with it) 😅❤️ Let me know if this was akin to what you had in mind bb 😉 otherwise, I may have another idea for it

➼｡ﾟ

Three Little Words I William Nylander

One significant aspect that truly appealed to you about your boyfriend, William Nylander, was his serene and easy-going nature.

He hardly seemed bothered by much, perhaps apart from his affection for his dogs, and his relaxed attitude had a way of influencing those around him.

Yet despite adoring this quality about him, it reached a point where it began to frustrate you. While you knew you were in a committed relationship, somehow the weighty words remained unspoken.

And you longed for hearing those words.

Deep within your heart, you acknowledged your love for William. Love. Not mere fondness, not adoration, nor simply enjoying time together - love.

But it was a great phrase to vocalise. At least, for most people that was.

Five months into your relationship, you were desperate to express those sentiments. Yet, for some peculiar reason, a part of you hesitated. Maybe a part of you wished for William to be the first to utter those words, to openly reveal his commitment to you.

Yet, silence prevailed. He said nothing.

William, however, didn't dwell too much on these thoughts.

He simply found immense joy in being in a relationship without an overly dramatic girlfriend, one who'd spark a quarrel if he didn't head straight home after a match or text her constantly while on the road. No, you were different, and he cherished that about you.

You stood by him no matter what, and nothing ever seemed to set off any alarms.

William had been with several girls during his late teens and adult life, but none of those relationships endured. His hockey career consumed much of his time, causing many women to grow weary of his lifestyle. Consequently, he refrained from fully committing when entering new relationships.

However, when he noticed that you weren't easily intimidated by his bustling lifestyle, he immediately felt the urge to keep you close.

And there was no reason for concern. William had captured your heart almost immediately, and you were completely devoted to him.

_

So tonight, you made a mental resolution to test the waters a bit.

During one of your usual date nights on his day off, you had planned to watch a movie together on the sofa after dinner. And this seemed like the perfect opportunity to express your feelings, but it turned out to be more challenging than anticipated.

Throughout the evening, the mere thought of opening up made you incredibly nervous, yet William seemed oblivious to your inner turmoil.

He carried on discussing his training, his preparations for the upcoming match, and how he had honed his skills. His enthusiasm for hockey was endearing.

Initially, he refrained from sharing too much, not wanting to overwhelm you with technical details and descriptions you might not care about. But over time, you had conveyed your enjoyment in listening to him talk about it. Hockey wasn't just a hobby for him; it was his lifestyle and an unfiltered passion to the core. And you simply couldn't help but be captivated whenever he delved into it. His eyes sparkled like Christmas lights, and his words spilled out in sheer eagerness.

It was nothing but adorable.

And as you sat together on the sofa, earnestly trying to focus on your boyfriend's conversation, your mind raced, grappling with how to articulate those three significant words.

Yet, no conclusion emerged.

"Shit," you murmured quietly under your breath.

"What's up, babe?" William asked curiously, but you just shook your head and responded with a sweet 'nothing'.

And after William finished sharing his story, you both switched to watching a movie, settling on the sofa surrounded by your favourite snacks.

The movie was captivating, and soon both of you were engrossed in it. However, when the film's plot touched upon a romantic scene, your initial plan resurfaced.

Summoning a deep breath, you geared yourself up to speak. 'Just get it over with,' you urged yourself. And with William focused on the large TV screen, you softly blurted out, "Willy, I love you."

It felt like a rush of emotions surging out of you as the words left your mouth.

And William was slightly taken aback.

It was a combination of your unexpected choice of words and the abrupt interruption during the movie that left him speechless.

Your expression radiated nothing but sincerity and concern as your eyes searched for any indication of his feelings towards you.

You could almost feel your jaw tightening as he remained silent, his eyes locking with yours for what felt like an eternity, though it was only a few minutes in reality.

But suddenly, he broke the silence.

"You what?"

His tone held neither disgust nor excitement.

"I love you," you repeated softly, this time with a touch more confidence, realising that the words were out and there was no retreat. You felt your body gradually relax, standing by your spoken words with a certainty, irrespective of William's response.

"Babe," William began slowly, "I love you too..."

His voice carried tenderness, yet his facial expression remained inscrutable.

The movie's sound filled the room as both of you sat in silence, eyes fixed on each other.

You studied William's face intently, struggling to interpret his expression, or rather, the absence of one. He maintained a stoic, serious look, but his demeanour seemed calm and nonchalant as always. 

"Do you?" you asked tentatively, prompting a slight shift in William's reaction.

A gentle smile appeared on his face, accompanied by a soft chuckle. "Of course, why wouldn't I?"

His response left you somewhat confused.

"Well, I just didn't know that you did..." you admitted, feeling puzzled by his excessively relaxed reply.

"What do you mean? We've been dating for, like, 4-5 months... you practically live here, and we talk all the time," he grinned broadly.

"That doesn't automatically mean you love me, Willy," you retorted, almost defensively, which only amplified his laughter. "It's not funny! I need to know how you feel."

"Is that why you've been so nervous lately?" His laughter grew louder.

"Well... yeah, maybe... I wasn't sure where we stood, and I wanted to express my feelings. I just didn't know how," you admitted, caught between feeling frustrated by the situation and relieved that it didn't seem to be a significant issue.

"Babe, of course I love you – I know I haven't said it, but that's because I thought you knew..."

His statement took you by surprise. He thought what?

"Willy, darling, how am I supposed to know how you feel if you don't tell me?" you asked, with a nervous grin, causing him to rub his neck as he considered your point.

"I guess... I don't know," he shrugged.

"You do realise I can't read your mind... right?" you lightly chuckled.

"Well, maybe that's a good thing, you know," he joked, shifting his body slightly to draw you closer. "But I do... love you," he added softly, before elaborating. "And I'm sorry if me saying it first meant something to you, but... I've been in relationships on and off for years – and every time I said those words, they'd get all excited... yet a few months later, they were gone anyway. So, I guess I just stopped saying it... in case it wouldn't last."

As William expressed his true feelings, a sense of relief washed over him, leaving you slightly puzzled by his unexpected deep confession.

In fact, you hadn't really considered his perspective on this issue before, but now it all began to fall into place.

"Good," you softly expressed, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders. "And for future reference, please clue me in on what's going on in that head of yours, so I won't be a wreck for weeks," you playfully pleaded.

"Seriously? You've been thinking this over this for weeks?" he chuckled.

"Well... maybe," you grinned. "But that's not the point. What matters is that you promise to share whatever's going on in that sweet little dense brain of yours, no matter what it is."

William couldn't help but smile, his eyes fixed on you, a subtle lick of his lips indicating his amusement.

"Well, maybe, for what I have in mind right now, it's better if I show you instead," he suggested, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You couldn't resist a chuckle. "Seriously? I was being romantic, and then you bring in your kinky fuckery," you teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, of course, you declaring your love – that's sexy, babe, and now I've got to show you just how much I love you too."

Once more, a gentle sigh escaped you as you chuckled at your boyfriend's words, and tenderly, both of you closed the distance between you, meeting in a heartfelt kiss.