#love as consumption my thesis statement

[staytheword]

on my mind

on my mind — one shot request by anon [ masterlist ]

• han jisung x female reader.

• non idol au. roommates to lovers. mutual pining. drinking, mention of weed consumption, explicit language, explicit smut.

• smut warnings (spoilers ahead) — porn watching. handjob. oral sex (m receiving). thigh riding. fingering. use of "baby" pet name. protected sex.

• word count: 8.6k

You and Jisung are stressed over your upcoming exams. You need to clear your heads, but you can't find anything that works. That is, until Jisung suggests watching porn together.

• the prompt was friends "using" each other to take the stress out... I hope this will fill your expectations!! ♡

You slam your book closed, an annoyed sigh escaping your lips. 

You can’t do this anymore. 

You’ve been studying for hours. In fact, you’ve been studying for weeks preparing for those exams. Your eyes are about to melt, your body aching to move from your chair, your brain desperately seeking distraction. You’re sick of this. Sick of stressing yourself out, sick of only allowing yourself to think about what is in these books. The exams are still several days away and you’ll have time to fall back into your anxiety - for now, you deserve a break and you are going to take it.

Or you’re going to try. 

It’s not the first time you tell yourself that - take a break, you deserve it. You close your books and computer, full of resolve, and escape the confines of your room. Each time you end up just pacing the apartment, unable to focus on the movie you’ve put on or the game you’ve started. Once you made it outside for a walk, but you had no idea where to go and ended up walking in circles. Your brain is so preoccupied with your exams you can’t do much else. You wake up and it’s all you think about - and before you know it you collapse on the bed, exhausted.

As you hear someone knock on your door, you blink and realize you’ve been phasing out. You shake your head, slide a hand through your hair - it has gotten too long in the past few weeks - and clear your throat.

“Come in,” you say, your voice a little rusty. 

Jisung pokes his head in from behind the door. “Hey. You hungry?” 

At least you are not alone. Jisung is going through the same thing as you, so you promised each other to do what is necessary to stay sane. Remind the other to eat, for instance, and then eat the meals together, even if it is in complete silence. You’re also very open about your stress, and you force each other to go out or clear your head. If he wasn’t here, you have no idea how you would get through this. 

You hadn’t been sure about becoming Jisung’s roommate at the beginning of the year, but you didn’t regret your decision at all. Some of your friends had raised an eyebrow at you rooming up with a guy, but you trusted Jisung. You resembled each other in a few ways, but were different enough to keep the other on their toes. He was honest, hardworking, but also funny and open-minded. He bought your favorite snacks at the grocery store. He listened to you talk about your difficulties with building your thesis statements. He read your essay drafts and made useful feedback. He made fantastic homemade pizza. He was the best at impressions. He liked to braid your hair. Once he even restacked the pads when you were running low - that day you almost fell in love with him. 

Almost. 

You just had a stupid crush. Who wouldn’t? Jisung was not only kind and attentive, he was also incredibly handsome. Wavy dark hair that shone in the sun. A heart shaped smile that grew so big it swallowed your entire soul. Golden skin that was soft to the touch - you knew from applying a mask on him once. Wide shoulders, a lean and athletic body. You saw him do push ups in his room sometimes, or using the stationary bike you had in the living room. He wiped the sweat off his brow and gave you a smile, nodding his head to the beat of whatever song played in his headphones. 

But Jisung was your friend, first and foremost. Right now, and up until your exams, he was also your ally, your lifeline. You remember, a few weeks back, when you both sat down in front of a bowl of soup and intertwined your pinkies. 

We get through this together, you said.

Together, he repeated, his eyes deeply set in yours. 

Now he smiled gently at you, his mouth a thin line, his eyes wide open but red and glassy from exhaustion. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I can cook something, if you want.” 

“That’s ok, I got you,” he smiles. “Why don’t you rest? I’ll get you when it’s ready.” 

You feel something tug at your heartstrings. “Thanks, Ji.” 

With the sweetest smile, he gives you a little nod and disappears, carefully closing the door behind him. You breathe out in the silence, glancing back at your books. You could study a little while Jisung gets the food ready, but you are tempted to listen to him and lie down. A few minutes with your eyes closed couldn’t hurt. 

You drag your feet to your bed, which is luckily not very far, and make the mistake of going under the covers. Your sheets are soft, your comforter heavy. The dim light in your room and the muffled noises of Jisung getting busy in the kitchen are so soothing you slip away quickly. 

You wake up to a hand gently stirring you - you sit up in a jolt, blinking confusingly. 

“Shit, what time is it?” 

It feels like it’s been seconds and years. It’s definitely darker now, and your eyes are puffy with sleep, your skin a little tingly. You recognize Jisung’s silhouette in the darkness as he chuckles.

“I’m sorry to wake you up,” he whispers. “But you need to eat. Then you can go back to sleep, yeah?” 

“R-right. Yeah. Okay.” 

You throw open the covers and get out of bed, not even thinking about the fact that your hair must be a complete mess and your cheeks puffy with sleep. Jisung has seen you in worse states, anyway. You grab a hoodie as you follow him out of your room, one of your socks half slipped out from your foot. 

“It smells really good, Ji,” you comment as you head to the kitchen. 

He turns his head back to you with a smile. He’s wearing a red crewneck, gray sweatpants, and his slippers. You haven’t seen him out of such outfits recently, except for a few nights when he got dressed to go somewhere, but even then his style is always baggy. It’s for this reason you will never forget the one time he got dressed up for a date and wore a tighter shirt. That and the number of times you’ve seen him shirtless, of course. But that’s a whole other issue. 

“It’s nothing fancy,” he says, gesturing to you to sit down at the kitchen island. 

There is an actual table in the dining area, more than large enough for the both of you, but you rarely sit down there to eat. It usually serves as a storage area for random things like folded laundry, groceries, board games or books. Both of you prefer the kitchen island, perching atop the stools that you can twirl to your liking. Half the time you eat there, the other in the living room in front of the television. 

Catching the sight of your hair in the kitchen window, you pull your hoodie on the top of your head and look down at the plate Jisung places in front of you. It is nothing fancy - pasta with creamy sauce, with chopped green onions sitting on top of it, but it smells absolutely delicious and makes your stomach growl. 

“I think I’m drooling,” you state, glancing up at him. “I am so hungry, fuck.” 

Jisung laughs, sitting down next to you with his own plate. “Parmesan?”

“Yes, please.” 

He sprinkles some on your plate, and then on his, before you both start to eat in silence. There’s music playing on the speaker, a song you don’t recognize, and you ask Jisung about it. He tells you about this new band he’s discovered, and you quietly talk as you devour your plates. The sauce, smooth and peppery, is making your taste buds dance, and the food gives you a lot of energy. As you eat, the conversation gets more lively, and you suggest making coffee for dessert. Jisung agrees, and after you insist on doing the dishes first, he says he’ll wait for you in the living room. You hear the familiar song of a game he likes to play and get started on the dishes. As you put down the clean dishes in the drying rack, you sigh. 

A nap. Homemade food. Jisung’s smile. All of these things reassure you, and make you feel peaceful - so why is there such a tight knot at the bottom of your stomach? Why can’t it go away, even for just a few hours? 

You should study again after this.

Drink your coffee with your nose in your books.

You’re wasting valuable time. 

You shut your eyes tight, taking a deep breath as you dry your hands. 

When you sit down on the couch next to Jisung, near the edge of the cushion, not getting too comfortable, you put down his mug of coffee on the table and keep yours in your hands. He shoots you a quick glance. 

“Thanks.” 

You just smile back, a feeble attempt for one, but Jisung catches it. He glances back one more time, frowns. You wish you weren’t that easy to read. You wish you could take a deep breath and smile and he would believe it when you said you were fine. But you’ve never been very good at that. 

Still, Jisung says nothing. He pauses his game, turns the spoon in his coffee mug to mix in the milk. You just stare at yours, the black coffee almost staring back. 

“I should…” You hesitate for a second, then shake your head. “Yeah, I should get back to it.” 

You stand up quickly, hoping to be able to run away before Jisung says anything, but you feel his fingers close around your hand. You look down at him in surprise. He looks at you with wide eyes, looking confused and maybe even slightly annoyed. 

“Right now?” he says. “I thought you’d get some rest.” 

“I did,” you shrug, nibbling on your lower lip. “There’s too much to do, and…” 

“Y/N,” he stops you, shaking his head. “You need to take a break. We need to take a break.” 

You part your lips to retaliate, but Jisung removes his hand from yours and pats the couch. 

“Sit down, please.” 

His voice is low, a little rusty. You swallow, your mouth dry. If only your chest didn’t feel so empty, your heart would be pounding in your chest. 

“I know you’re anxious,” he tells you softly, playing nervously with his fingers. “I am, too. But aren’t you getting tired of, like… just stressing out?” 

You chuckle a little bitterly, looking at Jisung. The light of the television reflects on his skin, mixed with the orange glow of the lamp. The circles under his eyes are dark. His lips are chapped. His nose is still a little red from the cold he had last week. You feel a pang of longing. 

“Of course I am,” you sigh. “But we just have to get through it, right? We just need to make it there.” 

He nods. “I know, but I’m scared of what we’re losing in the process. It can’t be healthy to just study all the time like we do.” 

“What do you suggest, then?” 

He shrugs, leaning back into the couch. His hoodie skirts up his stomach a little as he stretches his arms. You catch a glimpse of skin, of an abdominal muscle. It almost makes your brain glitch. 

“I don’t know,” he breathes. “A distraction? Just for one night.” 

When he sees your hesitation, Jisung quickly continues. 

“I don’t mean dressing up and going outside and being social. Just the two of us, I mean. We can watch a movie, play games… get high.” 

That makes you smile. “We don’t have any more weed since the cookie disaster.” 

“Fuck, that’s right,” he laughs. “But it doesn’t matter. We just need to clear our heads, y’know? Think about something else. Be in denial about the exams. Like they’re not even going to happen.” 

You take a deep breath, still hesitant. Your heart desperately wants to say yes, but your brain is holding back. The voice in your head, telling you you shouldn’t. You don’t want it to whisper your guilt back to you all night. 

“Please, Y/N,” Jisung suddenly adds. There’s something in his voice that catches your attention. Sadness. Despair. “I don’t want to do it without you. We said we’d go through this together, right?” 

You shake your head, staring down at the pinkie finger he is now holding up between you. He’s playing with your heartstrings and he knows it, but you don’t blame him. It’s working too well. There’s not much you would refuse him, anyway - but you don’t tell him that. Instead you smile and wrap your pinkie around his. 

“Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s be in denial together.” 

Jisung grins and you laugh, hitting his arm. 

“It’s not fair that you used the wounded puppy eyes, by the way.” 

“I would never,” Jisung says, shaking his head. 

You take a careful sip of coffee, which is still a little too hot, but the warmth feels nice in your throat. Jisung grabs the second controller and presents it to you. 

“You want to join?” 

Although you are not very good at this game you agree, because you figure it will be a good way to start off the evening. As you pound on the buttons and try not to get Jisung killed in the game, you feel your shoulders relax. It doesn’t make the knot go away, but you do get a little giddy at the idea of not returning to your books tonight. That - and the perspective of spending the next hours with Jisung makes you a little more happy than it should. You already spend a lot of time together, so why would this evening be different? But it still feels like it. 

Once the coffees are empty and the campaign is over, you and Jisung settle on a movie you both wanted to see for a while. You settle on opposite sides of the couch as you usually do, but you end up stretching your legs so much your feet rest against Jisung’s legs, and he doesn’t complain. He even puts a warm hand on your ankle at some point, distracting you a little from the movie. 

The movie ends too quickly, and you end up in the kitchen cleaning the mugs and staring at each other. 

“What now?” you chuckle. “It’s still early. Unless you want to go to bed…”

“No way,” he replies. “I want to make this last as much as possible.”

He is looking at you as he says that, his hair sticking out behind his head because of the way he was slumped on the couch for the duration of the movie, and your heartbeat accelerates. You feel a hotness on the back of your neck and you rub it with your hand. 

“Then maybe we can… Take a walk? It’s not raining or anything.” 

“Snack run? Then we can find something else to watch.” 

“Sounds good.” 

You don’t bother getting changed because it’s dark outside and the grocery store is just around the corner. Besides, you live in a neighborhood that is mostly composed of other students, so two people in sweatpants and hoodies isn’t uncommon at all. After getting plenty of snacks, you head back towards your shared apartment, talking in calm voices. The streets are not too busy, and it’s only slightly chilly. You glance up at the sky, walking slowly, your hand brushing Jisung’s. 

At one point, you realize you are only talking about school and your exams, so Jisung shakes his head. 

“We are so bad at this whole ‘think about something else’ thing,” he laughs. 

You sigh. “We really are. God, this is hard.” 

“We need to find a really good distraction. Something that would really, really disconnect our brains, like…” 

He stops and you look at him with a frown. “Like what?” 

“I dunno,” he answers a little too quickly. “We have to find something, is what I’m saying.” 

“Yeah,” you agree in a whisper, glancing back at him curiously. 

You could swear he is blushing. 

“How about drinking?” he offers. “Not too much so we don’t get headaches, but a little. Being tipsy can maybe help us get inspiration.” 

“I like the idea,” you smile. 

Once you are back inside your apartment, your sneakers exchanged for slippers, you grab a bottle of soju from the fridge and fill two glasses. You and Jisung sit on the floor, backs leaning against the couch, and clink your glasses together. Jisung chooses a random movie on Netflix, and you watch it for a few minutes, unable to concentrate on it. After you’ve taken a few sips, you let out a sigh. 

“You know what would be easier? If we weren’t single.” 

Jisung arches an eyebrow. 

“I mean, we could just call them,” you explain. “Get laid. Get a massage. Make out for hours. That would be really good distraction.” 

“It would,” Jisung laughs. “Don’t you have someone you could call?”

“Like a fuck buddy?” you say. “Jisung, you seem to forget how excruciatingly single and bad at flirting I am.” 

“You can’t be worse than me,” he smiles, taking another sip from his glass. “Last time I tried to get laid I got stood up.” 

“She was a bitch,” you point out. 

Jisung shakes his head. “I thought personality doesn’t matter when it comes to hooking up.” 

“That’s not exactly true.” 

“Like you’re such a pro at this, huh?” 

You gasp at Jisung’s jab, shoving him with your elbow. “That was so mean!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, holding his palms up. “I mean, if a massage would do it for you, I can try.” 

You scrunch your nose. “Nah, thank you. I’m actually not much of a massage person.” 

“How can you not be a massage person?!” 

You keep talking and laughing, watching the movie sometimes, and for a while, you think that you’ve actually succeeded at clearing your heads. You feel lighter, distracted. The alcohol and Jisung’s laugh help a lot. But eventually you breathe out and realize that the knot is still there. Insistent. It almost feels like it’s getting bigger. Beside you, you can feel that Jisung is the same. His shoulders are tense, and his eyes, while fixated on the screen, are not seeing anything. You’re a little tipsy so you grab the controller and press pause. 

“Ji, this isn’t working.” 

He turns towards you, looking sheepish. “I know. I’m sorry…” 

“We need something more drastic.” 

He gives you a little nod, and you squint. 

“What was the idea you had earlier?” 

His head shoots up and you can see panic in his eyes. “What? What idea?” 

“Don’t lie to me,” you tell him. “I know your idea face. You thought of something back there, when we were walking back.” 

And there it is - Jisung blushes again, shaking his head vehemently. “Oh. Oh, no. It wasn’t… It’s stupid. It’s not - I just mean it’s… No.” 

You turn your body completely towards his, drawing your knees against your chest. “Ji, come on. Tell me. I’m not going to judge.” 

He gives you a timid look, and empties his soju glass before he clears his throat. You do not know why, but your heart is pounding in your chest. 

Jisung breathes deeply. 

“I was just thinking, that when I need a distraction, like… When I really want to think about something else, I…” 

“Yes?” you encourage him. 

“I jerk off.” 

You stare back at him in shock. You should’ve expected this. You were an idiot not to catch it earlier on. It was a logical answer - and something you’ve tried yourself numerous times in the past couple of days. Slipping your fingers in your underwear, stimulating yourself. Watching porn. But when you did succeed at your orgasms, they always felt underwhelming. They never left you feeling appeased, just even more tense. 

“Oh,” you breathe out.

“I told you it was stupid! I shouldn’t have -” 

“It’s not stupid,” you shrug, and it’s your turn to empty your glass. 

You’re not drunk. You’re just a little tipsy. It’s not barely enough to have this kind of conversation with your roommate - one you have a huge crush on - but it will have to do. You want Jisung to feel comfortable with you. And it’s nothing to be embarrassed of, right? That’s what people always say. So why is talking about it so hard, why is your heart pounding, why is the thought of Jisung jerking off turning you on so goddamn much?

Jisung blinks at you. “It’s not?” 

“Of course not,” you smile a little nervously. “I… I do it too, when I want to relax.” 

He visibly gulps, but you take it as embarrassment. 

“Don’t we all?” you add, a little nervously. 

He nods quickly, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Your cheeks are hot, horribly hot. You need some air. You need another drink. Ten, even. 

“I mean, if you want some time alone…” 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Jisung says. “I just, I mean, you know my friend Minho?” 

You nod. “Yeah, why?” 

“He told me about one time, he and his friend, I mean they were dating so it’s not the same, but they - hm, they… They watched porn together.” 

It feels like you can barely breathe. Did it suddenly get very warm in your living room? Because your skin feels like it’s on fire and neither you or Jisung can look at each other directly. 

“People really do that?” you say in a weak voice. 

“Apparently,” Jisung chuckles nervously. “He said it was really fun, so… Yeah, I don’t know why I thought about that.” 

There’s a short silence as you try to make sense of what Jisung is telling you. Is he just telling an anecdote, or is he asking for something? If you agree, will he think you’re crazy or weird? Maybe he’s just sharing. You decide there’s not much to lose. If you are misunderstanding, you can just laugh and pretend you’re joking. 

Your voice is gentle, not very assumed. “You… you want us to watch porn together?” 

Jisung shoots you a very panicked look and for a second you think you’ve just made a huge fool of yourself. But he opens his mouth and stammers out a yes. 

“C-could be fun, I guess?” he adds. 

You breathe out, your heart beating so fast you are sure Jisung can hear it. Surely, he can hear it. How terrified you are terrified at the prospect of watching porn with him. How much you never would’ve thought this could happen. How much you want to do it now. 

“We really don’t have to, it’s just a stupid idea, and -”

“Okay,” you whisper. 

Jisung looks at you. “R-really?” 

“Sure, why not,” you say more decisively, giving him a tight nod. “We can comment on it and everything. Could be fun. I mean, it’s just porn, right? We watch it all the time.” 

You realize your mistake too late, your smile faltering on your lips.

“I - I mean, I do, not all the time, but sometimes, like all people do, and…” 

“You heard me that time, didn't you?” Jisung sighs, slamming his palm against his forehead. 

You can’t hold back a smile this time - a genuine one. Jisung groans as you bite your lip, trying to hold back your laughter. 

“Just say it,” he sighs. 

“I heard you that time.” 

Jisung’s head drops forward in his hands and you chuckle, your shoulders shaking. 

“It’s okay, Ji, it’s not -” 

“The ONE time!” he cries out, looking up at you. You love the smile on his face, both embarrassed and amused, horrified and shy. “The one time I forget to plug in my headphones… I realized too late…” 

“It’s fine,” you repeat, not thinking, and place a hand on his thigh to squeeze it briefly. “It’s just porn, Ji. And I know you’re into hentai, so don’t be ashamed, please. I like it too.” 

Jisung looks at you like his brain is short-circuiting. “You - what - how do you know that?” 

“I was in the room with you and Minho that time you talked about it, remember?” You smile. “Also, it’s the second time his name comes up in our conversation about porn, this is getting weird.” 

Jisung shrugs. “Eh, the man is shameless. But you’re right, I remember now. God, that is embarrassing.” 

“It isn’t,” you smile, twirling your empty glass in your hand. You don’t want to drink anymore - this is already too much adrenaline for you. “I just confessed I’m into it, too. Do you think that’s weird?” 

“Not at all. I think that’s… hot.” 

You smile, feeling your cheeks burn, but you do not know what to answer. Instead, you fill your lungs with air and gather your courage. 

Jisung is observing his nails very carefully. 

“So, shall we?” you say, trying to sound confident.

Jisung glances up at you, searching your eyes for an instant. You guess he must be looking for hesitation, or trying to figure out if you really want this or are doing it just to please him, so you just smile calmly, although you’re unable to hold back your nervousness. 

“Let’s do it,” he answers with a sharp nod.

For good measure, you each pour yourself another drink, and Jisung gets his laptop to plug it so the browser is projected on the television. You wrap your arms around your legs, looking up nervously at the screen. Jisung’s fingers hover over the keyboard. 

“S-so, is there a website you like?” he asks.

“Hm,” you answer, letting out a shaky breath. “Not really. You can go to the one you usually go to. If you’re okay with that.”

“Sure,” Jisung breathes. 

It takes him a few more seconds but he eventually types in a website and you let out a giggle as the welcome page pops up on the screen. 

“What?” 

“It’s just - it’s also the one I use,” you admit, and Jisung grins.

“Really? I like this one because of the categories. They’re a little unusual but so much fun for discovering new stuff.” 

“And the mobile site is so well made,” you add with enthusiasm. “Not like other websites which are impossible to navigate on your phone…” 

“Ugh, tell me about it.” 

You laugh, relieved that this is already easier than you thought it would be. Of course, you haven’t actually put on any porn yet, but at least you are learning to speak of it more or less comfortably. 

A short silence follows as Jisung scrolls up and down the page, and you glance at the thumbnails. Schoolgirls. Medieval fantasy. Monsters. After a minute, Jisung lets out a sigh. 

“I guess we just have to choose one,” he says. 

You bite your lip. “Type in Labyrinth in the search bar.” 

Jisung looks at you, but he still does it. You point out the thumbnail you recognize, feeling almost dizzy. 

“I like this one,” you say in a very soft voice. “The story’s actually really good.” 

“O-okay.” 

Taking a sharp breath, Jisung clicks on the link and the video opens up. He puts it on full screen, and it feels different to watch it on the television. You roll your arms around yourself, feeling terribly shy, and Jisung sits on the couch  next to you - at a reasonable distance, of course. You clink your glasses together and take a sip of soju. 

It’s not so bad at first. There’s an actual story to this video that you enjoy, but you know it doesn’t last that long. You are terrified of what Jisung might say, that he might laugh at you, but you try your best not to overthink everything. As the sex scenes are coming closer, you realize you have not yet exchanged a word and there is still the embarrassing issue of actually getting turned on. You really haven’t thought this through, you think to yourself as the characters start to undress each other. 

Oh, God. 

Kisses. Fondling. The wet sounds of the guy’s fingers slipping into the girl’s dripping folds. You breathe in slowly - but there’s a reason you love this video. It really pushes your buttons, so you can’t help but feel your walls clench around nothing. You should think about something else. You can’t focus too much on this. But you’re already getting wet and your eyes can’t leave the screen because if they do, they’ll inevitably fall on Jisung.

Your friend. Your roommate. Your crush. Who is sitting next to you, watching your favorite porn video with you. Oh, God. 

On the screen, the guy buries his head in between her legs. Licks her wetness as she moans his name. The images are one thing - the sounds are another. 

You’re burning up, pushing your thighs together, trying to stay discreet. 

As the girl’s pleasure builds, the subtitles translate her moans for you. Wanted this for so long, your tongue feels so good buried in me. That’s when you feel Jisung move beside you. Your eyes are instinctively drawn to him, and you catch a glimpse of his parted mouth, his red cheeks, his hazy eyes. 

He has his legs propped up against him. You wonder if he’s as turned on as you. Maybe not. Maybe this isn’t doing it for him.

You focus back on the screen as the girl comes, squirting around the guy’s face. He chuckles, and asks her to suck his cock. She bends down to do it, and Jisung breathes out sharply. 

“The- the animation’s really good,” he says weakly, and you are quick to nod.

“Yeah, right? The movements are really smooth,” you comment. 

Jisung smiles nervously. “Yeah. I - I like it.” 

You want to keep talking, but you don’t know what to say. The questions that burn the tip of your tongue cannot be asked, not really, not right now. You and Jisung are friends who watch porn together. You are not involved. You are not dating. This is just a distraction. 

But now you are horny as fuck and getting tense. You need to relieve the pressure between your legs or you will go crazy. You can already feel your mind buzzing. 

The girl is giving the guy a sloppy blowjob. He is groaning loudly, which is something you like about this video, and she hums in pleasure. 

“The voice acting isn’t that bad, right?” you say. “I like it when we can hear the guy, too.” 

“You do?” Jisung asks. “I thought girls didn’t like hearing us.” 

“Oh my God, it’s literally the opposite,” you chuckle. “Hearing the guys groan and moan is the hottest thing ever.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, Ji. Be as vocal as possible, I promise it’s going to make them come quicker.” You shrug. “I mean, I can’t speak for everyone. But it would do it for me.” 

Jisung nods, and you both turn back to the screen just in time for the guy plunging his cock deep inside his partner, making her gasp in pleasure. The squelching noises are turned up, and she is visibly dripping all around him, precum and juices staining the sheets of the bed. 

Yes, fuck me deep, your cock is so big, oh my god! 

You close your eyes, shifting your hips in a desperate attempt to rub yourself against something, but there’s nothing to do - your cunt is just throbbing, and you can feel your slick drenching your underwear. You’re so hot, you want to remove your hoodie, but you also can’t move. 

You lose track of time a little when Jisung’s voice reaches your ears. 

“S-sorry,” he says in a breathy voice. “I can’t help it.” 

You glance at him and notice he has stretched his legs. His gray sweatpants hide absolutely nothing of his erection and you stare at the outline of his cock, hard and thick. You could moan out loud at the mere sight, but by miracle you are able to hold it in. You had noticed Jisung was, let’s say, well equipped, but you did not expect this. 

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbles. 

“It’s fine,” you whisper, shaking your head, finally looking up at him. “I’m really wet, too.” 

Jisung’s cock twitches under his pants and he closes his eyes sharply. “Fuck, don’t tell me that.” 

“S-sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the porn on the television, your own arousal, your repressed crush for Jisung or the sight of his stiff cock, but you’re unable to think straight and the words come out of your mouth unprovoked.

“Ji, do you… do you want some help?” 

The thought that you could actually touch him makes your mouth water. You’ve thought about it before, wrapping your hands around him. Closing your lips around his length. Licking him clean. Maybe it’s not as impossible as you thought. Maybe you aren’t that foolish to think it could happen.

Jisung stammers for a few seconds because he gulps. “A-are you really asking?” 

You nod faintly. “I can jerk you off.” 

He stares at you, mouth open. “I mean - If - if- if you’d like it.”  He seems to catch himself, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “You don’t have to, Y/N, it’s…” 

“I don’t mind,” you answer. “I - I’d like it, but only if you want to.” 

“R-right. Hm, okay. But only if you’re sure…” 

You just shuffle closer to him, kneeling beside his body. His smell overwhelms you, so him, his cologne and his soap, soju and candy, and your hands are shaking as you reach for his pants. You hesitate, though, realizing what you are about to do. You’re scared he doesn’t really want this, you’re scared of what it will change, but before you can start to doubt too much, Jisung slides down his sweatpants and takes his cock out himself. 

“H-here.” 

He holds it up for you although he wouldn’t have to. He is so hard it looks painful, veins bulging, slightly curved, pre-cum glistening at the tip. You bite your lip, pressing your legs together, and you’re sitting so close to Jisung you feel his breath in your hair. 

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his cock. It’s warm and pulsating, and Jisung lets out a whimper. You move your hand upwards and downwards, getting used to him, barely seeing the porn that is still ongoing on the screen. All you hear are moans and the wet sounds of fucking and kissing, and it helps you not think too much about what is happening, like it’s not real, like it’s part of the porn. Your fingers slide up to his tip, smearing the pre-cum over Jisung’s cock, and you jerk your hand a little faster.

Jisung lets out a choked moan and his forehead falls against the side of your head. His arm slides around your body, holding you close, the other resting on the couch, gripping the fabric. 

“F-fuck, ah, ah, fuck,” he whispers in your ear, and the sound is like the sweetest music. 

Is Jisung enjoying this? You giving him a handjob while watching porn? This can’t be real. This is the hottest thing you've ever done.

“Is that okay?” you ask him softly. 

“F-feels p-perfect,” he grunts, bucking his hips against your hand. “Y/N…” 

The sound of your name draws a shaky breath from your lips, and your other hand grabs his thigh, squeezing it a little. You try to remain steady, intoxicated by the sounds coming from the television, Jisung’s noises, his cock around your hand, him fucking your palm. 

“I’m n-not going to last,” Jisung whimpers, and you slide up your other hand to cup his balls. That draws a loud grunt from his lips. “Fuck, Y/N!” 

“Hold on,” you whisper, feeling drunker than if you had emptied a bottle of soju by yourself. “I want to suck you off.” 

It might be your only chance. You want to make this moment last - so you have something to think about, the next time your roommate comes into your mind. The next time you dream about Jisung being yours. The next time you tell yourself there is no way he can like you back. You can at least let him go knowing he’s come once around your hands, around your lips. 

“Y-you sure?” 

You nod, shuffling back on the couch a little, bending forward so your lips come into contact with his cock. Jisung buries his fingers in your hair, pulling them together to keep them away from your face. You kiss his tip, your right hand still moving, your left holding his balls. 

“Holy fuck, Y/N… This feels incredible… I’m not…” 

“Just let go, Ji,” you whisper, perhaps a little too tenderly.

You wrap your mouth around his cock, taking him in. You glance up to see his eyes roll back. You’re pretty sure the sex scene is over on the screen, because people are talking, but neither of you are paying any attention. You bob your head, licking every inch of him, and Jisung thrusts his hips slowly, fucking your mouth gently. 

“I’m gonna blow, fuck, please, ah - ah, FUCK -” 

He comes quickly and suddenly, his cum filling your mouth, salty and warm. His cock keeps throbbing between your lips, and Jisung is breathing heavily, his fingers still resting in your hair, all tangled. You take the time to lick him clean, gently, carefully. 

When you sit up, his hand slides down your arm to your leg, and you look at him. He’s not moving, head thrown back, his hair over his slightly sweaty face, his clothes in disarray. 

This is a sight you’ll never forget. 

A taste you’ll never forget. 

You feel something tighten in your chest. 

You’ve fallen so hard for him. 

“Y/N…” he breathes after a few seconds, raising his head to look at you. 

His hands reach for you, and you let him. His hand grazes your cheek, the other gripping your own. You slide your fingers in between his, feeling a little shy. 

“That was unreal,” he breathes, leaning in towards you. 

He doesn’t kiss you, neither does he hug you - he just presses his body against yours, pressing his lips against your hair. It’s such a tender gesture you feel your heart swell in your chest and you ache for touch. You don’t expect anything. You want to run away to touch yourself, to fuck yourself thinking of him, but you don’t want to leave his warmth. 

“Come here,” he whispers. “It’s your turn.” 

Your heart skips a beat. You want to tell him he doesn’t have to, but he’s already wrapping his arms around you, bringing you closer. You end up on his lap, and instinctively you guide your legs so you straddle one of his legs, your core flush on his thigh. 

The pressure, despite the layers of clothing, draws a moan from between your lips and you dig your fingers in his skin. 

“Jisung…” 

“Does that feel good?” he asks in a whisper.

When you nod, Jisung raises his thigh a little, applying more pressure on your cunt, and the wave of pleasure makes you arch your back and grind against him. 

“Don’t hold back,” he breathes as you start to roll your hips. “Like you told me. Just let go.”

He places a hand on the small of your back, accompanying you in your movements. He breathes in your neck, warming up and tickling your skin, your cunt clenching tighter and tighter. His thigh is tense, pressing against all the right places, and you can’t stop moaning. 

You push yourself up a little, pressing a hand against his chest, and you want to get rid of all those clothes, and feel him under your skin, but you can’t stop moving, and you are so close to coming.

Jisung is breathing hard against you, pushing his leg upwards, his hands massaging your waist, helping you move as you ride his thigh. “That’s it, baby…” 

The nickname alone almost ends you.

He kisses your collarbone and you think you might explode. “You sound so good. I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” he says. 

The words take your breath away. You shudder, your fingers squeezing his as you roll your hips a little slower. “You - what?” 

It’s like he doesn’t hear you. “Baby, please, can I make you cum?” 

You just nod, his words echoing in your mind, unable to be truly grasped as your orgasm builds up. His hand slides down your pants and he pushes his fingers under your panties, pressing them against your wetness. You let out a moan at the direct contact, feeling your body jolt. 

“You’re so wet,” Jisung groans in your ear. 

You can’t bring yourself to speak. You’re already so close to your climax that when Jisung starts to circle your clit, pushing his fingers in between your folds, it only takes a few seconds for you to come undone, breathing out his name. It feels like a tidal wave, like a power surge, like everything you have dreamed of. You feel him smile, his fingers teasing you until you have to grab his wrist and pull them away. 

“S-sensitive,” you chuckle, unable to open your eyes, feeling drained. 

He nods with a soft laugh. You can feel against your leg that he’s hard again, but he doesn’t do anything. He just looks at you as you try to steady your breathing, your legs trembling. You don’t want to move - he is so warm next to you. But eventually, you realize the position you are in, and so you slide off him. Jisung helps you, his hands guiding you back on the couch beside him. 

You feel breathless, like you’ve just ran a marathon. Once your eyes are able to focus, you stare at the screen without really seeing it. You try to grasp what has just happened. You wonder what’s next. You are afraid.

“Y/N…” 

Jisung’s voice reaches your ears but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. What now? Can you stay roommates? Can you even stay friends? Your heartbeat accelerates and you sit up on the couch, suddenly feeling antsy. 

“I - I should… I need to go to the bathroom.” 

“Y/N, wait -” 

You know it’s unfair, but you ignore him and quickly walk away. You close the bathroom door, breathing out. And then the oddest thing happens.

You smile. 

You giggle in surprise, putting your fingers to your lips. Fuck, you can’t stop smiling. You should be nervous, you should be terrified. But none of those feelings are lasting - you are only smiling like an idiot. Jisung’s words resonate in your head. I’m so fucking obsessed with you. 

Sometimes things need to change. Sometimes they should. Sometimes they are meant to. 

When you open the bathroom door again, Jisung is waiting for you on the other side. His big eyes are filled with worry, pleading, and fear. 

“Y/N, please, listen -” 

You don’t think. You just kiss him. 

Jisung does not move at first, and when you take a step back, your cheeks burning up, he stares at you with shock. 

“What are you -” 

“I like you,” you blutter out. “I like you a lot.” 

It takes another second, but Jisung’s lips curve into a smile. His eyes do not leave yours, but the light in them changes. Soon his heart-shaped grin makes your heart swell in your chest, and he’s picking you up in his arms and kissing you again. 

You push him gently against the wall. “Please touch me again.” 

You guide his hands on your waist, and he breathes hard in your mouth. 

“I like you so much,” Jisung says, and his lips brush against your ear, making you breathe out. “I have such a massive crush on you. Never let myself act on it… I was too scared, you know.” 

“I know,” you whisper back. “Me too.”

“I like everything about you,” he whispers. “Your laugh. Your passion. Your smell. Your skin… Fuck, you’re so gorgeous. You don’t have any idea how beautiful you are. How fucking sexy.” 

You part your mouth wider, and he pushes his tongue against yours, playing with it, his teeth teasing your lips. His hard cock is pressing against you, making you crave him again, and you want to feel him inside of you, so deep you can never be separated again. 

“Can I take you back to my room?” he asks in between two kisses. “I want to fuck you in my bed.” 

You feel yourself throbbing and you can’t hold back a moan as you nod.

It happens fast - Jisung takes your hand and guides you to his room. You’re pretty sure the porn is still playing on the television back in the living room, but who cares? You only have eyes for Jisung.

You know his room so well. The smells, the colors. The desk, the blankets, the clothes. The stickers on the window. Yet it all looks different as you step inside holding Jisung’s hand. He draws you close, bringing you back into a kiss. You collapse against him, letting him guide you to his bed.

He lifts you like you’re a feather, laying you down, his body above yours. Jisung is quick to cover your neck with kisses, his wet lips smearing saliva on your skin. He removes your hoodie, palms your breasts, who are only covered by a tank top.  

“Fuck, those tits…” 

You can hardly breathe, loving each of his caresses. The sheets smell so much like him it’s almost overwhelming. After removing the rest of your clothes, he spends a long time kissing and licking your breasts, playing with your nipples, drawing hisses and moans from your lips. After a while you whimper in protest, because your walls are begging for him.

“Ji, please…” 

His mouth breaks into a grin, and he comes back to push his lips against yours. He kisses you surprisingly tenderly, and you moan against his mouth, because this feels so right, so true. His fingers stroke your hair, your cheek, and your hands travel down his back and then upwards, lifting his crewneck. He removes it, and you arch your back against him, your nipples pressed against his chest, his lips ardently seeking yours. 

Soon he is naked too, and as he keeps kissing you, his cock teases your wetness. From his shuddered breathing, you know he can’t wait much longer, and you squeeze his arm, hoping he understands your signal. It seems like he does, because he sits up a little, leaning towards his bedside table to open a drawer. He fumbles inside of it, muttering nonsense, until he finally pulls out a condom. You giggle and Jisung laughs with you, and you feel warmer than you ever have. 

Once Jisung has safely put on the condom, he guides his cock against your entrance and glances at you. 

“Can I - I mean - You sure?” 

“Yes,” you nod. 

You wish you could look at his length disappearing inside of you, just because you’ve desired it so much, but once Jisung enters you, your head falls back on the pillow. He goes slow, leaving you time to adjust, stopping when you breathe a little more sharply. It takes a minute, but eventually he fills you up, and you wrap your arms around him, breathing out. 

“Are you okay?” 

You nod. “Sorry. It’s just been a while.” 

“There’s no rush,” he tells you softly. “We can go slow.” 

You smile, pulling him into a kiss. 

“Just tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes in your ear. 

He starts to move, thrusting his hips carefully. Your body recovers quickly, though, and soon you can shift your hips alongside his, easing his movements. He fucks you gently and deeply, sending shivers up your spine, and you’ve certain you’ve never had sex like this. You breathe together, move together, moan together. 

You take your time, your orgasm rising slowly and surely. You dig your fingers in his skin, shudder when you hear him grunt. You shift positions after some time, so that your legs can be wrapped more easily around his waist, and he’s so deep inside of you that you feel your walls throb with pleasure. 

“J-just like that,” you whisper to him. “Fuck, I’m coming…” 

“I can feel you,” he whimpers. “Come, baby, I’m so close too…” 

You cry out in his neck, the sound slightly muffled, and Jisung follows you seconds afterwards. You feel every throb of his release. You’re still shivering as he looks down in panic. 

“Fuck, I’m - I’m sorry, I didn’t pull out…” 

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “There’s the condom, and I take the pill…” 

He still looks worried so you kiss him, feeling at peace. You are safe, you feel safe. Jisung eventually relaxes, and after throwing away the condom, he slumps on the bed beside you, snuggling his head in the crook of your neck. His fingers brush your cheek to put a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I want to make you cum every day,” he says gently. “With my fingers, my mouth, my cock.” 

“Hmm,” you smile. “I like that idea.”

“Yeah?” he grins. “I want to sleep next to you. See your face in the morning, the sunshine against your cheeks… Your arms wrapped around me.” 

With every sentence he places a kiss, making you sleepy and perfectly awake at the same time, your mind consumed by the images he draws. 

“I want to keep cooking for you. Make you smile. Drive you to the dentist…”

“Jisung, you don’t have a car,” you laugh.

“I’ll get one. And I want to get rid of those fucking doors between us.” 

“Jisung.” 

You open your eyes, grab his face so he looks at you in the eyes. 

“Will you kiss me?” 

Jisung pushes your hair away from your face and does exactly that.

Some time later, you smile. 

You have not drawn the curtain yet, so the moonlight penetrates the window, illuminating the room in soft blues. You graze your nose against Jisung’s chest, listening to him breathe. He’s slowly falling asleep beside you, the covers drawn over your naked bodies.

“Hey, you know what? It worked. I haven’t thought about studying all night,” you whisper to him. 

You hear him chuckle. “Hm. I don’t even know what you’re referring to. My head is completely empty.” 

“So is mine,” you say with a laugh, planting a kiss on his warm skin. “I can’t even remember what day of the week this is.” 

“I can only think about you,” Jisung replies, stroking your hair. “I like you a lot.” 

“Me too, Ji. Me too.” 

I'm so sorry for not updating as much as I used to. I hurt my shoulder pretty bad and couldn't write for a while, and now my head won't let me.

Let me know if you enjoyed this! Thank you for all of your support and love. ♡

taglist: @ughbehavior ; @upallnight-s ; @changbinluvr ; @rosexjimin ; @nasiaisan ; @lotus-dly ; @cb97percent ; @j-0ne25 ; @hwan-g ; @jhopesucker ; @leedunno ; @septicrebel ; @imtoooyoungforthisshit ; @sikebishes ; @sai-kida134 ; @sstarryoong ; @alexis-reads-fics ; @luvsskz ; @beautifulcolorgarden ; @sensitiveandhungry

[alexanderwales]

The worst thing about creative AI right now is that it produces bad results. The writing is bad, the images are bad, and the video is bad. It's impressive, sometimes, that the technology works as well as it does, but it's still bad.

I think if you sit down and go through a few hundred generations, then tweak and edit and inpaint and think intently, you can sometimes get something worth putting in front of people, if you have the right eye for it. I could definitely edit up an AI-written short story into something worth reading, especially if I was the one who had fed it the prompt and gone through the work of having my own ideas to insert. I think at least part of the output would be the AI's, and I could carve away everything that was nonsense or just bad, leaving only a few turns of phrase or some general boilerplate structure ... and this would take more time and effort than just writing the thing myself.

Most people who use generative AI do not want to do any work, and in fact, have no conception of what work would be required. Most of them are consumers, not producers, and they're used to the modes of content consumption, where you don't look closely at the details. Generative AI, in its current state, just kind of sucks when you're in a "press button, get results" mindset.

The stuff generated by "press button, get results" is the vast, vast majority of AI art that you will see, even accounting for filtering effects. There are a lot of people who have no love of artistry producing artwork via machines that are not good at making artwork, sometimes just for a lark, sometimes with profit in mind, and it's threatening to drown out other stuff in spite of being bad.

This is my thesis: generative AI produces bad results, and this is possibly the worst thing about it. If it were able to produce good results, I think that a lot of people would be less opposed to it. If you could get a short story that was worth reading, or a picture worth looking at, for no additional effort of manipulation or prompt engineering or whatever else, then we would be flooded with good art instead of bad art.

When it comes to art, I care about how it makes me feel, and what it's trying to say, and where the intent is, and what ideas it has. AI is not there. Possibly it will never get there. But sometimes I see a picture that the AI has made, and I do feel something in the sweep of the lines, or the composition, or just the juxtaposition of elements. It's just really really rare, and the product of either chance or really careful work on the part of some human. It's not something that the AI can do reliably, at least at the moment. You can also quibble about intent, because the AI "has none", but I find beauty in nature too, which is not trying to make a statement with its sunsets, and whose intents, if they can be said to exist, are mostly about things that are orthogonal to my perceptions, like the plumage of a sparrow or the curved leaves of a fern. To me, art is art because of the way that it can be read and the emotions that I feel when I look at it. Contentious, I'm sure, but I don't find other definitions all that useful.

But the art that the AI makes is, unless expertly guided, bad. And there's a ton of it, and it's impacting the ability of real artists to make superior work.

I think the future I see, if the AI doesn't get better, is one where we have a bunch of cheap shit that's replaced a lot of good expensive things. I am in favor of cheap things, but I'm not in favor of shit. I would love for translation to be as simple as pressing a button. I would love to have a good painting to go with every chapter I write. But we're in a world where the results mostly suck unless you're willing to put in quite a bit of effort and have some expertise in a field of creative endeavor, and that means we're in a world where the products are bad.

I'm interested to see how the conversation shifts if the results start getting better, because that seems to me like one of the sticking points.

[omegalomania]

no ok like. i know this is The YBC Blog and all but i really truly need to go off about how GENUINELY fucking fascinating the whole "young volcanoes" video is on a metatextual level. like the entirety of the youngblood chronicles says a WHOLE hell of a lot about the band in terms of the metaphors it's painting wrt the hiatus and reformation and the fact that they took this particular song (sonically incredibly airy and cheerful, lyrically desolate) and turned it into the dinner party from hell. this is a story where an external force chops up the lead singer and hollows him out and then serves his organs to the rest of the band. theyre made to consume him, literally, against their will!!! and thats not all!! they are vividly hallucinating at this point, because theyve been heavily drugged - again, against their will! - and they see this whole thing as a joyous affair. in their blitzed out brains, this is them reuniting after the harrowing experience of being kidnapped off the goddamn streets! and then they have this fucked up trippy GROUP HALLUCINATION where they are literally EATING PATRICKS ORGANS. and in the real world, none of them can see this happening - except patrick. patrick is not blindfolded. patrick can see them being forcefed his own viscera and he's too fucking high off his ass to do anything about it. in fact, in reality, he barely acknowledges his bandmates at all.

like just thinking about this from a metaphorical perspective. its fucking fascinating innit. the band literally cannibalizes patrick against their will, and he cannibalizes himself against his will, and they are all made to believe this is something that they want to have happen. they are misled and drugged into this. they eat him alive. they eat him ALIVE. and they are made to think they're having a great time doing it.

the band consumes itself for the seeming entertainment of the onlooking vixens. and they don't explore this through the avenue of pete, who the rest of the band regularly cites as the creative impetus behind the band, but through patrick, the voice. the mouthpiece. the one who sings the words. this is the third fucking video they released when the band came back from hiatus. and its this. it is the band being forced to consume the lead singer and primary composer from the inside, and him participating in this forced consumption.

it makes me grip my head and scream. we witness this horrifying incident so early and things only get worse and worse from there. for all that patrick kills joe and pete later in the narrative, they have patrick's blood on their lips first, staining their mouths, slicking their insides. and, like the case with patrick, who has been warped into something violent, they don't do this willingly; it is done to them. we see what true and genuine hatred of music and creativity has motivated the vixens to do. and in contrast we see, by the story's end, the thesis statement that the defenders of the faith love each other beyond any earthly horror that can be inflicted upon them. how unbelievably unfathomably fucking captivating for this to be present at the very start, this warped perversion of that kind of love. what else is friendship and brotherhood but this. what else is love at its most destructive and possessive than this. we are friends, we are brothers in arms, we are companions until the bitterest of all bitter ends. we have wrought immeasurable horrors upon each other. we have consumed each other. we have eaten each other alive. we all have each other's blood on our hands and in our mouths. if save rock and roll is the brightest and most elevated declaration of love imaginable, then young volcanoes is the darkest and most twisted. we don't want to be here. we're having the time of our lives. we're trapped. we're screaming. we missed you. we are better together. we are destroying each other. we love you. we love you to the most twisted and horrific and absolute endpoint imaginable. we love you. they won't let us stop loving you. we love you. they won't let us stop. we love you.

[positivelybeastly]

🎥 - What’s your favorite tv show/movie?

Ohhhh, this is fucking trickyyyyyy.

Okay, so favourite movie is easier, because I have two. First, is Princess Mononoke. I adore everything about it, from the fucking spine tinglingly beautiful score to the gorgeously clean animation, the intense themes of vengeance, the cycle of violence, moral ambiguity, what cost a life, social ostracisation, the march of progress, all of it, it's just, so fucking good.

My second choice would be Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. Again, an absolute fucking stormer of a score by James Horner - seriously, Battle in the Mutara Nebula is fucking lush, I even have a special Mondo vinyl copy of the soundtrack that I got given by my best friend - but more than that, it's the single best performance William Shatner has ever given (yes, including Airplane II!) as a tired, worn down, absolutely wrecked Kirk; the themes of ageing, mortality, legacy, creation, revenge, the consumption of the human soul; the effects work, all of it done on practical models; and my favourite dialogue exchange in all of fiction.

This is one of the core thesis statements for how I write Hank.

As for favourite TV show . . . god, fuck.

Fuck.

I have no idea.

Maybe Star Trek: Deep Space Nine? But I also really love Sharpe? And Strange New Worlds? And revival Doctor Who, especially series 4 with David Tennant and Catherine Tate? Hell, maybe it's Andor? I can't choose.

[thewinedarksea]

the caves ✦ act three - the magician

you have loved the caves all your life. have grown up in their shadow and searched for them, tried to piece together the truth of what they contain. and they have loved you, too, a love so vast it strains the sky. and of course they’re a god. of course. who else could hold you like this, cupping your body in the whole of itself, a butterfly lit on the hand of a gigantic being and it choosing not to squish.

what is love, but mercy? what is love, but a ruination?

[lady-of-disdain]

Does Fiction Lead to Grooming, and The Effect of a Relationship Like Sessrin on a Child Audience.

Ok, so I posted a response on a lengthy thread some time ago that I wanted to update some of my points on, and also repost to be more easily visible since that post ended up disappearing due to some shenanigans.

I also wanted to update this argument, because I’ve started seeing some pro-shippers argue that even if sessrin became canon the romantic portrayal of this relationship wouldn’t affect child viewers. I posit that this is untrue. The very nature of the effect children’s cartoons/media has on the views and social behavior of children is still a field with much academic study going on in it. however, the idea that children like to emulate what they see in cartoons, and the notion that positive portrayals of characters and relationships of diversity in cartoons can lead to a higher rate of acceptance among the child audience to these ideals in real life has so far been a very real, and tangibly proven fact.

The original point of this argument was in response to someone’s statement that made a point along the lines that “media does not affect grooming relationships in real life”, and if it did

“it would affect not only the thought processes of the victim, but that of the potential predator as well.”

My response as follows.

The potential predator we are talking about here is a grown-ass-adult. We are talking about a person who is old enough to know right from wrong, and that children/teenagers are off limits because the law says so. Can pornographic materials stoke the fire of pedophilia, and make someone who is only fantasizing about offending actually take the leap and become an offender? Possibly? But I doubt seeing an abusive relationship on GoT is going to be spicy enough to be the tipping point for a potential future groomer. And even if it were, at this point in the adult’s life, it’s a little too late for them to stand up in court and say “your honor, a television show made me do it.”

In this house, we blame the abuser, no one else!

This is the important distinction though: that we can have intelligent discourse over the problems inherent in these kinds of relationships in adult media. Was ‘Lolita’ a book glorifying an adult man’s attraction to an underaged girl, or condemning it? Is ‘Cuties’ a movie about the dangers children face performing provocative dance moves for an audience of adults, or was it created to pander to MAP’s? Would the relationship between Jon and Daenerys really be ok just because the Targaryen’s traditionally married their blood relations, or would it still be wrong because it’s incest?

Children’s media doesn’t have these kind of deep, introspective themes because children’s brains are still growing, and learning, and these kind of messages can become muddled and confused. We are still constantly trying to find out just how much of an effect media has on the views, and thoughts that children develop as they grow.

From the discourse over marketing toys to children in the form of Saturday morning cartoons, to the use of cartoon characters to sell cigarettes, and the very real problem of the portrayal of race and diversity in children's programming, these are ALL points that have been the subject of scientific and psychological study.

A very quick search brought up MANY articles and peer reviewed theses on these subjects:

The American Psychological Association on Advertising and Children

Influence of Cartoon Media Characters on Children's Attention to and Preference for Food and Beverage Products

The Relationship between Cartoon Trade Character Recognition and Attitude toward Product Category in Young Children

Racial and Gender Differences in the Relationship Between Children’s Television Use and Self-Esteem: A Longitudinal Panel Study

Why Diversity in Children’s Media is So Important

A very interesting study I found was on the influence of Western cartoons on children in Kenya, found Here. It’s a 200-page peer-reviewed thesis, so I’ll try to condense it as reasonably as possible. 

The research was performed among primary school children in Kenya who were exposed to the following Western cartoons: ‘Spongebob Squarepants’, ‘Sofia the First’, ‘Lion Guard’, ‘Doc Mc Stuffins’, and ‘Ultimate Spider-Man’. The focus of the study was on the effect of children’s social behavior after viewing those cartoons. As such there were multiple factors considered, everything from the influence of the violence, and language shown, positive messages like friendship and generosity, to views on gender and race.

two of the most startlingly tragic results I read in this study are as follows:

“...a majority of the children preferred white cartoon characters as they have been conditioned to see "white‟ as the norm through the foreign television cartoon programs. This could further explain why the Doc Mc Stuffins was the least popular among the cartoon programs selected for this study as the lead character is dark skinned.”

and

“Having established that a majority of the children preferred white colored cartoon characters, the researcher sought to further establish whether the children would want to have an association with fair skinned children. 56.6% of the children strongly agreed that they would like to make friends with fair skinned children because white cartoon characters are better looking.”

Finally, an excerpt from the conclusion of this thesis:

“The study revealed extensive reliance of children on foreign television cartoons. The study therefore recommends that more local children content especially cartoons need be produced from the developing countries to substitute the current extensive reliance on foreign television cartoons for educational and entertainment purposes by the Kenyan children. There is urgent need for the producers to focus on content that will amplify children’s morals and values such as honesty, generosity, and respect among others; content that will help them appreciate their cultures and the diversity that comes with it.”

So what does all of this have to do with Yashahime and the portrayal of a romantic relationship between Sesshomaru and Rin?

Besides just affecting their views on the things we’ve already discussed, there is also a discernable influence children’s media can have on their views of romantic relationships.

There is a really interesting peer reviewed thesis I found here about the effect Disney movies have on children’s views of romance.

The paper describes interviews they had with children where they would show the children pictures of iconic Disney princes and princesses and would be asked three questions: Have you seen this movie? Are these two people in love? What does being in love mean? The thesis conclusion ended as follows:

“Consequently, this research illustrates the modernization of the oral tradition of folklore from moral messages of honor and duty meant to teach the lessons that will guide children into adult hood, to the Disney formula of love at first sight leading to romantic love. The augmentation of folklore tales in this way produces a new scope of inquiry to examine the potential influence and consequences Disney films have to inform children’s understanding of love relationships. The importance of this study is that it has found that children are creating meanings when exposed to romantically themed media and this influential media effects how children create meaning about their social world. This thesis has described the importance of children being affected by this media, how these meanings are identified and internalized and finally how children are expressing ideas of romantic love.”

A much shorter read over here on Bitescience talks about how even young teens can be influenced slightly by romantic media.

Indeed, there are still a lot of other things besides the media they consume that can affect a child’s views on things like material goods, food consumption, race, gender, sexual orientation, and romance. These views can and do change and grow as the child ages into adulthood, but people who prey on children do everything they can to avoid their targets from growing out of harmful views that benefit the predator’s goals. While many of us might have grown up with relationships like sessrin in media we consumed and learned after we grew older the wrongness of this kind of relationship dynamic, children, and teenagers who have not grown into this knowledge yet are targets for predators. So why do we want to make the predators work easier by spoon-feeding this kind of relationship dynamic to young people?

To close things off here I want to use a personal example. I want to show everyone my very first OTP:

This is Goliath and Elisa from Gargoyles. They are cute, and I fell in love with them as a wee little child of just 9 years old, and I still love them to this very day.

Are they the reason that these days I see creatures like this:

in movies and shows, and go all heart eyes?

I don’t know, maybe? Maybe not. But I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a connection to one of my earliest remembered favorite TV romantic relationships, and this weird obsession I have today lol.

[healieas]

i need to break this down into several posts because i do not have the attention span to get through all this in one go.

here’s the thesis: beholding is, in my opinion, one of the vaguest fears because of the role that agency plays in it. how people act when they are avatars of beholding, and how people become victims are beholding, and the cannibalization of beholding’s servants by the eye itself ( you thought you were gonna get a tma powers horror post without cannibalization as a theme you thought ) are all completely different things.

what we’re going to be covering: the drive of a beholding avatar to know directly contradicts the fear of being known of the victims and thusly it preys on them -- but there is an element, i think, in all beholding avatars of not really wanting to confront the self. even beholding avatars whose defining feature is seeking out knowledge and truth will not sit comfortably with the truth that is in the mirror, which is what opens them up to the aforementioned eye cannibalism.

jonah has his mortality: he will not accept being contained to a human lifespan, being something that could fade with time, or become obsolete; i think about stories of the impossibly beautiful who lock themselves in their private rooms, disseminating the image of pristine youth and desirability, but the moment the glamour drops, you discover that it was a corpse all along; i think of elizabeth i’s pockmarked face slathered with white lead paint as she sat in her fifties for her portrait as the virgin queen, the toxins seeping into her skin, draped in pearls to represent innocence, one in place of henry viii’s codpiece because she was impenetrable, everlasting, pure, and the way this image was intentionally spread as propaganda, making a forever-icon of her in the english cultural imagination. elias fears every single power, the buried as the grave, the corruption as rotting flesh and terminal illness and losing identity, the dark as the unknown, the desolation and its destructive power and self-consumption, the flesh as the mangling of the body, the stranger as a lack of recognition of the self, the hunt as being pursued and destroyed, the slaughter as unpredictable violence done unto him, the vast signifying his meaninglessness, the web maneuvering him someplace he does not want to be, the lonely and being forgotten or deemed unimportant, and the end for the cessation of existence; elias is a coward and immortality is his escape, he fears pain and he fears non-existence and he fears fear -- to be known as mortal would undue him, it is a truth ( and beholding cannot feed off of what is not true ) that he denies, perhaps the greatest truth of all: that all things must come to an end. the fact that elias’s true form is an eyeless withered corpse hooked up to a throne? everything to me.

jon is, of course, in denial about what he is and his situation, and this is prevalent in every season: he adopts skepticism as a failsafe against “making” what he’s reading a reality, he allows himself to be consumed with paranoia towards his coworkers even though literally all signs point to elias, he continues reading statements even when he recognizes that something is terribly wrong, etc. etc. etc. and don’t misunderstand me, jon is valid! jon is completely understandable in everything that he does! he does not have the omniscience of the listener! he is in the thick of it! but then we get season 5 and, again, jon isn’t being honest with himself -- both in trying to avoid being the avenging angel of the apocalypse and in blaming himself too much for what’s happened. he’s the most honest we’ve ever seen him, he’s finally admitting that he’s an avatar and that he relates to other avatars, but he’s swung fully around to being too harsh with himself; and berating yourself doesn’t make you good or right, it doesn’t fix the problem, it’s just self-flagellation to no end, guilt that’s indulgent without a solution ( this is why it’s a damn good thing martin’s there but again... jon is valid in wallowing, it’s a perfectly reasonable reaction and he has his flaws and we applaud him for being a well-rounded character ).

this abject fear that the two of them have ( because it is fear, that’s where the refusal is coming from; confronting what you are is extremely difficult, learning the truth about yourself and being honest about your motivations and your actions without falling either into self-deprecation aka jon or self-aggrandizement and absolution aka jonah is really fucking hard! ) opens them to being preyed upon by beholding and by each other. eye bitches love to think of themselves as removed and above it all, logic warriors of the fear world, but they are so weak to one another and being seen for what they are that elias had to remove himself from jon’s presence for an entire season just to ensure that jon wouldn’t pick up on anything about his plan ( which is intrinsically bound to jonah’s fear and self-image ). eye avatars getting into a fight is probably such a raw experience for those involved and super boring for anyone watching who isn’t subscribed to at least three tea spill channels on youtube. if you are then it’s the most captivating shit you’ve ever seen.

conclusion: yes, eye avatars do work that opens up victims of beholding to being fed on, but they have limitations when it comes to that pursuit that opens them in turn to being consumed. yes eye avatars Want to Know at times to their own detriment because the act of their uncovering secrets and making people feel exposed feeds the eye, but they are simultaneously some of the least likely people to want to be exposed and revel in their own secrets and dishonesty towards themselves.

[lovelylogans]

love light gleams

previous chapter | chapter six | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen 

words: 57,686

for the second time in as many days, patton wakes up on his own, not because of logan crying.

it’s weirdly disorienting.

patton sits up, rubbing his eyes. even without his glasses, he can see that the bedroom door’s ajar, and the soft murmur of talking.

“—interesting take, interesting take. you ever thought about telling your dad all this?”

a rush of baby noises before virgil even finishes his sentence, and patton smiles, reaching for his glasses.

after ensuring he’s rolled up virgil’s hilariously massive sweatpants, to make sure he won’t trip, he shuffles to the door, poking out his head, enough to see virgil cradling logan with one arm and putting dough in a pan with another.

logan made another few sounds that might have been passable syllables.

“yeah, i figured,” virgil says. “seriously, though, i get your critiques of capitalism, trust me, i follow you, but i think the capitalism’s part of the fun of it. i mean, granted, you aren’t really old enough to appreciate presents yet, it’s part of the whole object permanence thing, you’ll love it, it’s a kick.” 

more babbling.

“huh, impressive,” virgil comments. “i’m surprised by the well-researched views you’ve got on this whole thing. you might wanna write a thesis on that part about material exchange and consumption having adverse effects on the moral character of society, i think you’re really onto somethin’ there.”

“how much of me not understanding what you’re saying is because i need caffeine?” patton says, lifting his glasses up so he can rub at his eyes with his fist. “please say all of it.”

“sure, all of it,” virgil says. “plus, i’m pretty sure the baby’s outsmarting me.”

“yeah, he has a habit of doing that, being nearly two months old and all,” patton says. “logan okay? was he crying?”

“nah, just, y’know,” virgil says. “woke up and heard him getting a little chatty, so i figured i’d keep the little guy company while i was prepping the cinnamon rolls, so he wouldn’t cry and wake you up. that okay?”

“yeah, that’s fine,” patton says. “i should take him before he drools on the dough, though.”

“probably a good idea,” virgil says, and he hands over logan. patton quickly scoops him up in his arms as logan makes a noise of protest. 

“aw, s’okay,” patton murmurs, shifting him, and logan settles. “can’t believe that you let me wake up on my own again.”

“christmas miracle?” virgil suggests, and patton blinks.

“what?” virgil says.

“it’s christmas,” patton realizes. “oh, my gosh, it’s christmas.”

“yeah?”

“it’s christmas morning,” patton realizes, looking down at logan’s face. “oh, my goodness, logan! it’s your first christmas!”

logan considers this, before he offers a few choice noises, and patton laughs, feeling giddy.

“christmas, logan! christmas! oh, you’re gonna love christmas, there’s the presents and the food and spending time with—” patton falters, before he forces himself to plow on, “ everyone! it’s christmas !”

logan’s apparently worn out verbally, so patton just goes for a kiss on the cheek and shifts his stance, giving virgil his best, winning grin.

“you know what would be a great present to kick off christmas morning?”

“your caffeine dependency is horrible,” virgil informs him.

“c’mon, please?” patton pleads, and tilts logan toward virgil for optimal visibility. “look at that faaaace.”

“one day, showing off logan’s little baby face isn’t going to work for getting things,” virgil says.

“which is why i’m maximizing it now,” patton says. “look at this face, that relies on me to care for him, and—”

“shameful,” virgil teases.

“have i said please yet?” patton says. “‘cause i could definitely say it again.”

virgil wars with himself, before he slumps, sighing. “ fine. i’ll put this in the oven and get a pot started.”

patton cheers, before he settles at the kitchen table. 

“you aren’t having all of it,” virgil says.

“uh-huh, sure, ‘course,” patton says happily. “what time’s everyone coming over?”

“pretty soon, actually, i was gonna come in and wake you if you didn’t, y’know, wake up,” virgil says. “my parents are gonna be here first, i think.”

patton nods, absorbing this, before logan starts fussing much more audibly and patton’s distracted enough to get back on his feet and walk, bouncing logan in hopes of calming him; it’s the most fail-safe option, he’s discovered, to keep walking and moving with logan. for whatever reason, logan doesn’t really like being still. he guesses if he couldn’t really move himself around he probably wouldn’t like being stuck in the same place staring at the same things either, so he can’t really blame him. 

patton paces around the kitchen, murmuring soothingly to logan and patting his back. the coffee machine is running and the scent of cocoa and coffee is starting to permeate the air; virgil is making sure all the cinnamon rolls are in place before he sticks them in the oven; the sun is shining weakly through the window, and it’s christmas.

patton almost can’t believe it. christmas. on one hand, it was christmas already, but on the other—it was finally christmas. this year had been the longest of his life. he has a feeling seventeen’s going to be a lot less chaotic than sixteen.

but then, he is walking a crying baby around someone who had been a stranger’s kitchen, and emancipation papers to file, and a job at the inn, and a town full of some of the kindest and weirdest people he’s ever met. and if the past year has taught him anything, it’s that all of his life plans are pitched out the window, so maybe he shouldn’t really theorize.

instead, he focuses on logan. who seems to be quieting down with the circles patton is walking around the kitchen, patting logan lightly on the back all the time and bouncing slightly every couple steps. so instead he focuses on the sensory things; the smells of coffee and chocolate and cinnamon, the light of the sun, virgil poking around his fridge and checking timers and, at long last, pouring him a mug of hot cocoa/coffee.

he holds out the mug for patton to snatch on his way by, and he says a cheery “thank you!” and downs the biggest mouthful he can manage as quickly as he can, murmuring soothing words to logan the whole way.

not long after that, patton can distantly hear the jangling bell of the diner, and virgil glances toward the door, taking a few steps automatically, before he glances at patton.

“um. d’you wanna—?”

“i’m not really dressed,” patton says awkwardly, sticking out his leg to show off how virgil’s sweatpants are already unrolling. “besides, i gotta, y’know. baby. plus i’ll keep an eye on the food.”

virgil gives him a wary glance.

patton grins a little sheepishly, before he promises, “i’ll give a shout if any timers go off or things start smoking, how about that?”

virgil accepts that with a nod, before continuing to plod his way out of his apartment, down the stairs, to, presumably, see his parents, and patton then rushes over to the coffee pot and pours himself the biggest refill he can get away with.

what? he’s sleep-deprived! he has a newborn! it’s christmas! 

he gulps quite a bit down, too, before logan starts fussing—”don’t tattle on me to virgil!” patton whispers to him—and patton has to resume walking in circles.

he only takes a couple more turns around the kitchen by the time he hears footsteps on the stairs, and greets mr. and mrs. danes with a sunny smile—he hopes it says please forget the breakdown i had last night, i’m fine now.

“merry christmas!” he says instead.

“merry christmas, patton!” meredith says, equally bright and cheerful, mark echoing her. “i brought your sweater.”

“oh, thank you!” he says, and steps forward to take it automatically, before remembering he’s supporting a baby over his shoulder with one arm and using the other hand to hold caffeine. “um—”

“i can take him,” virgil volunteers. “you should go get dressed.”

“oh!” patton says, “uh, sure.”

and, holding his breath, hoping that logan won’t cry, he sets the mug on the table and slowly initiates the passing of the baby, and—

nope, logan immediately starts wailing louder. patton automatically reaches to take him back.

“i can keep walking with him,” virgil volunteers, “you can go get dressed.”

he isn’t really sure how to phrase walking away from my baby while he is crying for me is violating every instinct i have, but logan’s tiny arms seem to reach for him and that pretty much immediately seals the deal, so patton goes ahead and takes him back. logan quiets, just a bit, sniffling in patton’s ear, and patton grimaces apologetically at virgil.

“sorry, i just—”

“he’s a baby,” virgil says with a slightly awkward shrug. “he wants his dad, it’s fine. we can try again when he’s calmed down a bit.”

patton nods, and meredith smiles at him, just a bit, before setting his sweater on the kitchen table.

“right here, when you want it,” she says, before she turns to virgil. “how are things going?”

“ingredients are mostly downstairs,” virgil says. “i’m making the cinnamon rolls now, though.”

“i can smell them,” mark says, punctuating his statement with a big sniff. “anything we can do to help?”

“i’ll just,” patton says, “um,” and steps back into the living room, far away from the kitchen and anything he could possibly do to ruin the food.

and also to have more room to walk with logan. that too.

it takes that batch of cinnamon rolls coming out of the oven and another batch going in and being nearly done for logan to quiet completely, and patton slowly inches his way back into the kitchen.

“ready?” virgil asks, turning.

“yeah, thank you,” patton says gratefully, and initiates the passing process again, and this time, logan takes it much better, settling in virgil’s arms with something like a coo.

“hey there,” virgil murmurs, grinning at the baby. “there we go, i know, i need some time to calm down too, sometimes,” and then he redirects his stare at patton, the smile still clinging to the corners of his mouth. “go ahead, take all the time you need. there are clean towels under the sink if you wanna shower or anything.”

patton hesitates. that does sound really tempting. there’s a clawfoot bathtub that had been dumped in the poolhouse, and that’s what he usually uses to bathe, even though the temperature can barely get past lukewarm no matter how high he turns the “warm” faucet. he usually just takes the quickest bath he can manage, usually finishing it off before the bathtub can even fill halfway. maria’s offered him the use of one of the showers in the inn, the same way she’s been offering him a room, but he just kind of feels weird about bathing at work. a hot shower sounds like heaven.

“you’ll shout if he needs me?”

“i’ll shout if he needs you,” virgil promises.

patton grins, before he reaches for his abandoned mug and chugs down the rest of his cold hot cocoa/coffee, saying “thanks!” before he snatches the sweater off the table and heads straight for virgil’s room, practically giddy.

funny how much things he’d taken for granted back at his parents’ are such a huge deal to him now; sleeping in a bed, taking a shower, an afternoon watching tv or taking a nap, having money to burn with no worries about budgeting. he’d never had to think about those things as luxuries before.

weird. strange.

patton would think more about it if he wasn’t excitedly turning the water in virgil’s shower as hot as it’ll go.

it nearly burns his fingers, so he, reluctantly, turns the heat down just enough so that it would be on the side of scalding that he could actually stand, and he gets in the shower with a smile on his face that’s probably a bit too enthusiastic for something as basic as a hot shower.

patton uses the washcloth he’d taken from virgil’s stash of clean towels and scrubs himself until he’s pink, a combination of the heat and the non-scented body wash that virgil has in his shower; he rubs shampoo into his hair, scratching and digging his fingers into his scalp; at one point, he just stands with his eyes closed in the shower, savoring the water pressure and the heat and the clean scent of the steam and the way his muscles relax and loosen.

he eventually shuts off the shower, reminded of his son and the cinnamon rolls and caffeine and general christmas cheer that are probably waiting for him, and steps out of the shower to get dressed. he towels his curls dry and combs his fingers through them (he should know by now that they’re basically uncontrollable.) he brushes his teeth with the spare toothbrush he’d used the night before, getting all minty-mouthed and fresh. he even uses a bit of the lotion virgil has, rubbing it on his hands and the dry spots on his elbows and ankles.

he gets dressed. he polishes his glasses on his t-shirt before he pushes them onto his nose, getting rid of the last of the steam that clings to them, and wipes clear a little path in the mirror, too, taking away the last of the fuzziness that was obscuring him before.

he stares at himself in the mirror; bags under his eyes decreased a little bit, hair a bit of a mess but when wasn’t it, really, sweater big enough that it obscures his chest but doesn’t drown him in the fabric. worn-in, comfortable jeans.

he feels brand-new.

⁂

virgil squints at the coffee pot. it’s lower. he knows it’s lower. and yet—

“what do you mean?” patton says, blinking at him all fake-innocent, holding logan in one arm and using the other to hold his third cinnamon roll in one hand.

“you snuck a refill.”

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” patton says, widening his eyes to make them seem doe-like and innocent.

“you’re going to get an ulcer one day,” virgil decides, pouring a mug for his mom, which she accepts with a poorly-hidden smile at this exchange.

“if you say so,” patton demurs, and looks down at logan. “don’t you think virgil is being silly, lo? isn’t he so silly?”

“—and you won’t be able to say anything as i stand over your hospital bed and say i told you so.”

“if you say so,” patton repeats, except this time is distinctly more sing-songy, and virgil narrows his eyes at him even as patton pops the rest of the cinnamon roll into his mouth.

“hark!” mark quips, from where he’s stationed at the kitchen window. “our children approach.”

“that’s our cue!” meredith says cheerfully, standing up. “gotta make sure none of you take a peek to see if santa’s come yet.”

“mom,” virgil begins, trying not to sigh, because seriously, it’s been at least a decade and a half since any of them have believed in santa.

but patton’s making a dramatically excited face at logan, saying, “santa, logan! yay santa! can you say santa?” despite the fact that virgil knows that patton knows that logan probably won’t be talking for another year, give or take.

and so virgil’s parents depart, to guard the presents and make sure that “santa” has brought things from the north pole, despite the fact that the only one of them who could probably be young enough to believe in santa is still working on important things like object permanence, and rolling onto his stomach on his own, and, like, laughing.

patton looks up at him, smiling. “do you think you’re gonna get what you want for christmas?”

“i barely have any idea what i wanted for christmas,” virgil says honestly. “books, probably. cooking stuff. maybe some stuff for my apartment, since it’s pretty, y’know.”

“bachelor pad-y,” patton suggests, and virgil snorts.

“stuff-inherited-from-family-mostly, yeah,” he admits. it’s probably obvious with the mismatched furniture, the old couch and bed and coffee table. “thrift store, too.”

patton nods, absorbing this, before he says, “oh, shoot!”

“what?” virgil asks, but patton’s brow is already creased in concern, worrying his lip.

“i forgot to ask your mom to get your christmas present from my room!”

you got me a present? virgil nearly asks, barely noticing the jangling of the bell downstairs and the beginnings of conversation between his parents and his siblings, before he realizes they’d probably be repeating the conversation they had on his birthday, before he catches on and says, “oh, hey, patton, it’s okay, you can give it to me later.”

“i just— shoot,” patton repeats, frowning harder. “i mean, it-it’s not much, but—”

“it’s great,” virgil says. “i’m sure it is, but, really. you can get it to me later, i’m not gonna be mad or anything.”

“you’ve been so nice to me and i just forgot,” patton says.

“it happens,” virgil says. “i mean—think about it this way. you’ve already given me a gift within the past week, and you’re gonna give me another one… whenever you come by the diner next. you’re good, you’re covered.”

patton hesitates.

“we can blame logan, if you want,” virgil offers, mostly joking, and leans so he can stare logan in the face. “i can’t believe you haven’t gotten a job yet just to get me presents, you two-month-old baby.”

patton laughs, probably just to be nice, before he stares even more sheepishly at virgil. “i—still. sorry.”

“it’s okay,” virgil says. “accidents happen.”

“virgil!” he hears freddie shout. “bring me the cinnamon rolls, i want a billion of them!”

virgil rolls his eyes, before he gets to his feet. “duty calls.”

“i’m not far behind her,” patton says, leaning to snatch another cinnamon roll before virgil picks up the plate and gestures.

“shall we?”

patton goes to grab logan’s diaper bag, before he falls into step behind him and they both plod down the stairs.

freddie nets virgil in a hug, which, virgil notes, and seemingly patton does too with a poorly-stifled snort, is a blatant excuse to snatch the entire pan of cinnamon rolls away from virgil, immediately shoving one into her mouth whole.

“winifred jane danes!” mark scolds, even in the midst of a laugh himself. “stop that, you’ll choke!”

freddie says something—probably some kind of quip or comeback—but it’s stifled by the food, and virgil takes the opportunity to snatch the cinnamon rolls back, dropping them on a table, about to start lecturing her, before—

“oh, let’s not,” meredith says merrily. “go on, kids, go on, dig in, grab some rolls! the faster you eat, the faster we can open presents!”

“i can’t believe you’re undermining my parenting like this,” mark says, jokingly pious, over the sound of the four other danes siblings (and patton, doubling back for even more) and virgil shuffles out of the way—the benefit of being the sibling who makes the meals means he gets first pick—which means he’s perfectly situated to watch everyone else get their fill.

it also means he’s perfectly situated to watch patton turn, maybe to talk to him or his parents, before he falters at the sight of the christmas tree, the color wheel of presents.

including the two new slivers of bags and boxes, wrapped prettily in sky blue and indigo.

patton stares for a few seconds. his brow furrows, confused. and then, almost like he doesn’t mean to, he reaches his hand to touch the sky blue material of his sweater, bunching it in his hand, even as his brow furrows more and more.

virgil, sensing another crying session in making, feels his stomach plummet and quickly takes a few steps closer; his mom mirrors him, crowding in on his other side.

“i,” patton says. his voice quavers, and he takes in a shaky, gulping breath. “did you…?”

“it’s christmas,” virgil says gruffly. “you didn’t really think we wouldn’t get you anything for christmas, would you?”

“but i,” patton says, and his face crumples as he looks to virgil’s mom. “but i didn’t get you anything.”

his mother looks startled at this, just for a moment, before she puts a hand on his shoulder.

“you’ve given us your presence,” she says, voice quiet, so that virgil’s breakfasting siblings won’t overhear. “and time with a relatively newborn baby.”

patton makes an alarmingly creaky noise, which means that logan makes an alarmingly creaky noise, sensing that something’s wrong, and virgil panics, just a bit, because hearing logan scream and knowing he can’t do anything about it is possibly one of the worst feelings in the world.

“you’re sixteen,” virgil says roughly. “you’re sixteen. okay? you’ve had a rough year. you’re a good kid. you deserve christmas presents without any strings attached.”

patton inhales deeply and presses his fingers under his eyes, like the pressure will be enough to stop the tears. 

“but i—i couldn’t even remember to bring your present—”

“and that’s okay,” virgil says firmly. “you’ll bring it next time you come to the diner, that’s fine.”

“—i didn’t even get you anything,” patton says to his mom, watery. “and you’ve been so kind to me, i—”

“that’s okay,” meredith says. “hey, that’s okay. your presence is enough, just like i said.”

“but—”

“it is enough,” meredith says quietly. “look. giving presents makes you feel good, right?”

patton nods, curly hair still damp around the edges flopping into his eyes.

“ so,” meredith says. “you’re letting us get that feeling. that’s a nice present, wouldn’t you say?”

patton hesitates, clearly warring with himself, but then—

“and you’ll let us hold the baby, as long as he doesn’t cry? we’re all vaccinated and i want my children to practice for—”

“ no grandkid talk,” virgil grumbles, which makes patton sniffle and smile.

“well…. okay,” he says, before he says, “i’m going to send you something for your birthday, though.”

“well, i’ll have to do that too!” meredith says cheerfully. “when’s yours?”

“january 15.”

“no way,” meredith says.

“what?”

“mine’s january 16!”

and, almost as suddenly as it started, patton’s closeness to tears has abated as he and meredith discuss the various merits and drawbacks of a january birthday, patton’s well-trained ability to small talk and his genuine, enthusiastic interest in getting to know people shining through, distracting him, and virgil breathes a soft sigh of relief. 

no more crying on christmas. patton shouldn’t have to feel like crying on christmas. it’s christmas.

so virgil turns, and moves to get another cinnamon roll, before—

“what was all that?”

virgil scowls at silas, almost out of habit, before he takes his chosen cinnamon roll off the tray.

maybe it was the cinnamon roll that silas’ hand was closest to, and maybe silas scowls right back, but hey, virgil made it, he gets first dibs.

“patton was a bit emotional about christmas presents when he didn’t get anyone but me anything,” virgil says curtly.

silas hums.

“silas, i swear—”

“hey, if you don’t get snappy with me, i won’t be snappy with you,” silas says, putting up his free hand. “christmas is the time of truces and all that.”

virgil stares at him for a few more seconds, evaluating the validity of this, before he allows a jerky nod and turns away from him.

just in time to see patton unearth logan from his chest carrier, and to see his mother coo down at his sleepy face.

“give him a couple seconds, he just needs to wake up a little so he doesn’t panic when we pass him over,” patton murmurs, and his mother laughs, staring down at the baby with soft eyes.

god. his mom really wants grandbabies.

virgil thinks, as he stares at patton and his mom, smiling together down at logan, that patton and his son are probably a pretty good interim patch for that particular desire.

thank god, he thinks. it’s not like he’s about to have a kid anytime soon.

  “okay, who’s santa this year?”

“it was us last year, i think,” essie says, patting annabelle’s knee. “so that means…?”

“i gave up my turn,” silas says, because silas can kind of be a grinch, “so—”

“me!” freddie sings, launching herself from the booth. “okay, light blue patton, dark blue for the baby?”

“that’s the one,” mark says cheerfully, who is now taking his turn holding the baby, and he looks absolutely delighted that logan was comfortable enough to fall back asleep in his arms.

“and everyone else’s is normal,” freddie says, before gathering an armful of purple boxes and bags and cheerfully dumping them at virgil’s feet.

“thanks, fred,” he says dryly. “sure hope there wasn’t anything breakable in there.”

freddie ignores him. virgil has the feeling that she’d be flipping him off behind her back if their mother wasn’t sitting right next to him.

“so, um,” patton says uncertainly, from where he’s hovering right next to virgil’s dad in case of Random Baby Meltdown Time, “how do you guys usually do this?”

“pass them out in order, tear them open in chaos,” annabelle informs him. 

“there is no order,” essie says at the same time, and patton nods, absorbing this.

“right,” he says, “okay,” and accepts a load of indigo presents with a thank you to freddie and a glance at logan, just to check that he’s still okay; virgil’s dad transfers logan to his carrier, so he doesn’t get jostled during the whole gift-opening session.

freddie continues passing out presents as quickly (and carelessly) as she can—gold for mom, silver for dad, green for wyatt, red for essie, pink for annabelle, black for silas, yellow for freddie, purple for virgil—and as soon as the last present is placed in the pile by patton’s feet, freddie immediately tears into her nearest present with a vicious, vociferous glee.

and the rest of them are off.

with five kids (and, now, five kids, a fiancée, and a friend with a baby) it had always taken way too long to go in order, one-by-one, and so it became the norm that as soon as whoever was santa that year opened their first present, the rest of them had free reign to open their presents as quickly or as slowly as they would like.

it would probably shock no one that most danes’ favored quickly.

soon, the diner was overrun with the sound of ripping wrapping paper and crumpling tissue paper and exclamations of “thanks!” whenever they saw what they got, and who they got it from, and leaning around people to offer hugs or more specific comments.

virgil looks up in the midst of ripping some shiny purple wrapping paper off a box, to see patton, frozen, with his hands on the first box he’d gingerly picked up, staring at the chaos.

for a second, virgil thinks he might be overwhelmed; they can be noisy when they’re all jammed in together like this, with an occasion as exciting as christmas presents, and patton hasn’t exactly had an easy past couple of days. or an easy past year, for that matter.

but patton’s eyes dart over to look at virgil’s parents: his mom, in the middle of squeezing freddie into a hug and then giving her a soft, joking punch for the gag gift that freddie must have gotten at some kind of godawful tourist trap, virgil isn’t even really sure what it is but whatever it’s supposed to be probably shouldn’t be sequined and glow-in-the-dark; his dad, pulling free a cookbook from the bag he’d been hurling tissue paper from just seconds earlier.

and then patton beams, and tears the wrapping paper off the nearest sky-blue box with a satisfying rrrrrrrriiiiip!!!

virgil grins down at his own box, and resumes opening his own gifts, that warm, sentimental feeling blooming in his chest that he only really gets around christmas.

⁂

later, patton remembers logan’s first christmas mostly in snapshots; golden, precious memories that he’ll cling to for years, the kind of memories he knows will be cherished even before he’s finished living through them.

he eats his weight in cinnamon rolls, and then doubles it in ginger snaps. 

he helps virgil and silas and wyatt cart up virgil’s new furniture; virgil’s particularly protective of the framed nightmare before christmas cross-stitch, moving it over seven times (silas counts) before he carts it off to his room to decide where it’ll go later, when all of them are out of the room (“it’s not like any of you are interior designers,” virgil grumbles after this, probably annoyed by their constant recommendations, but really, moving it seven times?!)

he remembers the danes’ immediately clearing the easiest path for him to step into virgil’s room as soon as logan starts crying, and they all seem eager to lend a helping hand if he needs one; especially virgil and his parents, but the other siblings too. which patton appreciates, he really does! it’s just that he doesn’t think logan’s quite ready to learn how to do a baby cartwheel yet, like freddie’s offering.

virgil’s mother gets a new camera that morning from virgil’s father, and spends the rest of the day breaking it in; a lot of those are of logan (“baby’s first christmas!” she says, “you’ll want these for later!” which patton certainly is not contesting) but everyone gets their photo taken a lot, too. patton’s already gotten a promise from mrs. danes that she’ll send him a copy of virgil, so heavily dusted with flour that it makes him look like a ghost, after freddie got it in her head to storm into the kitchen and start a food fight when the culinarily-inclined danes siblings were tucked away for far too long, shouting about family time!

he teaches essie how to finger-knit a braided row that might become a blanket, later, sitting side-by-side on the couch, as freddie and annabelle both try to teach logan how to roll over on virgil’s new, fluffy, gray rug, as logan sits in his carrier and gnaws, slobbering, on his new jupiter teething toy. he’s about two months away from all that, but hey, if they’re dedicated to teaching him, maybe logan’s a quick learner.

virgil teaches him how to know when to flip a pancake, and sure, sometimes his pancakes are very pale, and sure, sometimes they’re very dark, but hey, at least patton knows how to keep an eye out for the popping air bubbles at the edge of the batter now!

meredith sits with him on the couch, a hand on his shoulder, watching fondly as all of her children bicker over the latest results of their card game and patton’s sitting with a snoozing logan in his arms, and says, “it’ll all go by a lot faster than you could ever guess, you know. cherish it.”

but mostly, patton remembers a lot of laughing, and the fighting being mostly joking in nature and never very serious, and no stilted small talk or muffled gossip or terrible catered food or itchy tulle dresses or ill-fitting suits or the desperate urge to steal a bottle of merlot and sneak out onto the balcony with christopher. he remembers the warmth of his sweater, and the look on each of the danes’ faces when logan seems to consent to being passed around with minimal complaining (except for screaming when silas holds him, but he’s easily enough calmed when patton picks him back up.)

and patton remembers this too.

they’re all sitting in the living room, waiting for the last of their christmas breakfast-for-dinner to cook, and he and the danes’ are all gathered in the living room; patton’s just finished a session of tummy-time with logan, so logan’s cuddled in his arm, eyes hazily lidded, like he’s about to drop off for another nap, but not quite sleeping yet.

the danes’ are all talking about family stories in the past, and patton is hopelessly trying to map out their extensive family tree in his head; virgil’s mom is the youngest of four girls, and virgil’s dad is the youngest of nine, so patton has absolutely no chance of keeping uncle marco or great-aunt maud straight in his head, he really doesn’t, unless someone wants to hand him a visual aid or something.

currently, the conversation’s centering around a great-aunt winnie; freddie’s namesake, apparently.

“—never got an ounce of common sense in all her life, but god, the woman was funny,” meredith finishes.

“aw, it passes down to winifreds through the generations,” silas says, and freddie reaches over to smack the back of his head, grinning despite herself.

“shut up, silas.”

“yeah, shut up, silas,” virgil echoes, grinning. “it’s not freddie’s fault that our parents cursed her with that name, it’s not like they have a very good track record with naming.”

“virgil!” meredith gasps, jokingly offended, which would probably be more effective if all five danes siblings hadn’t sounded off in noisy agreement. patton directs his smile down at logan, lest meredith try to net him to her side, because, well. the names they’d given all their children were nice names, of course, it was just… they were certainly all choices.

“he’s right, mom,” essie agrees, smiling up at her mom apologetically. “i mean, he has the most cause to complain, so—”

except virgil hisses at her, and patton looks over at them curiously.

“you do?”

“he doesn’t know?” silas says gleefully.

“i mean, well—” virgil says, fumbling.

“—’cause, i mean, virgil thomas isn’t so bad,” patton says, glancing out at the rest of them. “that’s the pattern, right, an, um… unusual name first and a real normal one in the middle? uh, like winifred jane, right?”

“okay, see, what i said was,” virgil says, clearly scrambling. “i like that yours and logan’s middle names are thomas, i wish mine was too, that’s why it was my confirmation name, so—”

“your middle name isn’t thomas?”

“absolutely not,” freddie says, absolutely mirthful. “it’s, like, one billion times worse.”

“— but,” virgil says, “thomas is my confirmation name, which is what i told you, and also what i prefer, because what they gave me—”

“they’re noble names!” mark says, which would probably be more convincing if he wasn’t fighting his own smile.

“ names?” patton repeats. “you’ve got two middle names?”

virgil grumbles into his glass, something like look at what you’ve all done, and patton looks at him quizzically.

virgil lets out a long, slow sigh. “you have to promise not to laugh, and that you won’t tell anyone.”

“i won’t,” patton vows loyally.

“my name,” virgil says, sighs again, and continues, “is virgil tringad luigi danes.”

patton blinks. and then he presses his lips together for a moment, but he can’t help the way the corners of his lips twitch up.

“you said you wouldn’t laugh,” virgil says, offended.

“it’s a hilarious name,” freddie says.

essie, pitying, pats virgil on the shoulder. “it is a pretty funny name, virge.”

“luigi,” patton manages to say, when he’s pretty sure he won’t burst into giggles just from opening his mouth. “like. like from—”

“ don’t,” virgil groans.

“like from mario?!” he says, and presses a hand over his mouth before he really starts laughing at virgil.

this very obvious ploy doesn’t work, because virgil turns his disgruntled gaze back to him, before—

“like luigi, my grandfather,” mark corrects, before he smiles, too. “and, yes, also like mario.”

“you hate me,” virgil grumbles to mark and meredith. “i mean, seriously. tringad?”

“it means fair town!” meredith protests. “you couldn’t exactly be virgil sideshire luigi, could you?”

“you hate me.”

“oh, bunny, of course we do,” meredith says. “that’s why we fed, clothed, and housed you for eighteen years, before eventually passing the family business down to you. i mean, clearly, it sounds like your father and i loathe you.”

“oh, yeah,” virgil continues to mutter, “there’s wyatt james and esther marie and silas matthew and winifred jane, and then i, virgil tringad luigi—”

and that’s what tips patton over the edge, the laughter bursting out of him before he can even try to stop it. virgil’s betrayed face almost makes it funnier; it’s the kind of laughter patton couldn’t stop even if he’d been trying (and he had been trying!) but once it explodes forth, it feels so good and so right that he wouldn’t even try to stop, and it’s the best kind of laughter, belly-aching and breathless and making his cheeks hurt, he hasn’t laughed like this since god knows when and that makes it all the better, all the more that he wants to laugh, and then—

and then, the most beautiful sound that patton’s ever heard.

logan’s laughing. a beautiful, bubbly, precious little baby laugh, eyes crinkling up, smiling up at patton, laughing with him, and it shocks patton into laughing right along with him, sure that his smile is splitting his face, because his baby is laughing.

“he’s laughing,” patton says in disbelief, and lets out a breathless exhalation, looking up at the rest of the danes’. “logan’s laughing!”

“logan’s laughing!” virgil cheers, any betrayal over patton laughing at his name forgotten, and meredith says, “his first laugh?” as mark says “congratulations!” and patton looks down at logan in his arms, reaching a hand to tickle a little bit at logan’s belly, so blinded by his smile and maybe happy tears that he can only see logan’s smiling, perfect face.

“laugh for your papa, honey!” patton urges, gently tickling his belly. “go on, baby, laugh!”

and logan does, and it’s so beautiful, so precious, and patton is euphoric, letting out a laugh with him that might be a sob, disbelieving and overjoyed as the rest of the danes’ provide a delighted cacophony in the background that logan seems to turn to to listen, before looking up at patton and laughing again. his son’s first laugh, happening in his arms, surrounded by people who support him, and one of his best friends, and—

and it’s the best christmas present he’s ever gotten.

⁂

logan’s tuckered out from his first laugh and his second laugh and the third and fourth and on and on until patton lost count, because each and every danes made their very best attempt to make him laugh, with none as successful as virgil, and patton treasures every single one, because his baby. laughing.

the first outward expression of joy, other than laughing. a huge step toward his own expression as a person. 

it’s perfect. logan’s perfect.

patton rubs at his aching cheeks, still smiling, as he slowly steps back from logan napping away in his carrier.  

logan sleeps on, and so eventually patton turns his back on him, approaching the diner’s kitchen.

“anything i can help with?” he asks, even though it doesn’t seem necessary; the danes’ are all a well-oiled machine, all seemingly used to their jobs preparing their massive breakfast-for-dinner.

meredith glances out at the kitchen; virgil flipping pancakes, jostling elbows with silas frying bacon at the same stove; essie checking biscuits set out to cool; freddie and annabelle laughing as they cut fresh fruit; wyatt scrambling eggs; mark flipping waffles out of the iron with professional efficiency.

“how about,” meredith says, clearly struggling to come up with a job that didn’t really require cooking that hadn’t already been taken.

“i could set the table?” patton offers, and she smiles at him in relief, clapping him on the shoulder. 

“yes! set the table. um, plates are there, silverware should be—”

“over in the basket,” virgil says, “we moved ‘em,” and meredith nods.

“ma’am, yes ma’am,” patton says, and goes over to gather an armful of plates, a handful of already-napkin-wrapped silverware.

his parents would probably be aghast that he was eating off plastic plates, with durable forks, for christmas dinner. patton pushes the thought of his mind, like he has been for the nearly two months he’s been gone, but strangely, it hurts less.

like a bruise that’s starting to heal.

patton can only hope that pattern continues, but he decides to focus on setting down plates and silverware, instead.

he ends up filling pitchers with juice and hot cocoa/coffee and regular coffee and water, too, before the danes’ all come to finish their own jobs and cart out platters and platters of food; hashbrowns, eggs, bacon, biscuits, gravy, fruit, pancakes and waffles—it’s a veritable feast, and patton’s mouth is watering just looking at it.

virgil pushes a mug in his hands, and patton’s about to thank him until the smell hits his nose.

“this is decaf,” he says, holding it back out for him.

“ how,” virgil says disbelievingly. “i poured it when you weren’t looking!”

patton grins at him. he could tell him it’s the smell—decaf always smells different than fully caffeinated—but he’s having too much fun showing off that he knows it’s decaf before it even touches his lips to consider that, yet.

“i know all,” patton says, making his tone aloof and mystical, so that virgil snorts at him.

“okay, well, you should still drink it.”

“it’s christmas!” patton says, aghast. 

“it’s dinnertime,” virgil says.

“i’m not seeing your point,” patton says, and virgil sighs.

“look,” he says. “just… drink the decaf, as a christmas present to me. just the reassurance that i’m trying to keep you from tossing and turning all night.”

patton hesitates, staring at him, before he sighs.

“i’m not going to like it,” patton grumbles.

“i’d never expect you to,” virgil says, a laugh in his voice. 

all the rest of the danes’ have started filtering in from the kitchen, carting the last of the plates; virgil sees them, and ducks into the kitchen to help. patton deliberates going, too, except annabelle starts chatting with him about logan, his favorite topic of conversation, so he’s a bit distracted.

the scent of fresh-baked pastry and apples and cinnamon brings him to a pause, staring at the plate that a familiar pale hand sets down in front of him.

they’re not apple tarts. the ones at his parents’ party are twisted to resemble little roses with perfectly spiced, perfectly baked, perfectly cubed apples in the center, overlaid with an elaborate, perfect lattice. perfect, perfect, perfect; just like everything else is supposed to be, at a sanders party.

these are more like mini apple pies. unassuming and simple—a crust rolled over the top with an x cut into the center, the edges clearly pressed down against with a fork. not at all uniform, or particularly picturesque. not perfect.

patton finds himself getting choked up anyway.

  “i couldn’t, um,” virgil says, and coughs. “i couldn’t find a recipe for apple tarts, this is the closest i could get, but i hope—”

“i love them,” patton says, cutting him off, and if his voice a bit more watery than usual virgil doesn’t comment on it. “i-i love them. i just— thank you.”

it still doesn’t feel like enough, thank you, he means, it doesn’t feel like enough to tell virgil for everything he’s done for patton, for logan. it’s so thoughtful, and such a sweet gesture, to bring the part of christmas that patton’s been audible about missing that virgil could conceivably bring to patton. and he did.

he gave patton presents, and comfort, and the opportunity to get to know his family, and the closest thing he could get to apple tarts. apple tarts, patton’s favorite christmas tradition. right here. in addition to a welcoming, kind family, and presents, and providing the impetus for his son’s first laugh—

it’s not enough. it feels like it might never be enough.

virgil settles in beside him, the rest of the family all sitting down, still laughing and chatting, reaching for platters and starting to pass them up and down the table.

“what are friends for, right?” he says quietly. 

patton tries to swallow down the lump in his throat, and tries to smile at virgil. virgil smiles back at him, soft, and understanding, and patton thinks that maybe he doesn’t really have to say anything at all.

he plucks one of the apple pies. it’s still hot enough that it feels like it’s burning the tips of his fingers as he drops it on his plate. he cuts it, and the scent of apple and cinnamon comes through even clearer. he lifts a heaping forkful to his mouth, blowing out a breath in a futile attempt to cool it, before he eats it, savoring the flavors dancing on his tongue.

it tastes like christmas.

⁂

virgil’s stretched out on the rug, lying on the ground with a hand on his stomach. everyone else has claimed most of the furniture, similarly food-stunned and lazy.

“so i guess people don’t want to make dessert or anything, then?” his mother teases the whole room, only to be met by a chorus of groans that virgil only ever really hears on thanksgiving, or christmas, or the random weekends where they’d all decided to try out a variety of new recipes for the diner and gorged themselves on it and all of its subsequent, experimental variations.

everyone is sleepy, and quiet, and content. virgil’s content.

essie and annabelle slumped against each other, legs tangled together as their feet are propped up on the same (new) ottoman; silas is on the other cushion of the loveseat next to them, close to nodding off; wyatt and freddie are sitting together on the couch with their parents, deep in a game of go fish; patton’s flopped out on his belly, not far from virgil, along with logan, who’s having some tummy time. some classic christmas music is playing in the background.

it’s been a good christmas, a great christmas, even; he’s gotten presents to help make the apartment look a little less barren and a little more homey, patton and logan had a good day, he got to spend a lot of time with his siblings and his parents and his future sister-in-law. and, considering that his dad’s nodding off on the couch right now, it means that christmas is winding down.

there’s always this strange feeling that virgil gets, right before he goes to sleep on a holiday, or after a really good day. sometimes, he feels like he’s so hyperaware of everything that could go wrong, that when days turned out as close to perfect as they could—like today—it felt bittersweet, that such a good day had come to such a satisfying closing, but at the same time, thinking about how quickly things were changing, everything that could happen, and he’s almost a little afraid, every birthday or christmas or thanksgiving or family weekend, that it’ll be the last one like this, the last one where he and silas won’t fight, the last one where they’ll all be together like this, the last time it’ll go well.

he knows how unlikely he is that that feeling is right, but, well. anxiety. it tries to convince him that it’s right all the time. and it is, in a way; logan’s never going to be this little again, for a holiday like this. essie and annabelle will get married, and grow out of their honeymoon phase. freddie might be whisked off to paris or cairo or london or tokyo with her intention on running away to the circus. wyatt might drown himself in work and not escape from the operating room. silas might get bitterer, and bitterer, and his parents’ constant reassurances that they’d grow out of whatever rivalry they’ve got going would be wrong.

his parents are getting older, too. there are more gray hairs at his father’s temples than there were when they moved away. and that’s going to keep happening, and soon, it won’t just be gray hairs.

virgil shakes himself, and rolls over, enough to come face-to-face with logan. logan’s enough to jolt him out of that particular line of thought; it’s hard to think about aging and all the scary things that comes with that when he’s staring a baby dead in the face.

“oh, hey,” he says. “‘sup, buddy, you kinda zoomed on over here, or did i just roll real far?”

“you rolled real far,” patton says, amused. “logan’s not due to start crawling until about may or june.”

virgil makes a noise of understanding, before he says, “yeah, probably too much to expect to get two major milestones on one day, huh?”

logan babbles at him in agreement, and virgil smiles, offering him a finger to grasp and slobber on.

“yeah, it would,” he murmurs to him. “one’s just fine, though. good job on that. laughing’s awesome, you’ll love it.”

“yeah, he will,” patton says, beaming at logan, lightly rubbing his back before propping his chin on his hand. he had a look on his face; he wasn’t smiling as widely as he had been, when he was talking to logan, and, weirdly, it strikes virgil that he might not be the only one with a case of holiday melancholy.

of course he wasn’t, virgil scolds himself a moment later. jesus, if anyone was afforded a case of holiday moodiness, it was patton, who had just gone through his first christmas without his parents, knowing full well that he was going to take steps to face a lot more than just christmases without them. 

virgil’s so entrenched in this line of thought that it’s almost jolting when his mother says, “well, it’s probably time to head back to the inn.”

“oh!” patton says, surprised, and virgil carefully takes his finger back from logan, who seems to pout at him, but doesn’t start crying, which is really the best he can hope for. he manages to push himself onto his feet.

the goodbye hugs pass by in a rush; it’s not their last goodbye hugs—they’re all coming to the diner tomorrow for a goodbye breakfast—so they’re quick, everyone eager to drop into bed and sleep off their food comas. 

“patton, do you want to walk back with us?” his mother asks. “since we’re all walking the same direction.”

“oh, no, that’s okay,” patton says. “i thought i might, um. help virgil pick up a little.”

virgil looks at him a little strangely; they’d washed all the dishes, and really, the only picking up that needed to be done was putting pillows back on their proper couches, and throwing away the last of the plastic cups people had been sipping wine and beer out of. nothing really intensive, and, honestly, nothing that couldn’t wait until morning.

“plus, um, i figured i’d make sure logan’s all good before the walk back,” patton says, adjusting logan a little so that virgil’s mom could coo at him—it’s a grade-a diversion tactic, virgil has to admit, just showing off the baby.

fine, it’s worked on him before, he isn’t heartless, it’s a baby, and more than that, it’s logan.

“all right, well,” she says, floundering.

“it won’t take very long,” patton says, “i just don’t want you to wait very long, or anything.”

“oh, that’s not a problem,” she says briskly. “i can just make sure—here, i’ll pick up in here, you two take the kitchen, we’ll be done. before you know it.”

“okay,” patton says. 

they go into the kitchen. it really is just throwing away crumpled napkins and dumping discarded drinks into the sink before sorting it into trash and recycling, but patton seems strangely fidgety, changing the way he’s holding logan about five times.

“you okay?” virgil asks, once that they’ve cleared up everything.

patton clears his throat, adjusting his grip.

“i just,” patton says, and takes a deep breath. “i think i want to call my parents.”

virgil stops in his tracks. “oh,” he says, and he’s sure he sounds a little strangled.

“not, like,” patton says, and lets out the breath. “not the house, i don’t think i could handle—um, i think i might leave a message on my dad’s machine at work. no chance of anyone answering, but… but i can still say merry christmas, and tell them about meeting up after the new year.”

“meet up?” virgil repeats, striving to keep his voice neutral.

“i should at least,” he says, and swallows. “i think i should at least tell them about the emancipation thing to their face. right? i’d want someone to tell me about that, so i just—i don’t want to blindside them, that’s all. i think i’ve done enough of that.”

“you didn’t,” virgil starts, before he stops, and says, “are you sure about this?”

“yeah,” patton says. “yeah, i’m sure.”

“okay,” virgil says. “do you want—i mean. should i go in the other room, or—?”

“no,” patton says, then, “i just—i want you there. we could step onto the balcony maybe?”

virgil nods. 

“it’s just,” patton says. “i—i dunno. it feels… wrong, i guess. to not at least try to talk to them. it’s christmas.”

virgil lets out a sigh. because, well. he may hate emily and richard sanders, but if it’ll make this kid feel better about the christmas he’s had…

well, who is he to stop his friend from feeling better?

[mittensmorgul]

The TNT loop got me good today. 7.21 is... a new level of angst now. I’ve been yelling my incoherent feelings at @wigglebox about this, and decided I just needed to make all the parallels. So I’m just gonna quote chunks of the transcript for 7.21 here, and then comment on it. Because it is A Lot™

(honestly y’all should be glad I’m not a gif maker because a) it probably would make this post lethal, and 2) the first casualty would’ve been me)

Okay, here we go. For reference, I’m just using the transcript here, and basically annotating it with thoughts from the POV of 15.03. Some of it will be directly quoted from this transcript at the superwiki if you’d like to follow along for maximum pain (or to fill in any blanks I’ve left in the rest of the episode), and some of it will just be direct commentary. 

We begin with Cas awakening, bolting upright, from the catatonic state he’s been in since he’d healed Sam’s Hell Trauma. Remember, Cas took that wound into himself. Cas’s awakening wasn’t “natural.” It coincided with the awakening of the Prophet Kevin Tran, and Dean shattering the ancient rock concealing a long-buried “Word Of God.” I’d like to take a moment here to remind everyone why Sam had even suffered this trauma that Cas had to heal in the first place. Not only was “breaking Sam’s wall” one of the “terrible things” Cas had done in s6 in the name of trying to keep Dean from being conscripted back into service in the new Apocalypse Raphael was plotting, but it also led directly to The Worst Thing Cas Has Ever Done In The Name Of Doing The Right Thing Of His Own Free Will. Because ALL of this was couched in that language. In 6.20, in that final scene, this was the specific language that Cas used with Dean in his final attempt to earn Dean’s trust and support in his (soon to be) catastrophic plan. And Dean couldn’t give it to him. ALL of this is now currently wrapped up into the events of the first three episodes of s15. Free Will, the Word of God, a Cosmic Wound that has injured both Sam and Cas (and that Cas was unable to heal this time), Kevin Tran forced into service, A Plot to gather god-like power through the consumption of souls, a Rift into an afterlife for the purposes of releasing a terrible apocalypse on the world... heck... there’s probably more, but this will do nicely for a start, for the purposes of Painful, Awful Context.

FLASH TO TITLE CARD

(see what I mean? this is gonna be a long, bumpy ride... I should probably put this under a cut...)

The lightning flashes and odd weather effects from breaking open the tablet caused a worldwide disruption to the weather, to the point that a meteorologist on the radio said he wasn’t baffled by it, but offended.

So the Word of God being freed, from being given power by having been revealed, revealed something that went beyond confusion, and was just so wrong it actually made the guy ANGRY. Hmm. Kinda like Dean in early s15, yes? Dean’s our “offended weatherman.”

(I really miss the text separator line function. Thanks for taking that away from us, tungl. I guess I’ll have to insert something else between commentary... asterisks it is... I’ll keep it to three for a visual separation that hopefully won’t screw too badly with screen readers)

DEAN: So, what? We start the storm heard 'round the world? SAM: When we broke this thing [SAM touches the stone tablet] open last night, every maternity ward within a hundred-mile radius got slammed. Looks like any woman in the last month of her pregnancy went into labor.

WELL that’s definitely an interesting parallel... motherhood, giving birth. With the imagery of Rowena’s spell in 15.03 looking both like Mary and Jess in 1.01 as well as a weird sort of “reverse birth” of hundreds of souls.

***

Sam and Dean were planning to head West to Rufus’ cabin, until THIS, that had them heading in the exact opposite direction, because Cas:

SAM: What? [to DEAN] Cas is awake. DEAN: When? [SAM puts the phone on speaker and holds it out.] When? MEG: Last night about eight. DEAN: And you waited till now to call us? MEG: I've been busy with Cas. He's just a tad different than when he dozed off, 'kay? DEAN: What do you mean, different? MEG: Hey, Seacrest, guess what – not a nurse. Just playing one on TV. Want answers? Start driving.

Or, because Demon who teamed up with them specifically because they intended to use Cas for his specific power... Meg intended to earn Cas’s loyalty for her own security/protection/personal mission against Crowley, so she could swing him like a big hammer. In s15, Belphegor’s machinations were much the same, with his long-term plan to earn just enough of Cas’s trust to use him as the key to open the box holding Lilith’s Crook. By hook or by crook, right? Demons, man. I mean, I’ve mentioned the parallel to 8.17, and the crypt scene with the unlocking of this box in a different crypt for a different god-level power item (in 8.17 it was brainwashing and the angel tablet, and in 7.21 it’s denial and the leviathan tablet, but you can draw a big fat straight line through all of it). And this is just another go-around of all those same themes.

***

DEAN: We raced all the way here, and now I don't know. I can't say I'm fired up to see what's left of the guy. SAM: You think he remembers at all? DEAN: That, and I'm guessing whatever kind of hell baggage he lifted off of your plate. It's not gonna be pretty.

Oh remember this? Previously on Supernatural, this was owie, but now it’s been weaponized with new context from s15, with this endless cycle of guilt and blame laid on the table between Dean and Cas. He couldn’t look at Cas, was terrified to see what had become of Cas because of ALL of this. Because of everything that began in s6 and culminated with them finally cracking the Word of God. Or at least A word of god, since we know now that this wasn’t the only thing Chuck wrote, you know? And we’re still due to progress through Metatron’s hackneyed retelling, too. But even back then, Dean’s feelings of guilt, blame, and loss were all tangled up together regarding Cas, and infused with a confusing dollop of friendship, need, and (dare I suggest) love. Because the kind of stuff Dean (and Sam) have forgiven Cas for over the years? Even if it was only in knowing the underlying good intentions and wondering about all of Cas’s motivations, this isn’t the kind of thing you forgive someone for unless you truly care about them, deep down. The only ones who truly have the power to break you like this are the ones you love.

***

After Cas’s unsettling attempt at a “joke,” (pull my finger *lights explode* *disturbing chortling*), Dean needs information, and needs it from Cas.

DEAN: Okay, just hang on, Cas. Wait. Let us catch up to you for a second. SAM: So, you're saying you remember who you are, what you are. CASTIEL: Yes. Of course. Oh. Outside today, in the garden, I followed a honeybee. I saw the route of flowers. It's all right there, the whole plan. There's nothing to add. SAM: You might want to add a little Thorazine. MEG: Right? He's been like the naked guy at the rave ever since he woke up. Totally useless.

Let’s start at the end of this mess and work our way back to the start. Meg declares Cas “totally useless.” Because in his current state (I don’t fight, I watch the bees), he literally can’t be the weapon she hoped he’d be for her own personal needs. Like Belphegor in s15, it took some chipping away before Cas could even remotely be “useful” to him. Cas couldn’t even look at him, and he certainly would never agree to fight for him (the muscle).

Next let’s tackle Cas’s perception of creation, as told in metaphor between his observation on the micro-level scale of the “route of flowers,” which he directly compared to the macro-level scale of “the whole plan.” As if there was a “whole plan” to the universe. I could write a doctoral thesis on just this statement alone, of how Cas’s observation of the plan inherently altered it, how his presence in the garden as observer watching the bees do their thing, following them along their paths to the flowers irrevocably inserted him into the “whole plan,” and whether he or the bees realized it or not, those bees by necessity altered their paths to accommodate Cas’s presence in their daily routine. Did this make their lives easier? More difficult? Regardless, it had to affect their choices, which flowers to visit, which paths to fly, because Cas’s mere presence provided an obstacle to their routes. They couldn’t fly through him, you know? Left or right, over and around, He became something the “whole plan” needed to work around. And isn’t that what Chuck’s been doing since the start? And on an entirely different level, Chuck’s done it all with intent, because “the whole plan” had been his creation from the beginning.

And then, both first and last depending on your perspective, is Dean, asking Cas to stop just long enough for him to finally catch up. Asking Cas to wait. Because Dean feels like he’s the one who’s fallen behind.

Okay, everyone take five to have a good cry *passes out tissues*

***

CASTIEL: Will you look at her? My caretaker. All of that thorny pain. So beautiful. MEG: We've been over this. I don't like poetry. Put up or shut up.

Ah, Cas and “poetry.” He’s temporarily given up on seeking Free Will, temporarily abandoned the attempt to “teach poetry to fish,” as he’d said in 6.20. And Meg doesn’t like poetry either. She just wants Cas to suck it up and do what she needs him to-- be her personal hammer. She doesn’t care about him, but only what he can do for her. Put up or shut up.

***

CASTIEL: Oh. Of course. Now I understand. SAM: Understand what? CASTIEL: You were the ones. Well... I guess that makes sense. DEAN: What makes sense? CASTIEL: If someone was going to free the Word from the vault of the earth, it would end up being you two. Oh, I love you guys. CASTIEL pulls DEAN and SAM into a hug.

Of course The Winchesters would be the Disruptors™ to the natural order, right? Even though Sam and Dean had only stumbled across the word of God by accident, while trying to clean up the planet-wide epidemic of cosmic Goo left behind after Cas’s attempt to rewrite the story and play god. But still, of course it would be Sam and Dean, because it’s always Sam and Dean, right? I mean, Cas already hung a lampshade on “The Whole Plan” being right there for anyone to see, in everything from the path of the flowers right up to the unearthing of the Word.

Chalk another one up to the spiral narrative as everything.

***

Cas mutters something about cat penises, and females not being consulted on that terrible bit of creation. Chuck, man. Throwing barbed penises around with zero consideration for the ladies. Ow. But on to the bigger things:

DEAN: Cas, please, we're losing ground out there, okay? We need your help. Can you not see that? CASTIEL: This is the handwriting of Metatron. SAM: Metatron? You saying a Transformer wrote that? DEAN: No. That's Megatron. SAM: What? DEAN: The Transformer – it's Megatron. SAM: What? CASTIEL: Metatron. He's an angel. He's the scribe of God. He took down dictation when creation was being formed. SAM: And that's the Word of God? CASTIEL: One of them, yes.

They’ve been drowning in goo for months, and Cas coming back had represented a beacon of hope in the darkness. But the reality of the whole situation at hand wasn’t something Cas could deal with. He was so burdened with personal guilt that he chose to ignore the mess, reacting with anger (and by disappearing) with directly confronted with it. In s15, Dean... can’t just disappear, even though he’s the one drowning now.

A... Transformer. A misinterpreted word that changes the meaning, creating a baffling misunderstanding that requires a re-translation and correction before understanding can occur. That’s so meta I could cry. “I always get the words right.” Cas had no idea what “Megatron” or “Transformers” were, but saw that Sam and Dean were literally “speaking language he didn’t understand,” but that they’d come to a satisfactory conclusion that seemed irrelevant to their current conversation anyway, and just... continued on as if the disruption had never occurred. An entire loop of conversation just flew right over his head. He might not get words wrong, but sometimes he just doesn’t get them at all, you know? Nor does Dean always understand what the intent behind Cas’s words are. They need a translator. Or they need to stop speaking in references and metaphor, and speak clearly in unmistakable language. And all of this is wrapped up in the parallel to the indecipherable Word of God, which will require a unique translator to interpret.

Author to Scribe to Prophet, because the knowledge within is not meant for angels. It’s not even meant for humans. It’s just another randomly-scattered puzzle left by Chuck to be simultaneously helpful and dangerous. Choices and drama.

***

CASTIEL: Don't like conflict. CASTIEL disappears and the stone tablet drops to the floor, breaking into three pieces.

Aah, the conflict, that Meg attempts to blame on Dean, when she was the one who (I mean, understandably she was curious, but she’s still a demon that Dean still doesn’t trust, who once possessed Sam and tried to force Dean to kill him, so... she’s not actually their friend, she was “mutually assured destruction” in case things with Cas went sideways while Sam and Dean were running around trying to clean up the Leviathan mess...). Cas’s reaction to conflict back then had been to drop the Word like a hot potato, smashing it to pieces on the floor. Even when he isn’t trying, he’s tearing up pages and altering the shape of Chuck’s story. Bless him. But he’s still... actively avoiding doing anything, including acknowledging his own role in the events that have brought them to this point, and to everything Dean had been fighting almost on his own (Sam’s been “in the bell jar” most of s7 fighting the Hallucifers) and basically surviving with whiskey, denial, and pasting a fake smile on and pushing through trauma after trauma without Cas (or... pretty much anyone else in any measurably reliable way). But we all know this isn’t how DEAN reacts to trauma, right? He pushes people away, by manufacturing conflict when he runs out of organic conflict.

***

DEAN: All right, I'll go handle Cas. Sam, will you please pick up the Word of God?

Dean, delegating responsibilities. He’ll take the broken angel, and Sam will take the broken Word.

***

MEG: We both call, who do you think Cas will come to? I'm guessing me. You heard him – thorny beauty, blah, blah. I'm the saint who stayed with him. He owes me. His words. SAM: Yeah, what about what he owes us? MEG: Well, work on him a little. Maybe he'll start crushing on you, too, hot stuff. SAM: What are you gonna do with a broken angel? Don't be stupid. MEG: I'll take power where I can get it. I've got myself to look out for.

Unlike Belphegor, Meg never even attempted to disguise her motives. She wanted Cas for his power, broken or not. She’d find a way to manipulate him to defend her-- despite his insistence that he doesn’t fight. And it’s interesting it’s Sam who’s given the line “what about what he owes us?” While Dean’s discussion with Cas is far more personal.

***

DEAN: You realize you just broke God's Word? CASTIEL looks away and DEAN sits down at the table opposite him. DEAN: It's Sam's thing, isn't it? You taking on his, uh, cage-match scars. I'm guessing that's what broke your bank, right? CASTIEL: Well, it took... everything to get me here. DEAN: What are you talking about, man? CASTIEL: Dean, I know you want different answers. DEAN: No, I want you to button up your coat and help us take down Leviathans. Do you remember what you did? CASTIEL holds up the board game “Sorry!” He shakes it once and the board and pieces appear on the table, set up ready to play. CASTIEL sets the box aside. CASTIEL: Do you want to go first?

Dean’s still kind of in awe at the notion of directly defying God’s Word, and Cas just... doesn’t even seem bothered. Dean needs to find an explanation for Cas’s avoidance of the Urgent Matter at Hand. He blames it on what Cas suffered after taking on Sam’s Hell trauma, but Cas tries to tell him it’s so much more than that, that his entire experience since the moment he gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition had led to this moment. But that’s too much for Dean to even wrap his head around, and Cas is just... speaking in riddles anyway. So he presses on and demands a direct answer. Cas continues speaking in riddles.

And pushing for a more direct personal conversation, despite the chasm of misunderstandings separating them. For possibly the first time ever, it’s Cas speaking in metaphors and references that Dean does not understand. And it frustrates the hell out of him. He just wants to get some straight answers out of Cas before the world goes up in flames. Or drowns in dark waters.

He needs Cas to “button up his coat” and help save the world. Save it from the mess he technically made of it. But Cas won’t even engage with what Dean’s saying to him, like in s15 Dean doesn’t even engage with what Cas is saying to him (but Cas is also refusing to button up his coat and do what had to be done in s15, refusing to even look at Belphegor... despite actively assuming another equally important job... he wasn’t avoiding HELPING, just avoiding the specific task Dean had tried to give him... as the one of them most qualified to monitor a demon for ~demonic hinkiness~ or whatever. Sam and Dean would’ve just assumed they were dealing with Jack if Cas hadn’t been the one to tell them it was actually a demon, you know?

***

Meanwhile, back in Cas’s room, Kevin is knitting the Word of God back together, while being simultaneously baffled and terrified by everything that’s going on.

***

DEAN picks up a “Sorry!” card. CASTIEL: You know, we weren't sure at first which monkeys were gonna make it. No offense, but I [DEAN moves a marker on the board] was backing the Neanderthals because their poetry was... just amazing. It's in perfect tune [CASTIEL picks up a card] with the spheres. But in the end, it was you – the [CASTIEL moves a marker] homo sapiens sapiens. You guys ate the apple, invented pants. DEAN: Cas, where can we find this, uh, Metatron? Is he still alive? CASTIEL: I'm sorry. I – I think you have to go back to start. DEAN moves a marker. DEAN: This is important. CASTIEL motions for DEAN to pick up another card. DEAN does and moves another marker. DEAN: I think Metatron could stop a lot of bad. You understand that? CASTIEL picks up another card. CASTIEL: We live in a "sorry" universe. It's engineered to create conflict. I mean, why should I prosper from... your misfortune? [CASTIEL puts down a marker and moves DEAN’s marker back to the start.] But these are the rules. I didn't make them. DEAN: You made some of them. When you tried to become God, when you cut that hole into that wall. CASTIEL: Dean... it's your move. DEAN pounds a fist on the table and swipes the board to the floor. DEAN: Forget the damn game! Forget the game, Cas. CASTIEL: I'm sorry, Dean. DEAN: No. You're playing "Sorry!"

Dean’s still trying to solve their bigger problems, but he’s really trying to play along to appease Cas, trying to speak to him on a level he can understand. Trying to “play his game” and hope that Cas will play by the rules Dean had thought they both understood-- give and take. Mutual contribution to the conversation. But Cas continued talking about things Dean believed were irrelevant in the face of the current crisis. Neanderthals losing out to homo sapiens. And again, Cas talking poetry, and referencing the spiral narrative of creation.

The thing about Sorry! is that the game involves a lot of elements of chance, but also a lot of elements of CHOICE. I know someone’s written meta on this in the past, but really quickly, in Sorry, each player controls a number of different pawns, all of which must eventually be advanced from the starting point to their respective finish line. The playing board itself is the defined and accepted parameters of the world the game will play out on, yet there are multiple different “paths” for each player to take. The players draw cards in turn (the element of Chance) and then decide which of their pieces to advance according to the instructions on the card they selected (the element of Choice).

The thing is, in this game, Cas could’ve chosen to “play a different piece.” He could’ve made the game easier on Dean while still advancing his own position, and yet he chose to strategically remove Dean’s piece from the board. Cas was playing not just to win for himself, but to frustrate Dean’s chances to even get a fair turn to play. Cas was playing by the rules, after all, which encourage competition over teamwork. The name of the game is Sorry! after all, and “sending your opponent back to the start” is half the point of the game. Cas wasn’t going to even play in the spirit of cooperation with Dean. He wasn’t going to provide answers. This was, in a horrific way, Cas’s attempt to revert himself back to the “reprogrammed” Cas that came back from Heaven at the end of 4.20. All under the guise of playing sorry, without having to engage with it in good faith.

Dean wasn’t even asking Cas to fight here. He was trying to respect Cas’s choice to “avoid conflict.” But Cas wouldn’t even TALK to him, wasn’t even engaging with him as if HE was real. And Dean was not unreasonably frustrated.

Dean’s been fighting back against an impossible enemy that can’t be killed and has devised a way to suppress human free will into submission, so that all of humanity will willingly march themselves into the slaughterhouse. It’s horrifically WORSE than the apocalypse to Dean, and he’s desperate and at the end of his rope, and is hoping for even a spark of hope to keep fighting himself... and Cas has nothing but poetry for him.

***

And then the angels show up, prepared to take the Prophet with them, as if Kevin was their property. Kinda raises some questions about how the Prophet Chuck could’ve been unaware of what he was, you know? Almost as if it had literally been a lie...

HESTER: You smote thousands in Heaven. You gave a big, scary speech. Then you were gone. What the hell was that?! CASTIEL: Rude, for one thing. INIAS: Where have you been? CASTIEL: Oh, Inias. Hester, I... I know you want something – answers. I... I wish it could be that… There are still many things I can teach you. I can offer, um, well, perspective. Here. [CASTIEL points a finger at HESTER.] Pull my finger. [HESTER doesn’t move.] Uh... Uh... Meg will – will get another light, and I'll – I'll blow it out again. And, well, this time, it'll be funny, and – and we'll all look back and laugh. HESTER: You're insane. DEAN: Hey. DEAN is standing in the doorway. DEAN: Heads up, Sunshine. DEAN puts his hand in an angel-banishing sigil he’s drawn on the wall outside the room. White light flares and the angels vanish.

Unlike Dean, who’d tried to be patient and understanding with Cas despite everything, Hester simply angrily demanded answers from him. And Cas... was equally evasive with her. She labeled his evasion “insane,” but Cas is 100% sane. He knows exactly what it is he’s avoiding answering for, but he’s paralyzed with fear that anything he does will only add to the problem. And Dean gets rid of the angels before they can start killing everyone (including Cas).

I mean, Cas’s answers are pretty obvious anyway, you know? His guilt, his hubris for believing he was choosing the right thing, in trying to teach the angels a better way-- Free Will and the protection of humanity-- that in the execution he lost his own free will (and his life) and unleashed a horror onto Heaven and Earth that he’s entirely incapable of fixing. It’s not like he doesn’t HAVE answers, they’re just... to much for him to even face. Guilt is a terrible thing.

***

DEAN: That is back in one piece, I see. And you're saying that there's some sort of a "How to punch Dick" recipe in there somewhere? KEVIN: I-I don't know what you're saying, but it seems kind of like an "in case of emergency" note. What did they mean by "prophet"? DEAN: Oh, no. [to SAM] Really? SAM: Yeah. Yeah, that's what the angel said. KEVIN: I don't want to be a prophet. DEAN: No. You don't at all.

Yeah... nobody wants to be a prophet. It’s a terrible job. No free will, no freedom at all, just ensnared into the service to God’s Word. (oh, and poor Kevin will try to resist, will willingly nearly kill himself trying to turn God’s Word around into a weapon he can wield. I can see why Chuck would single him out for specific “punishment” for messing around with his story like that.

***

MEG: Yeah. Yeah, Castiel. It's me. DEAN: Cas? Where? Where is he? MEG: [to DEAN] Shut up. CASTIEL: I’ll stop speaking. MEG: No. No, Cas. You talk. CASTIEL: [audible over MEG’s phone] I’m in a place called Perth. MEG: Perth? DEAN: Perth? As in Australia? MEG: What dogs? [to DEAN] He says he's surrounded by unhappy dogs. CASTIEL: They’re chasing a rabbit around [indistinct]… MEG: Oh. Okay. He's at a dog track in Perth. CASTIEL: I’m surrounded by large unhappy dogs. MEG: Yeah, they're unhappy 'cause the rabbit's fake. Listen, we're on highway 94, north of St. Cloud, Minnesota, just passing mile marker 79. CASTIEL materializes in the back seat between MEG and KEVIN.

Okay, first off, miscommunication. This is just riddled with miscommunication. But the background conversation, Cas is at a dog track surrounded by large, unhappy dogs. Kinda makes interesting light of all the “Dean is a Weird Dog” the show has been hammering on for years-- both literally and metaphorically. But... these dogs at the track are given the runaround. They’re trained to run a specific track for the entertainment of the spectators, running in endless circles chasing after a lure that they can never quite catch before they arrive at the finish line, where even winning the race just means they’ll have to run another round around the track the next day. And the lure? The rabbit they’re trained to follow after? It’s fake. It’s all part of the bigger game the poor dogs can’t escape from. I’d be unhappy, too.

Which is all a tidy metaphor for how Dean feels in s15, but how Cas has seen pretty much everything since way back at this point, if not far earlier.

Hence even more miscommunications, or at the very least each of them not understanding where the other is even coming from, based on these wildly different baseline perspectives. Cas, as an angel, had always been one of the spectators before Dean had pulled him into the race, so to speak. He’s always understood all of existence as a sort of game in this way, but Dean had never even had an inkling of the bigger game they were all part of all along. He’d thought he understood the rules, understood his role in the game, and it took until s15 for him to see that all of it had been a game to Chuck. That even when he’d thought he’d escaped the endless go-around of fake rabbits, it had only put him back at the startling line over and over again to run another race. And Cas... can’t understand Dean’s perspective here any more than Dean can understand Cas’s, despite them each believing they actually understand one another and just don’t care... awful, right?

***

CASTIEL: They're from the Garrison – my old Garrison. Looks like Hester's taken over. We were assigned to watch the earth. Often, it was boring. The wars were very boring and the sex – you know, the repetition. Anyway, I was, uh... I was their captain. Isn't that strange? SAM: Cas, why are they pissed at us now? CASTIEL: [to MEG] You know, those racing dogs were absolutely miserable. They can only think in ovals. DEAN: Cas, don't make me pull this car over! Why are angels after us? CASTIEL: Are you angry? Why are you angry? DEAN: No, I-I'm... Please, can we just stay on target? CASTIEL: There is no reason for anger. They're only following protocol. If the Word of God is revealed, a keeper of the Word will awaken, like this [He touches KEVIN’s nose] hot potato right here.

Observing creation enabled Cas to see the “repetition.” The endless loops. Like the dogs running in ovals. But he’s unable to connect with humanity directly right now, unable to risk feeling. And we’re back to doorways to doubt, and the same “only humans can feel true joy.” But also suffering. As long as he remains at a distance, he can protect himself from feeling all of that, from having to recognize his part in it.

And he doesn’t understand why Dean is angry that he keeps talking in circles.

Dean just wants to know why the angels are angry at THEM, why they’re coming after THEM when they’ve got so many other bigger problems they’re trying to solve.

***

CASTIEL: Anyway, Garrison code dictates you take the keeper to the desert to learn the Word away from men. DEAN: What kind of sense does that make? He has to tell us so that we can use it. CASTIEL: That's God and his shiny red apples.

Cas didn’t expect anything less from God. Dean just wants to stop the Leviathan from eating humanity and destroying life as they knew it, and Cas... doesn’t have anything to give.

***

DEAN: Okay, you know what? Screw the Garrison. We need the tablet to end Sick Roman's "Soylent Us" crap. CASTIEL: If you want the Word, you'll have to duck Hester and her soldiers. SAM: Yeah, you're in our corner, right, Cas? CASTIEL: No, I don't fight anymore. I watch the bees.

see? yet despite that declaration, Cas does try to help how he feels comfortable-- painting sigils to hide them from angels, but leaving off banishing sigils or he himself wouldn’t be able to stay. Kind of a conundrum, right? Sacrificing some of the safety Sam and Dean could’ve worked into the sigils so he himself could remain in the room with them.

***

CASTIEL: You seem troubled. Of course, that's a primary aspect of your personality, so I sometimes ignore it. SAM: Okay. Um... right now I'm just wondering about you. CASTIEL: What about me? You're worried about the burden I lifted from you. SAM: I think I was done for. Do you see Lucifer? CASTIEL: I did at first. But that was... It was a projection of yours, I think, sort of an aftertaste. Now I more see... well, everything. It's funny. I was – I was done for, too. The weight of all my mistakes, all those lives and souls lost, I... I couldn't take it, either. I was… I was lost until I took on your pain. It's strange to think that that helped, but – SAM: I know you never did anything but try to help. I realize that, Cas, and I'm grateful. We're all grateful. And we're gonna help you get better, okay? No matter what it takes. CASTIEL: What do you mean, "better"?

And here we have it. Sam plainly expresses his own guilt and regret over what’s become of Cas. But Cas hasn’t even begun to see how deep he’s buried himself to avoid dealing with his own guilt. Using Sam’s trauma as a sort of penance, he’s using that to “transfer” his own guilt away from himself, the way he shifted Sam’s trauma into himself. As if the second shift washes away the first and he’s wiped the slate clean. As long as he lets himself believe that, he doesn’t have to face what he’s done, and the consequences of his own choices.

Which is... kinda what Dean’s doing in early s15.

***

KEVIN: I am not prepared to factor the supernatural into my [DEAN puts the brown paper bag over KEVIN’s face] world view. DEAN: Okay, there we go. [He pats KEVIN on the back.] That's it. That's it. Just breathe. Take it easy. KEVIN holds onto the bag and breathes into it. DEAN: Oh, I don't know, man. What can I say? You've been chosen. And it sucks. Believe me. There's no use asking "why me?" 'Cause the angels – they don't care. I think maybe they just don't have the equipment to care. Seems like when they try, it just... breaks them apart.

I mean, Dean’s seen what trying to care has done to Cas. And Dean... was the one who pushed Cas to care in the first place.

***

And Meg kills a couple of demons who’d picked up their track, but that also brings the angels back down on them:

MEG: Typical. I save our bacon, and you're sitting here, waiting by a devil's trap. Seriously, I just killed two of Crowley's men. I could have gone the other way on that. CASTIEL: It's true, incidentally. There's other demons' blood on that blade. MEG: Look, I'm simpler than you think. I've figured one thing out about this world – just one, pretty much. You find a cause, and you serve it. Give yourself over, and it orders your life. Lucifer and Yellow Eyes – their mission was it for me. DEAN: So, what? We should trust you because you wanted to free Satan from Hell? MEG: I'm talking "cause," douchebag, as in reason to get up in the morning. Obviously, these things shift over time. We learn, we grow. Now, for me currently, the cause is bringing down the King. And I know we'll need help to do it. DEAN: Crowley ain't the problem this year. MEG: When are you gonna get it? Crowley's always the problem. He's just waiting for the right moment to strike. I know what I'm supposed to do. And it isn't screw with Sam and Dean or lose the only angel who'd go to bat for me. SAM breaks the devil’s trap with his foot. CASTIEL: This is good – harmony and communication. Now our only problem is Hester.

yeah, but they haven’t really communicated anything useful yet. But Cas does know that the angels are about to find them again...

***

HESTER: You took the Prophet from us?! CASTIEL: I'm – I'm sorry? HESTER: You have fallen in every way imaginable. INAIS: Please, Castiel. We have to follow the code. Help us do our work. DEAN: He can't help you. He can't help anybody. HESTER: We don't need his help... or his permission. HESTER nods to INAIS, who nods back. There is the sound of angel wings and INAIS disappears. HESTER: The Keeper goes to the desert tonight. INAIS reappears with KEVIN. DEAN: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back off. We're actually trying to clean up one of your angel's messes! You know that. CASTIEL: He's right. An angel brought the Leviathan back into this world, and – and they begged him. They begged him not to do it. DEAN: Look, just give us some time, okay? We will take care of your Prophet. HESTER: Why should we give you anything... After everything you have taken from us? The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost! For that, you're going to pay. HESTER walks towards DEAN. CASTIEL: Please. They're the ones we were put here to protect. HESTER: No, Castiel. HESTER backhands CASTIEL and he falls to the ground. INAIS and the other MALE ANGEL each hold up two fingers to stop DEAN and SAM from going to CASTIEL’s aid. HESTER: No more madness! [She punches CASTIEL.] No more promises! [She punches CASTIEL again.] No more new Gods! [She punches CASTIEL repeatedly and then holds up an angel knife.]

I couldn’t decide how to break this up to talk about it, because one thing leads directly into the next, and it all goes to context.

Hester accuses Cas of falling “in every way imaginable.” In the wake of their brush with free will, the remaining angels are attempting to restore the old order to Heaven, because there’s not much left to them than what they’d known before. When the new rules fail, the only thing they know to do is revert to the old rules.

Dean calls them out on it, and Cas even steps in to support Dean’s words. Only Cas can’t even say *I* and *me* here. He talks about himself in the third person, but at least he’s acknowledging what kicked off this mess, even if he’s still not taking direct responsibility for it. Not only that, he acknowledges that Dean had tried to stop him, and that he’d refused to listen. This seems to be a key point again in 15.03. The inability to acknowledge guilt and responsibility, and the refusal to listen. This entire conversation is just a few painful twists away from the Breakup Scene in 15.03.

But Hester lays down The Worst Truth, that Dean himself is at fault for destroying Cas, for just the TOUCH of him “corrupting” Cas, breaking him until he broke the world. To Dean, this was the equivalent confirmation of all his worst fears-- he’s poison, he’s worthless-- that Cas got from Belphegor in 15.03-- that Dean doesn’t care about him beyond his usefulness. But this is something that Dean will carry with him for YEARS, and which Dean will continue to feel in every dealing he has with Cas going forward-- that HE is at fault, that HE is unworthy, that everything that makes Cas “fall” in any way is because of him, because he’s poison. And so he internalizes every mistake that Cas makes, every burden he endures, as his own, because it’s all his fault anyway, right?

But Cas, too, learned a lesson here as Hester beat and prepared to kill him: NO MORE MADNESS. NO MORE NEW GODS. And when confronted with the truth of what Belphegor planned-- to become a new god in the same way that Cas had-- he understood what he had to do. He would not exchange one problem for another, exchange one apocalypse for one that would likely be even worse. It was a terrible choice, and I think this is the root of his decision.

***

Here have some dramatic irony, and the demon saving Cas’s life:

INAIS: Hester! No! [He grabs HESTER’s arm.] Please! There's so few of us left. HESTER punches INAIS in the face with the hand holding the knife. HESTER: [to CASTIEL] You wanted free will. Now I'm making the choices. HESTER raises the knife. White light blazes from her chest and she falls to the ground. MEG has stabbed her. MEG: What? Someone had to.

Hester claimed she was choosing her actions now, using the same excuse of Free Will that Cas himself had claimed as his motivation for swallowing Purgatory in the first place. Even when everything she’d done had been in the name of restoring the Old Order, of following the Rules that angels had always obeyed. Talk about not getting the point of Free Will.

This is what Dean’s struggling with now in s15, with his own long-held understanding of what Free Will even meant, with this new context that Chuck had repeatedly thrown new obstacles in his path, personally. There are no rules left, or so it feels like to him. There’s nothing to revert back to, or hold on to as an ideal, when every choice they make has been engineered to lead them to equally bad outcomes.

***

But Cas... he’s understood this for a very long time:

INAIS: These are strange times. CASTIEL: I think they've always been. INAIS puts a hand on CASTIEL’s arm. INAIS: I wish you'd come with us. CASTIEL: Oh, I'm not part of the Garrison anymore, Inias. I'm sorry.

Sure, he’ll be forced back against his will, but in a way that will help save him eventually. It won’t feel like salvation for years to come, though, but it’s a journey.

***

SAM: Here. “Leviathan cannot be slain but by a bone of a righteous mortal washed in the three bloods of the fallen.” Uh... It says we need to start with the blood of a fallen angel. SAM and DEAN look at CASTIEL. CASTIEL: Well, you know me. [He holds out a small bottle.] I'm always happy to bleed for the Winchesters. CASTIEL hands the bottle, which is filled with blood, to DEAN. DEAN: What are you gonna do, Cas? CASTIEL: I don't know. [He smiles.] Isn't that amazing?

AAAAHAHAHAH. Angel blood, required by Belphegor’s first spell. This scene was directly paralleled in 15.01, and with context, it’s it awful? After refusing to fight for the entire episode, Cas is happy to bleed. To do penance, but not to be burdened with action or responsibility. And with complete freedom to choose his next move, to choose for himself what to do with himself, he... chooses nothing. And heck, I get it, after billions of years of thinking he didn’t have ANY choices, suddenly he’s presented with EVERY OPTION, and is DELIGHTED by that.

But the one thing he WON’T choose? Staying with Dean. Standing by Dean’s side while he fights to clean up Cas’s mess.

Dean’s next line to Sam after Cas leaves? “Well, let’s get to work.”

They can’t rest yet. They can’t stop, because the world’s still ending and they’re still entirely on their own. Only now they’re armed with at least a DIRECTION they can work toward. It’s something, but... it’s still just the two of them alone against the apocalypse. Which is what Cas had spent s6 trying to avoid. And can’t face at all now.

And this is what Dean had long since resigned himself to-- that Cas, given the choice, would leave. So Cas choosing to leave in 15.03? I think Dean was shocked he hadn’t left sooner.

And then of course there’s the angels dying when they return Kevin to his home, only to be deceived by Leviathan and abducted.

He just couldn’t win. And neither could Cas, and neither could Dean and Sam. It was an unwinnable game that would just break them all again.

I could do a post like this for 7.22, and for 7.23, and probably for every other episode from all the episodes between then and now, but this has taken me all day. I really hope y’all are making all the same connections, spotting all the thematic subversions and twists of every turn of the narrative spiral between then and now. But this episode killed me today. And it gives a lot of obvious context to Dean and Cas’s choices and issues in early s15 that led to the Breakup. But hopefully it also lays down the foundation of what they truly need to put out on the table to move past this impasse.

They need to put down something better than Sorry! They need to use real words and actually listen to each other. But the fact that scene in 15.03 directly called out this miscommunication, this refusal to listen (and it’s not just on Dean here, but Cas has refused to listen, too). And now the narrative demands they have that conversation for real. For their own good, but for the good of the world, to break these eternal ovals and finally break free of this endless chasing after the fake rabbit.

[screechingtrashcalzonewombat]

"Apopalictic Astral Asending" Reavaluate disassociate my self worth...

The galaxies have birthed an uncontrollable being ....

I've feel as tho Ive seen myself split in two ..

Witch side do u wanna see if ur lucky I'll let you choose .

Cause in the end I loose..

One of hate one of love could both be from up above..

Or down below ...

I've began to show signs of delusions as half my mind goes an tells me it's only mild confusion. As my body fights my brain an heart to escape theys terrible illusions.

Yet the other half tries to start a fusion of body an mind an all the suddently my thoughts are no longer mine..

But a evil so Divine that its wound it's way threw time itself I've fealt the damage the energy dealt. I've yelped in anquish an pain been stuck for 7 long years in the rain with nothing to gain .. I can barely fathom to explain im not fully on earth I'm on another astral plane but i fear i flew out of my lane I've gone insane never wanted fame Ever fealt like bat man I mean oops Bruce Wayne. Nah fuck hes spoiled a wet rat infact I'm more like hulk duck when I'm near i wearly see I'm drowning inside my mind but no one can hear my dear I fear I've lost control again but cant compute I've been booted out of the system I've clawed hit an kicked to try to get to the top but i outta of known I've been ripped an thrown from my throne ive been shown what this beast can do but who woulda thought a demon bought my soul ..a jackal a goul.....you'll see me shift into numbness I suposse it was my own dumbness for being to open now cause of me my body an mind are broken an stole. as I weep an shutter an i try to speak but only stutter I found myself weak in defeat ....as ik this demon reaching its peak will plunder an pillage the town I've found I'm bound to this beast nowhere to run not north south or east I can run it will feast on my soul until the end of time ..

For diamonds cannot compare to the rarity of a soul nor a bowl of Ruby's an jems rolled in gold .....

A bold statement you say........

.. theres no ray of light here they stole it away buried it in your mind but how can u define being locked trapped in yourself ...

You've dealt your own fate ...

Wanting ansers u dint deserve ..

Did you like your just dessert's...no?

Dose it hurt ..... After you itll kill children's childhood freinds like bernie & eart ....whent bizzirk an bashed there brains makeing bloody rains

curking on everyone with cutlery forks an knifes* slice *cook big bird with chives after I've shanked him 900 times... 100 more woulda been devine serve him drink to dry alone cooked an ripped him to the bone but not quite alone u may not be home inside but u can still watch...I thought I taught u better than to close ur eyes dont beg or look surprised look away an I'll adopt another stray to do the same a slow sweet death cure's my hunger anyway

.the wines innocents blood bitter sweet to the taste of the tounge

no one thought it capable I seemed...looked ...so young..

They dint know it had just begun it wasn't me but the evil half committing crime with glee an fleeing repetavidly revealingly images to my mind of times & crimes so sickening I thought I'd die forever scetched seered into my mind .binded with no power as one towers over you using your power you cowar for how dose one define the disasbalment of there an every defined mind while ur inner demon dines on flesh making a mess of your vessel you cant even wrestle your way to the light to stay only break down in defeat that your so far away you've became an internal mess cant even stand on ur feet the beast has u chained in defeat u cry an apologize looking for answers as of how to stop.....an then...you hear a voice .." you outta stayed silent instead of talk back. U shouldn't of complained do u still think ur life used to be pain...... . Ur a sack of shit ur wit is less than that of an ant not to rant but I'm not done yet I have ur soul now I'm never letting go no no no I have plenty more so much to show many souls to reap an emotions to subdue after all u said yes.....

...did you forget ur the one who started this.

mess ......you dressed your mind with fantasy an fiction word to the wise never mess with other worldly friction an your itching for a way out but I doubt ull get there before the end of time .after all you had a devil an an angel on ur shoulder an you chose wrong this time. Only took 666 times but I'm patient an always waiting for 6 years hating an burning flesh waiting for a prayer a call after all Lucifer was once an angel an the most beautiful you just dint get to see from what angle he had beauty wrath an determination but u humans resulted in his isolation incarsorason. So now we will end up being humanity's enialation when were done there entire selves with evaporate for the demons have released self hate to pro create creatures in confidence we annihilate the fate of the human race at least the trace slight like us able to bust threw dementions so weve mentioned a start to find the inordinary soul an heart ......humanity was doomed from the start.. you stole our purpose our reason to be......humans sit in sin an glee.

Your humanitys Pride is overbearing never genuinely caring ..

Greed is sweeping the nation its reached ever state an it's got a hot heaping plate of corruption for mankind's consumption greed is grotesque in its steps of the darkest quest to corupt ur mind an want. .want..want until that's all you are is wanting more

Lusting over losely draped garments you've tarnished ur soul .

Envy of what you do not posses but for all you know that information an life would make you a mess but ud still test ur envious tendencies.....

Glutton glutton what have you gained it's not knowledge no for it's to plain rather glutton uve found a urge that wont go away....

Wrath an vengeance blood draw too no one stops till some dies him or you....

Sloth last but not least cant forget you cause uuuh wait what that fuck do u do....you sleep an sulk sit slither out of simple tasks an that's why ur not 1st no ur last like humanity just ask ....

So soon the day will draw near the the number 4 is what you should fear our dear old freinds were sending up for a visit so they can reddit ur fate for each a horse an a trait the first out the door with bow in hand riding a white horse with bow in hand

..

Conquest the start of the final test leading the restthere dark version of light on a white stallion he leads the way an soon will follow hades anyway.

War was next on a red steed he rode prepared to purge an quench new blood for the wars an battels would just begin brother against brother an close of kin witch to win?

Famine foe of all on a black horse with the courses hair so fair merely bone but dont let his appearance fool you hes for he is full devouring your greed taking away everything you want or need an now ur rationed to nearly starvation stretching farther than destination world wide sensation...

Pleage reaper of souls slowly apears steadly trotting riding a very sickly steed looking pale an almost gruesome green with sores an sickness best keep a distance. For he shall be the bringer of death an reap you all one by one to the four you shall fall...

Will you be spared are you true....

Are you happy with your life what did you do...?

Rapture no you still must die.....

Say good by to this earthy chapter theres so much more that manifest after.

But only your earthly husk must rust an fall your all energy of grate mass....

It's time to take the task of self evolvment an enjoy an enlightened installment

this world was just step wrench ur third eye wide open an accept the token of eternal life.

Grinded it to atoms a flash of dust all together ur a self fulfilling must memory pass u in a rush.....

. sudently ur bodysuit is gone ....

But it dint felt like it quite belonged.

You were 7 grams of light matter to be exact an sudently you've cracked the atmosphere ..steering energetic waves my metal psyche caves to the new information flying threw stars consolations.

Suddently speeding at the sound of light the stratosphere seems to disapear ..

My fear is gonewithout a trace an freedom transferred in its place

but am waved in infatuation to find out about out true destination...

Restoration of the soul the goal of a higher self being achieved as I crash into the sun 1500°

I feel a warmth like no other each being hues of light I might of missed earth if not I heard a voice but a mental push no need for speech just thinking it shall be done said by the the brightest in the sun.

Rejoice at last but ur journeys yet to pass ..

This is merely were you start ....

Our flames grew high with frantic waves not wanting to give up the new life we were just gave

Suddenly our flames grew dim as we felt a swirling deep from withn sudently the surface of the sun turned to tin an bent in a cracked an caved with itself our time an space sending us ascending in alignment the same assignment.

Because the sun has begun to change ina twisted way a black hole some could say.

As all of our astral beings were ripped an tore apart at the seams we all merged an formed one all knowing creative being an sudently everything I've know has little matter I'm past a point of human chatter i understand infinity the holy trinity I down in the milky way an experienced every life I've relived it twice I've spliced my genetics into over 2000 million beings I've seen good an bad in between experienced every tragedy to build my strength an studyd every thesis an theory thread an chain nearly drove my vessel insane even took knifes threw my veins in anger yet it failed I was just a trailer.ive seen love hate an anger

Comprehension compasing many others I have love an understanding past many beings there anger seems to brush by me cause I'm with 2000 souls an minds that have formed one to reach a state I can medidate in the milky way an force your negative away .

Our astral self has accumulated complete power an understanding by costuming to our full potential our old body's merely a rental.

Gentle at first then bursted into power showered in knowledge I know now much that I wondered before but now I want more an I've thought till I an 2000 shared beings head hurt cause my girth of knowledge will now never be enough it's tough cause now I must find .... how to ascend again but for now i must defend my vast mind defind crime ...?

Keeping 2000 vast voices locked away so I can focus an try to learn anyway leaning in to vast places is I the 1st 2nd or 3rd or other many plains I cant quiet place I'm traveling threw them all searching for everything I couldn't before .

This life isent like the countless other this life I like it has interesting teathers

I've surpass Angel's an there feathers an vison of a hawk.

I've surpass demonds and there demonic temping talk ..

I've walked on water as I was ripped apart an I felt my self rebuilt every cell of my being got hit with rods of power lightning not even myself can fight me god like abilities the universe as built in me theres ben a spiritual shift a tilt in me somthing generations of DNA sprawled out in a numerical display my old life experiences is the price I pay so that I can be god even if only for a day

I think I'll sit an think somewere in the outter spink of the universe I've cursed myself with knowledge an now I'm aware step into my astral space....

If you dare...

[icyxmischief]

How does one respect a character while constantly shiting on and demonizing said character to claim he is an abuser?

//Ohhhhhh my friendly neighborhood anon, thank you for the opportunity to resurrect some of my meta, and also to demonstrate that I am the very last person on whom transparent attempts to intellectually intimidate someone will work. 

The primary contention (consider it the “thesis statement”) of my blog is that Thor and Loki have been inconsistently characterized by a platoon of writers and directors of equally inconsistent quality.  they have been developed poignantly both as discrete individuals and as a relationship, and then had that development blatantly retconned and twisted, for the benefit of a franchise that only wants to keep making obscene amounts of money.  Most recently, AS I HAVE OPENLY STATED, Thor has suffered the MOST in this way, being characterized first as a one-dimensional bully, and then as a “lazy weak fat guy” (ableism much? fatphobia much?) who copes with tremendous and agonizing loss in self-destructive and “laughable” (cruel much?) ways. 

Therefore what I am “shitting on” is the way the writers and directors PRESENT Thor as a character, NOT Thor HIMSELF.  Thor HIMSELF deserves the world, in my book, and one of the very reasons that I am so Marvel-critical is in DEFENSE of what Thor deserves. 

Because, you do realize that human beings are behind the production and consumption of these fictional characters, and if you critique a character, what you are really meant to do is investigate the biases of those real people at the helm of that character’s representation.  Right? You realize that? If you’re going to engage someone in debate over media criticism, that’s a basic axiom to bear in mind. 

As for an indictment of the character HIMSELF:  I DON’T believe that Thor is an abuser.  I believe that ODIN is an abuser, and ODIN has conditioned BOTH Thor and Loki to sit in their respective roles as the narcissistic golden child, and as that child’s second-fiddle grooming pony.  ODIN did this purposefully from the start, crafting Thor oppressively in his own image, suffocating individuality to the best of his ability, and Thor then, without being equipped with the cognitive and emotional tools to know better, exercised that (somewhat) privileged role to take Loki for granted.  Loki, conditioned to see himself as a member of a race so loathed that his heritage was hidden from him, in turn misapprehended Thor as the real villain, when it was Odin who set him up to perpetually envy Thor’s favored status. And that is just the tip of the iceberg, but you are welcome to read my meta tag, which is over 91 pages and 8 years long, and goes into this in greater depth.  

Or you can read the Thor meta tag which highlights the ways in which I think Thor has been misrepresented in the media.  This particular post might shed some light. 

I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt that you visited this blog for the first time, and therefore haven’t experienced 8+ dedicated years of me making this argument.  Honestly I think you just stumbled across my call for rpers in the “Thor rp” tag and decided to start shit solely because I’m a Loki stan, without actually examining the content of my blog.  

Anyway tl;dr Thor and Loki’s relationship is, at its best, a beautiful symbiosis of foils: Thor’s strength, forthrightness, compassion and courage, combined with Loki’s cunning, pragmatism, resilience and intellect.  We can thank Odin both for throwing them together as siblings, AND for impeding the natural progress of their brotherhood.  

But we have the power to fix that, and give Thor and Loki the sibling bond they BOTH deserve, as fans who love them BOTH MORE THAN MARVEL EVER HAS.  

Unless you want to continue just, you know, “shitting on” anyone who dares to defend Loki’s side of any argument, as though it’s somehow an unbearable form of cognitive dissonance to love and appreciate two characters, who have legit beef with each other, at the same time. That’s your right, of course, if you’d rather.   

But get off my lawn while ya do it, kiddo. 

[serenensassysoul]

CBD is grass, which does not make you high - so why the hype?

CBD is the legal brother of THC, the psychoactive substance in marijuana. CBD does not fall under the Narcotics Act and is consumed as a painkiller and relaxant. In short, grass that does not make you high. And everybody is crazy about it! What's going on there?

Suddenly she's everywhere, that perfect legal non-drug: C-B-D! An acquaintance smokes it instead of drinking alcohol. My best friend swallows the CBD oil in menstrual pain. My roommate steams the CBD e-liquid to relax his back. At parties, people put a few crumbs in their cigarette - for good vibes. What is actually behind it, check out only a few.

"CBD is natural cannabidiol from the hemp plants. People do not develop dependence. In clinical trials, CBD has proven to be a good remedy for epilepsy. CBD may also be antipsychotic or anti-inflammatory. "

This is what the report says

World Health Organization. In Germany, CBD products are declared as pharmaceuticals, as nutritional supplements and natural cosmetics. Well-founded findings on the efficacy of CBD are missing so far. Nevertheless, the lifestyle industry has of course immediately struck at this new miracle cure.

Cannabis style with endless reflashes and hangovers, stingy music from Cypress Hill and Stoner movies like "Dazed and Confused" was yesterday. CBD is the Helene Fischer on the drug, as mainstream as beauty tutorials on Youtube. The noble drops are in the coffee-to-go, then you can sell at least 3 euros more expensive. There are CBD chewing gums, face masks, dog food. Coca-Cola is planning a CBD shower. And Hollywood actress Gwyneth Paltrow loves to toddle around at parties with CBD-Mint Julep, because: "The herbal note of cannabis makes for a sparkling scale and makes the cocktail the perfect veranda loafers."

A bottle of premium oil, 10 ml, costs about 60 euros online. A bargain, considering the potential impact. Yes, but how is it, the effect? The question can not be answered so quickly. CBD should also relax with non-medical consumption and help to reduce stress. In the experience reports of my acquaintances, the word "subtle" is astonishingly common: "The effect is subtle. So subtle that she can not be there. "

According to Forbes, the US industry in 2017 earned around 190 million euros with CBD. And the American authors of Vox Media have made a clever statement for it: The omnipresence of mental illnesses such as burnout and lack of sleep. The expanding market for medical cannabis. The boom of organic vegetable products. And the Foodie Super Food cosmetics beauty hype. So it is stupid who does not integrate CBD into its product range. If the substance is just something like a bitcoin plant: promising, entwined with myths, hip, and reality check, what is behind it, you do not have to.

Old is the thesis, but true: the ultimate intoxication, non-functionality does not fit into neo-liberalism. And the classic stoner narrative is suddenly no longer desirable: be stoned and push the frozen pizzas at three o'clock in the morning in the microwave. CBD is the perfect drug for the self-optimizing world: it keeps us fit, healthy and productive, keeping our heads clear and, at the same time, extremely relaxed. More euphoria really does not work.

[devilsurvivor-2-recordbreaker]

I feel that compared to other forms of horror, horror created on the internet (creepy pasta, analouge horror, tall tales of spooky shocker websites, etc.) are far much more intimate about their content and subjects.

Like the rings of the internet horror form by people consistently keeping them alive purely out of a sort of love for it and the medium they come from.

I realize that such works like Petscop and Don't Hug Me I'm Scared are so visceral because of the many layers which they build upon from.

Petscop could be associated and linked to the internet users fascination with lost media, or lost content history forgot in the waves of time. And DHMIS being linked to the sort of episodic format for horror that thrives on such platforms like YouTube because of how they as well present such things as the passage of time as a part of the narrative.

(I didn't realize this but on the DHMIS YouTube page, the kickstarter videos have all the characters tied up and held hostage for money which I believe plays into the story somehow but I'm not sure cause I've yet to properly analyze both web-series and the recent TV show.)

Example being like how such horror shows like Alan Tutorial were effective because of the long distances between video releases, drawing out the sort of tension a 'next week on xyz' or cliffhanger couldn't do justice cause you are already on that cliff and your barely hanging on to begin with.

Returning to my thesis statement, I believe such horror created on the internet has such intimacy and closely emotional connection because it is made by people, genuine artist who want to express their passion. This is not to say that larger scale projects made by studios can't also be genuine with their art or that 'something made with big money is inherently bad or not real art,' no that isn't the case. What I do feat is that within the past decade we have seen the sort of degrading of expression as art turns less into interaction and more into consumption for hungry consumers by companies trying to make the most money while selling you the most marketable and least threating stuff imaginable made by artist who themselves go under appreciated and under cut by the industry they sought to create in and are stopped because art from the soul cost too much and doesn't make the biggest bucks.

Such art (horror) then can be well made and be allowed to express without such restraints because artist have much more freedom than an industry would ever allow. Art to me is meant to be weird and uncanny and sometimes confrontational about its subject matters and be allowed to get nasty, just like humans, and just like humanity art no matter how cookie cutter or 'normal' you try to make it will still have some kind of soul to it, even if in the faintest of places or ideas or themes. Art like this is so tethered to the human experience that a sort of light in all the darkness of reality shines through it. This form of nature essentially immortal on the internet and forever changing people who have witnessed it, even after it's taken down or removed or just go entirely without a trace, its phantom wounds can still be felt in the hearts its touched and I think that's wonderful.

[btsrabbithole]

The latest album from the masters of the K-pop formula is a slick, loosely thematic album about love and loss, with a stronger focus on rapping than ever before.

The latest album from the masters of the K-pop formula is a slick, loosely thematic album about love and loss, with a stronger focus on rapping than ever before.

K-pop has long been poised for a breakthrough in the U.S., and the stars have aligned for the Korean boy band BTS. It doesn’t hurt that it is easier now than ever to be a K-pop fan on this side of the world, with the genre being tailor-made for our current algorithm-fed content chain. BTS has seized the opportunity, building a ravenous fanbase, not just at home and stateside but in South America and Europe as well. Bangtan Boys (their full name, Bangtan Sonyeondan, translates to “bulletproof boy scouts” in English), are designed for this moment, highly curated, aesthetically optimized for Western consumption.

BTS have been presented as the art-house alternative to K-pop’s manic energy: a modish, dilettantish, act whose music is a vehicle for larger artistic choices and statements. After debuting as a swag rap outfit, they evolved from rap-sung mashups to posh electro-pop pageantry. The concept for their 2016 album, Wings, was inspired by Hermann Hesse’s 1919 book Demian. The visuals for one of the best BTS songs, “Blood Sweat & Tears,” were picturesque stills framed in a pop-up museum featuring “The Fall of the Rebel Angels,” Michelangelo’s “Pietà,” and Nietzsche quotes etched in stone, which all produced dramatic fan readings of the video’s symbolism. The members co-write and co-produce their songs, some of which delve into mental wellness and social responsibility, a process that has led many to dub their songs more “personal,” a word sometimes used as a dog whistle for music appealing to be taken more seriously. Their tactics have been emulated by boy bands who have followed, but in many ways, BTS are simply the K-pop model maximized for efficiency.

Love Yourself: 轉 ‘Tear’, which follows the 2017 mini album Love Yourself: ‘Her’ and the Japanese full-length Face Yourself released earlier this year, is a kaleidoscopic mark of that efficiency, observing the finely tuned formula BTS have been perfecting since 2015. ‘Tear’, like ‘Her’, is a concept album of sorts. Roughly half the songs adhere to the album’s subhead. If ‘Her’ was an assortment of heart-professing love songs, then ‘Tear’ is the inverse. It deals primarily, though not exclusively, with the cycle of grief that lingers through a separation. But all of the songs generally find their way back around to self-love at some point. The album’s opener, “Intro: Singularity,” provides its thesis. “Even in my momentary dreams/The illusions that torture me are still the same,” V sings. “Did I lose myself, or did I gain you?”

Written and arranged with longtime producer and frequent collaborator Pdogg and Big Hit label CEO Hitman Bang along with a team of collaborators (Steve Aoki, MNEK, Chainsmokers co-producer DJ Swivel), ‘Tear’ aims for cohesion and produces fun, prismatic songs in the process. There is some level of thematic consistency on ‘Tear’ with at least a semblance of an emotional arc being teased out across the 11 tracks: navigating a dream world and the real one in search of a personal paradise (which at times reads like an analog for being a pop star, especially on “Airplane Pt. 2”), losing love and facing the requisite anxieties and loneliness. These all come to a head on the foreboding lead single “Fake Love,” characterized in full by a lyric that roughly translates to: “I grew a flower that couldn’t bloom/In a dream that can’t come true.”

K-pop is often experimental in form and function, which produces full-lengths that can be spasmodic in tone and quality. BTS aren’t immune to this, but the rappers—RM (or Rap Monster), J-Hope, and Suga—anchor the group, not only keeping it moored to a unified aesthetic amid constant stylistic shifts but dictating much of what happens in the music. On the bruising, all-rap closer “Outro: Tear,” the three take turns ripping through the track with punchy cadences, at times suddenly swapping places. The group’s vocalists trade off short, sweet passages that revolve around and often pivot off of rapped verses. Where rap verses are often stopgaps for other K-pop groups, obligatory aspects of pop roleplaying, they are essential to structure and composition here. Whispered, breathy raps slingshot into the supple hook on the flute-powered “134340.” On “Love Maze,” RM balances elastic syllabics with singsong musings while Suga dashes into a tightly twisting flow. Between them, the other members let loose mellow, honeyed coos. The sequencing of the vocal routines is as carefully synchronized as the choreography in their videos.

‘Tear’ isn’t as ambitious or stunning or tragic as Wings, which gave each of the seven members a solo turn ranging from lounge-ready piano balladry and symphonic, single-spotlight melodrama to brooding alt-rap with “Blood Sweat & Tears” as its ideological and aesthetic centerpiece. But there are moments here when BTS seem more poised and more in sync than ever. The Aoki-produced “The Truth Untold” is an epic misdirection; instead of leaning into their EDM-flavored pop or the blitzing trap of Aoki’s “Mic Drop” remix, they opt for a seamless piano serenade wherein the group’s four singers weave in and out of each stanza. “Paradise” is largely propelled by graceful exchanges from Jungkook, V, and Jimin, who surface and retreat gently. Across Love Yourself: 轉 ‘Tear’, BTS are at their best when they feel for and support one another.

Sheldon Pearce x Pitchfork

[awakethesisproject]

GR 830 - M2

Week of 9-14-21

11x17 Poster Explorations + PSAs Development

This week, I will focus on the following:

Implementing feedback from William Culpepper from the previous week

Continuing to do poster explorations and development

Development ideas for my PSAs, including determining length and format

Implementing feedback from William Culpepper from the previous week

Continuing to do poster explorations and development

Development ideas for my PSAs, including determining length and format

PSA Development A portion of my thesis content will be delivered in the form of Public Service Announcements. In my personal experiences, I’ve found that videos are a great way to deliver content to consumers. History shows that my target audience has had a tendency to be fascinated with short, interesting videos. In my upload for this week, I will include details for possible video content, format, length, transitions, etc.

PSA Idea #1 - Memory Loss Format: 20 second Public Service Announcement

Content Overview: Side Effects of Alcohol Abuse

Genre/Style: Educational Comedy, Humor Influences: Geico Commercial, State Farm

Placement: TikTok and Instagram, which gives you the option to send out targeted advertisements to a specific demographic

Audio/Voiceover: Did you know? Alcohol abuse can lead to memory loss. I’m sure that at your age, you probably play Madden on your brand new Xbox or Playstation. Imagine getting home from school on a beautiful Friday afternoon, and then forgetting where you placed your Xbox controller. That would be horrible since you’re competing for a $1 million cash prize in a gaming tournament that starts in 5 minutes. Don’t drink because Alcohol can lead to memory loss.

PSA Idea #2 - Memory Loss Format: 20 second Public Service Announcement

Content Overview: Side Effects of Alcohol Abuse

Genre/Style: Educational Comedy, Humor Influences: Geico Commercial, State Farm

Placement: TikTok and Instagram, which gives you the option to send out targeted advertisements to a specific demographic

Audio/Voiceover: Did you know? Alcohol abuse can lead to memory loss. I’m pretty sure that you have a crush on someone in your class. Imagine them sharing their TikTok username with you, and then telling you to follow them. When you get home, you realize that you don’t remember their name or social media handle. This is what happens when you drink alcohol. It kills your brain cells. Don’t drink because alcohol abuse can lead to memory loss. 

PSA Idea #3 - Impaired Vision Format: 20 second Public Service Announcement

Content Overview: Side Effects of Alcohol Abuse

Genre/Style: Serious/ Dramatic Influences: Geico Commercial, State Farm

Placement: TikTok and Instagram, which gives you the option to send out targeted advertisements to a specific demographic

Audio/Voiceover: One major side effect of drinking alcohol is impaired vision. This essentially  means that you will not be able to see things clearly. Visual impairment is a term experts use to describe any kind of vision loss, whether it's someone who cannot see at all or someone who has partial vision loss. Some people are completely blind, but many others have what's called legal blindness. Visual Impairment caused by alcohol consumption cannot be fixed with glasses, contacts, or lasik surgery. (More Info)

PSA Idea #4 - Awake Man (Corny SuperHero) Format: 20 second Public Service Announcement

Content Overview: Side Effects of Alcohol Abuse

Genre/Style: Comedy, Superhero sound effects Influences: Inspired by Blankman (Damon Wayans)

Placement: TikTok and Instagram, which gives you the option to send out targeted advertisements to a specific demographic

Audio/Voiceover: 

PSA Idea #5 - Utilizing Split Image from Poster Option 6 Format: 20 second Public Service Announcement

Content Overview: Side Effects of Alcohol Abuse

Genre/Style: Influences: 

Placement: TikTok and Instagram, which gives you the option to send out targeted advertisements to a specific demographic

Audio/Voiceover: 

PSA Idea #6 - Real-Time Side Effects of Drinking (Impaired Vision + Dysarthria) Format: 20 second Public Service Announcement

Content Overview: Immediate Side Effects of Alcohol Abuse The PSA will open up with clear audio and video, but will transition to blurred images and slurred speech (dysarthria). The idea is to simulate or demonstrate what happens to your brain and eyes when you drink alcohol. Since this will be a 20 second video, I think that it would be a good idea to split the frames up into 5 second increments. I will find a way, using either graphics, sound effects or transitions, to indicate that every 5 seconds symbolizes that a person has taken another shot or drink of alcohol. By the end of the video, the speech in the voice over will be completely slurred. Also, by this time, the on screen graphics, photos, and video will be completely blurred and unrecognizable.

Genre/Style: Serious Tone Influences: PSAs from police departments “Sober or Slammer Campaigns”

Placement: TikTok and Instagram, which gives you the option to send out targeted advertisements to a specific demographic

Audio/Voiceover: According to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, alcohol enters your bloodstream as soon as you take your first sip. You may soon realize that it doesn’t take long for you to feel it in your system. Depending on the type of alcohol that enters your system, you may feel the side effects faster than others. Once you are drunk, you may be blindsided by nausea, blurred vision and muffled speech. 

PSA Idea #7 - Long Term Side Effects of Drinking (Addiction) Format: 20 second Public Service Announcement

Content Overview: Long Term Side Effects of Alcohol Abuse Genre/Style: Satire /  Comedy Influences: State Farm, Geico, Aflac, Liberty Mutual

Placement: TikTok and Instagram, which gives you the option to send out targeted advertisements to a specific demographic

Audio/Voiceover: Meet John Doe. He’s preparing for a very special day in his life. For the past 10 years, he’s dedicated his time, money, and thoughts to a very special person. Everyday that John wakes up, he thinks about this special person. After many years of ups and downs, gains and loses, trials and tribulations, he’s finally ready to make it official. 

While the voiceover is playing, the camera will show John Doe preparing for this very special moment in his life. There will be various shots of him purchasing a ring, suit, and shopping for various other essential items. The video will end with John Doe walking down the isle to greet a bottle standing at the alter. There will be a quick record scratch - audio powering down effect. John Doe’s friend says “DUDE! You’re in love with alcohol???? What the bleep dude? You’re in love in liquor?”

The video ends with a final statement: Alcohol abuse can lead to addiction.  

[cultureessay541]

paper writing

About me

Purchase Apa Writing Assignments, Papers Writing In Britain

Purchase Apa Writing Assignments, Papers Writing In Britain Me shetkari zalo tar essay in marathi essay on function of presidency within the growth of a country. How to write down a good thesis statement in an essay write an essay on christmas day essay if i'm a doctor. A 5 paragraph essay on respect tips on how to write a reflective essay on a module morrill scholarship essay prompt 2018 essay on mental health and social media. Basic scholarship essay format apps that help write essays? Essay in hindi on nadi ki atmakatha essay on e waste administration in india hooks for a compare and contrast essay how to write a body in an essay spanish leaving cert essay titles. Persuasive essay conclusion instance essay on poisonous relationships, essay statue of liberty. Texas tech essay questions an Example written of essay apa. When you use the block method in essay writing you. Essay on the causes and results of the protestant reformation written an essay Example of apa. How to put in writing a factual essay, forms of phrases to make use of in an essay how i spent my holidays essay in french? Contoh soal essay trigger and impact dan jawabannya, pattern essay muet query 1 life in a giant city essay in english. Essay on the value of moms love considering the poem any woman the way to write a peer analysis essay. Expository essay matters isc essay on consumption of alcohol, essay on influence of media. Namma kutumba essay in kannada pdf, uva supplemental essay prompts. An inspector calls essay plan tes essay about life of ofw. Essay instance speech yadi cell nahi hota essay in hindi. Mahan bharat ka nirman essay hindi mein speech essay respecting our elders write apa How to essay paper an. Transition phrases listing for high school essays, essay for poverty in the philippines written essay Example apa an of essay on chocolate land. Essay topics on films essay describing a backyard, apa format application essay essay to get a scholarship, easy english essay on air pollution. Short essay about my neighborhood how to write a 12 page essay in one day. Marathi essay mazi sahal paragraphs in essay writing, essay on camel in english for class 4 how to make a good hook for a persuasive essay. Argumentative essay romeo and juliet who's accountable, spanish leaving cert essay titles essay on my friend in marathi english regents essay construction, what not to write about in school essays. Essay subjects associated to ecology, korea essay contest 2019 outcomes essay about media in kannada, essay on fast food 150 phrases. Kannada essay on plastic, essay on indian flag in telugu essay on soil pollution in hindi wikipedia? Thesis growth essay analytical essay for othello easy essay on rabbit. Essay on counterfeit merchandise components of english essay? An inspector calls essays free masala e kashmir essay in urdu pdf, should colleges require student uniforms essay, kannada essay on malegala frequent essay matters listing for interview. Importance of training in islam essay essay matters for academics interview essay about international college students. Argumentative essay on gender roles tips on how to format an extended essay essay on sick effects of poverty objective of education essay css, 5 paragraph essay on lord of the flies. Good words to use in romeo and juliet essay, write an essay on spreading greenery for a healthy living. How to start out out evaluate and contrast essay tips on how to incorporate references in an essay essay on holi in 200 words easy and short essay on diwali. What is the significance of expertise in education essay essay writing about summer vacation, what's the true which means of christmas essay essay sleeping habits. Essay on my favourite teacher in kannada language, essay write on hindi, world struggle 2 essay hooks. Essay on your career objectives an essay apa Example written of Example apa of essay written an argumentative essay with refutation advantages and disadvantages of on-line buying essay spm. Essay on self motivation for students essay on social networking in simple english. Cause and effect of sleep deprivation essay.