#so. he reconciles. he listens to his younger self talk about their feelings and their version of their transness as someone who's egg hasn'

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[introverting-rn]

absolutely incredible discussion and i’d never quite considered this before! i’d like to add something i’ve seen in my life here:

TRIGGER WARNING: someone with suicidal ideation and self harm, faith talked about regarding Christianity (the person is still alive and well, and there is no church bigotry discussed)

i’m queer and autistic and have been raised in a Christian family, so i always accepted faith without question when i was younger. upon entering high school (age of twelve for australia) i starting meeting queer and neurodivergent friends for the first time and seeing how they were really impacted by this, and in one particular group of friends, i saw a lot of people lose their faith due to the actions of the church. one particular mate, who i shall name Jack, took his personal struggle with faith really hard - he started to struggle with depression and suicidal tendencies during this same time, as his faith had been really important to him, and without it he lost a lot of purpose and understanding in life.

(i’ve been blessed with a very supporting family and have come to reconcile my faith with being queer, which is another story entirely and slightly off topic for now.)

when we were about thirteen, this group of us went on a mini-holiday together. i was under the impression that Jack and I were the only Christians in this group. one night, i went to bed earlier than the others, and when i heard them come inside i pretended to be asleep so that they wouldn’t disturb me. at this time, i overheard their conversation, and realised that they’d stolen beer from the fridge and were drinking. this was absolutely terrifying for me, and i began to panic - we were hours away from my family, in a place i was completely unfamiliar with, and my friends were drinking alcohol. i began to cry as silently as possible, and could do nothing but keep listening as i heard jack ask the others specifically not to tell me.

the next day, i talked to him about it, and to my surprise he looked ashamed. he told me he was struggling with faith and didn’t really believe in God, and for a year or so he was atheist. i continued to be friends with him, saw marks of self harm on his arms, received a message from him late one night as he contemplated suicide, and he stayed in a hospital for a few weeks - i don’t know the details. in the end i found myself drifting away from that group because that feeling of panic kept returning when i was near them, but i continued to be friends with jack.

one night he called me, crying, and said he had found faith again. he had been watching the show the chosen (highly recommend btw) which shows the paths of Jesus and his disciples in an incredibly realistic way, and it humanises all of them so wonderfully instead of leaving Jesus to feel like cardboard like He so often can. he said that realising the disciples were real people let faith feel so much less unattainable, as though his mindset had been that he was unworthy of having faith.

now, i know he’s doing much better and we’re still very close. i know he experimented with underage smoking and drinking while he struggled with everything, which is what makes me think of jesper - losing faith can also be a remarkable loss of identity and trigger difficulties in a lot of ways, and they each looked for solace in something ultimately detrimental to their physical, mental and spiritual health. i also feel that the same path to understanding could belong to jesper: seeing that the saints were people, and that doesn’t mean that he’s just worse than them, it means that all people are offered unconditional love despite our flaws and struggles.

apologies if i’m a bit rambly, as i don’t have the energy to read over this, and thank you for giving me the opportunity to share! i actually didn’t consider how much my friend and jesper could line up, and this is helping me gain a lot of potential new insight into them both.

if anybody wants to talk more about this i would be absolutely ecstatic to communicate w you! the harmony of church and queerness is something i’m very passionate about aha. God bless! <3

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about Jesper Fahey and religion.

Whilst we know that Matthias follows Djel, Inej follows the Saints, Nina was raised with the Saints but is atheist because of her understanding about Grisha, and that Kaz and Wylan adopted atheism based on their childhood experiences, we don’t get a lot of information about how Jesper feels about religion. We know he was raised with the Saints and that when he swears he says “Saints”, as does Nina, where Wylan says “Ghezen”. It’s notable to me that Matthias and Inej either rarely or never invoke a name in vain; I think Inej may say “Saints” in that context the odd time I can’t remember, but I’d argue in that case it’s probably because she isn’t specifically naming them to do so whereas Matthias would have to but I’m working off memory there so please feel free to correct me. But Jesper’s actual relationship with the Saints is arguably quite ambiguous, with no particular passages that point us in either direction. (Show!Jesper is highly implied to be atheistic in season 1 when Inej asks him what he thinks about Alina and he says he doesn’t care whether she’s real or not so long as they get paid, but there isn’t really anything like this in the books to my recollection) I think that might be because he has a far more complex and painful relationship with religion than we see on the surface level, and this has particular links to Nina’s belief that the Saints were possibly real people but were simply powerful Grisha not religious saviours/martyrs.

When Jesper was a child, his father would read him bedtime stories “from his Kaelish book of Saints”. At the same time, Colm was unintentionally damaging Jesper’s view of Grisha power and of himself by forcing him to hide it and telling him “that’s what killed your mother. That’s what took her away from us”. Alongside the self-hatred this cultivates in Jesper, seen mostly in Crooked Kingdom since he’s most open about it in the beautiful, heartbreaking chapter 24, I think it may have also impacted his relationship with religion. To be told as a child that these people are worshipped and valued for the things they could do, the same kind of things he saw his mother do and that he could be capable of, but that his power is a curse and a shameful secret that has to be hidden from the world is so damaging. It effectively raises the question: If it’s different for me than it is for them, what’s wrong with me? Why am I less worthy of love?

When Jesper already had these feelings growing inside him, feelings that went on to massively impact all the relationships in his life (most notably his relationships with Kaz and Wylan but I would also argue his relationship with Inej is affected by this as well) and actively endanger him when he began to try and fill the void he felt with gambling, to emphasise these emotions with something that could have been so beautiful and given him so much comfort by turning it into something that can be used against him by labelling him as less than others is so heartbreaking and honestly painful.

Obviously this is just an interpretation or a theory but this is how I feel about it when I reread, if anyone else has thought about this please feel free to add anything or contradict it with your own interpretation I’d love to read it.

[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 3 (6-15): “That wasn’t supposed to happen” | Reconciling with Tim | Autistic!Damian

Note: at this point, this is just "Damian cries and Dick hugs him" week. Someone send help. I love these two so much.

Warnings: angst and tears and Damian being a ball of separation anxiety.

---

The smell of sea salt mixed with the pollution of Gotham's coast is almost close to nauseating. If Damian hadn't already been feeling anxious and sick to his stomach, he would definitely be now.

And the thing is, he doesn't even know why.

It's been this way all night. It started before tonight, even. He's convinced himself it's probably something he had for lunch, but even a child would know that's a weak grasping of straws. No one ever gets sick from the food made in the Wayne Manor, not when Alfred is there to cook it.

But he tells himself it's because of that anyways. He feels sick to his stomach because the lettuce in his sandwich must have been old. Not for any other reason. And certainly not because his father has been off-world for the past month and Richard is once again holding the mantle of Batman while he's away.

"What do you say about heading home early?" Richard asks from where he stands besides Damian. The word home grates on Damians nerves for reasons that he... cannot bring himself to comprehend.

Damian nods his head, not saying anything. It's been a quiet night in Gotham anyways. His nerves feel fried from the constant anxiety pressing in his chest and he's sure the moment he gets to his bed he'll pass out.

Or at least stare blankly at the ceiling until he does.

The ride back to the manor is silent between Damian and Richard. Almost a month ago, it used to be loud with banter whenever he and Richard had a minute to themselves. They'd get back at the manor and Alfred would be there to pester them into taking care of themselves. Cassandra and Duke would enter and leave as they wished with the occasional appearances of Timothy and Jason. The only time they had to themselves was inside the batmobile, as there's not much private banter you can have while defending the streets either.

But it's silent now. Damian's chest and stomach hurts and no words seem to want to come to his throat, but he's not usually the one to start the conversations anyways. Something is keeping Richard silent as well. The thought that, for whatever reason, Richard doesn't want to talk to him makes his anxiety spike just the same as the thought of conversation.

It feels like the second they pull into the cave Damian's jumping out of the car and stalking towards the changing rooms. Alfred let's him stride past, lifting an eyebrow as he does, but he doesn't stop him. Alfred simply walks over towards Richard and offers him a cup of tea from the metal tray he's been holding.

Damian can hear the low rumble of words beginning to be exchanged between the two, but he's already too far away to make sense of them. He doesn't care to listen anyways. He just wants to get dressed and go to bed without anyone talking to him.

Without anyone asking him what's wrong. They must notice something is wrong, right? What would he say if they do ask? No. No one knows anything is wrong. Because nothing is wrong. Everything is okay.

He dresses into a clean pair of pajamas that feel fresh from the dryer and heads straight towards the exit of the batcave, not sparing Richard or Alfred a glance as he does so.

Everything is okay. He ate something bad for lunch.

That's all.

He manages to get all the way to his bedroom without running into anyone. Cassandra and Duke must be busy tonight, and he can't think of any reason why Timothy and Jason would be here at this hour of night. It's not surprising he didn't run into anyone. Why does he almost wish he had?

He shakes his head and closes the door behind him. Whatever is making him feel this way, it will go away if he rests. He's sure of it.

Wordlessly and single-mindedly, he removes the decorative pillows from his bed and pulls down the sheets. In a few practiced and fluid movements, he's under the covers and glaring at the ceiling, his stomach clenching.

There's glow in the dark stars above him, made of plastic and held to the ceiling with fun-tak. His eyes drift to a bigger glowing figure, it's circular and there's swirling patterns that mimic the global storm of Jupiter's surface. Another has two rings, like the planet in Treasure Planet.

Richard put them up the second month after Damian first came here. Damian had expressed... desires... to study and learn how kids who weren't raised in the League of Assassins lived. Glow in the dark stars was something Richard very much enjoyed getting off of Amazon that night, saying they were all the craze when he was younger. Every friend he visited had them in their bedrooms. His own childhood bedroom still has some old and dim ones hanging on the ceiling from when he convinced his father to get him some.

He didn't understand the appeal of them then. Nor does he now. Perhaps it's something to do with children in Gotham never seeing the actual stars because of the light pollution. All he knows is that in the desert he grew up in... these fake green plastic decorations do not compare to the galaxy he used to see as if the only thing separating him from the universe was a single pane of glass.

He turns away from the fake stars, closing his eyes, before they open again to glare now at his bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all kinds and Cheese Viking figurines. There's a collectable coin there too, one Richard accidentally won way back when he decided to buy a mystery box from some website. It turned out to be pretty rare. He gave it to Damian and Damian got curious enough to look up the game.

It's his favorite game now. Because Richard found him a random gold coin.

Richard. His stomach clenches. Why won't it stop hurting? He has no reason to be this anxious.

No reason at all.

There's a soft knock on his door. Damian shifts so he's holding himself up on his elbows, watching as the door opens to reveal none other than Richard. His hair looks damp from a shower, which makes Damian wonder how long he's been glaring at random things in his room. He's dressed in an old Gotham Knight's tee-shirt with mustard stains around the right breast. Damian went to a game with him when he was wearing that shirt. He accidentally got shoved into Richard in the crowd, looking for their seats, when Richard was holding a hotdog. It got all over him, but the mustard is the only thing that persisted multiple rounds in the washer.

"Dami? You up?" Richard asks. Damian reaches over and turns on the dim lamp by his bedside.

Richard's eyes settle on him, and he smiles. It looks strained though.

That festering, lingering anxiety spikes.

"What is it?" He asks.

Richard walks into the room, then sits down on the side of Damian's bed. Damian bends his knees to allow room for him. He brings his pillow in front of his body and hugs it.

"Did I do something wrong?"

The question shocks Damian, as he didn't mean to ask it. It seems to startle Richard as well, because he goes stock still and looks at Damian with wide eyes.

It shocks them both, but it must be the reason if a bad lunch isn't.

Then, Richard breaks into soft laughter, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was about to ask the same thing, actually," he says, once the laughter dies down.

Damian frowns. Has Richard done anything wrong?

No. The answer is immediate. Richard hasn't done a single thing wrong. He's been nothing but his usual annoying and loud and pushy and kind and loving self since his father left and he came to keep the suit warm.

It almost feels like the beginning all over again. Waking up in the morning and smelling sweetened mocha instead of straight black coffee. Sketching in the afternoons by the fireplace in the family room and being interrupted by Richard barging in with a portable speaker, blasting the newest trending pop song. Going to bed with a goodnight hug. Bandaids snuck into Alfred's first aid supply that have cartoon and Disney characters designs. He's wearing a Frozen 2 bandaid now, on his knee.

If his father hadn't left with the rest of the Justice League, the band-aid would be a normal tan color and the day would be close to silent and alone.

It's feeling normal again, he realizes with horror. Because whatever mood Richard brings into the manor isn't normal. Normal is Bruce Wayne silently checking up on him throughout the day and calmly helping him with homework and giving tips on sketching techniques. Normal is leaning against the strong shoulder of his father as he tests those tips while his father reads a book, the only sounds to interrupt them being the ticking clock on the wall and the crackling of the fire.

Normal is... Normal isn't...

It's not this. He likes the time he spends with his father. He enjoys the wordless love and reassuring squeezes to his shoulder.

Normal isn't the loudness and silliness of Richard's affection.

And just like that, he finally knows what's wrong.

It feels the same as it used to be. Back when they thought his father was dead. Back when Richard seemed to be the only trusted adult in his life, and the daily interactions he had with him almost promised to be infinite.

And then they found out his father was still alive, just stuck in time. With the help of Timothy and others... They managed to bring him back.

And.

And.

And Richard left.

And Damian was left.

And.

And that wasn't supposed to happen. Was it?

He hasn't allowed himself to think about much. It was something neither of them had acknowledged or mentioned. Richard once said he considered adopting Damian if his father was dead. Damian didn't stop himself from taking comfort in that.

And it feels like history is repeating itself. His father is away. Richard is Batman.

However, now Damian knows that the second his father returns, Richard will be packing his bags and leaving. This isn't normal. He can't get used to this again. He loves his father. But Richard...

It hurt enough the first time, watching him go.

And it will happen all over again. He'll get comfortable with Richard and his daily hugs and laughter, and then he'll be gone.

Separation anxiety. He has separation anxiety.

"Oh buddy," Richard coos, wrapping his arms around Damian and bringing him to his lap to hold him better.

He's crying. Tears are running down his face and it's stupid, because he knows that when Richard leaves again, it won't be like he'll never see him again.

But he's crying, and it hurts. Hurts more than if he had eaten something bad. He clutches to the pillow between them and let's the tears fall.

"Tell me what's wrong," Richard soothes, probably the only person in the entire universe to not freak out when he cries. Probably the only person in the entire universe Damian would allow himself to cry like this to. "What can I do to help?"

"It's stupid," Damian says, through it's through a hiccupping sob, which makes it sound very not stupid to someone like Richard. He sniffs and rubs his eyes on the pillow, forcing his breathing to go normal and to stop crying. "It's nothing. Father will come back, and- and you'll go back to Blüdhaven, and everything will be normal again."

Richard stills, then sighs. "So it's about that," he says softly. Of course he immediately knows what Damian means. He tightens his hold on Damian. "You know when your dad comes back, nothing will change between us, right? Even if we're on the opposite side of the world."

"I don't want to be on the opposite side of the world," Damian snaps, shoving himself away from Richard and glaring. "I want- I don't-" he presses his face into his pillow and groans.

Dick is silent, then he shifts closer and wraps his arm around Damian's shoulder gently. "I know. I don't either. But... it's just the way things have to be. You know this. Just like you know that... that if you ever really want to, I can clean out my guest room."

Damian shakes his head, his feelings feeling so all over the place and raw. "I just- when father came back, I didn't expect you to just leave. I don't want to choose. I-"

"I know," Richard whispers. "I know. I love Bruce. He's my dad too. But, you know us. If I move back in, we'll be at each other's throats. I'm a grown man now, Dami. I have to be on my own. He's... Protective. He still sees me as seventeen years old. And he's your father. You should be with him."

Damian sniffs. He doesn't nod. He doesn't shake his head. Agree nor disagree.

Simply understands.

It's just the way things are.

He stays silent as Richard continues. "And you know that I'll always be there for you, if you need me. I'll drop everything for you. Just say the word. I'll be running, even if I'm on the other side of the world."

Now Damian nods. Let's the cotton of his pillowcase soak up his silent tears.

He doesn't feel much better, but he doesn't feel so awful anymore either. He supposes that's the best it will get in this situation.

So he just sits there until his head begins to dip with exhaustion and Richard pulls him in so he's laying against his shoulder. His eyelids droop, and they stay there, together, like they used to.

It's scary to allow himself to become attached to things, but he can never help himself with Richard.

The best that he can do is enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of it.

Richard will be gone when father comes home, but for now he's here, and he's warm, and he's solid.

Damian falls asleep, and Richard doesn't leave that night.

[vegalocity]

Fluff 12or11or10 for ironbull (pif X dbk) if you're okay with writing this ship :-DD

Dialogue starters

10. “Stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

11. “I’m so proud of you.”

12. “Could you say that again?” “Were you not listening?” “No I was, I just like hearing your voice."

I haven't written for Ironbull before so this got a lil long

--

Back when they had more of a court it would be up to the servants to help Iron Fan get prepared in the morning, the fashion of the era would make more ornate clothing difficult to put on singlehandedly and her more ornate hair style choices nearly impossible to do alone.

But she didn’t trust the Bull Clones to do it for her, so in the time between their court falling apart and her King being freed, it had been Red Son’s job to help his mother with her continued fashion choices (on days where she was willing to get out of bed)

But now her husband was back. And-- okay yes, initially she had been continuing to go to Red Son to help her into her perfectly stylized peaks and lace her up, but only because she didn’t want to put that on her husband so soon after him being freed!

But after they’d left the city (ignoring her husband and son’s attempts to ‘go straight’ at New Years as her foolish boy had put it) it had become far more obvious to the Bull King that Iron Fan’s preferred style required assistance.

And when they were both starting their morning rituals, and Iron Fan gathered together her hairbrush and outfit for the day, ready to forcibly wake her son up from another ‘tinkering’ bender (or force him to sleep if he was awake and twitchy at his silly worktable, that horrid sugary smell of energy drinks absolutely oozing from the room) Her husband spoke up.

“My princess-”

“Yes my love?”

“May I assist you in getting ready for the day?”

She supposed with most married couples without servants, that it would be expected for the husband to assist the wife with various grooming habits that required hands in places she couldn’t reach on her own.

They’d been married for centuries.

They had a child together who was now a man in his own rights.

They’d spent the first night he was home (despite the sting of defeat making it a mote bittersweet) thoroughly ‘reacquainting’ with eachother.

Why did her face feel hot as if they were still courting?

All the same, she nodded, offering her husband the top she couldn’t quite reach the back lacing of as she slid into the skirt.

He shrunk down about as small as he could be without making himself uncomfortable, still towering over her easily, though sat on the bed that he was. She felt her husband’s fingers fumble a bit with the laces as he strung the top tight (but not too tight) against her back. She felt those claws gently and harmlessly catch every so often on skin, and did indeed feel much the same as she did as a starry eyed youth, eager and excited to be courted by a bull prince slotted to become a king of his family’s mountain oh so long ago.

It really had been far too long they’d been apart, and launching into the revenge plots had possibly been a mistake. If something so simple and domestic was enough to make a youthful jittery feeling return to her stomach.

But Princess Iron Fan was no blushing ingenue, even back then. So she began to lay out the day’s plans, they were in the middle of properly rebuilding their court after all and they needed allies, so she’d been putting out some feelers to anyone they still had a blood oath or two with, though some had faded into obscurity and others into ineffectiveness, and Demon Courts weren’t exactly that much of a ‘Thing’ anymore they should still be giving it a shot.

And just then she felt her husband finish up tying up her top she was about to go over to her vanity and get started on the tangled mass that her hair had become in the night when without even saying a word the Bull King placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place and began to work on her hair himself.

“Could you say that again? About the Ocelot family?”

“Were you not listening?”

“No I was.” His voice was so light and casual, “I just like hearing your voice.” …She was gonna divorce him right that fucking instant.

“Ah. Well then-” She felt the gentle tugs as the brush was pulled through her hair, and… continued to talk as requested.

What on earth had gotten into her husband this morning?! Sure in their younger years she remembered a more romantic side of him that he only was comfortable to show in private, but she’d thought that after being buried beneath that mountain for half a millenia he’d lost it along with his fur (though she’d never mention it out loud, she knew he was self conscious about that particular cosmetic change) and she’d been alright with that, she’d been without such attentions for five hundred years it wasn’t a struggle to reconcile.

But the idea that it was slowly returning seemed to be.

Eventually the brush stopped catching on tangles, and this part she knew he wouldn’t be able to do on his own. The look she’d favored her hair to take had slowly evolved over the years, yes, but it had for the most part kept the same general shape and style as it had even back then, and the servants would often fuss over her hair when there were three of them working on it at once. She and Red Son had gotten the hang of it when it was only the two of them, but it still needed both of them, and there was no way that the Bull King would have any idea of what he was doing in that regard. So once again she moved to pull away and go hunt down their son, but the hand returned to her shoulder.

“Stop moving-” a tone of fond exasperation made her follow as requested before her brain even caught up with it. “I won’t be able to get it in the style you prefer my princess, but would you let me braid it?”

He had no. fucking. Right. Her heart leaped into her throat and Iron Fan found herself helpless but to allow her husband’s doting to continue.They weren’t expecting anyone today, nor were there any plans to leave, so it wouldn’t be that big of a deal if she didn’t have her hair as pristine as usual anyway.

He began to confer with her over the day’s plans, admittedly it was mostly going to be a ‘writing letters’ day as they discussed back and forth which former allies it would be worth to seek out, so if anything the simpler hairstyle for the day would probably be a help as it would mean she didn’t have to worry about her center of gravity needing to be adjusted.

By the time her husband was done the tail of the braid only barely brushed the ground, and her head piece was in place (though it was a little more precarious than usual as she had less hair around it to latch onto) and her heart had finally calmed down.

“Thank you, my love.” She turned unobstructed this time and pressed a quick kiss to her husband’s snout. “It’s lovely, I’m proud of you.” He huffed a laugh and she felt the snort of breath tickle her neck.

“Now, shall i help you with your armor as well?”

Well, there was one good thing about her husband loosing his fur, it was amusing to watch his face turn dark burgundy in turn. As if he didn’t just spend the last hour making her feel like a flustered teenager.

She was due for a little revenge after all.

--

Send me Stuff!

[jovialluminaryalpaca]

True Beauty | Little by Little | Han Seojun x Kang Soojin fanfic series/one shot? Idk

Part 2 , Part 3

This is the first time, I'm posting something on Tumblr, so bear with me haha, I don't know why but I kinda would've loved to see Soojin with Han Seojun after the time leap and her redemption. It's my opinion and I'll feel absolutely grateful if y'all respect it, thank you, I hope y'all will like it.

Warnings: Slight panic attack trigger mention (not edited)

It was late in the evening and it had been an hour since Seojun left the studio for the day, he now sat on one of the stools staring at the empty glass in front of him. He didn't know why he was here but there he was, he remembered coming to this place for the first time, the night he let Jugyeong go back to Suho and after that night, he found himself coming back to this place often, whenever he needed a break or to get away from everything for a while.

He rubbed his face a little too harshly to check if he was sober enough to move and to his luck, he was just tipsy. He paid for his order and bought himself a simple soda before leaving the place. He put his mask and beanie on and kept walking as the cool wind hit him. He kept looking around to see if anyone recognised him but much to his pleasure no one did. His eyes stopped and soon did his feet when his eyes fell on a familiar figure. He blinked twice to make sure if he wasn't hallucinating.

What was she doing here?

He felt bold and decided to walk up to her. He kept walking till he stood a feet away from her. She had pamphlets in her hands and struggled as she tried to hold them steady and approached people to help people in need. She took out another pamphlet out as she felt a figure walk near her and looked up only to freeze in her place. Her words stopped in her mouth as she looked at those eyes. She was not blind to not recognize who was standing in front of her.

He expected his face to lift in a scowl as usual but it didn't. He was surprised, indeed and definitely had no words to speak. He knew that she met Jugyeong and reconciled with her but he never really bothered to know about her whereabouts. But after what he saw in front of him, he definitely didn't want to be that person who would laugh on her face and blame karma and he obviously didn't want to ack like a jerk and rub salt on her open wounds. So he didn't speak a word and just observed her as she stared right back at him.

She changed so much, he observed. Something about her was different, it wasn't like she was not the Kang Soojin he knew in his teen days, she was still her, but she looked so much better, somewhat relaxed and for some reason it felt like whatever that ate her then was not there around her now and it was very visible on her face. He shook his head wordlessly and turned around.

"Ya, Han Seojun." She called out as he stopped in his place. There was silence for a while as she took a deep breath and walked closer to him.

"I owe you an apology." She said as he blinked while his back faced her.

"Can we go somewhere where we can talk alone?" She continued hesitantly expecting him to walk away as soon as those words left her mouth but to her surprise he turned around and looked at her.

"Okay." He said and followed her.

-

"Thank you." Soojin said and bowed a little to the helper and sat in her chair as Seojun studied her.

He leaned forward and took a bite of the food in front of him and she gulped as she faced him finally.

"What I did back then was very foolish of me. I despise myself for stepping down to that level." She said as he listened to her.

"And I don't expect you to forgive me because I am asking you to. I know I'll always carry the guilt of hurting people who trusted me. I owe you an apology, even if what I did wasn't directed towards you." She said as she looked down and placed her palm on the table.

"I'm sorry." She finally said as he slurped his drink.

"It's alright." He said and she looked up with slightly wide eyes.

"What?" He asked as she opened her mouth to say something but closed it again.

"I didn't expect you to forgive me so easily." She said as he placed his drink on the table.

"Like you said, what you did wasn't directed towards me. If Jugyeong gave you another chance, I can do it too. Anyways, We weren't really friends in the first place, so yeah." He said as she nodded and then there was a wave of silence that surrounded them.

She felt grateful that he forgave her.

"You didn't come to Heegyeong unni's wedding?" She asked.

"Yeah, I was busy with my debut and all of that." He replied with a shrug.

"Oh." She replied as he nodded.

"So, you are an idol, now." She said as he looked and rolled his eyes slightly.

"Yes, that I am." He said.

"How does it feel to be one?" She asked.

"Stressful. But, I feel happy that I get to live my dream." He said with a small smile on his face. She smiled back and nodded.

"I thought you didn't come because of well...nevermind." She said as he looked at her and she ignored his gaze and went back to eating her food.

"Honestly, I didn't come because Jugyeong told me that she invited you." He said as she looked up.

"Well, of course, you hate me." She mumbled and to her surprise he heard it.

"I did. But, I don't think quite the same now." He said.

"Does it mean you hate me less now?" She asked as he chuckled to her surprise.

"Weren't you the one who despised me?" He asked as he raised one of his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes.

"Maybe, I was and it was because of obvious reasons." She said in a light humourous tone.

"Is that so? Can I know the obvious reasons please?" He asked as she cleared her throat and lifted her fingers to start counting and he could not help but notice how her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as she revisited those years.

_

"Soojin-ah" Soo ah called out as she held her friend's hand and pulled her along and made her sit on the table where all her friends were seated on. She looked around and found Cho rong eating as Hye min tried her best to control her laughter while looking at her partner and eating her food in silence, Tae hoon was asking Soo ah to eat first and take selfies later because the food might cool down and not taste the same, Jugyeong was explaining something on her phone to Suho as he fed her and then there was Seojun who looked appalled at the sight of the couples that surrounded him. He was seated right in front of her at the corner of the table and sulked as he leaned his head on the pillar next to him and waited for his food. His eyes were closed and disgust was clear on his face. It had been two months since she first ran into him on the road while distributing pamphlets for a charity event and now they were friends and dare she say best friends because it haunted her how comfortable she felt around him and how she actually liked spending time with a guy who once so full of himself. She pushed her leg forward and tapped his shoe. He got startled and opened his eyes to look around and then looked at Soojin who smiled innocently at him. He lips lifted in a scowl as he murmured something and went back to sleep as Soojin chuckled, ofcourse sleep was important.

He jolted up again and looked at her as she was looking at the menu.

"Ya Kang Soojin. When did you come?" He asked.

"A few minutes back." She replied as her eyes checked the menu out and he looked at her and couldn't help but smile as she observed the prices of the food items.

He missed her, it had been a week since they last saw each other because he was busy with recording his new album and couldn't find time to catch up with her as she was busy arranging and hosting charity events.

He cleared his throat as he saw Suho look at him and then at Soojin and went back to feeding Jugyeong as she opened her mouth wide. Seojun rolled his eyes at Suho and scrunched his nose up, he sighed as he relaxed his face and then looked at his phone and scrolled through his social media to find something interesting, his order appeared in front of him when he sat his phone aside. He thanked the waiter and dug in. Soojin just stared at with disgust as he finished the entire plate by the time her food arrived and he shrugged as he looked at her.

A smile appeared on her face before she could stop herself, she shook her head and looked at her plate, neither of them knew what was happening but the entire table looked at them start a new chapter in their own books.

_

Soojin sighed as she sat on her table and removed the hand that covered her forehead as she completed her work. Today was a very stressful day for her with so many events to plan but she was happy that she got to relax later as Seojun promised her a meal at her favourite restaurant and then a game night.

She switched the lights off, picked her belongings, locked the room and walked out. She smiled as she remembered how many times Seojun apologised to her for not attending the event which was arranged by her and promised to make it up to her. She didn't know how both of them got there but they did. Her younger self would've laughed on her face if she said that she would be one of Seojun's close friends one day.

To be honest, they were nothing alike, she was smart and he was well kinda dumb, she came from a very different household where she yearned for love from family and he came from a family who absolutely loved him and provided him with as much comfort as possible, she was terrible at singing and his voice was absolutely beautiful, but maybe the difference was something that made them different than the others out there, it made them unique.

She bumped into someone and her smile faltered as she looked at the person. Her heart raced in her chest and she felt terrible memories flood her head and she froze in her place. Tears blurred her vision as she looked at the person in front of her.

"Soojin?" The figure, her father asked and she heard footsteps approach them but she didn't turn around to look at who it was as her eyes were fixed on the person in front of her.

"Ya, Kang Soojin. See, I'm early..." Seojun trailed off as he noticed the presence of another figure around her.

"Get out." She said with anger in her voice as it broke in the end.

"Soojin..." Her father asked again.

"GET OUT." She screamed as both the figures around her remained still in their place, while one was in shock and the other was worried. She waited for a while for her father to leave and when she noticed that her father wasn't leaving anytime soon, she turned the other way and walked past him as Seojun looked at her and followed her outside.

"Soojin?" He called out as she kept walking.

"Soojin?" He called louder but she still didn't stop, her vision was blurry with the tears that kept running down her cheek and she kept wiping them off aggressively. He ran towards her and held her hand to stop her and she turned around to snap at the person who did that but she couldn't when she looked at who it was.

"Come with me." He said softly as he took her to his car and both of them sat inside in silence, he started the car and drove to her apartment. When they reached, she got out without saying a word to him and walked towards the elevator. He locked his car and ran behind to stop her. He was surprised how she managed to get into the elevator in the time he locked his car.

"Soo jin?" He called as he finally caught up with her in front of her apartment and she stopped in her tracks.

She didn't turn around and sniffled quietly.

"Are you alright?" He asked hesitantly. He heard no response, tears didn't stop flowing down her cheeks. His heart dropped at the sight in front of him, he didn't like watching her cry, it hurt him and he didn't understand why it did, but it did. He hesitantly walked closer to her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Say something." He said and at that moment she turned around, wrapped her arms around him and broke down in his arms. He was taken aback but he caressed her back slowly to calm her down. She hicupped as he stayed still and let her let it all out.

After a very long time, she finally stopped and let her hiccupping self dettach from him feeling a little embarrassed but he didn't care about it. He held her face and brushed the remaining tears off from her face and gave her a small smile.

"I don't know who that was and what happened. But, all I'll tell is, our past never defines us, it's behind us, it's like a closed book, you are not what you were years ago and I know that after getting to know you in the time we spent together in past few months. Don't let it bother you too much. Okay? Take care." He said as she looked into his warm brown eyes wordlessly and nodded, while she did that, a warm feeling spread all over her body at the closeness of his face and the softness of the tone of his voice and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"Call me if you need anything, but for now, go rest, when you feel better give me a call and no, I didn't forget that meal, we will go grab it when you feel better. Alright?" He asked as she nodded in his palms.

"Good night." He said and smiled at her before letting her go.

"Good night." She managed to croak out as she walked towards her apartment.

She walked in and waved at him and he waved back at her and walked away. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest as she closed the door and leaned her back against it.

It was ironic how someone who once called her a piece of trash and despised her so much comforted her and said that what she did in the past doesn't define who she is now.

A sudden realization hit her like a truck. How was she so oblivious to it? She wondered.

She never felt comfortable around anyone in her life but in Seojun's arms, it felt as if she belonged there. The way he caressed her calmed her wrecking nerves, it just made her feel safe there and as much as she didn't want to accept it and as much she was afraid of being heartbroken again, she knew at the moment that much to her dismay she developed feelings for someone who will look at her the way a friend does, again.

[symphonicmetal101]

Brother Bonding(?) HCs

^^

Lucifer

Mammon

He and Mammon have a bit of a complicated relationship, in that Mammon is always getting into trouble, and Lucifer always has to get him out of it, and then takes it upon himself to scold him for getting them into trouble. However, there are times when Lucifer helps Mammon pull pranks on the other brothers, under the condition that Mammon doesn't tell anyone, otherwise he loses Goldie permanently. The pranks are well executed, and often the blame is but on Belphie or Satan instead.

Levi

We know that Lucifer is responsible for Levi's obsession with Ruri-chan and anime as a whole. Lucifer is often concerned for Levi, as he is familiar with self-doubt, and sympathizes with Levi's constant stream of it. He tries to set aside at least one day a month where he will rewatch old anime with Levi, listen to his spiels, and leave him an allowance to use however he would like. If Lucifer is too busy with paperwork, he'll invite Levi to his office and ask him about the latest games and mangas, even if he isn't listening the entire time.

Satan

Ah, this is a little more complicated. Truthfully, they don't spend much time together. However, if Satan happens to mention a book he wanted, even offhandedly, Lucifer will make sure it ends up in Satan's possession somehow, even if it's through MC. Satan notices this, and as much as he wants to hate Lucifer, those days he makes an extra effort to try and not tease or humiliate Lucifer. It's almost like a silent truce.

Asmo

Yeah, yeah, Asmo paints everyone's nails. But Asmo also knows massage and aromatherapy. When Lucifer is particularly stressed, he'll take it upon himself to try and help him relax. If he has the patience, Lucifer will listen to Asmo explain the science between different scents and how they help the mind and body. Sometimes Asmo isn't sure if Lucifer is actually listens, but within three days of their chats, he finds a small package on his bed with different oils, and a note that says, "I look forward to learning what these oils can do." - Lucifer

Beel

Beel likes to cook, bake, etc. Because Lucifer is always on the go, Beel tries to come up with meals that are easy to walk around with. Lucifer is always the one Beel asks to taste test, (if Beel manages to resist eating the entire thing himself), because Lucifer will give him an honest opinion. It's rare that Lucifer has anything but praise for Beel, but on the off chance he doesn't, he'll walk him through a couple of ideas he could do to improve it, and Beel will deliver.

Note: this is also how Beel found out that Lucifer has the lowest spice tolerance out of the brothers, and he is not to mention it to anyone.

Belphie

Another relationship that serves to be more complex. Lucifer often finds himself wanting to reconcile with Belphie, almost to restore the kind of relationship they had when they were angels. But when you lock someone in an attic against their will, (even if it was to protect them), they tend to hold a grudge. Again, they don't really spend time together unless Beel is present, but Lucifer tries to help Belphie in little ways, like switching his linens weekly, fluffing his pillows, making sure he actually makes it to a bed when he goes to sleep. Belphie just assumes it's Beel doing these things though, and Lucifer lets him. He hopes one day Belphie will realize how much he really does care for him.

Mammon

Levi

They usually don't get along, mostly because of financial issues between them. However, when they are able to put that aside, they can actually enjoy each others company. Mammon has a lot of energy, and Levi likes video games. As a compromise, they regularly play games such as DDR or Just Dance. The whole time, they will insult each other, but lovingly.

Satan

Satan will actively look for books on finance, budgeting, business, etc. To help Mammon. He pitches it as ways to help him get rich, and they will spend hours together trying to form a business plan. While Mammon doesn't usually have the patience, for the sake of spending time with his little brother, he pushes through. Satan usually does this only after one of Mammon's bigger schemes fell through, or when Lucifer tells Mammon to stop.

Asmo

These guys both model. Mammon will set aside some money and time to go spend with Asmo on clothes, accessories, etc. Mammon is just as skilled behind the camera as he is in front of it, so whenever Asmo wants to model, doesn't matter where, Mammon is ready. Sometimes when they've planned their outing with enough notice, Mammon will have saved enough money to buy something for Asmo.

Beel

Whenever Beel is cooking for himself, he usually adds a lot seasonings. Sometimes, it's in hopes that spice will slow him down. Other times it's because he really likes the food, but has almost become desensitized to the taste😥 however, when he makes these batches of food, he'll sometimes invite Mammon to join him. Mammon has an ungodly high tolerance for spice, at least when he's eating. (His stomach may or may not suffer later). Mammon sometimes foolishly challenges Beel to a speed eating contest. Beel tries to decline; he just wants to eat, and he does not want to watch Mammon give himself indigestion or heartburn, but Mammon, persistent as ever, will try and eat as many servings of Beel's food as quickly as possible. This is one of the few times Beel doesn't get mad, he just watches with mild amusemeny and concern.

Belphie

Belphie and Mammon are surprisingly close, despite being complete foils of eacb other. Mammon has lots of energy, Belphie has none. Mammon likes to go out, Belphie likes to stay in. However, building forts? Hell yes, Belphie has enough energy for that. They usually build pillow and blanket forts in the observatory. Belphie will direct Mammon in how to build it for the most amount of comfort. Usually they'll just end up plugging in their headphones and listening to their own music in each other's company until they fall asleep and/or Beel joins them.

Levi

Satan

Levi introduced Satan to VR, and their relationship has taken a turn for the better since then. Satan is more interested in medical simulators and animal simulation games. Levi once made the mistake of playing Mario Kart with Satan, and his room was left in shambles, so now they only do sims to avoid the competition with other players. Satan also likes to play Among Us, as it gives him a chance to flex his detective skills. His self-control is much better with this, for whatever reason.

Asmo

Levi and Asmo are constantly at odds. Not like Mammon, but Asmo cringes every time he sees the way Levi is sitting, every time he hears Levi has ruined his sleep schedule, and every time he sees him sleeping in tje goddamn bathtub. Yes, it has lots of pillows, but none of them are really good for support. He is constantly trying to get Levi to at least stretch or do yoga every once in a while, as well as sit properly in his chair. These stretching session are also when Levi starts to talk about the next cosplay he's working on, which Asmo will undoubtedly want to help with.

(Ik that its implied that Levi taught Asmo how to sew and stuff, but that hc is everywhere, otherwise I would elaborate. It's really cute though.)

Beel

Although Levi spends a lot of his time in his room, he is still the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy. He does dedicate some time to working out, and when he does, he does it with Beel, because he knows Beel will help keep him on track. Beel is also Levi's biggest source of encouragment. Levi thanks Beel in mass quantities of food from Akuzon later, sometimes in hopes of winning something from a draw, other times as a genuine thank you.

Belphie

Introvert buddies! Belphie doesn't really care for video games, Levi doesn't have the same speed as Mammon for building a pillow fort, but sometimes Belphie will ask to come into Levi's room to look at his aquarium. He finds it relaxing. They don't really talk to each other, they just enjoy each other's company. If Belphie is feeling curious or notices Levi is kind of upset, he'll start asking Levi about the different fish in his aquarium, which quickly cheers Levi up. Belphie's favourite thing about Levi though, is that he is usually awake the same time he is, helping him feel a little less lonely.

Satan

Asmo

I've mentioned this before in my random hcs post, but Asmo and Satan like to study astrology together. They find it fascinating in how accurate it can be, especially since they only get to see the *real* stars, moon, sun, and planets when they're in the human realm. Asmo actually introduced it to Satan, as he used to study it in the Celestial Realm as well.

Beel

Beel is constantly coming up with new recipes, so Satan documents them all for him. He'll be a scribe, while Beel tells him exactly what he's doing the whole time. The other brothers don't know, (Beel asked to keep t a secret), but Satan has helped Beel publish 3 cookbooks already.

Satan also attends Beel's games whenever possible, and Beel has attended Satan's debate team or sometimes book club meetings whenever possible. Because Satan and Belphie are close, so are Satan and Beel.

Belphie

>:)

They are constantly coming up with ways to inconvenience Lucifer, which is their main form of bonding. However, Belphie also taught Satan the constellations when they were younger, so now they will often go stargazing together. Satan doesn't remember, but he used to make up stories about the constellations, and Belphie has a written record of all of them. Sometimes, Belphie will retell the stories from memory to see if Satan recognizes it, but to no avail. Instead Satan will tell another story he has read about the stars. They tell each other stories and stargaze until they fall asleep.

Asmo

Beel

Beel will do warm ups with Asmo; basic stretches, a jog, etc. They will sometimes do yoga together. However, Beel works out a lot, and sometimes his muscles get sore, so Asmo gets to work. Being around Asmo brings out the gossip girl in Beel, so while Asmo is giving him a massage, he's also getting all the tea from all the clubs that Beel is a part of. Beel is very careful with his delivery, but he trusts Asmo to never spin his words the wrong way and to use the new info for good.

Belphie

Asmo has his own fashion line. He often asks Belphie to rate the comfort of his clothes, as he wants them to be fashionable, functional, and comfortable. Belphie never pulls his punches, and Asmo is grateful for the honest criticism. However, sometimes it does get on his nerves, but Belphie makes up for it later by getting Asmo new linens, often silk, because Belphie knows Asmo's preferences. Asmo always asks him where he finds it, but Belphie never answers.

Beel + Belphie

These two can bond almost over anything. However, one of their favorite things to do together is make Quetzalcoatl brain soup. Belphie stays awake long enough to remind Beel to leave some for him.

(My brain just left me here to rot apparently, I'm sorry.)

Oof

Masterlist

[vivid-wisp]

You know how it be suffering from big brainrot being into FNF so I’ve compiled a list of ideas for the characters. This is more so for myself but thought I'd share some of my ideas. Take this as you will, these headcanons are based on educated guesses, actual lore, or just for fun. I also really like explaining my reasoning for some stuff so be ready for that. Long post. :]

Boyfriend / BF

- Is asian specifically Japanese, based on the idea how the dev team like to agree Hatsune Miku is BF’s canon sibling. Can also be asian American.

- Despite his appearance BF is actually somewhat physically strong and capable. If he can’t rap battle someone he’d be down to beat someone up, based on the idea how PA (Phantom Arcade) says he sucks at FromSoftware games and would rather throw down IRL than in video games.

- Him and Pico were exes, but they dated when they were WAY YOUNGER, and this was before when BF or Pico knew how to handle a relationship properly. Pico was the one to call things off. (more on Pico’s section) They may still get kind of flustered around each other.

- For most of his childhood, BF never really felt like he stood out. It leads into the reason why he likes singing since it ironically feels like he's being heard, despite not really liking to talk a lot. He was a very quiet kid back then. He'd always liked singing and rapping, he just wasn't put into a position of intense judgement until meeting GF's father and mother, rockstar and ex-rockstar. Training arc begins.

- BF took courses/majored in music design or sound design in college, but dropped out to spend more time with Girlfriend and practice his musical talent himself seeing as it felt more natural than doing boring classes.

- Despite what people think, BF doesn’t dye his hair. It WAS a different color but a shade, like a lighter blue color when he was younger. (Based on Ninjamuffin/NM's recent AMA answers)

- BF owns a dog, not specific but definitely a large breed of dog that stays at home and is taken care of by his parents. He loves a lot of pets and animals, especially anything blue.

- It’s no surprise BF isn’t the smartest, but this comes from a place of putting on the “bad boy” act and being told he’d never make it anywhere in life so he never tried. BF is really a soft guy who deep down has a good heart and just wants to show his appreciation to the person (GF) who makes him feel okay knowing you don’t have to be the best.

- BF actually CAN speak, but chooses to be selectively mute. More so because he’s not the best when it comes to words, and he’s never felt the need to talk. Don’t expect much because like in Week 6, it’ll likely just be random noises he makes or his signature “beeps!” He still reacts, just with noises. (we ignore the logic of him singing it just sounds like beeps to us the players while everyone in universe perfectly understands) [just saw NM's recent AMA I GODDAMN CALLED IT LET'S GOOOO]

Girlfriend / GF

- GF unsurprisingly, has a very wealthy background and in turn family too. So she’s no stranger to most expensive things. This doesn’t mean she won’t appreciate anything BF gifts her, in fact she’s more than appreciative of anything if it comes from BF her love.

- May or may not be a demon like her parents but she doesn’t want to scare BF, and also has slight appearance anxieties about it so she chooses to hide it by staying in her “human” form. She's self conscious of appearing like a demon, and doesn't want to scare people away just based on her look.

- So yes GF can and will in fact beat you up, a lot more than BF if she really wanted to. Especially if she went into her demon form.

- Also not the brightest, due to her extravagant background she’s been so spoiled to the point where everything is handed to her on a silver plate. Which also means her intelligence. They're both himbo/bimbo dynamic I don’t make the rules sorry.

- Actually really good at singing herself too, she’s a bit more wonky with rapping but she’s still good. Ties into the fact GF is the first to teach you how to rap/sing in the tutorial. If she really wanted to, she would destroy BF in a singing battle.

- Kinda aloof and can be apathetic, but more in the sense of “oh cool" instead of a "not caring" feeling way. Like moving on from something that was most definitely not cool like oh my god does that monster with bloody human teeth have a lemon for a head-

- Absolutely adores the large height difference between her and BF. She loves picking BF up suddenly and swinging him around. It’s cute and funny to her. (BF likes the height difference dynamic too but he'd never admit it)

Pico

- Pico never went to college nor finished, instead he takes up jobs from around the city as a mercenary. He's so skilled to the point it pays well enough he doesn't really need a job. He owns a small apartment.

- He likes spending time when he's not on the job, around BF and GF but this is more so at a distance. He does hang out with them, but don't expect him to show up automatically by their side. Like maybe once a week.

- Despite his original job to kill BF, Pico is very protective of BF and looks out for him albeit distantly. He knows BF can handle himself, but he will risk jumping into a situation if BF needs help. ONLY when he needs help.

- Pico still spends time with Nene and Darnell, but this is more so as an acquaintance thing. They're still friends, but all three of their jobs (as assassin and mercs) make things kind of awkward and distance from one another.

- Pico has a lot of untreated trauma, whether that be PTSD, schizophrenia, OCD, etc, a lot of it is very untreated. While Pico is aware he has some mental health disorders he's not aware of ALL of them. He frankly doesn't care nor does he really feel like dedicating the time to properly help himself, which stems from his upbringing in his childhood, "deal with it" attitude back then. He doesn't think it's a big deal, even though deep down he knows he should seek help. Especially after hanging out with BF and GF who, unsurprisingly, are (relatively) normal in the head unlike his friends Nene and Darnell. His disorders disrupt his everyday life and living routine, he can have a lot of very bad days.

- Pico is a wannabe DJ, he likes to sing and rap but prefers the latter and likes listening to music more rather than doing it itself. When he was a kid he liked BF for his passion for singing and rapping, and admired him in a way.

- BF and Pico went to the same elementary school, and were very much friends. After the events of Pico's School, Pico acted very different than how BF knew him, and somewhere along that path BF and Pico decided to date each other when they were in middle school (at 13-14). This was very much a hasty decision and didn't end well. Pico was the one to break things off due to knowing he couldn't handle the responsibility of another person, especially in a relationship. He had too much on his plate already from the trauma that still haunted him, and also was around the time Pico told BF he would be getting homeschooled instead after many years of decision with Pico's parents. It was best to end things before they'd spiral and get worse.

- While BF was heartbroken, he knew it was for the better even if he was upset for quite a bit. After Pico became homeschooled and left middle school, BF noticeably became more quiet until he'd meet GF near the beginning of high school. Pico and BF tried to keep in contact, but eventually naturally just fell out of touch with each other, both too busy with their own lives now. Pico never really resolved his whole feelings issues, which still show up when he'd meet BF years later again but knows those feelings are best left behind.

- While Pico was very surprised and shocked to see BF again despite being commissioned to kill BF, BF himself was too busy being caught up in seeing an old friend again. Whether that be BF was either too dumb to realize he was being killed or because he was genuinely very happy to see his old friend again, the two had a small reconcile after so many years and decided to rap for old time's sake.

[wonder-womans-ex]

The Boys of Yesterday

Sometimes, Saint wonders what his younger self would think of the person he is now.

There are days where he knows that even a hint of the present would make Saint of the past try a little harder; keep going with just a little more hope in his heart. There are days where he’s sure that he’s always wanted to end up where he is now, even if he didn’t always know it.

There are days that he knows the boy from years ago would hate him for. Those are the days where he’ll stop dead in the middle of whatever it is he’s doing as cold, palpable fear grips him, a reminder of the knowledge that he’s a disappointment to anyone and everyone in his life, even himself.

And then there are days where he has trouble reconciling the two people in his mind. He’ll think about who he was then, and he’ll think about who he is now, and it’s as if there’s a line between them. A chasm, wider than anything, bottomless and endless and always there, no matter how desperately he tries to fill it. Sometimes, though—usually, even—he can imagine a bridge. He can find peace with the fact that he was one person, and now he’s another.

But once in a while, it’s like he’s watching someone else make mistakes, powerless to stop it or make it right or even feel guilty about it. He starts thinking about the boy he was then in the second person—me and I and mine turn to Sebastian and knuckles bloodied from fights and a heart full of anger he didn’t know what to do with.

That’s the kind of day today is.

He can feel it as something shifts. He tries to shield himself, but, too soon, it’s like he’s watching from a distance as an eleven-year-old boy named Bash is standing with his feet in the ocean for the first time in his life. He sees a gust of wind blow a lock of deep golden hair into the boy’s face, and then the boy is laughing, smiling, in a way he’s never really known how to before.

If Saint were that boy, not just a bystander from another lifetime, he would feel the sand, soft between the boy’s toes as he wiggles them. He would feel the cold of the water on the tips of his fingers as he crouches down, dragging them through a wave just before it breaks.

This is the scene that plays in Saint’s mind as he stands, hands pinned next to his head, against the side of the Lupins’ boathouse.

He hears the water lapping at the sides of the dock, beating out a soft, steady rhythm. He feels a spray of seawater pass through the air, dousing the left side of his body in cool droplets.

He sees the deep brown, one shot through with sea-green, of Luke Deveaux’s eyes as they stare at each other, neither daring to breath.

For a few long moments, it’s like the world is waiting for something to happen. Luke and Saint may as well be the only two people in the universe, as far as either of them is concerned—no voices are audible from beyond the shoreline, where their friends are playing beach volleyball and listening to music and falling in love; and, for once, the bright white triangles of sails are absent from the horizon.

Finally, Saint whispers, “What are you doing?”

Luke shakes his head minutely. Were it not for the distance—or lack thereof—between them, Saint wouldn’t be able to see it at all. “I don’t know.”

Saint wants to say that he doesn’t know, either, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. Instead, he smiles—one corner of his mouth twitches up, lips parting just enough to reveal the slightest sliver of his teeth.

He feels as Luke’s fingers tighten around his wrists. A tiny part of him thinks he knows why, and the rest of him hopes beyond hope that he’s not wrong.

“Why are we here?” he asks, instead, but the only response he gets is Luke’s jaw clenching as something shifts in his eyes.

After yet another long moment, he tries, “Tweedle?”

“Please.” There’s a note in Luke’s voice that says stop talking, but Saint can’t. He doesn’t think he even knows how.

“Please what?”

Three boys, young and burdened, two of them freer than they thought and one of them out of prison but still in chains.

“Just… just let me have this. Even if…”

A promise of something more; a hint of a life more than just survival.

“Even if what?” Saint’s voice cracks at the end, pitching up into a half-fearful whisper.

Sitting alone in the dark and watching a life he hadn’t lived yet flash before his eyes.

He doesn’t hear the reply—he doesn’t even know if there is one—because he barely has time to think before Luke’s lips are on his, warm and insistent and slightly rough. He kisses back without thinking about it, too, reveling in the way Luke’s hand slides through his hair and pulls them closer together.

They’re standing chest-to-chest, now, hearts beating frantically against each other. There’s some sort of symbolism there, Saint reasons, as he feels Luke’s pulse quicken more the longer they kiss.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders how long he’s wanted this—how long he’s spent looking at Luke and thinking there was something there worth loving. He suspects it’s a lot longer than he wants to admit.

Slowly, carefully, he lets one of his arms curl around Luke’s waist. His thumb slips under the hem of Luke’s t-shirt, sliding over warm skin and then coming to rest in the divot of Luke’s spine. There’s an intimacy to this—not necessarily to the kissing itself, but to the fact that neither of them has stopped the kissing, even though they both know they can’t be doing this. Not really. Not anymore—or maybe not yet.

Indeed, when Luke eventually pulls back, he doesn’t push Saint away. He doesn’t leave without explanation, the way he usually does when forced to deal with genuine human emotion. He just takes a deep breath, and then another, swiping angrily at his eyes with the back of one hand. Saint pretends not to notice the tears pooling there, one of which has already started to fall.

They stare at each other for a good ten seconds—maybe more; Saint can’t tell. It’s always as if time falls away when he meets Luke’s gaze, and now is no exception. Then Saint says, “You kissed me,” and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“You kissed me back.”

Saint wants to make a snide remark about pointing out the obvious, but he catches himself just in time, realizing that would be vastly hypocritical of him.

“Why?”

They say it at the same time, then fall silent. To Saint’s surprise, it’s Luke who speaks up again first: “I think you know why.”

“No,” Saint says evenly, “I don’t think I do.”

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.”

A boy, black-haired and grey-eyed, who looked like love but tasted like loneliness.

This time, Saint lets his mouth curl up into a smirk. “Probably. But why don’t you say it?”

It has the opposite effect from what he intended. Luke’s eyes darken, brow furrowing into a scowl. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” As he says it, Luke tries to push Saint up against the boathouse again, but Saint easily steps out of reach.

“Why would I be mocking you?”

“You fucker!” Luke is shouting, now; his voice is raised so much that Saint thinks the whole world must be able to hear. “It’s hard enough being in love with a… with a Hollow like you; you don’t have to play with my fucking emotions, too!”

That’s when he puts his hands against Saint’s shoulder and shoves.

Saint tumbles, practically in slow motion, off the end of the dock. He sees the anger drop from Luke’s face, replaced by an expression that looks to be part worry and part helplessness.

Splash.

The water is frigid—more so than he’d expect for this late in the summer—and it seems to envelop him completely, up and down and left and right fading away into a suspension that could last forever.

Just as quickly, it’s gone, and Saint’s head breaks the surface as he gasps for air. “Screw you, God!” he shouts, and, with a few strokes, he’s hauling himself back onto the dock. His shirt is soaked through, practically transparent, and his jean shorts are going to take hours to dry out, so he has no regrets about doing what he does next: grabbing Luke by the wrist and tugging as hard as he can until they both topple back into the water.

Dreams that felt like reality until he couldn’t tell the difference between flying and falling.

They’re underwater, now, hair drifting around their faces, and Saint registers that they’re still holding hands. Luke hasn’t let go, yet, and Saint isn’t about to, either.

Saint knows he shouldn't; they’ve just been arguing—but, then again, when aren’t they arguing? Plus, how is he supposed to not consider it, when their hands are still entwined and it feels like a crime to let go.

Luke's auburn hair is swirling around his face, defying gravity in the way only being submerged under water provides. His eyes are squeezed shut, which, Saint assesses, is probably a good idea, judging by the sting in his own. His gaze flickers down to Luke's lips—lips that were on his only moments earlier.

Suddenly, faster than he can think, Saint's self control leaves him and he leans in, connecting his lips to Luke's once again.

It’s even better than the first time. Fuck, it’s better than any kiss Saint has ever had. It’s passion and danger and something that feels a little bit like love.

At first, when Luke pulls away, severing the kiss entirely, Saint is terrified he’s done something wrong. But Luke only swims toward the ocean’s surface, pulling Saint along with him.

Saint, in his oxygen-deprived state, doesn’t understand—he wants to go back underwater, where Luke is his only tie to reality and everything feels like magic. Then he takes a breath, and the world comes back to him in painful clarity.

“Tweedle,” he says.

And, somehow, impossibly, Luke whispers, “I know.”

“But you don’t.”

Saint’s heart stutters at the way Luke smiles. “Why don’t you tell me, then?” asks Luke, and Saint can’t think of a good enough reason to disagree. He can’t think of anything except the way they’re as good as repeating their earlier conversation (and also the way Luke’s hair looks when it’s wet).

Two perfect eyes, full of a nameless emotion, staring at him from the other side of a bonfire and a bottle of beer.

Instead of saying anything, Saint leans in, closer and closer, until their foreheads are touching and he can feel Luke’s breath on his mouth and cheeks and nose. He hesitates for an instant, and then leans in, finally, finally, closing the gap between them.

This time, there really is something different. Somewhere, somehow, something makes a little more sense.

'I love you,' Saint will confide for the first time, later that night. He’s never said it before, because, before now, it’s never been true.

Sometimes, things are truer in the dark.

Sometimes, it takes too much courage to say what you really want to.

Sometimes, it’s easier to live in yesterday.

But sometimes, you don’t need to say anything at all.

amazing characters by @lumosinlove

thanks to @im-oknutzy-trash for letting me brainstorm at them and also writing one of my favourite parts of this when I was stuck <3

[panharmonium]

@dreamersscape​ please forgive me for tagging you in a post to respond to your comments; tumblr’s reply feature is hard to have an extended/coherent conversation on, and I’m so excited to talk to a kindred Naruto spirit that I knew I was gonna write too much for it all to fit in that space XD

re: hinata - Oh my gosh, YES, my sister and I were so frustrated by how they just completely never addressed that moment again.  I wasn't surprised, because it's been clear from the beginning that this show doesn't really care much about women, so the female characters' storylines getting dropped or never explored in the first place is pretty much what I've always expected, but it's still infuriating.  

Honestly, the only good thing about this show's general disinterest in women is that it means that I don't place any blame on in-story Naruto for never addressing what Hinata did for him, because I know the fact that we don't see him dealing with her confession isn't actually intended to communicate anything about his reaction/non-reaction/level of investment; it's literally just a function of the fact that the writer doesn't care about her story.  It's the same way I feel about how we see so much less one-on-one time between Kakashi and Sakura - her lack of screentime with him isn't something about which a person can credibly argue "Oh, this means Kakashi doesn't care about her enough and he's a bad teacher etc etc," because the imbalance isn’t a deliberate writing decision we're supposed to analyze for characterization.  It's a reflection of the fact that the entire show is super sexist. XD

re: danzo: It’s one thing to have your villain believe himself to the hero of his own story, and like, another to have Danzo basically tout having darkness in your heart being a great thing and encouraging it’s presence/cultivating it - lmao YES!  And honestly, this is why I actually find Danzo LESS infuriating than the Third Hokage.  Like, Danzo is Super Evil and every time he exploits another child I want to watch him die all over again, but at least he like....owns his horribleness?  Whereas Hiruzen is the biggest hypocrite on the planet - when I rewatched the Shonen Jump stuff a while back (my sister and I took a little break prior to Season 11 and rewatched some old stuff), I couldn't stand listening to Hiruzen go on and on about how the entire Leaf Village is his family and it's his role to protect all of them etc etc, because like - he literally covered up the genocide of Sasuke's entire family and let the perpetrator remain in power (and that was before I even knew about all these other crimes he allowed to go unpunished!!!)  Danzo may be the Worst, but at least he's not pretending to be anything other than what he is.  Hiruzen is still acting like he's everybody's sweet old grandpa, and that makes me even more angry than Danzo's straight-up horribleness.  (And I do agree with you, they definitely lean harder into the "Lord Third is amazing" stuff pre-Shippuden, I just still feel confused about what the show is ultimately trying to say about him because we haven't gotten an explicit enough condemnation of his choices yet, and I feel like it's way overdue XD )

re: minato - Hard agree that Minato is an enigma.  I don't feel like I fully understand him either - and not in a bad way, just in the sense that he's hard to read.  The toughest thing for me to parse was always how distant he seemed with his students, which was surprising to me at first, because he'd been built up as sort of this "ideal shinobi" figure for such a long time, but to me, an ideal shinobi teacher looks more like...well, Kakashi, to be honest.  And it took a while for me to reconcile with the fact that Minato and Kakashi really do just relate to their students very differently.  I think Minato has always been a soldier, and I think he sees children as soldiers, too - not in an evil way at all, just in the sense that this is how the shinobi world works, and how it has always worked.  It's not a "wrong" way to perceive shinobi kids, in the context of the story's universe.  And so when things happen to those kids, he absolutely cares, but it's also sort of just a grim fact of life for him.  It's like when Kushina tells him she doesn't want to make Naruto a jinchuriki, and she asks 'why do we have to do that to him, why does he have to suffer that way for the sake of the balance of power between nations,' and Minato's response is “Because our family is Shinobi.”  That was a really telling moment for me in terms of how he sees the world.  It's not something I'm interested in condemning him for, like you said; I don't think the story is ever asking us to do that, it’s just a philosophy that's very different from how Kakashi sees things and what he thinks children's experiences should be like.  

I guess what I ultimately think (from the material we’ve seen so far, at least) is that Minato seems to perceive the loss of his students as something that Kakashi is struggling with, not something he himself is agonizing over.  It’s a very sad thing that happened, of course, but it’s just part of the way their world works/a function of the times they live in.  It's not something Minato is tormenting himself about.  Whereas I think that if Kakashi ever lost a kid, it would have killed him.  And I don't think this fact is in any way supposed to paint Minato as a bad person.  He's not!  All it means is that there is a generational difference between the world Kakashi and Co. are trying to create and the world Minato always knew, and people like Minato are doing the best they can with the framework they have.  

I do like the guy a lot - and I wonder what he might have been like if he had lived to see a permanent peace established.

re: little Yamato - oh boy, those episodes nearly ended me.  I am already very, very, VERY weak for Kakashi and Yamato’s friendship, and seeing Kakashi rescue Yamato from that horrible place (literally and metaphorically) was too much for me to handle.  Kakashi’s silhouette replacing Danzo in Yamato’s memories of being rescued from Orochimaru’s lab - that slew me.  And the way Danzo tells Yamato “you have no past, no future, no name” juxtaposed with Kakashi introducing Yamato as Tenzo because he remembers from three years ago how Yamato once rebelled at being called Kinoe and yelled “MY NAME IS TENZO” - Kakashi just using that chosen name without hesitation, without question, without needing to be told...it all ties back into the recent thematic throughline the show is working with about Identity - the importance of the Tailed Beasts having names, Kabuto’s desperate and misguided search for “who and what he is,” Itachi reclaiming his true self by undoing the reanimation justu and declaring “I am Itachi Uchiha of the Leaf Village,” Obito claiming that his real name doesn’t matter anymore, that he’s Nobody...it’s fantastic how they’re pulling all this together.

re: Kakashi and little Naruto - oh man, the feelings.  I agree with you that Kakashi was in no place to be dealing with this, but certainly under different circumstances I think he would have loved to be a part of baby Naruto’s life.  I actually think the reasoning behind “let’s put Kakashi in a situation where he’s in close contact with someone bringing new life into the world” is sound - I think that would be a really good thing for him!  Just not in the sense of “you’re Kushina’s personal bodyguard, so if anything happens to her and the baby you can blame yourself for it.” XD  Like...Minato could have invited Kakashi in for dinner sometimes, instead of having him constantly stand guard under their window???  If it had been more “we care about you and we want you to be a part of our family”....ugh, that would have been amazing.  Kakashi is already SO good with Naruto (who is NOT by any means an easy kid to manage) - he just has such good instincts about how to talk to that kid and teach him in ways that work WITH Naruto’s particular brand of high motivation/low frustration tolerance, ping-pong emotional extremes, explosive energy levels, zero impulse control, and an inability to process more than one thing at a time.  Handling Naruto effectively would be a challenging project for any teacher, never mind taking care of Naruto and two other kids, but Kakashi is a natural at it.  It would have been awesome to see what Kakashi was like with Naruto when they were even younger...though the Feels might knocked me out.

[also, you mentioned Naruto and Obito - I cannot even tell you the Extremest Agonies I was in when the big reveal happened and I had to hear Naruto blankly go “who is he” - utterly clueless, without the faintest idea that he’s looking at the person who shaped his entire moral philosophy.  The amount of things that these kids don’t know...that fact that Naruto has been quoting this very person all his life and making all his major life decisions based on the lesson Kakashi relayed to them on Day One - Obito’s words - oh boy oh boy I was not capable of handling that even the littlest bit.]

[lgchyejoo]

₊˚✧    ››    character update 002 (Q4 2021)  // playlist

falling harry styles

     even though this song was released in 2020, this remains one of the top most played songs in hyejoo’s playlist. she likes consistency, which is how harry styles always ends up somewhere in her favorites. as embarrassing as it is to love a white man, he’s her celebrity crush of celebrity crushes, and she never gets tired of listening to his songs or hearing his voice. this song in particular is her favorite because even though she doesn’t really relate to the feelings of a difficult break up, she still feels like she can relate to it because of the way he delivers the song. next year, harry styles will probably be somewhere on her playlist again.

enough for you olivia rodrigo

     she doesn’t exactly relate to the feelings of wanting to be a certain way for a boy, but this song hits for her because she’s always wanted to be someone that the audience liked. she wants to be good on stage and off, and she wants the public to think that she’s talented but also with a likeable personality. hyejoo has always worried about being enough — for the company, for the public, and now for the group that she’s set to debut in, and she always gets in her head thinking about how she can step up and improve herself. these days, she’s trying to be more confident and tell herself that she is enough, but it’s a work in progress.

my sea iu

     if harry styles is her celebrity crush, iu is her celebrity role model. my sea is the song that she wants to cover the most, and once she debuts she hopes that she can release a cover and show everyone her vocal abilities. and since she’s unable to do anything without worrying about it a million times, she’s been practicing this song nonstop in preparation for when she would be allowed to do it. there’s a way that iu sings that makes people listen, and she sings with so much emotion that hyejoo can only hope to be like that as well. this song is iu talking to her younger self and reconciling with herself, and hyejoo relates when she says “i have a big number of doubts, but I think i can find the answer to them.”

voice loona

     she strangely relates to the song lyrics, but in a roundabout way of hearing a voice in her heart that speaks to her. her favorite part is when they say “faintly it’s heard, and lights the darkness, the voice that rings in my heart” because hyejoo knows how it feels to love a person’s voice ( harry styles, etc. ). voice is the kind of song that she hopes she’ll be able to sing with her new group, something pretty and magical, the kind of song that sounds like it sparkles, but she also wants lyrics that she can relate to, and something that can touch the hearts of the people who listen to it.

stereotype future dreams 4

     hyejoo has always been somewhat shy about listening to her own voice, but this time was a bit different. stereotype felt like the song that came at just the right place and the right time, giving her spotlight as the mvp of her group and leading her to a spot in the debut team. other than that, it was a song that told her to be confident in herself as she sang “i can see everyone staring at me, the more i feel, the more confident i am.” there was a good amount of faking it in the beginning, but the more she practiced the more there was a tiny glimmer of confidence inside her, and maybe that’s her biggest takeaway from it all.

[xiyao-feels]

Nie//yao (MDZS)

So NMJ/JGY is actually getting two versions, because my read on them is wildly different for MDZS vs CQL.

In MDZS I...don't ship it? I mean, there just doesn't seem to be to be anything there at all of a romantic or sexual nature. It's not that they don't care about each other, they clearly do, but it's in a way that is...NMJ as substitute father, JGY as substitute brother, and heavily, heavily inflected by their (current and then former) relationship as superior and subordinate.

Putting this behind a cut because a) it's me explaining at breath length with quotes why I don't think they have a romantic or sexual relationship and I don't want people to have to see that unless they want and b) accordingly it is REALLY LONG and I also don't want to clutter people's dashes, so.

Actually backing up a step, I don't see MDZS NMJ as being attracted to anyone, that's not really specific to JGY. I tend to read him as aspec, tbh. So theoretically he could have romantic feelings about JGY without being attracted to him—I think he may have some quasi-romantic feelings for LXC, though I don't think he conceptualizes it that way—but... honestly, it's not really clear to me that he even likes JGY as a person.

I'm not saying he doesn't like JGY! He clearly does, at least before MY tricks him and flees. But it doesn't seem to have anything to do with MY's personality, as opposed to like—MY being really competent and conducting himself well.

Some quotes about what exactly NMJ values about JGY:

'Nie MingJue interrupted him, “I promoted you not because I wanted you to give back anything out of gratitude. I simply thought that you should stay in this position, since you are capable enough and your conduct is to my liking. If you really want to pay me back, just kill a few more of those Wen-dogs on the battlefield!”'

'After [Meng Yao] left [for Langya], Nie MingJue switched to another deputy. Wei WuXian, however, felt that the new one was always a few beats slower. Meng Yao was an unusually clever talent. He could understand what wasn’t said, and perform to the best with the simplest orders. He was efficient and never slacked. Anyone used to him wouldn’t be able to refrain from comparing him with others.'

'Nie MingJue was never close to people. He rarely opened up to anyone. Though he finally managed to obtain a competent, trustworthy subordinate, whose character and capabilities he approved, he found that the subordinate’s true colors were nothing like what he had thought they were. It was only natural that his reaction was so extreme.'

'Wei WuXian had once found it strange as well. Ever since Meng Yao betrayed the QingheNie Sect, the relationship between Nie MingJue and him hadn’t been the same as before. Then why did they later become sworn brothers? From his observations, aside from how Lan XiChen brought it up, having always hoped that the two would reconcile, the most important factor was probably the gratitude of saving his life and writing the letters. To be precise, in his past battles, he had more-or-less depended on the information that Meng Yao sent over through Lan XiChen. He still thought that Jin GuangYao was a talented person whom one would rarely come upon, and intended on leading him back onto the right path. However, Jin GuangYao wasn’t his subordinate anymore. Only after they became sworn brothers would he have the status and the position to urge Jin GuangYao, like how he disciplined his younger brother, Nie HuaiSang.'

Jin GuangYao spoke with dejection, “But, Brother, didn’t you hear what he said in the oath? Every sentence meant something more. ‘Face a thousand accusing fingers, be torn from limb to limb’—this was clearly a warning for me. I… I’ve never heard of such an oath before.”

Lan XiChen replied in a gentle voice, “He said ‘if one were to think otherwise’. Do you think otherwise? If not, then why should you worry over it so much?"

Jin GuangYao, “I don’t, but Brother has already decided that I do, so what can I do?”

Lan XiChen, “He has always cherished your talent, hoping that you would choose the right path.”

You might notice a recurring theme here: there's a lot of focus JGY's competence and conduct. But anything about who JGY is as a person? Not so much.

They clearly had a good superior/subordinate relationship going on, albeit one in which NMJ was missing a lot of context (see just behave well and show people up, plus the you're missing a solid foundation thing). But it does seem to be basically professional. WWX describes them as conversing "peaceably, even impressively" in contrast to "his future self, always being scolded by Nie MingJue" and "those jokes of how 'LianFang-Zun fled whenever he heard that ChiFeng-Zun arrived,'" and.... that's kind of it. The closest we get to them as friends is them talking together with LXC after NMJ tells MY he will give him a letter of recommendation and send him to his father; as WWX describes it, "The three chatted back and forth, at times serious, yet at times light. The conversation was much more relaxed than when they had been in the living room. Listening to their chatter, Wei WuXian often wanted to get a word in as well, yet he was unable to do so."

That's definitely not nothing! But it's also the most we ever get, only shows up the once, and is explicitly contrasted with their conversation from earlier. Moreover, I'm pretty sure LXC's presence is a necessary part of things; NMJ tends to respond differently to LXC than to other people (even just earlier in this chapter, we're told that while "Nie MingJue had never been one for humour," "in front of Lan XiChen his expression eased"), and WWX explicitly notes LXC's conversation skills in the context of this conversation: "At this point in time, their relationship really isn't bad. Zewu-Jun is actually quite good at holding conversations, so why is Lan Zhan so bad at it?"

In addition, I'd say that looking at the early part of that conversation is quite telling; while LXC and MY are sitting together as equals, MY stand up at once the moment NMJ interrupts, and doesn't sit even after NMJ tells him to do so (I think he probably does take a seat at some point, but the narrative doesn't actually tell us when). Moreover, MY seems to be worried that NMJ will be offended by a possible lack of gratitude on MY's part ("Sect Leader Nie, if you heard everything, then you should've also heard me say that..."), and the only objection he expresses to leaving is precisely that he owes NMJ a debt of gratitude, not anything to do with, like, missing him. To me all the evidence suggests that while they had a close relationship, it was not a /personal/ relationship, but fundamentally one of superior and subordinate.

(For a close read of the scene where NMJ, LXC and MY are talking together, I highly recommend @confusion-and-more's post here)

Moving on, let's look at after JGY becomes JGY. They don't seem to particularly spend time together with each other, certainly not for the sake of it. There's a brief moment at the Flower Banquet where NMJ asks JGY why he's wasting his time with XY (who has not at this point in time committed his crime, he just has a reputation), but after JGY makes his excuse and scurries away, NMJ turns away and doesn't seem to seek him out or even pay him any particular attention for the rest of the scene; he only shows up once more, and that's following WWX. (And although JGY-as-replacement-NHS would be a post all on its own, I do think it's interesting to note that the exchange about XY is immediately followed by LXC and LWJ coming over, described in a way that highlights both their impressiveness and their status at brothers—their Twin Jade-ness, one might say.) During the guqin scene, NMJ only speaks once, and it's to address LXC—to protest the inappropriateness of LXC leaking exclusive Lan techniques. When JGY shows up to play the guqin for him the first time, NMJ asks JGY "what did you come here for," which suggests that NMJ is not generally expecting JGY to come by without a specific, concrete reason. The closest they ever seem to get after JGY becomes JGY is during these guqin-playing sessions, and as WWX describes it, "when playing the guqin, the way that the two conversed and got along even had a hint of the peace they had before they fell out"—which is certainly better than there being no peace at all, but which I think suggests there's still at least some tension, given that it's only a "hint."

Now, NMJ certainly cares about JGY, both in the sense of desiring his well-being, at first, and absolutely in the sense of being emotionally invested in him—even after his death, as a fierce corpse his only desire is to kill Jin Guangyao. But while they had a close superior-subordinate relationship—certainly NMJ seems to have felt close to MY—at no point was it a close personal relationship, and I don't think that NMJ even liked JGY (or MY, I'm using the name expansively) as a person, let alone was in love with him.

But mostly so far I've been focusing in NMJ's feelings. What about JGY? Is /he/ in love with NMJ?

Once again, I just don't read him that way. This isn't to say he didn't care for NMJ—he absolutely did! He goes to quite significant lengths to save his life from WRH in the Sun Palace, including quite a lot of risk to MY himself—I analyze that in a lot more depth in the first part of my post here, if you're interested, though I will also note now that he specifically sent for LXC to help NMJ. (You'll have to scroll down some; I'm responding to someone else's post.) Afterwards, he kneels to NMJ and apologizes, I think sincerely, for hurting him and for invoking his pain about his father's death. He certainly conceives of himself as owing a debt of gratitude to NMJ for recognizing him, and he's so overcome when NMJ offers to send him to his father with a letter of recommendation, saying that he didn't promote MY so that MY would owe him, that he quite remarkably can't even find words. NMJ meant a lot to him, and so did NMJ's not defining him in terms of his birth—until he did, of course, at the stairs kick incident. But as far as I can tell, there's nothing to suggest he has /romantic feelings/ for NMJ, and frankly—how can I put this—it does not at all surprise me that JGY isn't in love with someone with a violent temper who is noted at least twice to react to people explaining themselves when he is angry with even more anger, and that's even without the thing where he nearly killed JGY on multiple occasions and called him the son of a prostitute.

No, I think JGY's emotional journey with NMJ goes through three stages: first, he's deeply grateful to him and respects him a great deal, although he's also aware of NMJ's lack of awareness of certain social realities (see: the teacup scene, NMJ yelling at the other Nie cultivators about their treatment of MY and telling MY not to worry as long as his conduct is upright); second, after Sun Palace, still gratitude and respect but also a mounting frustration with his lack of awareness of the implications of JGY's social position and his hypocrisy re: acceptable violence; finally, after the stairs kick when NMJ kicks him down the stairs, almost kills him, and tells him what else can be expected from the son of a prostitute, he is completely done with NMJ, but is still very much scared of him. The gratitude, I've discussed; the frustration, I think is fairly obvious in the speech he gives back to NMJ at the stairs. But I think the fear is often undervalued, so I'm going to pull a bunch of quotes again:

Meng Yao shrunk immediately after his previous outburst. Watching Baxia slash toward him, he sprinted off at once, scared lifeless. Of the two, one striked with madness and the other fled with madness. Both staggered, still soaked in blood. In such amusing circumstances, as Wei WuXian chopped at the future Chief Cultivator, in his heart he split his sides laughing. He thought that if not for how Nie MingJue was under heavy injuries and lacked spiritual power, Meng Yao would probably have been dead already.

Baxia’s strikes were so menacing that Shuoyue had to unsheath. Lan XiChen stopped him, half to support his figure and half to block his attacks, “MingJue-xiong, calm down! Why bother?”

Nie MingJue, “Why don’t you ask what he did?!”

Lan XiChen turned around to look at Meng Yao, his face was full of terror. He stammered as if he didn’t dare speak.

Nie MingJue remained silent, while Baxia and Shuoyue continued. Meng Yao took a glimpse at the glares from the clashes of the saber and the sword, his gaze full of fear. After a while, however, he still took a step forward. He kneeled to Nie MingJue.

A moment later, Nie MingJue still raised his saber. Lan XiChen, “MingJue-xiong!”

Meng Yao shut his eyes. Lan XiChen also tightened his grip on Shuoyue, “Please excuse…”

Before he could finish his sentence, the silver light of the blade slashed down violently, onto a boulder on the side.

Meng Yao flinched from the thunder of the boulder splitting apart. Looking over, he saw that it had been sliced into two halves, from the top to the bottom.

Jin GuangYao nodded. Xue Yang had been infamous ever since he was young. Wei WuXian clearly felt Nie MingJue’s brows knit even tighter. He spoke, “Why are you wasting your time with such a person?”

Jin GuangYao, “The LanlingJin Sect recruited him.”

He didn’t dare to protest any further. Excuse being that he needed to care for the guests, he scurried to the other side.

[part of his speech to NMJ at the stairs] You think that I should be afraid of nothing? Well I'm afraid of everything, even other people!

Within the temple, three people called Nie MingJue’s corpse ‘Brother’ but the three tones were drastically different. Jin GuangYao’s face was full of a drowning fear. His entire body began to shiver. No matter dead or alive, the person Jin GuangYao was most scared of was none but this sworn brother of his whose temper tolerated no evil. As his body shivered, his hands shivered as well, and the bloody guqin string he clutched tightly in his hand also began to shiver.

Clenching his teeth, Jin GuangYao struck a few acupoints of his arm. Amidst the dizziness that came from a loss of blood, he suddenly saw Nie MingJue walk a step towards him, his eyes locked on him. He was immediately half-dead with fear.

Collapsed beside Lan XiChen, Jin GuangYao saw this scene as well. Whether because the bleeding and the pain intensified at his arm and stomach or from some other reason, the glisten of tears could be seen in his eyes. But before he had a chance to catch his breath or lick his wounds, Nie MingJue turned around after he pulled his fist back and stared hungrily in his direction.

The harsh, stern expression on his rigid face held a sense of judgement that was no different from before he died. Even his tears had been scared away as Jin GuangYao turned to Lan XiChen for help, his voice trembling, “Brother…”

I think the stuff with, you know, handling NMJ's fierce corpse and hanging onto his head is often viewed as evidence of JGY's continued emotional investment in NMJ, but... I don't really think so? First of all, NMJ's fierce corpse is completely obsessed with killing JGY. I'll spare you another round of quotes on that because this is already ridiculously long and because it's not at all subtle—it's all over the temple chapters, take a look! And second of all—well, there's ways of getting information from a corpse. In this case, NMJ's resentful energy is so strong that without the protection of his body, papernan WWX is actually sucked into NMJ's memories against his will! Sure, maybe no one would risk it, and maybe no one who risked it would survive, but especially given that NMJ's fierce corpse is completely obsessed with killing JGY, that's a heck of a risk to take. And look at the description of the protections around NMJ's head:

Suddenly, Wei WuXian noticed that one of the shelves were blocked by a curtain. The curtain was covered in sinister, blood-red runes. It was a talisman of forbiddance, one of extreme power.

Jin GuangYao walked over and lifted the curtain.

For a split second, Wei WuXian thought that he had been exposed. After the faint firelight made its way through the curtain, he found that he was enveloped in a shadow. A circular object just happened to be in front of him.

Jin GuangYao stood still, as though he was staring into the eyes of whatever was inside this shelf.

After a moment, he spoke, “Were you the one looking at me?"

Of course, there couldn’t be any response. He was silent for a while, then let down the curtain.

Wei WuXian quietly attached himself to the object. Cold and hard, it seemed to be a helmet. He then turned to the front. As he had expected, he saw a pallid face. The one who sealed the head wanted it to see nothing, hear nothing, speak nothing, and so incantations had been crowded onto the waxen skin. The eyes, the ears, and the mouth were all sealed tightly shut.

There's containment, it's suppressed to all hell and back, and JGY quite justifiably expects it to be murderously obsessed with him, but to me it doesn't suggest a reciprocal obsession—just more fear.

I'll also note that as a strategy for containing the information about his own involvement it's a very successful operation! It failed in the end /eventually/, but the failure needed:

someone who could successfully break into his private treasure room and escape without being caught

who could also perform Empathy or a similar tecnnique on NMJ's head and survive it

who could successfully recreate from memory the altered Empathy song

whom LXC would be willing to listen to

That's a heck of a tall order!

As to being done with NMJ after the stairs, well, listen to what he says to LXC:

Jin GuangYao spoke with dejection, “But, Brother, didn’t you hear what he said in the oath? Every sentence meant something more. ‘Face a thousand accusing fingers, be torn from limb to limb’—this was clearly a warning for me. I… I’ve never heard of such an oath before.”

[...]

Jin GuangYao, “It’s not that I don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong, but that sometimes I really can’t help. Nowadays, I have it bad no matter which side I’m on. I have to ensure that I’m on everyone’s good sides. I wouldn’t care if it were someone else, but have I mistreated our eldest brother in any way? Brother, you heard as well. What did he call me?”

[...]

Jin GuangYao was almost sobbing, “If he could say such a thing when he was angry, then just how does he think of me on a daily basis? Is it that because I couldn’t choose my background, because my mother couldn’t choose her fate, I’ll have to be humiliated by others throughout my whole life? If so, then how is Brother different from the people who look down on me? No matter what I do, in the end, just a sentence and I’m ‘the son of a prostitute’.”

And then of course there's what he says to LXC, in his speech to him at the end: "You, on the other hand, ZeWu-Jun, Sect Leader Lan, are as intolerant of me as Nie MingJue—you refuse to spare me even a single breath of life!"

So—wow, this got very long—I don't ship them, and although I think they have very much mattered emotionally to each other, I don't really see them as ever having been in love with or attracted to each other.

A couple of end notes:

In MDZS, NMJ isn't the first (non-MS) person who recognizes MY's worth, although he is the first person to promote him; by the time NMJ promotes MY MY has already met, rescued, and exchanged intimate confidences with LXC, who respects him greatly and thinks he is highly talented (see again the conversation in Hejian which NMJ overhears/eavedrops on).

I've seen people talk about them not understanding each other, but while NMJ certainly doesn't understand JGY, it's not at all obvious that the reverse is true; he generally seems to understand him pretty well. I think he has two surprises overall: first, that he wasn't expecting NMJ to say he didn't promote MY so MY would owe him, and volunteer to send him to his father with a letter of recommendation—and second, he wasn't expecting NMJ, who for all his flaws did seem to ignore JGY's background in good ways as well as bad, to call him the son of a prostitute.

I definitely don't read the coffin at the end as romantic. Or I mean, uh, there's the romance of an obsessive stalker-murderer finally getting his victim, and that's not nothing (unironically; look, I'm a Hannibal fan), but I don't think it's usually what people mean. This is a shitty end for JGY, part of how thoroughly he loses and is destroyed. I think to some extent it might be that he doesn't want LXC to be the one who killed him, and to some extent it's an act of defiance—now that he has nothing to lose, not even his life, he's going to go out fighting. I would expand on this but this post is ridiculously long and I have way too many quotes, maybe I'll do it in a separate post later on—but if you look at the description of it in the text, plus the subsequent description of it in the coffin...yeah. JGY didn't want to die, he didn't want to be engaged in a mutually destructive thing with NMJ; he wanted to leave NMJ behind in the past, and move on. It's not, for him any kind of fulfillment, is my read.

All quotes are taken from the Exiled Rebels translation: ch 48-50 for everything about NMJ and JGY's past relationship, ch. 47 for the description of JGY's containment measures for NMJ's head, and ch. 106-108 for the quotes about JGY's fear of NMJ's fierce corpse. The description of JGY going into the coffin is at the end of 108 if you want to have a look, and there's more in 109 and 110 about the difficulty of sealing NMJ's fierce corpse/its power and violence.

[joelmillerthirstqz]

From this prompt: Joel meets y/n and he makes it his MISSION to fuck her. Throw in a daddy kink if you’re brave

(I did, with ten thousand character-intensive caveats. Porn with obligatory plot, is there a tag for that? Anyway have some suspiciously assertive Joel)

---

Joel moves throughout the rooms of his house, picking up one occupation after the next, bored around one in the afternoon and faced with the reality that he neither remembers nor knows what to do with actual free time, safety, and space of his own. Tommy and Maria had brought some kind approximations of traditional housewarming, but much of his home was furnished by the previous resident and he sat there overwhelmed by spatial possibility. For all his griping about Ellie’s perpetual stream-of-consciousness chattering, the silence roared in his ears like he’d been dragged downstream.

Do people just go drink now? Just talk to each someone to pass the time? he thinks to himself, frustrated. By the time he could legally go to a bar, he’d been twenty-one and Sarah had been three, her mom long gone. He hadn’t spent time alone since the outbreak—always Tommy or Tess and others in between nearby. Acute problems to solve, no time for chronic reflection.

Tommy brought a lone box of possessions from his apartment with a case of cheap beer the night Sarah’s mom left, hanging around more tangibly than any other family had and often taking Sarah to school once Sarah was old enough. Tommy joked that it was more like Joel having two kids to deal with; Joel ribbed him for perpetually flirting with the very clearly married moms of his niece’s classmates.

Joel gulps a breath, self-flagellating with the idea that he hadn’t been able to protect Sarah when Tommy and Maria so clearly deserved to have their own child, forgetting as ever that his brother executed the soldier that shot Sarah before he could get to Joel—without a blink.

Wonderful. That’s what you do alone with your thoughts for two seconds. Jesus, Joel, he grumbles inwardly.

He’d been dragged to so many damn things since settling in Jackson and didn’t know what to do when it was his choice, so he looks outside. If Ellie’s light is on, he’ll go awkwardly try to make conversation, see if she’s okay. If she’ll be caught in a forgiving mood; if not, if he’s really pushing it.

Joel’s boots thud softly on the flagstone they’d carefully laid together, a path for her to get up to the house without soaking her sneakers through. Tonight, though, she’s gone or playing dead, so he sighs and shrugs a coat on, headed for the Tipsy Bison.

————

Joel spent a nontrivial amount of his time lately fending off interested parties in Jackson.

It was just cuffing season, he dismissed—encroaching fall making people a little weird. Since he’d begun to settle in, slowly accustoming himself to having Ellie out of his sight often and a normal couch in a house without shattered windows, he’d slowly accepted more public interactions. He’d grudgingly shoulder into town meetings, quiet until Tommy or someone else would put a question to him like he had a fucking clue.

Joel went on patrol, helping some of the greener residents learn to keep themselves safe. Unfortunately, it meant more people caught sight of him. Joel was used to prowling through quarantine zones swollen with cowering masses plainly terrified of him, which left him minimally prepared for reactions he thought he’d stopped evoking long ago.

The people whose breath hitch when they first notice him, the longing stares when he’d finally break and smile or laugh—they’d gotten embarrassing enough for him to avoid certain places.

Whenever Joel seems like he’s about to not comply with her wishes, Maria frequently threatens to tell the women who ask her in lewd tones if Tommy has a brother the truth—he does, and how about I introduce you?

The truth was he didn’t feel capable of starting anything with someone who’d ask where he’d been. Joel didn’t want to remember, even if he’d finally pinned the picture of himself with Sarah at a soccer game up next to the blooming collection of pictures in his living room with Ellie, Polaroids in Jackson blooming over nearby wall space every few weeks. People who wanted honesty to go with their peaceful existence reminded him too much of Tommy’s near-fatal optimism, and he felt like it would be too dishonest to start anything with anyone who still lost sleep over distasteful things done to survive. Delightful first-date baggage, in his estimation.

At the Tipsy Bison, he edges in by the drinking patrol nearest the door, welcomed gruffly and responding the same. It was nice to be recognized without raw fear or calculation as he entered, and Joel warms enough to drop his coat over the back of his chair, his rust-colored flannel’s buttons parting over the shirt beneath it as he moves, listening to Eugene tell some inflated war story with an almost-cold beer.

“Alright, fuck this. Knuckle up, asshole, I’m not doing this on patrol tomorrow,” Joel’s ears perk up at the sound of your chair clattering backwards as you stand. Joel recognizes you from the newer batch of arrivals, clearly deemed capable enough to join an early patrol just days after your arrival.

“Jesus, settle the fuck down,” one of the younger patrolmen grouses, standing up. Alex. Oh, the dumb kid.

“Nope. Now or never,” you insist.

“Listen, I’m not hitting you,” he sounds unapologetic but tries to portray himself as the reasonable party. He’s wiry, and Joel’s seen him fend for himself, but his posture doesn’t belie cool confidence.

“You clearly have some doubts, so let’s get into it,” you urge, agitated beyond belief. He’d been needling you about perceived skill, something about not growing up having to field dress animals, and you’d fucking had it. He was going to make a point on patrol and get someone hurt, and you were not carrying bodies back into Jackson because of some ego or misplaced crush.

He taps your shoulder mockingly with a closed fist, a gentle little motion, trying to smile playfully.

You hook him across the jaw, staggering him before taking a knee to his stomach as he tries to right himself.

“More, or you’re finished?” you ask.

Joel fully sits up in his chair. He hasn’t seen anything like this in Jackson. Glancing over both shoulders for his brother, Maria, and finding a clear coast he watches the outcome with interest, sipping his beer with an upturned mouth.

You’re cute, or appealing, or some reflexive word Joel hadn’t used in years, pushing hair out of your eyes as you regain your center.

Alex tries to sweep your legs out, successfully swiping one and getting a knee to the diaphragm for it as you land.

“Okay, fuck, I’m done,” he grunts and you rise easily, offering him a hand.

“Good,” you mumble, letting go the second he’s righted. You look around a little chastened by all the eyes on you, deciding to forego another round.

“I’m going to bed before we do this again,” you nod at Alex, and the rest of the patrol group you recognize in turn.

Joel eyes you as you depart, beer polished off and goodbyes waved, coat gripped in his fist to be flung on once outside. He knows your name, had seen you near the stables and conversing with the patrols. Hearing you speak, despite the context, maybe because of it, let him confirm something he’d been suspecting when he caught glimpses of you before. Never having had the right circumstances or raw spare time to devote all his energy to taking someone to bed, he steels himself to confirm it.

He trots after you, tugging his jacket back on and finding his way to the four-story hotel the town had spent arduous time clearing, stripping of spores, and making hospitable enough for people new to Jackson. Joel ended up leading a lot of the effort himself, vaguely proud to be doing something other than dismantling things, stretching old skills. Your little corner balcony faces off of one side, a nice view of the town unfolding as people begin to switch lights on for a sooner-than-yesterday sundown. You’re appreciative of a strange little luxury—not sure when the last time you stood with your back to a door without anticipating some infected would burst through.

You lean your elbows on the railing, a flask of whisky tipping in your fingers as you watch Jackson light up, a lone figure’s long strides coming into view down the broad street. The night is cool against your skin, but the little shiver the breeze causes feels affirming.

You’d always loved the fall, and Jackson’s soft sounds of life feel unreal enough that you could never sit here just sobering up before bed. It would leave you too wired, buzzing with the anxiety of certain impermanence. Reconciling this liminal zone with the gnashing horror just beyond it wasn’t something you’d take on without help. If Jackson was only a passing reprieve, you had to make yourself calm enough to enjoy it.

Joel halts below where you’re standing, hands on his hips pulling his jacket open as he looks up at you.

You’re instantly sheepish—you’d guessed in whatever patrol hierarchy there was, he was rather important. And you’d just visibly beaten someone down.

“Alex okay?” you call.

“He’ll be peachy. Not here for that,” Joel retorts, low drawl pleasant.

“Well,” you shrug, gesturing to the two mismatched chairs on the balcony with your flask. “Allow me to be a gracious host.”

He smiles and looks down for a moment. Even a couple of stories above him, you can see his height, start to assess his proportions because you’re too tipsy to be a human fucking being about your first interactions in a good place. You quickly add up a sum: his legs are long, shoulders broad, hair long enough to tug on. His frame suggests complete capability and you have a dire need to test it.

Aw, fuck.

“Y’know, I’ve got real glasses for drinking that,” Joel insinuates before he can tell himself to shut the fuck up, or to stop harassing newcomers, or any other sensible thought.

“Fair enough,” you call, closing your flask and holding a finger up to signal that he should wait.

When you arrive downstairs, boots poorly laced and denim jacket barely enough for the chill, Joel’s leaning on the veranda of the whole structure. You suppose its fair to gawk in appreciation so you do, assuring yourself you could have chosen not to.

“Look, I’m not going to ask what this is, and you won’t ask why I’m saying yes, okay?” you say softly when you’re a couple of feet from him.

Joel raises his eyebrows, feeling untethered. Some corner of him expected to humiliate himself to death so he could go home and fall asleep barely after dark, anything to shut himself up until he was occupied again. His heart speeds a little at your reply, hand on the back of his neck as he pushes back onto both feet.

“I’m close,” Joel offers, hand down towards the street, fists quickly in his own pockets. You pull your bottom lip inward, looking at his profile, wanting to hear it again, lower, helpless.

You pass the walk in tense but not unpleasant silence, glancing at each other until you reach his porch and he edges in to unlock his door.

Turning on lights as you toe off your boots and follow him inside, you watch how he moves, past the need for any type of persuasion. He returns from the kitchen with two matching, unchipped short glasses and a cylindrical glass of amber liquid.

“Trade?” Joel asks setting the bottle down and closing an open window. Your mouth quirks.

“That’s a nice custom. It a Jackson thing?” you ask, tipping your flask into his glass as he returns and pours from the bottle for you.

He laughs, sharp hazel eyes jumping up to you and back down, hand running over his beard.

“Not sure. What else would you do?”

You drop onto one of the two couches, arranged in the way that says people actually spend time here together. Joel gets onto his knees to build a fire, definitely a necessity, though kind of needlessly sweet for the occasion.

“This?” you tease, gesturing between the two of you. Joel joins you on the same couch, heat radiating into the space around you, well before the spark in the fireplace could catch enough to reach you.

You take stock of each other in comfortable silence, and a slow grin moves from one side of your face to the other. You finish your drink with a tinge of shyness, setting it down as he does the same.

You have no warning before his mouth is on yours, hands on either side of your face. It’s achingly good to be kissed with complete attention, luxury of time changing the entire tenor of kissing another person. You’re grounded to who’s holding you, mouth accepting him as Joel leads, guiding your jaw where he wants it with the flat of his palm. Joel moves slowly, plenty of time for you to reciprocate his motions though you begin to shift closer, scant sense of rhythm keeping you from straddling his hips.

The taste of him and your anticipatory haze keeps you fixed on the kiss, his hands sliding lower and beginning to move you towards his lap.

You try not to break the kiss with a smile, but it happens anyway and he looks up curiously. You sit back on your heels and tear through the buttons of your jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch and stroking fingernails through his beard before beginning the kiss again. Joel tugs you closer by the hip, urging you into his lap. He scans your face intensely, pulling you fully against him and letting his hands run the expanse of your back.

You can feel how rough his hands are through your shirt, so your fingers fly to his to work the buttons of his flannel.

“Christ,” you roll your eyes, exposing a second shirt underneath. He chuckles warmly in his chest, your foreheads bowed together a moment.

“C’mon,” Joel mutters, broad hands under each of your thighs as he rises with you wrapped around him. A segment somewhere in your brain shimmers, clicking with the novel experience, a knockout strike in the lane of neurons igniting to remember their roles.

“Where’s c’mon?” you ask incoherently between kisses, moving your mouth to his neck so he can answer. You think regretfully that it’s probably substantially warmer down here, fire catching nicely.

“Upstair—” Joel cuts off, your teeth nipping his pulse point.

You feel his heart jump against your mouth and your chest at once. You kiss him slowly as he takes you upstairs, stopping halfway up. He pushes you against the banister and deepens the kiss, hard length made clear. Shifting you closer to his waist once you resume, Joel’s hands creep a little higher, fingertips edging up as they dig in.

As you reach his bedroom, you have one hand hooked in the bottom seam of his shirt, ready to pull it off as he tries to set you down. Joel grunts when you tangle his broad shoulders in it, getting free and discarding it agilely. He bears down on you under dark lashes, chest rising and falling noticeably. The chill upstairs dissolves quickly as you twine together, hands running over his chest. It’s impressively broad and defined, thickening line of hair leading into his jeans.

You strip out of your two shirt layers with a casual roll of your upper body. Joel’s rapt eyes dragging over every rib leave you feeling exposed until his hands cover your breasts, mouth on your neck. You try to tug the rest of him towards the bed by the belt loops, but get frustrated and try to unclasp his belt instead.

Joel stoops to claw quickly at his boots, both thrown one handed before coming to rest against the wall. He hasn’t taken his eyes from you as you rise to slip your jeans down, one hand already curled back around your waist. He spreads his other hand across your abdomen, callused fingertips making you shudder appreciatively. Shoving you back, Joel gets to his knees with one of your legs hooked over his shoulder, grasped in his palm, kissing down your thigh. His free hand still moves over the rest of you.

Your mind is blankly focused on the rasp of his beard inside your legs. If you were honest, head wasn’t a frequent priority after the outbreak, sex usually a time-sensitive stress fix—for everyone. Add to that the average skill of the college peers you’d fucked before and, well, you’d only ever mildly enjoyed it.

Joel sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, and you arc off the bed. He moves without an ounce of uncertainty, shifting and roughly positioning you for the best angle as he goes. Being pursued like this, by a person who squarely checks boxes you didn’t know were empty left you wet enough to take him the moment you’d been out of your pants. His tongue pushes inside of you, followed quickly by one finger and then another, static but wonderful. You writhe on the bed at the feeling, low hum of a chuckle skittering across your sensitive skin.

One hand in the sheets, your other makes it into his hair. You grind against him without being able to help it, riding the stretch of his fingers as his tongue laves forceful circles around your clit.

“Fuck,” you try to grit out, embarrassed by the disassembled breathiness of your voice. It’s more a sigh as he curls his fingers within you, hazel flicking up to watch your reaction. You paw at his shoulders blindly, wanting him closer, wanting to fuck him, trying to pull back from him to tell him. He’s deadset in his focus, teeth softly grazing you in reply to your attempt.

“Can you just—” Joel grumbles, rising,“—be good for one goddamned second—” he yanks you towards him by your ankle.

“This where you want me to tell you to make me?” you tease, sitting up in his lap and wrenching him closer with your legs.

He huffs a small laugh, making to kiss you, but you hold him back.

“I want you to make me, okay?” You say seriously, grasping the hair at his nape to emphasize it.

Joel leans forward, biting your lip with care.

“Alright,” he confirms, hands around your jaw. You taste yourself on him, and a near-growl ripples through him, evident through his chest pressed against yours.

You duck away from his kiss, not caring to get his jeans off before getting a hand around his cock, your mouth enclosing the tip before you can register how much there is to take.

“Christ,” he breathes, eyes shut, face turned towards the ceiling. As your hand becomes slick enough to work over his shaft, his hands stabilize in your hair, bunching. You feel him flex in your mouth as he parts his lips and tugs on your hair, hauling you up level with his face.

“You don’t get to end it now,” Joel smiles, mouth almost against yours. You smile at the rough motion, hot interest skipping down your spine. His opposite hand is running over your chin while he composes himself, far closer than he’d wanted to be at this point.

You bite his fingers, pulling two deftly in to suck and keeping his gaze. His pupils darken and you feel a surge of pride at the same time as you feel him shove you back onto the bed, tearing his jeans off and finally joining you. Joel covers you, kissing you roughly and pulling your thighs around his hips, on his knees. He sheathes inside you without resistance, groaning and bowing his head at first. Even ready, he stretches you noticeably and you gasp at his first experimental thrusts, dragging your hips up to his each time.

You rise up to meet him, nails dug into his shoulders for traction, meeting his thrusts.

Joel hisses more in chastisement than discomfort at it, smacking your ass curiously.

“You know I’m not delicate,” you say close to his ear, snapping the lobe between your teeth unnecessarily hard.

“Shit, ow—” he grumbles, smacking you harder. You moan at the feeling, spread over his lap and trawling nails down his back. You tug where you’ve latched on, moving lower and biting his neck. He does it again, rolling his hips as you clench down on him. You scrape your teeth over his shoulder. Joel hits you again, force of it stinging how you’d hoped.

You provoke him to continue, pulling his hair, hard, and biting the skin over his collarbone.

Joel fists your hair and tugs back hard, exposing your throat to him even as you keep riding him, spanking you with almost musical timing. You almost draw blood scratching your nails out of his hair to the nape of his neck, grinning from your forced angle as he pants under you.

Joel leans forward and nips carefully over your larynx, clamping down hard on tendons just next to it. It’s a brash spot to suck a bruise into, and even the less visible parts of your body would surely be screaming on patrol in the morning.

You cry out, nerves and instinctive reaction to teeth near your neck making your heart and your cunt clench.

Joel flips you without effort, pressing a palm against your lower back to shove you into the mattress. You feel him strike your ass, once, twice, three times, and then his fingers are at your entrance, coaxing your hips to tilt up. He brushes his knuckles against you, leaning over to breathe into your ear.

“Here?”

“What did I just say?” You retort, appreciative of his caution but entirely sold on the possibility that walking will hurt tomorrow.

Joel doesn’t reply but you can see him roll his eyes from the corner of yours as he swats your cunt, hard, sensation shattering across your skin. You moan and he takes the initiative to do it again. Your shoulder blades pinch together around his hand, veering up with it. You turn your face entirely into the bed, muffling moans and faux-objections as he works, tenderness rising to the surface of your skin.

You feel Joel’s hands harshly grasp handfuls of your ass the second before he thrusts into you again, the force pinning you to the bed. He fucks you hard for long minutes, sweat building between you enough to make his hands slip. Joel’s forearm slides around your front and pulls you back against his chest.

You immediately claw at his arm, grateful to anchor yourself to him directly, pushing your hips down against his as he falls back to a gentler pace. His mouth reaches your shoulder and your hand flies to his hair again, straining to kiss him. Maybe it was weird to seek him like that—could still be a fantastic, unattached fuck—but Joel kisses you with this unerring focus that already makes you hope it will happen again.

“Takin’ me perfectly,” he drawls, some enunciation falling away with his blood coursing like this. You want to keep hearing him, so you nod and resume kissing him.

“More delicate than you thought? Need a break?” Joel taunts, and your eyes narrow as he speaks low and close, still thrusting shallowly.

“You want it hard again?” Joel teases, fingers skimming your stomach to roll your clit between them his thumb and index. It pinches and you suck in a breath, your hips floundering against his patient rhythm.

Your eyes spark and you decide to push.

“Yes, daddy,” you mock, almost sneering at him.

A dim recollection of a girl he’d briefly seen after Sarah’s mom left dusts itself off, and he reconnects dots that drifted apart from disuse after the outbreak. Joel raises his eyebrows at you and tips his head as if to say, “Well, alright then.”

You’re on your hands and knees before you can react, his hand spanning across your collarbones, bracing you against his repeated impact. Joel’s breathing becomes ragged each time he slides home, folding over you again to spill an endless wave of questions into your ear. His fingers are smoother across your clit now, drawing soaked concentric circles as you hitch.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel punctuates with a snap of his hips.

“You gonna come for me just like this?” Again.

“Come around my cock like a good girl?” Again, rough.

You moan, dropping to your elbows as he pounds into you, orgasm building inside of you spilling over to his fingers’ stimulation, a low groan meeting yours. You’re past words and shivering on the edge of climax when he taps your jaw.

“Focus up, c’mon,” he rumbles in your ear, demanding your attention. The pressure of his length against the tension inside of you has your vision blurring at the edges.

“Tell me,” Joel demands, pulling out halfway.

“Yes! Please, please,” you hear yourself sound panicky at the threat of losing his touch.

“Not what I asked you, baby,” he goads, nipping softly across your shoulders. His hand hasn’t stilled, and you know your eyes are rolling with the distracting pleasure of it.

“Yes, yes I will, please—”

“Tell me what,” he slips in an inch, voice shaky with thin control, fingers flexing where they meet your skin.

“Come for you, please don’t stop,” you plead, trying to shove your hips back to to meet his.

“That’s it, baby girl,” Joel murmurs and you break, quivering against his fingers and fussing with effort and relief. Your cheeks and mouth bloom red as your eyes droop with the onslaught of endorphins, still cresting as you feel Joel’s hips snap in quick succession, burying himself deep and making the best, most broken noise you could have hoped for. Even deep in your own fog, you reach for him, finding his mouth as it seeks yours again, aftershocks rolling through him.

Joel rolls onto his back, tugging you along one side. You don’t much enjoy being pinned if you weren’t also being penetrated, so the intimacy of lying there like lovers with someone you’d barely glimpsed, much less talked to, was unsettling.

Joel laughs like it’s easy for him, face lighting up with the motion, hand stroking your hair behind your ear.

“What?” You ask, propping yourself up on an elbow.

“Just surprised you said yes,” he clarifies. “I’m don’t—this isn’t a usual Wednesday for me,” he clears his throat.

You analyze his expression for a second, looking for the deceit and just finding something genuine and suspiciously shy for having nearly spanked you to orgasm minutes ago.

“You don’t accost every vulnerable newcomer and ply them with good whisky?” You prod, draping yourself over his chest, an easy negotiation of legs happening without either of you needing to acknowledge it.

“Bourbon, and, just the ones who start fistfights, really,” he teases, hands drifting over you, hungry warmth reaching his eyes as the afterglow begins to recede.

“Come downstairs?” Joel asks, like you weren’t tangled up in his bedsheets, surrounded and willingly captive to whatever he wanted.

“That was the original plan,” you protest, peering around for his shirt and slipping into it.

He smirks and kisses the tip of your nose, pausing and tipping your chin up to kiss you properly.

God damn it, you think. Oh, god damn it.

[sepublic]

Sorry about the double ask so here's a fun idea, Emperor Belos wrote The Good Witch Azura books. Like he wrote them in his younger years before becoming a parasitic tyrant. - Pixel Anon

           That seems like it’d be the perfect opportunity to segue into a lesson about Death of the Author, which- Given Sense and Insensitivity, and how this show already discusses how fiction affects reality and connects with it… Would be VERY refreshing to see, especially as a moral that I don’t really see other kids’ shows exploring! I do recall OK KO bringing it up with the Hero Cards not representing Kappas, but the more the merrier. It’d also be fitting to discuss Death of the Author, and separating a work from a terrible creator- Given the show’s frequent references to Harry Potter, which has a rather infamous author…

           For neurodivergent kids who really get into hyperfixations and fandoms, which Luz and Amity basically are- It’d be fascinating to see them navigate this kind of twisted revelation! And it’d also force them to really re-examine The Good Witch Azura, because sometimes a work can’tbe separated from the harmful ideas of its creator, especially if it was made to transmit them… If Azura ever talks about dealing with ‘savages’, that’d be VERY sus and make matters a lot more complex. But then again, Azura also reconciles with Hecate, so it could be a matter of recognizing a work’s more problematic areas and criticizing them, while still enjoying it.

          And, this makes sense, as The Owl House really does convey that experience of engaging with media and fiction, and how it relates to real life… And how media and fiction CAN mean a lot to people, it’s perfectly valid for one’s hyperfixations to mean the world to them! It’s treated as objectively terrible for Luz to throw away her Azura book, and bar a few social misunderstandings, the Azura books have otherwise brought nothing but happiness for her and Amity, and even functioned as something for them to bond over!

          It’s perfectly okay for fiction to mean a lot to Luz, and she’s not being childish for wanting to hold on, to keep enjoying it- So it’d be an interesting discussion when Belos’ authorship is thrown into the mix, amidst potential problematic bits here or there. Then again, Luz is an ND-coded kid who continues to find solace in these stories, which would suggest that there isn’t anything there that would bother her- At least, nothing she’d have really noticed until someone pointed it out to her.

           Then there’s the appropriateness, of Belos’ own fantasy being what could’ve led to Luz being deluded in her own right, projecting fantasies and dreams onto reality, wanting to be a chosen one… It’d be an extension of the kind of harmful delusions and ideas he puts into others, tying it back all the way of Luz herself, prior to arriving on the Boiling Isles! It’d give us insight to Belos as someone who really gets people to believe in the idea of being special, of being chosen, specifically for the Emperor’s Coven… And how this could relate to HIS character, if he himself is also a victim of these kinds of issues. If Belos is Luz, in that she never learned to differentiate fantasy from reality, and felt entitled towards bringing her stories to life.

          Perhaps Belos isn’t REALLY chosen by the Titan, he just likes to think of himself as a Chosen One- Or he was, but others can also quality for this honor, which is something that aggravates Belos because it alludes to him not being more special than others. Because to Belos, it’s not enough to be unique and valid in your own way; You must be actively better than others, and the creation of the Emperor’s Coven above all reflects this. The belief that magic is a privilege, a luxury, something you must actively earn or be more worthy of than others for…

           It’s also an interesting contrast, as if Belos has also been influenced by his works, or his works are a reflection of that- Then it’d set him apart from Luz as someone who actively deludes himself. As someone who is voluntarily blind, and willfully ignorant- Just like Lilith, who was inspired by Belos and looked to him as a role model when she was younger. Even before becoming a parasitic tyrant, Belos was a dark reflection of Luz, subjecting others to fantasies and delusions… Maybe not initially maliciously nor willingly, maybe it was just him having fun like any author. But then this innocuous action became very dark in retrospect, as Belos and his ‘hobbies’ worsened and took on a more harmful role for the people of the Boiling Isles.

          I suppose it’s worth noting that Belos’ imagery invokes a lot of white, which is also seen with Azura’s predominantly white-and-purple robes… While Belos is white-and-gold. If Belos is a dark deconstruction of Luz’s assumption of a Chosen One narrative and fantasies, then maybe he’s also a deconstruction of Azura herself; And this of course suggests that he actively emulated his own creation. He’s artistic and a writer like Luz is, but it seems Belos got TOO convinced by how good he was, and couldn’t take constructive criticism- Which could be like King as an author in Sense and Insensitivity, up until he realizes that Luz’s input helped make him so great!

           Luz and Amity can still engage in fantasy and fiction, the show always lets them find joy in this… It’s just a matter of finding the distinction between the two and recognizing it. Fully indulging into fantasy is what could’ve led Luz to accepting Adegast’s illusions… But entirely rejecting is is the path that is the Reality Camp, which would’ve sucked the fun and joy out of Luz and turned her into a hollow, soulless imitation of herself. It’s okay to find comfort and media and even be inspired by it, to even take lessons from it; And while you should always prioritize listening to real life when it says otherwise, I think it’s worth observing that Luz’s quest to be a good person like Azura… Well, influences her to be kind!

          And it’s this desire to emulate Azura that influences Luz to learn magic, which creates yet another hyperfixation that brings the girl joy, and leads to her connecting with Eda and everyone else in the Boiling Isles in the first place by staying there! Perhaps Belos will contrast with Luz in that while he recognized media’s ability to make him feel happier, he ultimately used it as a crutch, a substitute for actual meaningful interaction and connection with other people- Thus creating the monster we see today. There could be the idea of finding role models, people you want to emulate- But also recognizing their flaws, where to criticize them, and not be like them. That could tie into how Eda is a teacher to Luz, but isn’t always right and excels by taking Luz’s feedback into consideration, instead of assuming she always knows better and will never be wrong.

           All in all, this is a fascinating idea Pixel Anon! Even if Belos has no literal connection to the Azura books, I am a big fan of the idea of him being a dark reflection to Luz… A Luz as we see her start out in the series, only to be a Luz who never learns the lessons we see her go through. Belos wanted to be a hero, a main character; But he never went through the actual arc and character development of one, and instead ended up as the static villain, the main antagonist who causes problems for actualheroes. If some characters become what they despise most by trying to avoid that, then perhaps Belos is someone who avoids becoming what he wanted to be, in his attempts to be like that.

          Whether or not media has played a role in Belos’ life has yet to be seen, but there is the idea of him having lived out a traditional ‘fantasy’ without realizing it as such, because to him this IS his reality- So it’s ironic then that Belos deludes himself while Luz doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of this, because Luz has that self-awareness to consider the divide between her fantasies and what reality actually is; Because she has an actual frame of reference for what fantasy and fiction is. Suddenly I’m reminded of that joke in Lost in Language, when Gary sees “Fiction-Fiction” because the Non part, the reminder of reality, was erased; And he has an existential crisis, wondering if any of his life was real…

          Imagine this being foreshadowing to BELOS, of all people, having an epiphany- Realizing that so much of his ‘reality’ was just his own fiction, that he questions what things were real and what things never were. Belos realizing he forgot to consider reality, and now he’s questioning everything he knows, if his arcane knowledge is all for naught if he can’t even distinguish facts from fantasy… etc. What is real and objective- What if all of his ‘Non-Fiction’ was simply just Fiction, and Luz the troublemaker must reveal this to Belos? I’m just imagining Luz very awkwardly cringing and navigating around Belos’ breakdown, but also sort of relating to his dilemma and helping him recover; At least for the sake of everyone else, because a reformed Belos makes life easier than a dead one.

          Plus, Luz is very compassionate in that sort of way… And while Belos’ radiance has blinded him for so long; Now, it’s Luz’s less harsh Light, which helps open his eyes and allow Belos to properly see the world around him. Eyes DO seem to be a major motif in the Boiling Isles, and with Belos, whose eyes need to be fixed by some palisman bile… If Belos’ light has blinded all, himself the first victim; Then Luz’s more Night-time, Star-oriented Light can bring a sunset to Belos’ shining era, for now the sun sets on his empire after all these years. And with the lights dimmed, Belos can appreciate the darkness around him as a contrast, and truly recognize things for what they are… And Luz can metaphorically open his eyes and mind.

          If Luz illuminates others to the truth of their situation and what they’re doing- Then maybe her final obstacle can be Belos… Alongside her mother Camila, when Luz reunites with her and reveals just how much happier she’s been in the Boiling Isles, instead of the Reality Camp that was actually going to hurt her. THAT would be an unusual parallel, Belos and Camila, as two significant adults in Luz’s life… Potentially ones who taught Luz everything she knew prior to Eda, with Camila providing social interactions to the girl, while Belos provides lessons through his Azura fiction and media. If Azura and Camila were all Luz knew and learned from, it’d be interesting for her to teach THEM something herself- Again, a continuation of that theme of the teacher having a lot to learn from the student, and not being so infallible and all-knowing themselves. Even a teacher like Eda can still enjoy the wide-eyed opportunity and curiosity to learn as a student, once more…

[sunsetcurve]

I would like to hear the why you hate dr essay, if you don’t mind

buckle up everyone. i’ve been enabled and now you’re never going to get me to shut up.

warning: this is about to get super long, because i have a lot of thoughts about this, and this might be my only opportunity to just...go off. so here’s my whole ass thesis on why i hate dr. colosso. keep in mind that this is the product of several rewatches and a lot of character analysis on my part, because i tend to do that frequently. also, i’d like to start this off with a quick disclaimer: i do think colosso’s role in the show is very important; if you asked me if i’d get rid of him completely i’d say no, but there are definitely things i would’ve done differently with his portrayal, and we’ll get into that later.

when i watched the show for the first time i really didn’t like colosso, but i kind of chalked that up to the fact that he was annoying and left it there. there’s always been something about him that rubs me the wrong way, though. i’ve been doing a rewatch recently (as you’ve probably gathered from my posts) and that combined with talking to @ciara-knightly about it for a while helped me understand why i find his presence to be genuinely problematic.

i’m gonna start with the most obvious thing: he’s a bad influence on max. they of course directly address this in the show, but what i feel like is important to understand here is that colosso’s influence isn’t like “oh he’s max’s troublemaker friends who eggs him on to do bad stuff sometimes haha”. colosso, despite being a bunny, is still actually a supervillain max’s father’s age, and he uses that to manipulate max a lot. talking about it with shona made me realize that especially early on, max really didn’t have anyone else in his life who was willing to listen to his ideas or encourage his skills, specifically inventing gadgets. in canon his parents almost never praise his work, even when he’s not using it for evil (see: phoebe’s a clone now), but colosso is shown to be someone who both helps him with his experiments and keeps him going at them. i’m dipping into character analysis instead of straight up canon here, but it’s pretty clear to understand the impact this would’ve had on max—he’s a kid who wants approval and colosso gives it to him, and in turn max listens to colosso’s ideas and often does what he tells him. i’m not saying that max is completely at colosso’s will, of course—max is very self-driven and that wouldn’t be giving him enough credit, but at the same time, we know very little about the actual process of max’s decision to be a villain, and i really don’t doubt that colosso had a lot to do with it. in the show we see colosso frequently urging max to leave his family behind, and there’s an arc where we literally see max starting to become a better person because of his friends and colosso telling him to ditch them (see: exit stage theft). we also see colosso preying on max’s insecurities, specifically his comparison of himself to phoebe, in order to further his descent into villainy.

the reason i prefaced this by saying colosso’s role in the show is important is because i genuinely think max’s villain arc would’ve been closed much sooner without colosso’s influence. colosso was a huge factor in not only exposing max to the world of supervillains but also in deepening the rift between him and his parents. so everything i said above does actually make sense, writing-wise, within the context of the show—colosso is a supervillain, he’s supposed to be manipulating max, and he is the main factor driving the progression of max’s villain arc.

but now i’m going to get into why i think that from a writer’s standpoint, his role in the show is problematic, especially post-season three.

a lot of it has to do with the fact that none of what i said above is ever really addressed in canon. there are throwaway lines about how colosso was a bad influence on max but there was no recognition of the fact that without colosso, max likely wouldn’t have strayed as far into villainy as he did. more importantly, though, the main issue i had with the writing of max’s arc was that there was no discussion about why he felt so strongly about colosso, and what colosso’s presence said about his relationship with his parents.

like i said before, max needed someone in his life who was willing to give him the approval and validation that he was looking for. in the show his redemption arc comes down to his relationship with his family, but at no point in the show did he actually want to harm his family, so i think there’s a bigger picture here—i honestly think that a big part of it was that at that point in his life, max had sort of grown past the need to be told his worth; he clearly still had his insecurities, but having friends, a girlfriend, and a life outside of his family (where he felt unseen) gave him a more concrete role. the point here that i’m trying to make is that max’s arc essentially came down to his own perception of his self-worth. the reason colosso was able to influence him so strongly was because as i said before, he was the one who gave max the validation he wanted. and this is why i felt like max’s arc was really one-sided—his parents’ lack of attention towards him and pretty blatant favoritism towards phoebe was clearly a huge factor in max’s arc that was never brought up again. the reason that i say i would’ve changed colosso’s role after max’s redemption is because until that point, colosso had been sort of a stand-in for max’s parents in his life, but one who took advantage of him. i wish the show had gone towards a more well-rounded reconciliation between max and his parents, and an acknowledgement of their mistakes and the fact that max was able to be so strongly influenced by colosso because he didn’t feel like he had anyone else. instead, they pretty much glossed over and trivialized max’s reasons for wanting to be a villain in the first place, and the dynamics within the family didn’t actually change—his parents still showed pretty clear favoritism towards phoebe (see: thundermans: banished!) and max still went to colosso for approval and advice. i think the only really central thing that changed was max’s relationship with phoebe, and that was incredibly important for max’s development and i liked the way it played out, but i still would’ve had more conversation between max and his parents about how things went down.

(also, i think hank and barb’s decision to let their supervillain-turned-bunny bunk with their teenage—possibly preteen at the time—son is a little bit sketchy. that’s all i’m saying.)

and now comes the counterpoint that max and colosso are best friends. which—that statement in and of itself has always rubbed me the wrong way. i’m not here to argue whether or not colosso loves max; he very clearly does (see: a hero is born, the thunder games), but it’s a selfish and possessive sort of caring. colosso doesn’t actually care about what’s best for max, or whether or not he’s happy. he hated allison, he didn’t want max to reconcile with his family, he tried to separate max from his friends. he essentially just wants max for himself, and that sort of dynamic is incredibly toxic no matter how close they are. there’s also something to be said about the age difference between them: max is a teenager and colosso is at least his father’s age, and this is not me trying to dismiss the relationship that kids can have with important adults in their life—i, personally, have had really strong relationships with teachers and mentors to the point where i consider them good friends—but the issue is that with those sort of relationships there is always a sense of the older person being like a mentor and influencing the younger one, and while that can often be a really good thing it can also, like in colosso’s case, be a bad thing.

and going off of the age difference, let’s get into the final and most prominent reason that i hate colosso. the show pretty frequently makes jokes that mirror romantic partnerships when it comes to max and colosso. i can cite so many instances when colosso calls max pet names or the situation is modeled after a marriage or colosso makes sort of flirty advancements towards max, but it’s fine because it’s all for humor, right? and colosso’s a bunny, right? except he’s actually a fifty-something year old man, and max is a teenager. and while those jokes have always made me superbly uncomfortable, my general rule of thumb during my rewatch has been “if colosso was human right now, how creepy would this be?” and the answer is almost always very. very very creepy. i don’t think i need to go into too much analysis on why i hate this so much but colosso’s “flirting” with max is just genuinely disgusting and is the main reason i can’t stand him as a character.

this is veering into 1.6k territory so i’m going to try and wrap it up here. the tl;dr for this is that while i think colosso played a pretty pivotal role in the show, i wish in the end part of max’s arc would’ve been about breaking away from him instead of remaining in a very toxic dynamic with a supervillain his father’s age. i think colosso could’ve eventually been redeemed if it came down to it, but overall i wish there had been more acknowledgement of exactly how colosso affected max before they became “friends” again, and especially hank and barb’s failures when it came to max feeling unheard. if you actually read this all the way through i’m applauding you, and thank you for asking to see this essay because i love doing character/writing analysis stuff like this. until next time!

[redmaneroster]

Our Home Away From Home, Away From Home

[1] [x] [3] [4-5] [6] [7] [8-9] [10]

PART 2 – Adhesion

It’s the second year at Beacon and the rest of the juniors are out by the cliffs watching freshmen start their initiation by being hurled into the woods at a speed that would break normal people’s necks.

Weiss wants to scope out the competition to see if they’ll have any favorable opponents for the Vytal festival. They’re competing this year again too and she aims to win.

Yang arrives a little later than the rest since she spent much of the night before unpacking.

On instinct she moves to sit next to Jaune but then he laughs at something Pyrrha says and she almost doesn’t. Almost. She plops down anyway and asks what’s up. Turns out, another student was launched screaming through the sky just like Jaune was.

He decides then to make an announcement. Then promptly shuts his mouth. He wants to keep it a surprise. Ruby bugs him to say it anyway but he holds his tongue.

Yang can tell Pyrrha already knows and its clear Ren has an inkling. (Nora’s poker face is so legendary that nothing can be read). It’s another thing Yang doesn’t know about Jaune.

-0-

Ruby has taken to decorating their room. She strings lights across the ceiling, sets table cloths on their nightstands, lays a carpet in the middle of the room, and smatters the walls with pictures of them and their adventures. It feels a little more like home and Weiss doesn’t fuss about how scattered it all looks.

Yang can’t help but fixate on one photo tucked into the corner of the room.

The two teams are huddled together, but on the far side is Jaune and Pyrrha. Cheeks pressed together and their hands – unseen in the photo – are clutched together behind them. They were in love then, she tells herself, even if the word love is so ambiguous at this point that it makes her irritable.

Maybe one day she’ll convince herself he’s okay and that he has nothing to hide. At least from her.

“Going for a walk,” she announces to the busyness of the room.

The clatter of Blake’s book follows after her as she plunges into the noise of the hallway.

Blake walks with her without a word because the halls are filled with so many voices behind the hundred closed doors and any one of them could be listening in. It still, somehow, feels uncomfortably quiet.

They sit at the garden just out by the dorm and Blake asks her what’s on her mind.

Yang says that it’s not worth mentioning. A petty, tiny thing that she’ll get over in a day and that it’s silly she’s even worrying about it.

Blake tells her that it can be silly if she’s worrying about it. Just because the world has bigger problems doesn’t mean she should feel ashamed for feeling what she feels. Some things – she says slowly, empathically – are beyond our control. Even in ourselves.

Blake’s smile isn’t real. Yang catches the self-defeat hiding in the too wide look in her eyes.

Not wanting to let Blake wallow in her own torments amidst the silence, Yang confesses that she’s gotten to really know Jaune for the better part of a month. She says she’s his friend but believes that she barely qualifies. She doesn’t really know the real Jaune Arc.

“What’s the first thing he does in the morning?” Blake asks.

“Uh… cook breakfast, water the cactus, play death metal at my door so I wake up to set the table.”

“He has a cactus?”

“Don’t ask me to explain. It’s a long story.”

Blake explains that despite her little courtship triangle with Sun and Ilia over the summer, she couldn’t answer the question herself. If anything, they know more about each other than she does them. When it was happening, she tried to memorize everything on the surface. Music tastes, favorite food, books they’ve read (they didn’t have many. They’re movie buffs), but one time the two of them were arguing and Ilia let slip that Sun was a virgin, and Sun returned fire by reminding her that so was she.

Blake didn’t know any of that, but they told each other in confidence somehow.

It was no surprise that they called things off a month before school started. She even overheard Sun setting Ilia up with a close friend of his, and Ilia’s been behind him and Pyrrha ever since.

Yang tells her that it doesn’t mean she didn’t get to know them or get closer.

Blake smiles, brightly with a ghost of a chuckle rumbling from her lips. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.” Blake may not have gotten to know them as well as they did with each other, but who can say who is closer to who. Does that kind of comparison even matter?

The bottom line is that they care about each other. It’ll take some time to get to know them but love isn’t a quantity set with knowing what someone says or does. Those are things that make it easier, but love of any kind has only one requirement: a willingness to give something selflessly.

Yang is surprised by that and admits, rather somberly, that she hasn’t done that yet.

“What are you talking about? You did.”

Blake explains that – for the most part – people give things to those they care about without really knowing it. You listen to them talk so you lend them your ear, you eat where they want to eat so you give them your time, you say something nice, you crack a joke, and sometimes, just sometimes, you sit there and be whatever they need. The sacrifice is often tiny, but you’re still giving for their benefit.

And sometimes these connections go at a different pace, she says. Like her with Sun and Ilia, them to each other, Yang with herself, and Yang with Jaune. That doesn’t mean they’re any more or less valuable.

So maybe it isn’t so bad that she’s still getting to know him, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t friends.

-0-

At lunch, everyone seats themselves around a blonde in a hoodie, snoozing with the hood pulled up. Minutes later, Jaune shows up and they all stare wide-eyed at the mysterious blonde they converged around. Jaune’s surprise, apparently, is that his twin sister, Joan, is attending Beacon with her team.

Yang realizes that Jaune hasn’t been wearing his hoodie.

Joan calls it the “elder hoodie,” because no one knows who was born first so they trade the hoodie depending on who the eldest is supposed to be at the time. Since he stole it for a year, she’s keeping it till they finish being sophomores. Everyone’s just going to have to get used to him without it for a while.

Nora says he should stop putting it on altogether cause his muscles are showing. Joan takes a quick look at her chest – undefined in the oversized cloth – and quickly takes it off and tries to give it back to him. They fight over it until Yang snatches it for herself.

The twins are momentarily embarrassed until she says, “Okay! I’m the eldest now.”

Joan decides that Yang makes a great big sister. No one tells her that Yang’s three months younger.

-0-

It’s Friday after class and Yang shouldn’t be surprised that Joan muscles into the apartment. She doesn’t take the couch either. Joan and Jaune shared a bed so often that she decided that bunking with him was evidently the logical conclusion.

Joan cooks soup for dinner. It has banana slices in it. It reminds them of home.

Yang wakes up on Saturday morning to find Jaune sat on the couch in a towel; shampoo still in his hair. Joan woke up grumpy (he doesn’t mention the teary-eyed look) and kicked him out of the bedroom so she could shower and change without him seeing. Yang doesn’t like this, but Jaune tells her not to get mad at her.

He explains that, even though he reconciled with his parents, it didn’t go so smoothly with his sisters. Joan especially. Had she known he was running away to Beacon, she’d have followed after him. He didn’t want to risk her future for the same shot in the dark as his.

Still, she’s upset cause she spent a year worrying about him and being petty for one morning is hardly the worst she could do.

“And what if she does this again?” she asks, arms crossed.

“She won’t,” he says swiftly, an affection to his eyes that tells her that he knows his twin sister as well as he does himself.

Joan is probably hating herself for kicking him out in the first place, and will come out apologizing for it. Cause she’s eighteen and things should have been okay now. No sense in dragging things along.

Yang offers her bathroom for him to finish. She resists innuendo. He catches it anyway. They laugh.

“I’ll get some soap from my closet real quick.”

“Dude, use mine. I don’t care.”

As predicted, Joan comes out into the living room looking sheepish. She asks where Jaune is. Yang instead offers to talk.

With a hesitant step, she sits down with her.

Joan tells her about how things went down at home. She spent a lot of time defending Jaune, saying he’d come back soon. It was only a week before even she seriously doubted he’d come back safe. They feared the worst until Jaune called Saphron at the height of his guilt to explain that he’s fine and that he got accepted into Beacon. A week later, he calls again and tells them about his team.

When they heard they were both nice and competent, they left him alone until he was ready to come back.

They knew they had to trust him and their dad, Apolian, admitted that he should have tried to prepare him instead of pushing him to pursue medicine like a civilian.

Good things did come out of it though. Joan got training like she wanted and she got registered with a local team. It was too late to enroll for freshman year but their accolades qualified them as sophomores. She didn’t want to stay in the field though. She wanted the academy experience.

It’s thirty minutes later after an anecdote about one of her teammates, that they realize that Jaune’s already starting breakfast. (He still had some of his spare clothes in Yang’s closet. It did use to be his).

He’s happy they’re getting along.

Joan is sorry she was being petty.

He’s sorry he ran away without telling her.

Apologies go back and forth until it ends abruptly. Yang almost envies the speed in which they hash things out.

They spend the day together.

Joan took the same guitar lessons as Jaune. They’re both terrible at singing. So is Yang. The neighbors hate it. Then they make plans to buy amps.

The afternoon is a blur of stalls and dust shops. Sugar and music. Noises and laughter. Joan is still fresh into the city life and Yang feels like she could take her under her wing. She even has an interest in getting a bike.

Yang shows Joan the Club. Junior is amicable with there now being two Arcs who will keep her on the dance floor instead of the bar.

There’s a moment where Yang and Joan are talking between themselves. In that time, Jaune thinks to himself for a minute too long and he reaches for his flask to ease the torments swirling in his mind. Yang takes his hand. She noticed. With a smile small enough to be honest and pleading, she leads him out of the booth and into the dance floor.

Joan watches the way they look at each other.

“Huh.”

She snaps a picture.

-0-

So much happened the day before that Yang almost gets whiplash when it’s just her and Jaune again. It’s blistering hot outside so they decide to make milkshakes.

Yang goes on a tirade about why Jaune should just buy a bike instead of saving up for a car. Jaune insists on getting a Highway Aries his sister Sable vowed was safe and sturdy. They’re so distracted by the conversation that someone forgets to lid the blender.

The mishap is explosive, and they’re both covered in stray milk and sugar. They take a picture and laugh it off. It’s another memory – they decide – that would be timeless.

After getting changed, they get the idea to get a “before and after” shot. Since they couldn’t take a before shot, they take one now and pretend that it is since the kitchen’s all cleaned.

They try with the milkshakes again, remembering to have the lid closed, and after smothering each in whipped cream, they’re sat at the TV, streaming an old film they saw as kids.

Their scrolls buzz.

Everyone saw the photos.

Ren asks why their clothes are different in both shots.

Nora sends a winky face.

Joan rants about how she leaves them for one day and they’re already messing around.

Weiss rants about their lack of propriety.

Jaune is static as he stares at the continued outburst from the rest of their friends just because Ren had to question the logic and Nora had to take it that way. Before he types down an explanation, Yang stops him. She takes another photo, milkshakes in hand, and captions it.

“Come join us next time. Let’s make it a party.” Everyone who isn’t Weiss knows the party is genuine. Weiss struggles to even say “orgy” and, somehow, “preposterous.”

Jaune takes pity on her and asks Neptune to explain that it’s a joke. Somehow realizing she misread the whole thing makes Weiss feel even more embarrassed.

Yang is very satisfied with the outcome.

Sat quietly together, their movie drones on and they forget that milkshakes aren’t exactly coffee. Their drowsiness straps weights to their eyelids. Haphazard jokes that mean nothing and make no sense are the only attempt at staying awake.

Joan slips into the living room cause she forgot something. She finds Jaune cleaning glasses while Yang slumbers on the couch.

“No luck?” she asks.

“Didn’t even try,” he answers.

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I’ll screw up again.”

“Maybe you won’t.”

“Maybe it’s safer –” he pushes a tiny strongbox into her hands, “–that I don’t.”

Despite herself, Joan doesn’t pry. She hugs him instead and makes for the door. Before she leaves, she peeks through the crack in the door and sees Jaune staring at Yang. Temptation twitches at his fingers. He goes for his flask.

Joan gets an idea.

-0-

Joan skips class Monday morning. She sneaks into the apartment and waters down Jaune’s whiskey.

She doesn’t know if it’s wise. It might even end poorly, but it might turn out precisely how it should. Jaune already hardly notices the taste, and this won’t feel much different.

A week passes and nothing happens. That is until Joan is sitting with Ruby on Sunday. The weekend before, they went to the dock to indulge in the carnival.

Joan is, at first, not surprised to hear that Jaune and Yang disappeared somewhere towards the end.

Then, it turns out, Yang came back to the dorm really late with a bruised lip. She was also missing her jacket.

Jaune walks into the cafeteria with band aid on his neck. They already know he’s hiding a hickey.

Ruby makes a demand: as his best friend, she wants to know what he did with her sister. Her and Joan look up at him expectantly.

“Fine,” he groans, “but this stays between us.”

[berlinini]

#i interpret rear view as zayn talking to his younger self

yeah zayn said (in his book iirc) he wrote it about himself after leaving 1d and being hated by everyone :( poor z

It's simply... heartbreaking... ☹️

Heard about all the things you done And all the walls you've been in Heard about all the love you lost It was over before it began (oh oh oh) Heard about all the miles you've gone Just to start again Heard about all the things you've been through And it sounds like you need a friend, a friend

It says a lot in a few words about being controlled (the walls), struggles with self-esteem (love you lost) and ultimately doing it all again as a solo artist (start again). "Sounds like you need a friend"...I think fame can be very lonely and while Zayn could relate with his bandmates in their newfound life as mega pop stars, clearly he was an outliner and must have felt truly alone so many times...

But this:

I never doubted myself But I doubted you I'm tired of looking by myself And not with you

I've always wondered about these lines... I feel like there's a dialogue of sort between his true self and the 1D/famous self. I never doubted who I was - deep down - but I doubted who I'd become, who I was supposed to be. I'm tired of these two selfs not being aligned...

Makes me think of how he had to reconcile these two parts, which he did by leaving the band... ultimately deciding to stay true to himself. I mean the album is titled Mind of Mine after all! He showed who his was outside of being 1/5 of 1D.

Anyways now he's living his best life and we listen to Unfuckwitable, he seems to be a peace with himself and his choices and that's all that matters.