#the level of like.. killing intent here is interesting - not something you usually see with mcs..

[red-red-spout]

anyways neat how Sayeon went for the throat, like, literally.. was only not lethal because she underestimated Abberant healing factor... wonder if she's gonna start trying even more brutal executions now? What's there even to go from here... trying for full decapitation maybe?

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ed’s Initial Intentions regarding Stede

Thank you so much for your attention to the poll. The consensus is it’s complicated - and I sort of agree - although I’m swayed towards Fascination alone.

This is my interpretation…

Stede causes Ed to access hidden or denied parts of himself before they’ve even met. And it causes a change in Ed’s behaviour. Ed’s come across many rich or aristocratic folks to rob whom he would see killed without issue; but not someone who’s also a pirate, doing their own original thing, and who seems ambivalent towards Blackbeard’s existence. It’s dopamine to Ed’s novelty-starved brain. It’s not as if Ed carries out a usual raid on the Revenge intending to kill Stede, only to find himself unexpectedly charmed. Ed’s bewitched even before he meets Stede, which means Ed’s entire approach and thought-processes are altered.

Killing Stede and the crew isn’t necessarily off the table should the need arise, but I don’t think it’s actively on in any capacity. There’s no plan, and there’s no ‘uszh’ for once either. Because none of this is uszh. Ed’s engagement with the Revenge is not his normal MO. History’s most brilliant tactician is free-styling. Possibly free-falling.

At the end of 102, Izzy states, ‘Captain says follow that ship.’ And Fang answers ‘Oh really? Why?’ To which Izzy replies, ‘How should I know? The man’s half-insane.’ This conversation shows this isn’t usual strategy. Even Fang asks why - he thought they’d seen the last of those ‘fancyboys’. And Ivan’s sad he didn’t get the chance to murder them, which seems the usual way of things. Plus they’d already had the chance to take or plunder the ship when it ran aground, so this stalking manoeuvre is out of the ordinary. It feels like wasted time and energy.

By the start of episode three, Blackbeard’s ship is a few hundred yards out from the Revenge, and Izzy’s trying to manipulate Ed into usual strategy again by suggesting opening fire, or boarding and throwing the Revenge crew to the sharks. Instead, Ed wants to wait until they make landfall and invite them aboard his ship. Ed’s doing something very different again because he’s unwittingly engaging with an unfamiliar part of himself. And interestingly ‘Go suck eggs in Hell’ appears not to insult, but to somewhat seduce him further. Before meeting Stede, he’s already out of his depth emotionally, and acting out of character, literally.

Despite what Ed would do normally, I just cannot see him landing on the Revenge with the active intent of plundering the ship and / or killing Stede and the crew. His words and actions suggest he’s already through the looking-glass.

So, to The Plan. We have three interesting moments which lead up to its revelation: the clothes swap, ‘careful of your face’ and ‘show me the ways of an aristocrat’.

For me, the three strands, which have no previous connection (other than Ed and Stede playing together), come together in Ed’s mind somewhere between Ed leaving Stede on the lookout, and Ed speaking with Izzy below: a matter of seconds. It reminds me of Keyser Söze in The Usual Suspects, pulling together disparate ideas into a cohesive story spontaneously. It’s the mind of a quick-thinker. And it’s in-keeping with Ed’s ability of reacting in the moment to the moment when necessary.

I think Ed also feels forced to perform Blackbeard for Izzy because Izzy’s threatening to leave pushes on that white father-figure emotional bruise. At this stage, Ed doesn’t have enough emotional loyalty to Stede to not voice such a plan; whilst his identity is still too caught in Izzy’s web to let him go - ‘you’re needed here’. For me, the plan to kill Stede is brought about in the moment via an act of psychological coercive control.

But Ed’s also kicking the can down the road. It’s a sort of Faustian bargain. Why not promise Izzy both their souls if it means Ed and Stede can hang out a little longer? Yet on another level Ed’s possibly hoping the debt won’t be called in, such is the complexity of the push and pull here. He’s putting it on the tab, the never-never. He’ll out-manoeuvre it if he decides that’s what he wants. Of course there’s doublethink going on because Ed’s in the middle of an identity crisis.

Ed daren’t admit his real reason for wanting to stay on the Revenge. He can’t comprehend himself even how deep this goes. His look as he turns is one of exhaustion and confusion. Stede Bonnet has him rattled. What started as a trickle of unease and ennui before they’d even met is now a whirlpool of unidentifiable feelings around both Stede, and Ed’s own perception of self.

Ed’s free-falling in liminal space.

[ashton-sano]

HxH: Feitan w/ a Strong! S/o Pt.1(?)

|

|

|

`>When I say strong, the reader, in this case, would be as physically capable and have nen and/or abilities comparable to Feitan. I see a lot of headcanons but not many like this

|

|

|

`>Getting back into the HXH fandom slowly so while I'm working on some more Food Wars! Content, have these since this gremlin has been plaguing my mind lol. If this gets enough love, ill make a part 2 so tell me what you all think :3

Warning: Murder, Stalking and Strong language

So if you a minor, beware.

.

-To start, he might be a tad put off

-It's pretty rare to find someone with such prowess, especially ones that don't have less than-savory intentions

-Id assume you met on a battlefield of some kind or while he was on one of his missions with the troupe

-Just like him, you aren't exactly the upstanding citizen type and are committing crimes of some sort when you encounter

-Whether stealing the same things or killing the same people, you two have similar goals, regardless of the reason

-To be fair, he didn't think much of you when you first appeared

  "How. Troublesome...."

-An annoying obstacle, someone to dispatch quickly

-However, after a rather tedious fight and a good amount of bruises, he realized it might not be that simple

-Your moves were calculated and precise, and your battle iq no doubt honed over years of experience with nen abilities that even he found difficult to handle

-His interest was certainly piqued, as much as it can for Feitan anyway

-You’ll hand it to him; its been a while since you've seen his level of strength

-A true master of his craft, no doubt

-Regardless, that isn't why you were here

-You came to rid of a target and with your mission accomplished, there was no reason to stay, no matter how curious you were about the extent of his ability

-You were swift at your exit, swift enough that Feitan only caught your figure leaving from the corner of his eye

-Admittedly you've sparked more than enough of his interest

-something about your very being itched him in a way he couldn't describe and lingered his thoughts for moments too long

-Like it or not, your existence loomed his mind awkwardly and gave his chest a tighten

-Indescribably annoying

'Must. know. about. Her. Get rid of stupid feeling.”

-now we all know Feitan is no short of deranged and sadistic so it is no telling if he wanted to know for devious reasons or other

-Whatever the case, it led to him talking Shalnark into researching deep (and I mean very deep) into you

-Playing it off as a simple inquiry, he found you, a picture attached to your profile albeit a very blurry one

-All that he could get was your name and Age

"Y/n. Interesting. Name."

Shalnark is confused

-That's how he got here, peeping from your window as you rest

-Even with such little information, finding you was trivially easy

-Your apartment was small, compact he’d say

-Nothing compared to the places he’s layed his head: cold, dark, and filthy on a good day

-He spent the night watching you sleep, noticing every ministration, every time you got up abruptly and checked your surroundings, nearly certain something was amiss

-He didn't expect peeping on you to be so trepidatious

-That didn't stop him from stopping by every time he wasn't busy to check up and watch you

-Days became weeks and months flew by as he kept this cycle going

-It eventually got to the point that he'd follow you to and from your house

-He was searching and, surprisingly, unsure of what for

-He's never felt any particular connection to people outside of the spiders so it was usually easy to write it off as mindless curiosity

-He just wants to know why you interest him so much, and nothing more

-That's how he ended up in your house when you left for your 8 am morning run, which took you approx. 30 minutes to finish as of this week

-He was just checking your clothes because he wished to know where you frequented, perhaps he could lie in waiting as you shopped, snatching your jugular and relenting this pounding in his chest that paces just a few beats quicker

-He only checks the food you eat to see what your diet consists of, perhaps to poison you as your gaze falters from your plate, even if just for a second, permanently killing the heat that rises against his skin at the thought of you

-He doesn't care about you; he just wants to know your weaknesses to exploit, that’s all

-If that were true, then why was he in your room when you weren't? Taking in your scent as if an attached dog 

-Surely he could've killed you thousands of times over in the dead of your sleep; a slit to your throat would've ended this and yet he feels pulled to let you live 

“Just. one. More day.”

 -If it didn't matter, if you didn't matter, why did he effectively remove any potential romantic partner from your life?

-It's just to make you easier to kill; it's just to make you easier to kill, it's just to make you easier to take. No! Kill...not take...

-What was once curiosity became more of a crippling obsession.

-He had to know everything—what you were doing, who you spoke to, and what you ate in the morning

-You captivated him and even if he couldn't understand it, you had him wrapped around your finger without so much as a word 

-Ever since your mission 4 months ago, a certain feeling has lingered your consciousness and kept you on edge with no clue as to the source

-Things went missing, your associates became distant—well, more distant than you kept them—and your kills have become suspiciously easier.

-To the average person, such a prospect would strike fear and cause for trepidation

-Did you think I wasn't aware that he'd been watching me?

-All credit goes to him, spotting him was the hardest part

-He only let his presence be known through peeks of his bloodlust spilling before he vanished in the same motion, which gave away how seasoned he was

It was hard to tell if he wanted me to find him with how obvious his actions became; no, the word would be bold. His actions have gone from stealing articles from the back of my closet to lacing food when he was sure I hadn't seen him 

-Playing dumb was the easy part; actually avoiding his kidnapping attempt(s) was certainly a challenge 

-Before long, you could see the desperation in his nen

“You're getting sloppy, Stalker.”

-I suppose you've worked hard, stalker, I’ll let you win just this once

[atryoshka]

Frenchie and Izzy getting together would be genius and tbh I can't unsee it now

Love that Izzy and Frenchie actually have a lot in common on a deeper level that wasn't really apparent to me until s2 when we see how they deal with trauma in equal but opposite ways. We have Frenchie with his little box that allows him to straight up ignore the dark shit he's been through like it doesn't exist, happily eat some blood cake, and thinking that his death being given a clear deadline is a comfort. Then we have Izzy trying to stone face his way through having his body parts severed, just business as usual bc that's the pirate life and it won't change even though he's visibly holding back tears, and then accusing the crew of being too cowardly to kill him, actively inviting death bc he doesn't get why any of it even matters so keeping him alive is pointless.

What's interesting is that given the right circumstances, they could easily trade places, with Izzy being more lighthearted and Frenchie falling apart at the seams.

We've already seen signs of this with Izzy being much more chilled out after the crew made him the new unicorn, finding something in this terrible life that make him see them, and himself, in a more positive light. Like yeah, life is still filled with unimaginable horror, but now has a custom gold painted unicorn leg to trudge through it with, which is absolutely absurd but now he can't help but smile. So he decided his life is so unserious right now and you know what? A shark took his leg, end of story, here's a little wooden shark I made today just for fun lol. Frenchie on the other hand is still pretty relaxed despite everything that's happened so far, but I have a feeling that he was probably very similar to izzy in the past before he joined the crew of The Revenge. His past is pretty mysterious even with the little tidbits we get like him being in the service for bit. It doesn't sound like he was doing it for too long so the other things in his life that he doesn't talk about remain unknown, probably even to himself. The box exists so he can pretend any trauma he experiences doesn't even exist, unlike a fiction which still somewhat acknowledges that there was something that happened to him in a way he could accept. The truth is, he actually never moved on bc all the parts of his life that he's ignoring are still lurking inside him waiting to break out at anytime. I think when something accidentally triggers a memory he suppressed, we'll see a different side to him. Less chill, more shrewd survivalist, like when he and the others reunited with the revenge crew after being stranded at sea. He bounced back pretty fast after they got past the pinnata and cake standoff but it was interesting to see how ready he was to be violent and how untrusting he was of everyone's intentions in that context. He'd usually be much more chill and willing to fast talk his way out of a situation, even when he knows someone has bad intentions. (There's also probably something with religious trauma he's hiding but that's a whole other can of worms I won't get into. All I'll say is that combined with his very strong beliefs of the supernatural and grudging flippant way he does the cross symbol on himself when others do it, when they boarded the cursed ship, he was that only one to not step in the satanic circle before anyone even questioned what the strange lines even were. Did he immediately recognize it and consciously avoid it or was it gut reaction? Idk, but he sure as hell didn't speak up about it and just wearily watched the other step into it and draw their own conclusions. ) But getting back on track Honestly, their dynamic would be really interesting to explore in the show bc they could understand and care about each other in ways that would probably surprise them if given the opportunity to spend more time together on screen. tl;dr: All this to say that I fell down the rabbit hole after realizing that they are basically this meme, which has a lot of potential for so many hilarious and accidentally heartbreaking moments

[youhavelessproof]

mob Dickie Jaydick AU anyone?

mob Dick is a thing we've seen in canon before and it will not leave my mind so y'all get to deal with ramblings about it. :) (Crutches and also a timeline where he never met Bruce.)

brainstormed this in the bottom Dick server, but here's me trying to summarize it.

general premise: no capes AU where once Dick escaped juvie he went and killed Zucco. (not quickly, he was 8, but he's a smart kid,) and then decided well police are useless, so I'll just help people myself. (very similar to how be became Robin, but like. more real world vigilante justice which is more morally questionable than fictional vigilantes.) Dick is a part of a mob at any given time because it makes doing what he was already going to do easier. which mob changes because he's not really part of the mob to be part of the mob and it's more a access to resources thing. Dick is allowed not wear a face mask/helmet because no records of him existing really exist. he was a circus kid that just ended up placed in juvie. he doesn't have records. Jason on the other hand is just a normal fucking dude. (probably a priest like that one timeline but I've never been religious so I wouldn't really know how to write it. but I could try.) also yes obviously Jason's life has not been easy-peasy or whatever but in comparison he is so very normal.

they meet at a bar or diner or something and Dick uses Jason to get some dudes of his back. probably an "I'll owe you, but I need you to kiss me right now." regardless, Dick had no intentions of actually getting Jason interested in him, but I mean. look at him.

their meeting should've ended at that, but Jason is involved now because he keeps wanting to see that pretty boy that definitely had knives and a gun on him but. pretty 🥺

also I just wanna clarify that Dick is not killing bad people to prove a point. he doesn't even necessarily see what he's doing as 100% right. the systems are corrupt and he knows it, but he also knows he is one man with 0 resources if he didn't get involved in crime. he can't change the systems as one man, but he can help people sleep at night. (kinda think of it like fanon Red Hood. except with less "I know I'm right." because Dick is not concerned about being right, he's concerned with helping people.)

which leads to a lot of conflict with cop Babs. because she doesn't agree at all with what Dick is doing, but also? he's so... gentle with victims. and he doesn't try and hurt Babs unless she tries to arrest him. he seems like an upstanding guy but also he has a kill count. and it is not a small number.

there's no past of present Dickbabs btw. they can be a little flirty at times, but Dick wouldn't date a cop and Babs thinks Dick is too self-righteous anyways.

Jason also has moral objections, (whether just personally or because of religion depends on the priest thing,) but he understands Dick on a deeper level than Babs. he's been at the bottom, he's had to steal to live, he knows. he just wishes that Dick didn't kill. didn't cross that line. it's not a deal breaker, but it is a point of tension.

Dick is basically talking to Jason sporadically at first. nothing much but some surface level conversations, but they're more than Dick usually has with people. Dick is thinking about trying to shut out Jason because he's just a guy and he's gonna get himself hurt. like. really hurt. Leslie encourages him to talk to Jason though because she's known Dick for forever and she says he needs the company. (Leslie does not agree with what Dick is doing btw, but she found him hurt when he was like 10 and became something a confidant for the boy. plus, Dick trusts her enough to bring victims to her when they need help.)

Dick still has Roy as a friend in this AU and they are close but also Roy has a government job that Dick isn't thrilled with and Roy is not thrilled with the murder. they are best friends, but they have a lot of... tension we'll call it. (Jason will have something of a friendship with Roy, but it is mostly formed from mutual concern about Dick.) also Donna is here, but I'm gonna say she does not live in Gotham so y'know. she also doesn't like murder, but Dick's her boy so it's... not fine, but it doesn't matter.

Dick and Jason end up in a friends with benefits situation because Jason assumes Dick would not be willing to commit to relationship considering everything around him and Dick assumes Jason would only want him for his body. they are both stupid. (/affectionate.)

possibly also a marriage of convenience at some point so that Jason can't testify against Dick. how Dick would even get caught in the first place? good question, have not gotten there.

anyway one last thing: Dick does not share his name like. at all. Donna knows it and maybe Roy too but generally it's either aliases or nicknames people call him. so when he tells Jason his name is Dick it is a big deal.

"see you around." "Dick." "huh?" "that's my name. Dick." "in that case, see you around, Dick." "see you, Jace."

anyway this AU will not leave my brain. I like role reversals when they're done in a specific way and this one just itches my brain.

also some quick little things: * I have no idea if Babs is a cop in any DC timeline, however the reason I chose this is so that she can still interact with Dick on some level. because while I don't like Dickbabs personally generally, she is an important character to Dick and I think her being to cop that's chasing him fits better than Gordon. * Roy used to be a government agent in mainline canon. I don't particularly love it for him, but I understand why they chose it and it is canon. I am not making him work for the government out of nowhere or just to fit into the narrative. there is a basis for it. * yes I do recognize that not everyone that is important to Dick has been included. I have not fleshed out every role in this AU and haven't decided what Kori, Wally, etc. will be. * as I mentioned in the post itself, priest Jason is canon to a specific timeline in the DC comics. you can like or not like it, but I am not pulling it out of my ass. (the flashpoint timeline which yes is supposed to be a bad timeline, but my point stands.) * "where's x member of the Batfamily?" I don't know. Tim is probably doing fine just living a normal life. Damian might not even exist. I will probably include Damian just because I love Dick parenting him, but like. I have no idea where the rest of the Batfamily is and this ain't about them. /lh * just because something is in a canon DC timeline does not mean I think it's in character or a good character choice, (looking at you cop Dickie), but I am saying that I think it's fair game for AUs. (like really anything is fair game for AUs, but you hopefully know what I mean.)

sorry to get a bit defensive, just thought I'd explain some of this AU upfront just to deal with some misinterpretations that might happen in one go. <3

Mob Dickie and Normal Guy Jason my beloved. maybe I will explore you in an actual fic someday.

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 11: The Hairy Arachelmet

First of all, Kerubim's cup is in a dangerous ass place. If he spills it, he will have burns.

Truly, if Ecaflip wasn't on his side, he would be long dead.

Second of all, love that he begins looking at Simone when she's on The Ladder That Looks Like It Will Fucking Kill You.

When I first noticed this moment, I assumed it was Kerubim y'know. Ogling her. But now, considering this is the only time in the whole scene he's looking at her, I think he's looking at her because she's on The Ladder That Looks Like It Will Fucking Kill You, and if she began to fall things would be bad.

Btw, the only pictures Keke has in his home, anywhere where it's visible, are of himself, Lou, or some random scenery.

There HAS to be something psychological going on here, considering he is a father and canonically, uh, really normal about it.

Like. Whatever the reason for having Joris call him grampycat is, is the same for not putting up any cute pictures of Joris.

Something-something, his canonical guilt about killing ("""killing""") Julith, perhaps? Perhaps, feeling a bit too old for fatherhood? Maybe both?

On one hand, YESSS RARE SIMONE FAILGIRL MOMENT + i love it when people who are supposed to be good at something are bad at it.

On the other hand... Kerubim, your upbringing single-handedly changed the course of Joris's life so much, that, as an adult huppermage man, he uses a "magic wand" (log) to bash in people's skulls.

Kerubim yells at him to stop, and he just immediately stops and salutes.

It's never explained why Joris does this all the fucking time in the series, (besides the fact that he has ADHD. (To me. In my brain. I decided that he has it.)) but I think Kerubim did some Pikmin-style parenting shit on him.

Except instead of Pikmin it was probably something like "let's pretend I am a commanding officer and you are a member of the Bontarian army."

Okay, so, this is a whole can of worms we'll get in now.

This text is the famous Lorem Ipsum placeholder. The first two words are exactly Lorem Ipsum. Yet, I am mentally ill enough to sit down and translate this all.

So, uh. Yeah. I translated it by hand. It was painful.

The interesting parts are: the first page is the usual Lorem Ipsum placeholder with random edits, spaces, and changes. The second page is the original Lorem Ipsum from Cicero's De finibus bonorum et malorum.

I may be wrong with some of the spaces, because of the way the letters that look like " : :: . " and their weird sizes.

But also... Who give a shit?

Obligatory food moment: he is eating grapes and bird legs. Maybe tofu, or maybe other bird that size.

He is so fucking stupid.

My friend @dullard had pointed out that the way Kerubim's system works is probably by assigning a number to a direction.

I am not good with numbers OR directions, so I hope he makes a post about this. Or sends me an ask.

All I can point out, in regard to this, is the often neglected connection of Ecaflips to scrying and predicting the future and destiny.

So yeah. For all intents and purposes, Kerubim, with his level of luck, maaaay be a bit of an, uh. Oracle.

Though, I think he'd be scandalized by this idea I'm proposing here.

I suppose this episode's story takes place after the story in the episode 38, Dragokart Race, where Kerubim becomes a second place Dragokart champion.

Is this in any way relevant? No. Welcome to my blog, where I talk about literally the most useless Dofus facts. Anyway.

Adding to the list of Implied Adventures We Never See:

Literally everything to do with Atcham.

Kerubim working with Arachnees some more.

To be added.

Culture note: being a hypermage is associated with being smart and being able to predict how situations are going to go.

This blog may seem like it's pointing out the most obvious shit, but keep in mind, besides me wanting to gush about this show and write analysis pieces, this blog is also meant as a bit of a resource for Random Irrelevant Lore. For fic writers.

I may be the fic writers.

...It's interesting to think about how these cultural standards may affect Joris, who, in all honesty, is fucking stupid. There are pebbles where his brain should be.

Anyway.

He really is stupid.

For how cheerful this show is, this moment is a very stark reminder of the fact that Kerubim was fighting and killing people.

I think that the way he was describing this to Joris probably was something like "and then I sliced that guy in half". Which is both... very violent, and also not very detailed.

Your daily reminder that while searching for Ecaflip City, to get rich and be able to propose to Lou, he tried to fuck a pandawa girl, and DEFINITELY fucked these three. Sad! (Edit: that, or he was searching for it long before the proposal thing.)

Better late than never, Keke. Better late than never.

But it would have been cool if you knew that when you were [SPRAYS HIM WITH A WATER BOTTLE] an orphan, as described in the official text The Wheel of Destiny #8: Kerubim Crepin.

This is my legally required once-in-a-few-liveblogs Wheel of Destiny lore mention. You're welcome.

Joris looks like he heard what just happened, and like.... I know that this is just a funny animation moment.

but i want to belive so so badly, that, due to dragon possession, joris can hear whatever the fuck is going on with this hat, by intercepting its ~~psionic waves~~

that he just heard a spider call his father a motherfucker.

Is it not a wonderful vision of the world, that I just described here?

[quietwingsinthesky]

what do you think people would say about supernatural/the winchesters relationship if sam was female?

Realistically, I think Sam being a woman would have given the show itself free rein to be So Much Fucking Weirder towards her. I know this ask is mostly about the fandom’s reaction, but I need to set the basis that, given everything we know about how the show already is, Supernatural would have taken the Sam Experiencing Sexual Violence dial that is already at 9 and cranked that baby up to 20 and left it there for the whole run. And also, given everything else we know about the show, every time Dean ribs about Sam being gay in canon would either 1) stay that way but now have the extra layer of “Dean is really into watching girls fuck” on top of it to make it weird or 2) would just flat out be replaced with Dean hitting on Sam/insinuating something along the lines of ‘why would u ever want another guy? when I am here and all u need?’ because Dean is already a creep obsessed with his brother, can you imagine how it would’ve been written if he had a baby sister instead? Homophobia was the only thing holding the show back from flat out incest sometimes, I swear to god.

Okay, so. Now that I have established All Of That.

For one, we have to take into account how the fandom tended to react to female characters in general. Let’s see the forecast is uh. Bad. We are looking at huge divides between the “Sam is cool, we like her” and the “Sam is a bitch and the show should just be about Dean” crowds. (And the third crowd of “Sam should fuck her brother 😩”, absolutely wincest would still be a thing. It might be even more of a thing in this universe, but that’s all speculation.) Especially when s4 rolls around and Sam decides to be a little evil (and have a girlfriend? I’m assuming everything else in the show goes as is, and so would the Ruby plotline. Which means that’s going to awaken even more things in people than it already does. I would have stopped functioning if I saw girl!Sam/Ruby blood drinking and fucking on my screen as a preteen do you have any idea-) People are going to villainize the shit out of her for that, never let it go.

(Now, as the fandom ages, a lot of this is gonna simmer down like it did for real for characters like Bela. But in the moment? A goddamn war zone. Toxic waste dump.)

And we need to talk about the elephant in the room. Destiel. We already exist in a world where Sam will be completely sidelined and erased to get Dean and Castiel’s love story to seem like the most important plot of Supernatural. Now, I want you to imagine the absolute hell that would be to exist in a fandom where Destiel is the big slash ship and the other main character of the show is a woman. At best, continued sidelining. At worst, we are looking at “Sam is a bitch and the show should be about dean only” attitudes that carry forward into “Sam is a bitch who is in the way of destiel and should be killed off to get her out of the way.” Which you may note is usually a role given to female love interests that are despised for breaking up the main ship. This is because, for all intents and purposes, Sam is the main love interest in competition with Castiel for Dean. On a fandom level between ship wars of destiel vs wincest, but also textually, in the show, beyond shipping, Sam fills out that role in a platonic way as well and Castiel doesn’t. If Sam was a woman, this spells bad news for her. No woman gets in the way of gay ships and comes out unharmed.

Okay and now let’s talk about Lucifer because we need to talk about Lucifer, I’m a Lucifer blog, I’m a samifer girl, and I can tell you that none of these things would change for me if I was watching this version of the show lol. But! Remember what I said about the Sam Sexual Violence dial? Yeah. That is going to be. Extremely loud. Every time Sam and Lucifer are in the same scene. I guarantee you this is the universe where we get evil forced Samifer kisses at multiple points. This is absolutely the universe where, when Lucifer decides he wants a kid, he tries to get Sam pregnant first and only if he fails does he move onto someone else (and hint: he probably doesn’t fail.) Think about every Sam & Lucifer scene that ever happened and now reimagine it but the show can now be as weirdly sexually violent as it feels like because it’s “straight” now. The innuendos are out, and Lucifer is going to pin Sam against a wall at some point.

I’m very into this, but I feel like this would make the whole fandom situation around them a lot worse. People already get up in arms around samifer, or even liking Lucifer at all. If all that subtext became flat out text and people could gif “Times Lucifer sexually assaulted Sam on screen” into little gotcha compilations, it would be way more of a struggle to exist around here.

But like I’d still be into it so I’d definitely still be here, give me those comps, I’m gonna jerk off to them

ANYWAY. That’s what I think would change if Sam was a lady. Overall, not great, but I think there would also be a lot of people who find her relatable, empowering, etc, and really enjoy her as a woman. Probably the same people who like Sam now, honestly. If there’s any universe I got a chance to peak into, I’d want it to be this one. If only for samruby canon lesbian sex.

[daisychainsandbowties]

I'm sorry if my question made you feel that way, it wasn't my intention.

you know i never mind talking about why i find certain character dynamics compelling or interesting!!

and much is lost in translation when the anon sunglasses emoji comes into play but um, i think my feelings this time come from just having seen a… disheartening degree of negativity around what is a brand new thing, something we don’t have all the material for yet - and in any case a pairing between two characters i have love for individually and not simply through my shipping goggles (sexy as i know i look in those).

and there’s a reason i made a separate post instead of answering an anon - because i was just made aware of a feeling i’ve had forever about sapphic ships. i tell everybody how i didn’t believe avatrice would happen until they literally kissed in front of me (and yes, that’s very beatrice of me 😂). live slug reaction was me crying for an hour and yes that’s funny and YES, it makes me sad.

because it’s still so astonishing to me, and part of queer survival has (sadly) always been a matter of separating that hope from how i engage in things like shipping.

i’m very fascinated by shipping actually from a technical perspective! (i write at doctoral level about T4T and touch a great deal on this form of queer community, knowing that it helped me to survive when i should have been squashed by the machine that seeks to kill things like me before we get to be adults)

i don’t mind talking about why a ship just works for me; not many things can make me pick up my pen (if not for avatrice i wouldn’t be sharing my writing on here at all, and indeed i would be writing a lot less if not for the wonderful people who actually read it 🥰🥰) and so i usually have things galore to say about characters and why they work for me, but i like to discuss things in what i call “good faith” and that usually means that i don’t answer things that i feel i could respond to rudely or in a way that’s hurtful.

simply put it’s not what this is to me. um, not to drag out that Malatino quote again but i’m gonna because it’s everything

(Hil Malatino. “Future Fatigue.” Transgender Studies Quarterly, pp. 656.)

so, yeah! it’s all about witnessing, being with my friends not in a manner that precludes the acknowledgment of difficulty but one that is, at least, centred around love, seeing and being seen. i know it’s hard to express tone in that grey anon box, but in a sense it’s an old hurt to me; most of my work in fandom turning into justifying the fact of “making them kiss”. having to defend it like a position in chess, over and over again.

the reason i made a separate post was just to acknowledge to myself that i felt sad about it and weighted down by a lifetime of feeling invisible, having my hopes belittled and i suppose some of that hope (certainly as a teenager) being distilled into silly fandom ships but always having to say “this is a crack ship” or “lol i know the creators either hold me in contempt or simply don’t see my existence as important… but!”

it’s not your fault, and as always with humans we sometimes just encounter people at the moment something tips them over into an emotion we don’t deserve to be met with. that’s why i would never angrily answer an anon (certainty not one that, more than anything, i was struggling to read the tone of), because the issue is much bigger than me or one instance but it just made me think and then… feel sad about larger trends and how those trends made me feel so small when i was younger. so invisible.

i don’t want anyone to feel like it’s their fault because it’s not!! it’s the line we push and push and push in queer solidarity and yeah it can seem like these things (shipping) are inherently stupid and petty and unimportant but speaking for the kids who are alive because of it i don’t think that’s true. i agree with realism, and i think when it comes to canon we sadly still need to proceed with caution. more and more it seems like you can have your show, or you can have canon sapphic ships (this term - sapphic - used as always and forever in a trans-inclusive sense).

this is as usual a lengthy way of saying that (i hope) i went out of my way not to put this on anyone. it’s just a thing that makes me sad to reflect on as the flinching of a lifetime, so afraid to hold what i love and to talk about it because that hope is seen as pointless. but what’s the star wars rogue one quote again?

rebellions are built on hope 💖💖

[herohikara-wol]

FFXIV Write 2k23- Day 26

Last - Emperor AU

He was improving.

Zenos was a merciless sparring partner. Their matches frequently drew blood, despite the weapons being dull and only suited for training. Zenos didn’t have access to his enchanted blades here, but it mattered little when he could swing a wooden sword with enough strength to make the wind around it a weapon. Hero constantly found himself on the backfoot against the man, despite being capable of toppling gods.

Zenos knew it too. He’d see the hesitation in Hero’s eyes and grow disgusted every time. “I want you to fight me! Face me as though I were an eikon!” He did everything he could to goad Hero into being the same monster in the training room as he was in live combat.

Hero didn’t want to risk it. He tried not to use his magic, not to use his real skills. The most he’d ever do would be to heal himself afterwards when Zenos had inevitably grown bored and gone for an ending strike. Despite that, Hero was improving. Every fight against Zenos he grew a little bolder, a little more powerful, and a little harder to hit.

Today he actually managed to hold the offensive for a decent time, using the flash-step he’d gained from training with Karasu, and his passive healing from his time as a white mage. Hero could get behind Zenos when we went for wider swings and swipe at him while his back was turned before he could correct himself. From an outsider’s perspective, Hero might even win this round.

Until Zenos grew wise to the trick and sent him flying with a single counter attack. “Better, but I still sense no fire behind your eyes. I want you to give it your all, Hero. These cheap tricks are interesting, but you’re holding back on me.”

“You aren’t an Eikon, of course I am. I can’t fight you the way I fought Ravana or Thordan, Zenos. You aren’t a threat to me.”

“I could be.”

“No, you’re objectively not a threat to me, it’s part of my powers.” He pulled himself to a sitting position from his place on the ground and tapped his head twice. “My Echo tells me what is truth and what’s fiction, it translates spoken word for me so I can always understand and be understood. The most important thing it does for me? It helps me sense danger.”

Zenos paused for a moment, lowering his blade to sit on the floor before Hero. “You mean how you can dodge explosions and the standard gunblade abilities?”

“Yeah, exactly that. It lets me see attacks before they happen, and I can adjust where I’m standing to avoid them. It lets me know when someone is preparing a very big attack so I know they’re too distracted to stop me from getting in some hits of my own. It also guides me when I’m looking for something and protects me from being tempered. That’s why I can’t fight you like I’d fight a Primal. It scales with the level of the threat.”

Zenos tilted his head, golden hair cascading over his shoulder as he tried to find a way to comprehend the concept. “Like a training program that learns based on your inputs. We had those in the academy, they came with different levels of programming to help you find your strengths and weaknesses. You’re strong enough to fight a god because your powers grow to match the challenge. A sparring match is not the same as a fight for your life.”

“Yes! Exactly! So when I’m not literally fighting for my life, I don’t have the power I’d usually have in battle.” He grinned a bit, only for his smile to falter when Zenos matched his smile with a wicked one of his own.

“So to get a good fight from you, I need to have killing intent.”

“No.”

“I can work with those parameters.”

“No no no.”

“Thank you for the insight, your Radiance!” Zenos stood again only to immediately bring his wooden blade down as if he intended to split Hero’s skull in two.

The sword met the mat. Hero rolled out of the way the moment his echo pinged Zenos’ newfound intent to decimate him. “I did not say come at me with killing intent!”

“Face me, Hero! I want you to give me your all!” They still had another hour in the training room. Hero could feel his power spiking, if Zenos intended to be a threat to him, then he would rise to the challenge despite himself.

No matter what he wanted, his echo would make sure he endured.

[goldom]

AFoLiS author commentary Part 2

Time for editing A New Morning Rises. Let's see what we have here.

Right off the bat, oh boy, what the heck was I thinking with having four lines sectioned off that took place in a difference tense and from an omniscient perspective? Wow that read badly. FIXED.

So, Stelle sees Firefly for the first time and instantly recognizes her. Like I said in the first commentary, that wouldn't mean much if she's supposed to look the same in reality, which is another reason I need to keep that she doesn't... even though I drop it by Part 3, hair aside. It was really important to me to contrast March seeing her and having no idea who it was with Stelle seeing her and instantly knowing.

Ah, the first instance of Firefly's cold skin. The game doesn't give us a lot to work with in terms of what ELS would be like, but I thought, logically, if she's moving slower and slower on an atomic level, that's going to mean generating less heat. And regaining her warmth turned out to be a perfect shorthand for showing her health. That's why it became the title for the E-rated stories.

I mentioned in the comments at the time, but I intended Stelle's dialogue choices to be the various thoughts running through her head. So, confronted with the 3x "I love you" option, it shows how that one phrase overwhelms every other thought in her head. Even though I didn't stick with this gimmick other than two points in Part 4, I think it worked well for this story.

Oh, and here's the first instance of Firefly reading Stelle's thoughts. Maybe it's author laziness for both your characters to somehow know the same things, but I hope it shows how tuned in Firefly is to Stelle, possibly because of their past together. After all, Stelle can't usually do it in return. However, there is a scene coming up late in Part 6 where Firefly is too distracted by her own problems to get what Stelle's on about, and it leads to hurt feelings all around. So having this to contrast against is good for something, I guess.

Interesting how back here, Stelle wishes she could just be a normal person. By present time, she really doesn't care about normal at all anymore – she'll be whatever she has to be, in order to be Firefly's.

Okay, here's a substantial change, and it's the whole Stellaron Hunters as family deal. As I've talked about in author notes, I had no clue how caring they were of each other prior to 2.3 and seeing the lengths Silver Wolf went to keep Firefly safe. Here's the new version:

In the original, it cut straight from "you turn back to the overlook" to "I'm sorry." Because yeah, I absolutely did mean that they would kill her. That's ridiculous in retrospect, so I came up with a more plausible threat.

Next up, here's Stelle's very first time crying! Of so, so, so many! Sometimes I feel like I'm making her come across as weaker than she is, and I don't mean to be. I just can't help empathize with her, and she's been through so much. Just writing this stuff makes me tear up. So how could she not cry?

" “Maybe we can take turns being strong for each other,” says Firefly" I haven't stop screaming this point ever since.

...I was going to end this by pointing out, needlessly, how the final paragraph of Part 2 is where I got the name A Flash of Light in Space from, but... those words aren't there? Wow, false memory. It's absolutely the intent though.

" The two girlfriends locked eyes and together burst out into a laughter that traveled down the halls of the Astral Express. And though the sound eventually faded out, unheard across the distance of space, their moments of shared happiness brought a spark of warmth into being that could never be extinguished. "

That's it, that's the flash of light in space.

That last paragraph is... kinda a bit much. In my defense, I thought it was the end of the series at the time, so I let myself be a little too flowery. Overall though, this was waaaaay better written than Part 1. I think part of that is that, for whatever reason, I just do better in second person present. I tried to get away from it with Part 3, since it feels... I dunno, kinda less "valid" literarily you know? 'Cause serious stories aren't written like that? But I struggled to keep to it so much, as early readers caught for me – I kept accidentally slipping into writing "you." So we're all second person from Part 4 on out, unless I have some very good reason to change later.

[slimeywooper]

Labmas AU - Unintended Consequences

Chapter 15 Part 2 - Friendship

Sunday was another depressing slog, playing games most of the day to try and dull the emotional pain you were feeling, and keeping your mind off the darkest musings your imagination could muster. There was a brief moment you thought about sneaking down to see Kudari again, but on top of the threat of running into Colress, you worried your sour mood would contaminate him, and ruin his day. The alarm that wakes you on Monday morning is almost a relief, until you realize another confrontation with Colress is inevitable. Moving at a Snorlax's pace, you begin to get dressed. You'll power through the difficult interactions with him to spend more time with Kudari.

After disembarking from the elevator, you spy Colress in the reception area. He's waiting for you, as usual. Seeing him causes your breath to hitch. When he makes eye contact with you, you avert your gaze. Approaching cautiously, he stashes his tablet in his lab coat and addresses you gently, "(Y/N), I know this is awkward, but I must apologize for my behavior the other day. Here, let's go ahead into the laboratory, we'll continue our discussion as we walk." Scanning his badge, he beckons you to follow through the door. Entering the hallway where he shoved you a few days ago, he begins, "It was not my intention to lose my temper in such a way. I want to assure you I'm not mad, though I must admit, I'm perplexed. Never in all the years I spent raising Nobori, did I ever think anyone would see the potential for a romantic partner in him, so forgive me for my brash response at discovering your… mutual interest in each other. I can't stop you from doing anything reckless, just don't be a distraction, that's all I ask. It would be a shame to lose another assistant so soon." Arriving at the other elevator, you both enter, Colress pressing the button to descend to the third floor. "Nobori seems to be really taken with you. I don't know what you can see in something like him. Similar to his brother Kudari, he does not perceive things as we do. It's always skewed or distorted."

You aren't sure how he could possibly know that, but you would gladly see things in the same way as the hybrids, over experiencing them in the awful, cruel way Colress does. It's also not lost on you how he refers to Nobori as 'something'. Attempting to ease his concern, you inform him, "You can stop worrying. I don't think I can be with someone who does… what he does."

Colress looks dumbstruck, though you can't tell if he is being serious or exaggerating. "Surely you wouldn't stop a relationship just based on something he has no control over? It might seem to him as if he was being strung along. Besides, Kudari isn't the only one with a temper. Nobori is much more level-headed, but he has the ability to hold a grudge like no human can. I only wish I could match the vitriol that he is capable of spewing."

That seems like projection on Colress' part. Only when you first met him did he bother attempting to hide his nasty disposition. The elevator doors open, and you both exit, walking a few paces before stopping by the kennels. Pulling out his tablet, he begins typing.

A good portion of the weekend was spent wondering about the specifics of Nobori's job, and why Colress chose him to do it. It would be for the best if you let it go, but the question escapes your lips before you can stop yourself, "I have to ask… why? Why would you make someone, who you've helped raise, kill people? Does it not weigh heavily on your conscious?"

Looking up, he shrugs, giving you a blank expression. "Not at all," he replies. "Certain things need to be done, and we choose the best candidates to do them. Though, if you're suggesting I personally taught him how to do it, you would be mistaken. That task was given to the Shadow Triad."

Now you know he is fucking with you, a 'Shadow Triad'? He must really take you for a fool. The silent look you give him must have been enough of a hint that you weren't buying it.

"I'm not teasing you or jesting," Colress assures you, wearing a serious look on his face. "The Shadow Triad are enforcers that work for one of the highest people in Team Plasma. When I told him the things that Nobori was capable of, he was very intrigued. He sent them to train him to be the best he could possibly be."

"Are you talking about how he can communicate with spirits? And exactly what kind of training did they put him through?" you inquire. How could he let these people manipulate a child into doing such reprehensible things, leaving that child to grow up unable to discern how wrong it is?

"Ha ha ha, you don't actually believe that, do you? No, no, nothing like that. Nobori can teleport. He's very good at hiding in the shadows. On top of his Ghost type abilities, he's also able to use Fire type moves. I guess you were correct when you described him as a 'jack-of-all-trades', though I'm sure that's not the way you intended it. As for the process of his training, and what it entailed, that was not revealed to me. I can only assume they helped hone his more clandestine talents."

That explains how Nobori got into your room the other night. It also reveals how he was able to sneak up on you and Colress when you were being manhandled by him. Though you've seen him use a Fire type move to free you from some webbing, you have yet to actually witness a Ghost type, only being told by Kudari that they each have different abilities. Looking for any rebuttal, you rationalize, "Well, surely this Shadow Triad can go on these missions instead of Nobori?"

Shaking his head, he explains, "They aren't under my command, they only work for one person, and take orders from him alone. Unfortunately, some people know of them, so in the event they are seen, it would immediately be linked back to their leader. Nobody outside of the most trusted grunts in Plasma headquarters are aware of Nobori's existence. His aforementioned abilities give us the benefit of the doubt on whether someone seeing him is actually in their right mind, or hallucinating."

"So it has to be Nobori," you relent. "But what about his life? Wouldn't it be better for him if he could learn to feel things like a normal person? To start to be independent from Team Plasma, and form his own opinions on things?"

He gives you an incredulous look, "No, why would I want that? Nothing can jeopardize his missions, and that kind of thinking would definitely cause… complications."

Everything you say winds up a dead-end. Maybe he can better explain the victims he chooses, and the supposed unforgivable things they do. "You tell him the targets are bad people. What constitutes 'bad people'?"

Growing impatient, he attempts to answer you, "It can be something as simple as a blog with only a few viewers. If I deem it to be a problem, he takes care if it. Any and everything could potentially cause issues for us. Obviously people who are extremely important are off limits, just to be safe. But most everyone else, is fair game. As long as the general populace doesn't look too closely at our activities, they should be fine."

This proves your initial idea correct, that the targets aren't really bad, Colress is just telling that to Nobori so he won't question the awful things he's ordered to do. Switching to another topic, you try asking about the terrible news you learned, "Well then, what about the hybrid's life spans?"

His jaw tightens. "What of them?" he lets out through clenched teeth.

The topic clearly puts him on edge, but you persist with the same line of questioning, "Is it true they won't live for very long compared to the average human?"

Arm faltering, his tablet now at his side, glare fully focused on you, he answers, "Yes, that is correct."

"And there's nothing that can be done?" you urge him, feeling desperate.

You can tell he's trying to hold back the ill emotions that are rampaging through him, before he responds, "There isn't. I've debated this topic with myself since the day they were born, I don't need to hear about it from someone with no knowledge on the subject. Now quit interrogating me over things you could never understand so we can get to work."

He must hide his feelings until they can't be ignored. Or he just bottles them up until he gets to take them out on Kudari, or anyone else unfortunate enough to be near him at the time. Either way, there's something very wrong with him. If he knew from their birth that they were going to have short lives, why didn't he ever tell them? Kudari said it was he and Nobori that estimated the amount of time they had left. Who could think withholding such information was acceptable?

Lifting the tablet back to eye level, he begins with the task for today, "Now, moving on, I've noticed that the laundry has been accumulating rather quickly for some reason. I'm certain you worked on it last week, but the volume must be too high for you to catch up. So, Kudari is going to help you today, though I feel it to be a great waste of time for two people to be doing such a simple job. But, perhaps it's for the best. Anything more elaborate and he's likely to ruin it." He starts walking in the direction of Kudari's room without looking up from his tablet.

Biting your tongue, you silently follow. You'll get to work with Kudari today, after all, and when the job is done you can spend time with him.

At his door, Colress informs him, "Kudari, it's time for work. I know you're ready, come on," before entering the passcode into the wall panel. The door opens, and Kudari comes out with a large grin on his face. He's wearing a striking red colored dress shirt, which accentuates the fresh scab that's on his throat.

Spotting you standing behind Colress, he claps his hands and approaches. "Hello, my friend! I am so happy we are getting to work together again!"

Colress rolls his eyes, "Yes, Kudari, I'm sure you are. For today, finish all the laundry in the wash room. This is excruciatingly easy stuff. I expect all of it to be done. There's no reason any should be left over with two people working on them." He raises his eyebrows at Kudari, then turns to leave.

Speaking at a low volume, so Colress doesn't hear, you say, "Let's hurry up and get this done, then we can hang out."

"Okay! I can't wait! We are going to have so much fun!" he proclaims, fidgeting in place from excitement.

[humanwheatleyslefttoenail]

why do you ship chell and glados if glados is basically her mom

Okay this is actually a pretty common misconception in the fandom that unfortunately a lot of people have taken as canon, but I’m feeling nice so I’ll answer your question.

Basically, anon is referencing a theory from around 2012 that Caroline is Chell’s mom. The evidence for the theory is as follows:

- The turret opera calls Chell “bambina”, which means “little girl” in Italian

- Chell’s name can be found on a Bring Your Daughter To Work Day science project

- GLaDOS references the possibility of Chell being adopted multiple times

- GLaDOS is significantly nicer to Chell after discovering she’s Caroline 

And, anon, you’re right, it does sound like a pretty good argument at first glance. The problem is that a lot of these points don’t actually hold up to scrutiny.

For example, although “bambina” literally translates to “little girl,” it’s often used in the same way “baby girl” is used in English - it can mean child, but contextually it’s usually a flirtatious term. (Source: Cambridge Dictionary)

For Chell’s science project, it doesn’t work as evidence for the theory because GLaDOS killed the scientists around 1998-ish, when Caroline had presumably been uploaded several years earlier and Cave was already dead. Also, Chell’s in her 20′s, and since we know from Lab Rat/Portal 2 that people don’t age in stasis, and that Doug put Chell at the top of the test subject list only weeks after the takeover, Chell was 28 at the time of the takeover. The science project is really only an Easter egg and doesn’t actually fit into the canon timeline let alone prove anything about Caroline and Cave. 

GLaDOS talking about Chell being adopted is a pretty strong point, I’ll admit, but also it’s important to remember that maybe half of what GLaDOS says is true. And even if we take what she says at face value, she also says there’s a man and a woman in stasis with Chell’s last name, which could not have been Cave and Caroline because they were already dead at that point. And the official book Final Hours Of Portal 2 confirms Cave and Caroline were not married and could not have shared the same name anyway. It was also the 50′s, an an unmarried couple of two likely famous people having a child would’ve been scandalous, and yet we see no hint of something like this affecting their company. 

Also, although GLaDOS is nicer to Chell after the Caroline reveal, that’s not necessarily indicative of a mother-daughter relationship, and neither is any of their interactions. It’s just. GLaDOS being friendlier. 

Finally, when this theory was made (and let’s be honest - it still is happening) Chell was constantly whitewashed to hell and back. 

Chell is Japanese-Brazilian, and Cave and Caroline are white, so it would be a near impossibility for her to be their biological child (and insisting otherwise is kinda. just. whitewashing). And although people will cry “adoption!”, based on what I’ve previously proven, that’s pretty much impossible. This theory that somehow she’s Cave and Caroline’s daughter erases an important part of her identity. [Disclaimer, I am white, but this is what I’ve heard from around the fandom]

With all that said, the idea that she’s the daughter of Cave and Caroline really doesn’t hold weight when you really analyze the canon. It’s surface level analysis that doesn’t hold up. And honestly? The idea kinda cheapens the story. It’s much more powerful that GLaDOS learns to care about Chell and becomes kinder than just. Oh, she remembered she’s related to Chell. 

But to actually answer your ask. 

Why do I ship them?

Well, they aren’t mother and daughter, I think that’s pretty obvious now. But if you actually look at a lot of subtext in Portal 2, without the lens of the mother theory, it’s actually pretty romantic! 

I know that sounds ridiculous, but bear with me!

Now - it’s totally okay if you don’t ship them. I get it. Their interactions in Portal 1 and the first half of Portal 2 are toxic if not outright well. Y’know. Murderous. I completely understand why that turns people off from shipping them, and ultimately, shipping is a personal thing. To each his own. 

But before you judge me, let me present my case.

Exhibit A: Portal 

Portal is kinda gay. No, really. Chell and GLaDOS are enemies in this game, but the entire focus is on their relationship (good or not) and the power struggle between them. They are opposites, two sides of the same coin, different representations of opposite ideologies. People have analyzed Portal as a relationship metaphor, or as a metaphor about women’s role in society - either way, the heart of Portal is the complicated dynamic between Chell and GLaDOS. 

That’s not necessarily enough to code a romance, but a lot of popular (and especially popular queer ones) ships begin with opposite ideologies, symbolic powers colliding. Portal cements their relationship as a toxic one, something on the verge of falling apart and hurting both parties in the end. The ending image, of Chell and GLaDOS side by side after the battle, reinforces the symbolic parallels between the two. 

The companion cube is also pretty symbolically important to this interpretation. It’s literally a representation of someone’s heart, and you are told to protect it and preserve it under GLaDOS’ orders, and then you have to destroy it regardless of how you actually feel about doing that. You are destroying GLaDOS’ heart, so to speak. 

There’s also the ending song, Still Alive. The lyrics speak for themselves.

They hint that GLaDOS’ feelings about Chell are more complicated than they may appear (if she’s not being sarcastic...) and she literally talks about Chell breaking her heart (also, think back to the companion cube. Yeah.). The entire song is structurally similar to many a breakup number, with the laments of “I’m glad it happened, but also leave.” 

At the end, we also see that the long promised cake GLaDOS was supposedly lying about was real the whole time. Before Portal 2 came out, it was mostly interpreted as a stinger ending (along with the nicer lyrics of Still Alive) to make you question GLaDOS’ true motives and intentions.

She actually did have a real cake waiting for you. (Side note - not really evidence, but in Argentina, “torta” means cake in Spanish. It’s also a slang term for lesbians. So. Do with that what you will). The cake is what GLaDOS offers you to lull you into the sense that she cares about you, so discovering that “the cake is a lie” wakes you up to the realization that she doesn’t. Except then the idea is subverted one last time, at the very end, showing that the cake is real and at least some of what she said she meant. 

You also see the companion cube. You know, GLaDOS’ symbolic heart?

Now, okay, you might be thinking I’m extrapolating a bit too much. And you might be right. But Portal is not the only game in the series, and if you’re asking me about Cave and Caroline you obviously know about Portal 2.

Exhibit B: Portal 2

If you thought Portal was gay, Portal 2 turns that up to 11.

Even before GLaDOS wakes up, you’re treated to some visual subtext. A few of Rattmann’s drawings representing the events of Portal 2 focus a lot on the relationship between GLaDOS and Chell, with more of the cake symbolism.

In this, you can see a face layered on top of GLaDOS. This could be foreshadowing about Caroline, and likely is, but also resembles his other drawing of Chell. It insists that Chell is a part of GLaDOS, or reinforces parallels between Chell and Caroline, hinting at something either way. 

In this picture, we also see Chell standing on top of GLaDOS, in the same position where the overlay of the feminine face was, again referencing the parallel. It also presents them as opposites, fundamental parts of the same thing and both connected to the same basis, but on opposing sides. 

When GLaDOS wakes up, she returns to her antagonistic role, but there are more hints to something deeper just like in Portal. 

Here, in her awakening lines, she references Chell not unlike an estranged ex. Also worth noting that GLaDOS is pretty much the personification of testing (in a sense, she is testing since she can control all of Aperture like an extension of her body), and insinuates that Chell loves to test. And that she reciprocates that feeling.

In test chamber 10, she says this:

It’s supposed to be threatening, but it does read as almost... sentimental. 

There’s also another chamber with companion cubes in Portal 2. I already talked about their symbolism in Portal, and the same pretty much applies to them here. However, GLaDOS says something interesting about them during this level:

Once again, meant to be intimidating, ends up coming off as “well, GLaDOS, why were you going to give Chell a heart shaped representation of yourself that says ‘I love you?’” And you might think I’m stretching the GLaDOS’ heart metaphor thing a little far here, and I might agree, if the companion cubes didn’t literally sing Cara Mia for you. 

Cara Mia is the turret opera from the end of the game, which is all about how much GLaDOS cares about Chell. More on that later. But the companion cubes play a song called Love as A Construct, and when you get close to them, they sing a specific part of the song that has the tune of Cara Mia. These things literally exist to sing about GLaDOS’ feelings. 

Which makes this line a lot more. For lack of a better term. Tsundere-ish.

Then, right before the escape, she starts talking about the confetti from her fake surprise. 

I really don’t have to explain this one. What else does GLaDOS consider an inconvenience but might miss anyway? Or, more aptly, who else?

Then, during the escape, she teases a (fake) final test chamber in front of you, and forms the panels in the shape of a heart. No, really. 

Up to this point, a lot of the points I’ve presented are interspersed with a fair amount of antagonization on GLaDOS’ behalf, more Foe Yay than anything actually hinting at something deeper than GLaDOS being conflicted about whether she loves or hates Chell. But things really ramp up after Wheatley’s betrayal, when the two of them are forced to team up. (I should also note here that “enemies to lovers” is a pretty classic queer romance trope.)

Here, GLaDOS is put on an equal level with Chell and they have to rely on each other if they want to survive. For the rest of the singleplayer campaign, GLaDOS becomes a lot nicer and even friendly to Chell. There comes a point where she starts referring to Chell as a teammate, calling them “we.” She begins to consider them one unit, two opposites unified. Here’s what she says after the lemon rant:

You can not only see her using we, but actively talking about how her and Chell are going to fight Wheatley together. There’s also that last line - “let’s explode with some dignity.” GLaDOS has fully accepted the very likely possibility that she and Chell might die together. That she might die on the same level, and the same team as Chell. And she seems... surprisingly okay with that, as long as she and Chell go together. 

It’s during the Old Aperture levels that Chell and GLaDOS also discover that they have a lot in common. This is the part of the game where GLaDOS figures out she’s Caroline, that she’s human. Or, that she’s like Chell. And Chell discovers (from what we can tell anyway) that Caroline is kind, that she’s funny and smart and so many of these things she never noticed about GLaDOS before. Now also with the knowledge she is fighting alongside another human being. 

You can also draw parallels between Chell and Caroline, both intelligent women ultimately betrayed by their seemingly innocuous male friends before being trapped in Aperture and forced to team up with one another in a way that will free both of them. We see that really, GLaDOS isn’t that different from Chell - she too has been imprisoned in this place against her will, but in a completely different way. Once again, the idea of two sides of the same coin applies here. 

I’ve written another meta about this before, but I also think the whole idea of repressing a part of your identity and hating it, before bonding with another woman and then realizing that it’s okay to be like her and to be on her side. It’s okay to be yourself and meeting her is what helps you discover this new part of yourself. Is kinda inherently gay. GLaDOS’ discovery of her own humanity just fits so well into a queer realization narrative, to me at least.

Then, Chell and GLaDOS escape Old Aperture and have to get through Wheatley’s tests. 

Here, GLaDOS isn’t just begrudgingly on Chell’s team. She’s actively helpful. She wants to help Chell solve tests, defends her from Wheatley’s insults, and makes jokes to lighten the mood. Things that can really only be explained by her caring about Chell, especially the part about the insults. See below.

After the two escape Wheatley’s testing track, right before the boss fight GLaDOS has a few other things to say.

GLaDOS is not going to betray Chell, because of some kind of conscience. But she could easily ignore that back in her body, and yet? Here she’s deciding not to, and for no good reason. She didn’t have to say that to Chell, but she did, because she cares and she wants Chell to live.

And then, moments before the fight:

The final lines imply that GLaDOS does not think of Chell as an enemy anymore, and that it doesn’t matter what Chell thinks because they are in this together and they are getting revenge together. It’s pretty heartwarming to be honest, to know that even in a fight that will almost certainly kill you, she is there rooting for you and caring about you, even if you don’t feel the same way about her. It no longer matters to GLaDOS whether you even reciprocate - you staying alive, you making it through is enough for her.

So Chell fights Wheatley and sends him into space, all well and good, and at this point, GLaDOS has the option to kill Chell. But not only does she not, she actively saves Chell, and holds her hand in the process. If you don’t believe me:

And not only that, but when Chell goes unconscious from her injuries, GLaDOS sits and waits for her to wake up. It’s also implied that GLaDOS carries her to the elevator, since it’s where she wakes up but not where she passed out. In the scene where Chell blacks out, you can also hear the part of Love As A Construct that sounds like Cara Mia. Yeah. Yeah.

If you think that this cannot possibly get any gayer, you are wrong again, because then GLaDOS makes her final speech. Which is really just a love confession, let’s be honest.

The “surge of emotion?” Do you mean love, GLaDOS? And the idea of GLaDOS considering Chell her best friend, despite everything these two have done to each other? The idea that GLaDOS, out of all people, forgives someone?

Except this isn’t even Chell’s final send-off. GLaDOS writes her an entire opera of turrets, that sing a literal love song. (Note what I said earlier about the use of the word “bambina”).

It really can’t get any more obvious than that. “My (affectionate romantic term here), my dear, I adore you.” How. Is. That. Heterosexual. In. Any. Way.

So Chell goes to the surface, set free by GLaDOS (think of the saying “if you love something, set it free), and you think that’s the end. Until GLaDOS gives you a companion cube so you aren’t alone on the journey, and from the burn marks, you know it’s your first companion cube. Her original heart, her first gift to you, a piece of her that she wants you to carry with you to remind you that she does care about you after everything. It also gives the lyrics to Still Alive a much more genuine meaning. 

Portal 2 ends, and then the ending song, another GLaDOS number plays. Just like Still Alive, Want You Gone is structurally a break up song and very obviously about GLaDOS missing Chell and “counting on” (read: caring about/loving) Chell’s tendencies and quirks. 

She’s accepted Chell completely, and yet also given Chell the one thing she wants most. Only wanting Chell gone can mean GLaDOS not wanting Chell in her life anymore, but can also mean she wants to give Chell the freedom she’s wanted for so, so long. It’s the best thing she can give.

In the co-op campaign, GLaDOS also references still caring about Chell.

And that’s the end of the Portal series. Except. Brace yourself. Despite the games being over, there is STILL more subtext somehow. It gets. Even gayer.

Exhibit C: Supplemental Evidence

Valve has made a lot of extra/cut content for the Portal series, and I’ll be looking at some of it below.

This official valentine from Valve shows GLaDOS offering a romantic partner cake, which as we’ve established before, is very symbolic of GLaDOS’ feelings about and/or relationship with Chell. 

There’s a lot of other concept art and official art that emphasizes their relationship too. See below.

There’s also some cut GLaDOS lines that are even gayer than the source material and again, sound like confessions or references to a breakup:

The idea of “discovering things about someone”... how much more obvious can it get?

The developers have even confirmed a lot of my commentary on Chell and GLaDOS’ relationship in The Final Hours Of Portal 2. See these quotes from the book/this post:

The devs literally describe it as a romance. They use terms like “cheating,” they wanted to write a romantic duet, JoCo purposefully wrote the endings like love songs. It is literally, blatantly said by the creators of the game that their relationship is interpreted romantically. By the creators of the game. 

And if Word of God confirmation isn’t enough for you, have a song written for a cut alternate ending by GLaDOS’ voice actress, Ellen McClain. The song is literally nothing but GLaDOS talking about caring about Chell, about not wanting her to die/leave GLaDOS alone, about wanting to bake a cake with Chell, about waiting for Chell to wake her up. It’s so genuinely sweet and sad, and really, really romantic in the most heartwrenching way possible. 

JoCo also came back for the Portal levels in Lego Dimensions, writing one final breakup song for GLaDOS to sing about Chell. It comes off as GLaDOS not wanting to admit she misses Chell even though she obviously does, trying to replace their relationship but failing, and even explicitly forgiving Chell/wanting her to come back.

Also, the “finally I understand,” as if only now GLaDOS understands just how deep her feelings for Chell are... What else can I say?

In Lego Dimensions, GLaDOS also outright rejects anyone who isn’t Chell.

In Conclusion:

Why do I ship Chell and GLaDOS? 

Well, ultimately, it doesn’t matter whether I ship them. 

Because I think it’s glaringly obvious Portal does.

[mypoisonedvine]

peaches & cream || soft!dark Jake Wyler x reader

for @stargazingfangirl18​'s 5k challenge! I used the prompt, "the town golden boy isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks."

word count: 3.6k

warnings: smut (noncon), stalking/obsession, some degradation/negging (but lots of praise during the actual smut), kinda yandere vibes?, touch of breeding kink at the end, definitely flirting with the boundary between soft!dark and regular dark but I like to think it’s a fine line

“Sorry, but that’s a seasonal flavor,” the girl at the counter explained in a snarky monotone.

“Well, yeah, but isn’t it still… the season?” you pressed; normally you weren’t the sort of person to argue with a cashier over a milkshake, but the look she was giving you made you feel like she was holding out on you— especially when the promotional poster for the very thing you were trying to order was just behind her head, and said the flavor was available for two more days.

“We’re out,” she answered firmly, but then her face suddenly shifted to a much more pleasant expression as you heard the chime of the front door opening behind you.  

You felt his body hovering behind yours just as his hand laid on the counter beside you, caging you in.  It was even more unsettling with the context that there was a whole line of people waiting behind you already.

“I’ll get your usual,” the girl promised to the man beside with a flirtatious smile as she disappeared to the back, returning almost instantly with a shake in her extended hand.  “Peaches and cream milkshake— extra whipped cream, no cherry.  Enjoy!”

Your eyes widened at the reading of your own order.  “I thought you were out!” you protested, going completely ignored.

"If you were my girl, this sort of thing wouldn't need to happen."

You recoiled from Jake's voice in your ear, and he smiled in spite of your snarl, bringing the straw to his lips slowly.  With a shudder you walked away, deciding it was probably better to forgo a milkshake anyways— especially if it was a chance to avoid everyone’s favorite senior, the football king who basically owned the whole town for no other reason than being good-looking, athletic, and allegedly “charming” or whatever.

Of course, he followed you, sitting across from you in a booth and silently shooing his posse of fellow teammates to go off and give you two some space.  If only he would give you space.

“We can share,” he offered as he held the milkshake out towards you.  “I know it’s your favorite… it’s mine too.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you explained quickly as you pulled a book out of your backpack, intent on ignoring him since you couldn’t physically force him to leave.

He shrugged and returned to sucking on the straw, watching you unwaveringly as you tried to read your book— staring at the page was going well, but you couldn’t seem to actually get any words down.  Had you forgotten English as a written language or something?

“Could you leave?” you finally asked as you groaned and looked up from your book.  “You’re distracting me.”

“I’m literally just sitting here,” he reminded you.

“And it’s distracting!”

He smirked proudly.  “My presence tends to have that effect on people.  Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You rolled your eyes, burying your face back in your book.  “You know, you may have everybody else fooled, but someday you’re gonna have to leave this pathetic little town and go into the real world where throwing a ball isn’t a career and nobody fawns over you just because you have the audacity to be attractive.”

He chuckled lightly.  “Right, because you have those big city dreams of yours, but believe it or not some of us like this ‘pathetic’ little town.”

“Well, of course you would,” you snorted.  “Your dad’s the mayor and your girlfriend’s the head cheerleader.”

“My ex-girlfriend,” he corrected, finally getting your attention enough to make you shut your book.

“What?” you blurted out.

“Yeah, she dumped me,” he explained plainly.

“Why would she do that?” you asked, making him look much too proud of himself again.  “Finally snapped out of the brainwashing, huh?” you added, effectively killing his smug expression.

“I guess you could say that.  She met some college guy from out of town… I think her parents liked me too much, she needed a bit more rebellion.”

“Well, my condolences to you,” you smiled, “and my congratulations to her.”

“I thought you hated her,” he scoffed.

“Well, now she and I have something in common: a complete lack of interest in you!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t go that far,” he smirked, “she still comes over every now and again to suck my cock.”

You choked on nothing, face getting warm at his crude language.  He didn’t talk like that with anyone else; it was so cruel the way he kept everybody in town under his spell except you, the way he let you in on his real darkness with no one else to confide in or believe you.  

It was so fundamentally lonely, being the one person who wasn’t in love with Jake Wyler.  It was even worse being the one person Jake Wyler loved.

At least, that was the word he used multiple times in his semi-anonymous letters, his incessant calls and emails, his speeches outside your window.  He’d actually cooled off lately, you wondered if maybe he had finally let go of this ‘the one thing I can’t have’ obsession and learned to appreciate his girlfriend (who, for all her personality flaws, was objectively gorgeous, and seemed to at least be nice to him if nobody else).

But now that she left him (which you were still trying to process, honestly), you were surprised he hadn’t already moved on to the next best wannabe model and/or reinstated his campaign to win you over.

Then again, the look in his eye kind of made you think you were about to witness the second one.

“You know, when she does come over, I can only ever finish because I’m thinking about you,” he revealed in a low voice.  You grimaced and slid out of the booth, stuffing your book into your bag and barely managing to throw him a goodbye before you dashed out.  

It wasn’t like you really thought you could get away from him— he had made it clear over and over that you couldn’t— but the idea of being crammed in that booth with him, surrounded throughout the diner by his adoring fans who somehow didn’t manage to overhear him when he said those awful things, made you feel nauseous.

What you should’ve considered was that, fans or not, those people were witnesses, and now that you were running out into the dark streets of the town and he was chasing after you, you didn’t have any.  It was just you and him, and when you turned into an alleyway to try to get home faster, even the dim glow of the streetlights couldn’t see you anymore.

“Hey,” he stopped you with a tight grip on your arm, pulling you back into him.

“Let me go!” you whined, trying to tug yourself away but only ensuring that his hand would leave a bruise on your arm.  

“I will when you just hear me out, okay?” he hissed, spinning you around to look up at him.  "Why don't you just give me a chance?  Don't you wanna be popular?" 

"I don't want to be anything that requires being within ten yards of you!" you spat.

He seemed bewildered, but you knew he wasn’t actually that stupid.  "Why?"

"Because you know why!"

He sighed, slumping his shoulders a little.  "Are we still on that, really?  I told you, you should take it as a compliment.  You know how many girls would kill to catch me jerking off in their panties?"

"You're sick, Jake,” you sighed, “and you're really good at hiding it from everyone else but I know what you really are.  You told me you needed help with algebra and I actually believed you, for months you were lying to me to get close so you could perv on me when you already had a girlfriend and two side chicks anyways— god, Jake, you're crazy!"

You yelped when he pinned you to the wall, blue eyes darker than ever.  "I really, really hate that word."

Against the wall, your back straightened as you felt the tone shift completely for a moment before he was back to his jovial self again, giving you a somber but almost-genuine smile.

“The only kind of crazy I am is crazy about you,” he defended with a laugh, leaning in a little closer.  “Why can’t you see that?”

As his eyes moved from your own to your lips, a renewed sense of fear shot through you.  “Jake…” you mumbled, apparently your feeble attempt to ask him to stop.

“Just one kiss,” he bargained, “and then I’ll let you go.  Okay?  That’s all I need.”

“N-no,” you whimpered, turning your head away as he leaned in even further.  “Stop.”

“Come on, it’s just a kiss, baby,” he cooed.  “Then you can leave.  Hey, you might actually like it.  You know, I think that’s what you’re really scared about… and I get it!  When I first realized I was in love with you, it was scary for me, too— I mean, I’m the most important guy in town and you’re just some bookworm, it’s sort of social suicide for me so I had a lot to worry about.”

There he went with his negging again, trying to bring you down to his level.  Your brain knew that, it saw right through it, but your gut still sank with doubt.

“But I know now that love is nothing to be afraid of,” he concluded.

“No, Jake,” you whispered, feeling tears well in your eyes, “I’m afraid that you’ll hurt me if I don’t do what you want.”

“Well, that is something to be afraid of,” he replied with the coldest laugh you’d ever heard; you didn’t hear any agreement, but the lack of denial was deafening.  “So just be my good girl and let me kiss you…”

You swallowed dryly, your eyes wide open and searching for anywhere to look but up at him.

He was so close now that his lips brushed against yours with his command: “say it.”

You stammered over your breath, not sure exactly what he was asking for, and you winced as you felt his grip tighten on your arms.

“Say, ‘kiss me’,” he clarified in a harsh whisper.  “Say, ‘please’...”

“Please,” you repeated awkwardly, hearing it in your voice but so clearly not your own words, “kiss me.”

He let his mouth intertwine with yours and your eyes were still wide open as he let his own fall shut, moving his hands to clutch your face gently instead as you gave a weak effort to kiss him back.

Objectively, he was good at this.  A lot of things were objectively true about Jake: as much as you forced yourself not to see it, he was handsome; as much as it didn’t really matter to you, a boycotter of all things sports, he was talented; and, as much as no one else realized it, he was completely deranged.  For every word of kindness from him there was another of anger.  For every love letter in your locker, there was a threat left scrawled on crumpled paper inside your bedroom, just so he could remind you that your parents would let him into the house if he asked and never question it.

Which was why it was extremely important that you did not enjoy this kiss.  You needed to hate the way his fingers traced over the pulse in your neck, the way his tongue tickled yours, the way his teeth just barely grazed your lip until your knees went a little weak.  

But wow, there was something primally satisfying about melting into his arms, feeling his strength support you like it was nothing when he held your waist and pulled you closer.

You could almost forget that it was him.  But then he mumbled your name into the kiss, nearly moaned it in fact, and it pulled you back to reality.  With a gasp, you pushed him away and blinked your eyes open, not even realizing you’d closed them; hating how quickly you’d started to give in to him.

“There, one kiss,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.  “I’m gonna go home now—”

“You can’t be serious,” he laughed incredulously.  “You’re gonna kiss me like that and tell me you don’t feel this, too?  We’re so meant for each other— we even order the same milkshake!”

“That doesn’t matter!” you denied.

“I love you!”

“That doesn’t matter either!”

You turned to leave but he grabbed you again from behind, covering your mouth with his hand when you opened your mouth to scream.  “Don’t fucking talk to me like that,” he hissed in your ear, “and don’t walk away from me.”

Fighting against his grip did nothing but exhaust you: he only needed one arm to hold you back as he dragged you deeper into the alley.  Your legs swung wildly and landed a kick to his shin, and he plugged your nose while he was covering your mouth so you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen to me, you stuck up little bitch,” he growled.  “I’m really sick of this ‘hard to get’ act.  I know you want me.  So shut up and let me show you what you’ve been missing out on, okay?  You gonna be good?”

In that moment, you would’ve agreed to anything for a chance to fill your lungs with fresh air, and so you nodded, the back of your head rubbing against his chest.

“You gonna be nice and quiet so nobody catches you getting fucked like a whore in this alley?”

Another nod, more feverish than the last, ended with a sharp inhale as he let go of your nose.  But he was still covering your mouth, his arm around you now feeling less like restraint and more like an embrace.

"I've wanted you for so long, you can't even imagine," he explained softly as he leaned down and kissed your neck, gripping your waist tighter.  "You and this perfect body of yours.  This smart little head that thinks too much…"

You swallowed dryly as his hand trailed lower.

"This pussy you've been hiding from me for much too long," he added darkly, roughly shoving his hand up your skirt.

You whined behind his hand but he didn’t seem to care; he pulled your skirt up and grinned at the sight of your panties— because he recognized them.

“I remember these,” he purred.  “They look good on you, baby, but they looked better covered in my come.”

Your cheeks burned with shame— you already hated yourself for still wearing the pair he’d tampered with, but it was harmless after a few runs through the washer, right?  You weren’t going to stop wearing your favorite panties just for him, that would mean he won, in a sense; or, that’s what you told yourself to justify not burning them.

“Don’t worry, they’re gonna be soaked by the time I’m done with you,” he purred, slipping two fingers between your legs and growling slightly.  “Well, actually, you’ve already done a lot of the work for me.”

He pulled the fabric aside and explored your pussy instead, tightening his grip over your mouth as you made little muffled yelps.  The rough pads of his fingers found and targeted your clit instantly, that megawatt smile pressed against your ear as he started to rub your bud harder.

“Mm, feels good, huh?” he taunted, moving even faster as your hips jolted unintentionally.  He stopped only to bring the fingers to his lips, humming at the taste of you which he sucked off of them.  “So sweet, babygirl— better than any peaches and cream milkshake, that’s for sure.”

The wet fingers trailed down your body again, finding your entrance that he suddenly pushed into; it was a little too much without any warning and it made your eyes shoot wide open, a squeak barely escaping your throat.

"Just as tight as I imagined, baby,” he sighed, “all those times I used your panties, or hooked up with somebody who almost looked like you from behind.  You’re gonna feel so good on my cock, I know you want it so bad.”

He took his fingers out of you to reach back and open his belt with one hand, the sound of the buckle matched in upsettingness only by the sound of his jeans sliding down to his thighs.

You heard your own breath loud and heavy against his hand as you felt his hard cock press against your thigh, a drop of precum smearing on your skin.  Your breathing halted suddenly, though, when he slid himself between your legs to rub his cock over your exposed and swollen pussy.

“Oh, babygirl, you really are too good to me,” he grinned, kissing your ear tenderly.  “So fucking wet and ready for me, huh?  You need it that bad?  You’re gonna get it, baby, ‘m gonna give it to you so good…”

Bracing yourself as best you could, you felt the head of his cock push against your entrance before he slammed in all at once, making you hiss in pain.

“Oh god,” he groaned, “fuck, you’re so warm…”

Already he was fucking into you roughly, pumping faster and deeper, paying no mind to your choked sobs of pain from the wide stretch.  Even when it stung it felt oddly good, and the underside of his cock seemed to slide perfectly over your g-spot with each movement until your eyes began to roll back in your head.

“So fucking good,” he moaned hoarsely as he braced you against the brick wall for leverage, reaching back down with his free hand to rub your clit again.  He chuckled when your legs quivered, and he must have felt your walls tighten around him, too.  “I wanna hear those pretty moans, baby, if I take my hand away are you gonna be good?” he asked darkly.  You nodded, enjoying the brief feeling of freedom that came from not having his hand over your mouth anymore.  But then again, it was humiliating that now he could hear your panting breaths, your desperate mewls that you failed to swallow down.

He made a sound that was almost like a laugh as he watched you squirm in his arms, one more way he had to lord this all over you, as if forcing you to take him in an alley wasn’t enough on its own.

His breath against your ear was hot and strained, each meeting of your hips to his accentuated with a little grunt from him.  It didn’t help at all that his fingers were rubbing you just right, with so much skill that you wondered if he’d somehow figured out how you touched yourself when you needed to get off.  Honestly, you wouldn’t put it past him to have spied on you before, even if you couldn’t figure out when or how.

The hand that used to cover your mouth slid up under your shirt and pulled your bra down, a large, rough hand groping each breast and pinching your nipples until you bit down on your lip to stay quiet.  For all the mocking and teasing he’d done before, he was pretty direct now— like he was trying to make you come as fast as possible, overloading your body with sensation.  

And did he have to be so fucking good at it?

“I know you’re close, babygirl,” he whispered in your ear, “just let go…”

“Jake, please,” you sobbed, too far gone to appreciate that no begging would make him stop now.

“Come for me,” he demanded roughly, fucking you even faster as he sucked a mark onto your neck, and finally it all came crashing down with a choked-out cry of his name and a gush of warmth dripping out around his length.

“Ohh fuck, there you go, fuck it feels good when you come for me,” he grunted, thrusting even faster.  “You’re gonna milk my cock with that pretty pussy, babygirl— you’re gonna make me come…”

“J-Jake, not inside!” you interjected, getting his hand back over your mouth in return.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed, “waited too long for this to pull out now.  Feels too fucking good.”

Behind his hand, the difference between whines of hatred and moans of pleasure was irritatingly subtle.

“I love you,” he reminded you in a voice exhausted yet heavy with desire, “so fucking much…”

A few more erratic, brutal thrusts accompanied by heavy pants and he was gone; you could feel his cock pulsing with each rope of come that filled you, so deep that your head fell dejectedly with the realization you had no hope of washing it out now.

His hand fell from your mouth but he didn’t pull out for another few moments as he caught his breath, gently peppering your neck and cheek in slow kisses.  “Baby,” he finally sighed, breaking the crushing silence, “you’re so fucking perfect.  I knew you were made for me.”

I hate you, you wanted to cry out, but words escaped you as he hugged you tightly and pulled your panties back into place, soaking them with his come as it leaked out of you just like he’d promised.  He stuffed his cock back into his jeans and helped you adjust your clothes back to looking almost presentable, finishing it off by turning you around and smiling at you with serene pride before kissing your forehead.

"You're gonna make such a beautiful prom queen," he cooed, “especially if you’ve already got a nice little bump showing…”

His hand rubbed beneath your belly button for emphasis, making you whimper and force your eyes shut as tears rolled down your cheeks.

"Shh, don’t cry, baby,” he soothed, kissing your cheek softly.  “Trust me, you're gonna love being my girl."

[0risha]

RECOGNITION

series m.list

PAIRING : sukuna x fem!reader

SUMMARY : when an exchange student comes to jujutsu tech, Itadori is set on finding out why the King of curses is so interested in you.

TAGS : fluff, the tiniest bit of angst, jjk anime spoilers, some curse words, reader is described as a black female

NOTES : i’ve read a couple of works where sukuna meets his reincarnated lover so I wanted to try it out too, hope you enjoy. was supposed to make progress with my wips but I was in a sukuna mood. (◕ᴗ◕✿)

Sukuna feels your presence before he sees you. It’s one of those cliché moments where time puts its hand up to signal a standstill. Yuuji can feel it too when you pass by, your long braids swishing with each step.

He’s sure that he’s never seen you before but his shared body buzzes in remembrance. All the while, his emotions are overtaken by the unbridled feeling of wanting. 

After that, Itadori never took it upon himself to ask Sukuna about the matter because the curse didn’t seem to want to.

Sukuna had become more and more suppressed, his usual pop-ups were a rare occurrence, even when Megumi was around. However, for the whole month you’d been at Jujutsu Tech, the King of curses had been intent on observing from his throne of woven carcasses, body hunched over to just watch.

You’re an exchange student, Itadori recalls Gojo’s past conversation about a new second-year that would be coming from the states. You’re strong — at first, Itadori couldn’t help but think that this revelation was the reason for Sukuna’s interest —your cursed energy being perfect sediment for close combat and dealing precise blows, all the same, Itadori could feel a grappling hook of something that seemed to be festering.

It’s dark and brooding and it stirs every time you come into contact with him. And Yuuji thinks he might go crazy because he wants to know your connection with Sukuna and it’s not like he can ask you because your aura screams — unapproachable.

His chance comes when all the first-years are assigned to a mission, you're there for extra measure. Gojo’s shaman instincts telling him that this mission was far too exceeding for him, Nobara, and Megumi.

Though just as Gojo predicted, it goes terribly wrong and Itadori keels over with an empty hollow where his heart should be.

His last thoughts are consumed with a screeching mantra of his late grandfather’s words. In the crevice of his flickering mind, they're big bold letters that drip with poisoned regret.

Before his vision goes black, the last thing he sees is a heart-broken Megumi and your face which is flooded with guilt.

When Itadori comes face to face with the King of curses, the stench of rotting death overpowering his senses, he mulls over the terms laid out by Sukuna to come back, alive.

To be reunited with his friends and become some type of savior —sukuna's words, not his— he'd give up the reigns of his body so Sukuna could talk to you whenever he chose.

For the exchange of his life, the rules weren’t bad, a part of him knows that this selfish override could cause problems for you in the future, but he still agrees.

When he wakes up to a pure white ceiling and the smell of bleach he doesn’t expect to see you towering over him. Moving up to a sitting position, his cheeks nearly bleed red because he’s naked. His eyes frantically flit over to Gojo who’s sitting in the corner of the room, watching the exchange. The white-haired sorcerer shrugs in a ridiculed manner —silently telling Itadori that it wasn’t his problem.

“You called me,” your voice filters through the bright room. His eyebrows crinkle in confusion. Sukuna must've did something.

When his eyes flit back to you, he’s met with your monotone expression, your cascade of braids framing your face. And for the third time in his life, he’s scared. 

Your cursed energy, which for your level should leave little to no residual, is flaring with onyx undertones. Its sharpened jaws nearing closer and closer to Itadori in a beckoning manner. He's not sure why it's visible in the first place.

Gojo stays silent.

Brat, let me out. Sukuna, for the first time in weeks, pops up with a wide mouth on the palm of his hand. Without a second thought, Itadori allows him. 

Whilst wading in his domain of subconsciousness, he watches the exchange. Your expression stays the same as you study Sukuna’s marked face. 

“So hostile,” Sukuna bares, his powerful aura sifting through the room. You roll your eyes and crack a smile. Seamlessly ignoring the other man in the room— who you know Sukuna has a grudge with. 

“Am I not supposed to be?” you cross your arms and ask. “Being friendly would get me in trouble.”

“You remember me?” The King of curses cuts straight to the point, the question being so unexpected that Gojo shuffles in his seat, his spine rigid with anticipation. 

You nod stiffly. "I didn’t at first, not fully at least, but after coming into contact a few times, yeah.”

“It’s a shame I don’t have control over this body,” Sukuna presses a palm to your cheek, no doubt a loving caress. His deep baritone voice causing your skin to erupt into a turnpike for goosebumps to situate. “Do you remember how we parted last?”

“A sorcerer killed me or something,” you scratch the back of your neck under his intense stare. “Right through here,” you confess, pointing to the middle of your sternum.

“And you’ve become one?” Sukuna quirks an eyebrow, shoulders stiff with anger. 

“I didn’t even know I knew you until a month ago, calm down,” you wave in dismissal. Itadori takes note in the way Sukuna visibly relaxes, your words washing him in a bucket of warmth. “Is that all? I’ve got a mission in thirty minutes.” 

“I’m coming with you.” Sukuna jumps off the steel table, his bare feet touching the cool ground. You turn your eyes away from the bottom half of his body, ears growing hot in embarrassment.

“Eh? Is that allowed?” You turn to Gojo who’s still analyzing the situation beforehand and he shrugs with complacency. “Don’t let anyone see him,” Gojo warns, his stare serious even under his blindfold. You're not exactly sure what Gojo's thinking but you grasp the opportunity.

When you leave the autopsy room with a naked Sukuna by your side, careful to avoid any areas where Sukuna’s aura might be felt, you make it to Itadori’s dorm.

“Here.” You throw him Yuuji’s formal uniform and a pair of brown boots you find in the corner of his room. “I’m not wearing this,” Sukuna interjects.

“Huh?” Your upper lip curls up in confusion. “Then you’re not coming with me.” You turn to leave but he catches your arm in a tight grip.

“Fine, since you’re so damn adamant.” He releases his grip on your arm to slip into Yuuji’s clothes, when he finishes he turns to you with a glare.

“Good boy,” you praise, patting his tattooed cheek.

Internally, Itadori’s too bewildered to tease the curse. In all of his time spent with Sukuna in his body, he’s never seen the King of curses voluntarily listen to somebody else’s demands. The murky water he stands in ripples as he sits to observe everything that’s transpiring. 

When you both reach the site you were assigned to, you sigh in annoyance. “What is it?” Sukuna asks, hands in pockets as he studies your face.

“I was hoping to have an easy day, they’re not dangerous or anything but there’s more than a dozen in there.” You point to the abandoned building, its steel beams bending with age.

“I’ll exorcise them for you.”  

This is going completely against this guy’s morals, Yuuji thinks. 

Your eyebrows fly to your forehead as you grow giddy with happiness. “Really?” You exclaim clambering up to wrap him in a hug.

“If you don’t let go, I won’t.” He grumbles, head in your neck while inhaling your sweet scent. 

“Okayyy,” you inhale, trailing off, Sukuna not too far behind. 

The exorcism is completed in fifteen seconds, tops. You stare in amazement at his lithe movements. His sharp fingers extinguishing cores with precise stabs— the same way he did his vessel. When he’s done he turns to you with an eyebrow raised, his hands wet with unspoken substance. You turn away with a humph. 

“Was it not fast enough?” He walks towards you, concern written all over his expression.

“It was too fast,” you proclaim.

“Huh?” 

“You’re a show-off,” you turn to exit the building, your braids whizzing past his face. You hear his roaring laughter behind you as you make it outside.

The smell of freshly churned earth enters your nostrils as you walk down a fenced sidewalk with bent daffodils. “Where are we going?”

“A ramen shop.” His gaze flicks over to study your face which is softened with what seems to be tranquility. His heart tides over with pride once he realizes that you feel content with him, a 1000-year-old curse.

However, he knows it’s the result of your memories that tie in with his; shared massacres and intertwined fates. Multiple restarts of what seemed to be a never-ending cycle of mingled hearts. But this time jump was different than the others. 

You being a sorcerer is not the only obstacle, at all.

“Sukuna? Hey– you’re spacing out.” You wave a hand in front of his face to grab his attention. 

“We’re here.” He looks up to see a small ramen shop, its logo old with age. As he enters the shop, he somehow finds contentment in being in a place that you like. 

—

“You know you’re probably attracting sorcerers and curses alike as we speak?” You inquire, grabbing your ramen bowl from the waiter who nervously glances at Sukuna. His tattooed face also attracting unwanted attention. 

“Mhm, I’ll just kill them if they interfere.” You whip your head to turn to the waiter who you’re relieved to see, had already left.

“I knew you’d say that,” you stuff your face with a handful of steaming noodles. 

“Sukuna?”

“Mhm?” 

“What’s gonna happen between us?” You flick your index finger back and forth. “It’s not like the other times, I’m a dedicated sorcerer.”

“So?” 

“You’re the King of curses, I’m a sorcerer.” You repeat, dropping your wooden chopsticks to place your head on your propped fist. 

“Already made a deal with the brat, I can talk to you whenever and wherever I want,” he pulls his face closer to yours. 

“Yeah? What happens when they execute Itadori?” You curl your hands into balled fists, an unfamiliar emotion welling up in your throat. Somehow, it doesn't fit. It crosses your veins in a parasitic manner and your eyes glaze over.

“I’ll just come back.” He states matter of factly, voice coated with arrogance.

“You promise?” You whisper, holding out your pinky finger. You nearly scoff at your own action.

Ignoring the finger you bare out, he presses his lips against yours. It’s the same as he can remember, centuries ago. His body elates with a hum of electricity. And it's as if his body's creating a second space of void in which he feels his every sense being sharpened; the smooth curve of your full lips and the salty taste of previous ramen.

But before the kiss can go any further, you're pulling back.

“That was uh…” You blink once, twice, trying desperately to collect your thoughts. When you look back to Sukuna, you instead are met with Itadori’s clear face.

“The hell are you doing, brat?” Sukuna bares his teeth on the right side of Itadori’s cheek. ”I- I’m sorry just got a little uh.. flustered.” 

“The fuck are you getting flustered for?” Sukuna growls. 

“I- uh..” 

“It’s okay Yuuji, you can switch again another time,” you sympathize with the boy. His cheeks are coated in red.

“It’s getting late, eat some ramen so we can go.” You chuckle. Itadori nods as his hand reaches towards a pair of chopsticks.

“Touch my ramen and I’ll kill you again, you damn brat.”

back to m.list

[tippytopdays]

Reason

-sips tea-

I wrote this instead of working on other things solely because i had an idea.

The thrilling third part to these two

Weak Tenacity

_____________________________________________________________

The metal bits between his fingers were so small he wasn’t really sure why he was trying. They clanged about whenever he made even the slightest twitch let alone actually pick them up to fiddle with them, to clean them like he was intending to.

He didn’t know why you’d remained. Why you hadn’t just bolted when the opportunity presented itself. You were just so damn weak, it was hilarious honestly. He could probably knock you over with a stiff breath on your neck. Yet here you were, resilient as a tumor.

And they said he was insane.

He wasn’t an idiot, nor so up himself that he wouldn’t hear what the other mercs would say behind his back. The rumors that would whisper down the halls about what he’d done, the acts of violence so petty and levels of brutality so intense that they’d send a seasoned MAG running.

They weren’t exactly wrong, per say, but he didn’t enjoy having others speak about him without his knowledge. Not that they’d ever know he was there, just outside the doors listening to their every word. He knew everything that went down in this base, after all. From the muttered rantings of that doctor to the sarcastic quips of the mildly entertaining smoker; there wasn’t a damn thing that went down in that base that he wasn’t at least aware about.

And then there was you. Simple, meek, pathetic you.

Why had he gone out of his way to just, bring you here? To save you? To help you? Maybe you just looked particularly pathetic that day and it was getting on his nerves?

The tool flipped in his hands, metal clinking as it loosened another screw.

No, he knew why. He just hated it.

Because you just had to be in that alley, just had to hold him, to comfort him when he was the weakest he’d been in years. Damn Agents got lucky.

A piece clicked free, the screws clattering on the table.

Never again.

After he’d hauled you in like the fresh corpse you were mere days from he’d gotten a rather nasty glare from the good doctor. Once he was satisfied you weren’t actually dead he’d turned on him, ready to snap at him for something or another but he’d simply turned his back, tromping up the stairs to his room.

Like Hell was he going to sit through another lecture. Or anything else he wanted to do to him. The blood wasn’t his anyway; or yours.

More screws undone, more pieces pulled apart. It was already quite a mess but he still had a lot to take out and separate before he could get to the meat of the matter.

Visiting Doc became your norm for several days. With how weak and malnourished you were the man didn’t seem to like the idea of you wandering around without some weight on your bones to steady you. Not to mention the mess you’d been made into from living in what he could only assume was an actual dumpster from how nasty you looked.

Now that he thought about it why did he carry you? You could walk, couldn’t you?

Whatever, he probably would have done it regardless of how bad you smelled. Not like he could trust you to actually be unarmed

The doctor’s plan to get your appearance into some kind of order wasn’t something he’d been privy to at the time. It was certainly something to get accustomed to at first. He didn’t even recognize you once Doc had finished cutting your hair, nearly slicing your throat the second he’d seen you again.

A twitch, the tool missed the mark and scraped across the metal. His brow twitched; odd, but nothing serious. No scratches at least.

He continued.

It only took a snippet of your voice to bring him to his senses. Granted it was also because he’d taken the time to actually look at you. Staring into his prey’s eyes as the life faded from them was something he’d relish, the fear and terror coating their black pits made it all the more satisfying to dispose of the freaks. But with yours it didn’t look right, didn’t sit well.

He’d stepped a bit too far away from you after that.

You’d been stuck wandering the base to pass the time once you’d been cleared, since there wasn’t anything that you could do anyways. No job was simple enough for your weak hands and nothing within the computers was for your eyes to see; you were completely useless to them honestly. Just another mouth to feed. More supplies to waste.

And yet, you were allowed to stay despite that.

The grip popped open along the seam, allowing better access to the mechanisms inside.

He hadn’t done much after dropping your ass off with Doc. There were better, more interesting things than some random woman he’d hauled off after all. However he’d still run across you on occasion. Sometimes you’d be in his presence, sometimes he’d be in yours. But there was no real interaction, not since he’d brought you here. Hell he’d never even spoken to you; not like you were worth the time of course but, it was something he’d noticed.

But he didn’t have any reason, no answer as to why he’d even brought you here. You were just some stray, a useless pain in the ass that he’d have to deal with.

More screws, more bits. He’d never really dug into one of these things but now that he had he could understand some of the mercs appall at how he treated them. It wasn’t enough to make him care, sure, but he could at least see why.

Maybe it was how your voice was soft enough he’d almost missed it.

“….Can I….ask you s-something…?”

Just the sound of your voice had snapped him out of whatever thoughts he’d had, the lenses of his goggles turning to face you.

You were shuffling on your sock clad feet, nearly shivering on the spot once his eyes landed on you standing there with the door at your back. Your hands fiddled with something, some small bit of rubbish you’d probably had on your person as you made to speak again, “…W-Why…Why did y-you bring me here?”

He’d sat there, staring at you for a good few moments while you shuddered under his gaze. And for the first time since he’d met you, he spoke.

“I have no fucking idea.”

It definitely wasn’t what you wanted to hear, if he wanted to judge from the furrow in your brow, but it was the truth. No point in lying about it anyways, not like you were worth it. What were you going to do anyways, stare at him disappointedly? No thanks, there was already enough slots taken in that thank you very much.

He couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d been thinking about once you’d left, even if he’d thought it was important to ruminate on it for the past half hour.

Maybe it was because after that conversation you seemed more, prominent. For whatever personal reason you’d come up with.

Usually you ended up appearing somewhere nearby or at least entering the room at some point. For a few days he’d believed you were stalking him, until of course he’d payed slightly more attention to notice the way you jumped whenever you spotted him. How you flinched away each time he even did so much as glance in your direction. With how pathetic you were, of course it made little sense to stalk anyone, let alone him of all people.

He would have chased you off if you were, however. Stormed up to you and scared the living Hell out of you to keep you off his case.

The crunch between his fingers brought him out of his thoughts. It had snapped quite easily, the end of the tool hanging limply from the handle. Unusual but it didn’t hinder him much, he had extras; the mercs were good at one thing at least.

Not a good idea. Doc would have his balls again if he could judge by the sudden irritation in the man’s face—or whatever he could see of it—when he even mentioned you. He wanted to stay a man for a bit longer; not because he was scared of the doctor but because then he couldn’t piss off the grunts anymore.

Maybe it was the weakness in your hands. The tiny, useless little mitts that you had were so pathetically small that nothing could stay in them normally let alone any weapon you might have found. You couldn’t even grip a railing without slipping, which he found utterly hilarious.

He hadn’t moved so fast without intent to kill until you’d nearly fallen off the second story.

A sharp squeal broke that train of thought. The nice jagged scratch across the black steel glinted in the light. Hope that wasn’t too important.

Maybe it was how small you were. Granted, everyone was ridiculously dwarfed the second he entered a room. It was a habit now, to stare at them from so high above their heads. So small, so weak.

Easy prey.

But you were particularly tiny, almost mockingly so. Most of the mercs at least had some muscle to them but you still remained so fucking pathetic even after Doc’s so-called therapy. You’re shoulders were thin, your limbs even more so. Not even your face was spared by the lack of mass in your cheeks. You were just, far too small.

You wouldn’t survive at all if he’d left you out there by yourself for any longer.

Another click, the firing pin popping out with a clatter. He carefully scooted it to the side.

Maybe, when he thought about it, it was because you were nice.

Nice was the best way to put whatever it was you would do when others would be upset over something. It was odd how you would fret over Doc’s muttering fits, how you’d clutch at his arm and drag him back to his office. Just bizarre how the smoker would relax when you’d enter one of the training decks, water in hand and a smile on your face despite his presence there watching from the more obscured corners during the mandatory breaks he had to take. Unreal even when the arsonist would offer a friendly wave as you’d enter the cafeteria with your own lunch and offer a seat with you.

The solution stung his nose but he’d have to deal with it. So long as it cleaned, it was necessary. He just hoped he wasn’t cleaning the wrong thing.

He didn’t want to even start with why he’d allowed you into his room. It was inane, if he looked back on it; you’d just find something and get yourself hurt. Or worse, try to betray them—that is if you could even hold onto the weapon in the first place. He had plenty in there, sure, but most of them were supposed to be for someone his size, not a dainty little clump of flesh he’d dragged in.

It was also a mess so that probably had something to do with why you’d reacted the way you did. He had an order for things but you just had to put your own tiny mitts onto everything and make an even bigger mess out of it; organization may not be his style but it wasn’t like he didn’t know where everything was at the least. If he were honest he probably would have chased you out the moment he’d caught you organizing things.

The rag squeaked, nearly tearing when it ran over a particularly sharp bit of metal. Too much force, simple enough. Adjust and clean the parts that looked bad enough.

Maybe it was because when he’d entered again he found you there, face first into a pillow he’d snatched.

Another squeak was followed by a soft rip. Yep, that tore it. No matter, he had another.

You were small, it was hard to miss.

But there, in his room, on his bed, you were positively tiny. A mere fleck of meat on the massive slab that was the bed he’d pilfered at some point or another. It seemed at some point during your attempt at cleaning his room you’d tried to reach behind the head of his bedframe for something, your arm jammed down the crevice between the wall and mattress. How weak you were, then, to fall asleep in the middle of it.

Within the room of the worst predator of all, none the less.

He’d stalked up to you, making no effort to hide his steps and yet you resolutely slumbered on, unaware of his pursuit. Not even a twitch within your sleep as he stood over your body, the lenses of his goggles tinting your form in red.

How dare you, sleep in his bed? Treat his space like it wasn’t inhabited by a living killing machine? Act all nice and forgiving, despite everything? He’d tainted himself, killed thousands; just because he’d spared you didn’t mean you could just do whatever you wanted. He wasn’t your friend; he was barely teammates with anyone.

Slowly, he reached for you.

He’d toss you out, not even flinch if you cried. Threaten to strangle the life out of you the next time you met. Torment you if you kept it up.

Soft strands of your hair tangled in his fingers firmly.

He didn’t care about you. You were just some wretch he’d found, nothing more. He didn’t have friends. He had nobody.

Your head was still just as small in his hand as it was that day.

Yet another rip. Being careful was not his forte.

He should have woken you up, yanked you by your hair and dragged your miserable body off his bed.

But the longer he stared, the longer he let his hand soak in the sheer hear you were giving off, the weaker that desire became. More muddied and unclear.

What was he doing? Why did he come here?

The grip on your hair loosened, the strands trailing down his fingers like water. Heat radiated off of your skull, scorching the palm of his hand.

It was too much.

The cushion of his mattress was blissfully cold, a respite from the heat you’d given. A soft sigh rasped through his teeth.

It was sucked back in again as you shuffled with a soft moan, directly beneath him.

He was never one to startle, nothing surprised him. Freezing was another feeling he wasn’t accustomed to. In combat it was life or death, and while he didn’t fear death nor the Hell that awaited, he couldn’t fathom the idea of something being so terrifying that others would rather do nothing than act.

But when he found himself leaned over, hand braced into the padding of his mattress, towering over you, he had indeed frozen on the spot. If he’d thought you were small before, nothing could even prepare him for the image of you resting cozily on the blankets underneath his bulk. You were so meek, so utterly encompassed that he could simply lean over the bedside and cover you in just his shadow.

You’d vanish completely if he mounted you.

A particularly loud clang was surprising enough to refocus him on the piece he’d been scrubbing at. For far too long, apparently, if the abruptly dismantled barrel said anything.

Maybe it was something he’d done, some form of shuffle or further indenting of the mattress with how heavily he’d started to lean onto it. Whatever he or some other power committed had brought you to stir, a soft breath of air breaking your silence. It didn’t really matter why you were awake, only that you were shuffling as if to move.

There was no thought as he pounced on top of you.

Immediately you’d yelped, scrambling in his hold as he wrangled your limbs into order. What order didn’t matter as long as you stayed still. He’d wrapped his arms around your waist, your squirming body back against his stomach. Once he was hunched over gripping onto you like you were a prize, he stopped.

It burned. Any flicker of movement along his skin was like fire and if he didn’t know any better he’d assume you were some live grenade he’d caught in his hands, ready to explode at any moment from just how hot you were.

Not to mention the scent smothered against his sheets that could only be described as something purely you being smashed into his nose as he’d braced against the pillow you were just laying on.

You whimpered in his hold. He’d gripped harder.

Crushing you in his hands would be easy. Just a twist of a wrist and a pull on an arm and you’d crumple in his hold, spine shattered to bits. You’d die, you’d suffer.

You held onto his hands, your mitts barely able to wrap around his arms to reach them.

You’d leave. And take the heat with you.

Reassembling would be a pain he noticed. The pieces were everywhere, and half of them he’d completely forgotten where he’d even pulled them out from. But he’d figure it out, it’s what he did.

He’d barely noticed when you muttered, voice muffled under his chest. Nothing you said would matter even if you did, he wasn’t letting go. Wasn’t letting you leave.

It didn’t matter if it burned.

Somehow you’d found a footing from his grip on you. In your attempt to find stability or possibly escape you shuffled upwards, ass grinding against his crotch. But he shoved you right back down with a tight snarl forced out of his throat, hips snapping. Finally he’d taken a look, annoyed you’d even considered moving.

He had imagined you’d disappear under him, but the image he was granted was something else entirely. Your face was practically stuffed into the blankets with your ass held up high by his hold. All of your limbs had vanished without any hint that you were there at all aside from your wide eyes; even the edges of his coat had draped over you, free of the confines the harness he normally wore had. You had completely and utterly vanished; if anyone even dared to enter they wouldn’t be able to see a lick of your skin.

This sight, this heat, was his and his alone. A scorching treat for a cold beast.

A sharp huff hissed between his teeth as he ground against you.

What was he doing then?

A soft rumble rasped in his throat when his hold on you loosened.

Why did he let it happen?

Your gasp was so sweet, so delectable. And the heat rising to your cheeks was even more so.

There was nothing to gain from this. You had nothing he wanted. He should have just killed you. Punished you.

The softest of whimpers graced his ears as your head pushed against his chest in attempt to hide. It was so feeble it could have made him coo like you were an animal to tame. Another sharp hump to your backside pulled a squeal, to which he’d laughed. He couldn’t help it.

The slightest of grins tugged on his jaw.

There were many ways to punish. So many delightful and even more delicious ways. Maybe he could show you, teach you.

A dark rumble from his chest had you jolting in his hold, looking up at him. His jaws parted, mask stretching.

Claim you.

The trigger was missing.

He could swear he’d put it together properly; he’d even test triggered a few mechanisms to make sure it would still function. And yet the one piece it needed to actually work was absent. It wasn't even on the table.

A huff whispered through his jaw. Great. And after all he’d done. What a waste of time.

It clattered to the table as he tossed it aside. He’d just use another, nothing lost.

He never cleaned his guns anyways.

[moiraineswife]

Jasnah and Wit - Presentation Meta

Part 1 of the great saga of Witsnah “WELL ACTUALLY” metas I plan on doing bc y’all have just pushed me That Far. 

Well hello there. I’m GRUMPY. And what I do when I’m grumpy is I channel it into a little thing called spite meta. That’s what this is. It’s me angrily yelling for several thousand words about why this thing is a GOOD thing, actually. 

Today’s subject, the much controversial post Rhythm of War canon pairing that is: Wit/Jasnah. 

So let’s (angrily) explore why this is actually a positive thing for both characters, on a nuanced, meta, character analysis level. Because that’s the only level that I have. 

I admit, I was sceptical and uncertain. But when I actually sat and thought about this for a hot second...It started making a lot of sense to me. And then I thought about it for, like, a hot minute, and it made a LOT of sense to me. And now I’ve thought about it for a hot month, so come. Step into my thoughts, and I will explain my perspective on this all…

Firstly we’re going to talk about clothes. Yes, clothes. Clothes and  what they symbolise for this pair, together and individually. 

He was immaculate, as always, with his perfectly styled hair and sharp black suit. For all his talk of frivolity, he knew exactly how to present himself. It was something they’d bonded over. - RoW, 64

Wit and Jasnah have bonded over the idea of presentation and the effects it can create. Both of them have used this idea to great effect multiple times in the series. Wit displays himself as a more appropriate form of an Alethi highprince at war - a crisp, tailored, military suit in a colour that makes him instantly and easily identifiable in a crowd. It’s part of his subtle mockery of those around him - that the King’s Wit is a better presented highprince than the REAL highprinces. It also makes him recognisable, and it makes him seem professional and able to move easily in high society. 

Equally, we’ve seen him take the guise of a poor beggar so as to sneak into Kholinar and go unnoticed and dismissed when he sneaks into the palace to recover Design in Oathbringer. 

Jasnah, meanwhile, gives a memorable and impactful speech to Shallan at the beginning of Words of Radiance about the illusion of perception. About how by presenting herself as a princess, looking the way others expect, she is able to effectively use her authority. And would be able to similarly do so if she simply convinced people she was a princess, by manipulating their perception of her.

Both Jasnah and Wit understand this idea - of presenting yourself, not necessarily in the way you want to look, but in the way you want others to look at you. Creating for them the thing you want them to see, which enables you to better be that thing. 

It also runs deeper than that. They’re not just people who like to dress well. They understand that this has a power to it. They understand the effect it will have over others. And it’s this deeper thing that I believe they’ve bonded over. 

Because they don’t simply appear put together in their clothes; they appear put together in their everything. Wit and Jasnah are people who are consistently calm and composed regardless of the situation. They do it in very different ways. Jasnah  with calculating stoicism and intellectual calm. Wit with indifferent frivolity and nonchalant acceptance of what’s happening around him. 

The core effect is the same. When the walls are crumbling down, the armies are sweeping in, and everything’s on fucking fire, Wit and Jasnah are two people you expect to be able to look to for direction and a bit of sanity amidst the chaos. 

They’ve both cultivated personalities and personas that revolve around appearing and seeming in control and unperturbed whatever is happening. It’s like their whole Thing. 

So the presentation is not only about clothes and make up, it’s about who they are deep down as people. The fact that they’re always the strong ones. Always the ones in control. Always the ones who aren’t panicking despite the fact that everything’s on fucking fire. 

They’re  people that others EXPECT to behave a certain way. There’s a predictability to them. A dependability. In Wit’s case, it’s that you can rely on him to be esoteric, confusing, and unpredictable, but still. 

There’s a pressure in that. There’s a pressure in always being THAT put together. In always being THAT on top of things. In always being THAT person who can never break down screaming when things go wrong because that’s not who they are and not what people expect. They have to be more than that. They have to be BETTER than that. 

They’re also people that other characters tend to other/deify. Shallan remarks several times about Jasnah being inhuman/beyond ordinary people, and even goes so far as to compare her to the divine, despite her being a heretic. 

Wit, meanwhile, gets asked if he’s a Herald, has that odd air of always knowing things that he shouldn’t, and being in places he shouldn’t at the right times. 

They’re both ‘positively’ outcast. And I don’t mean that in an overly posh English way and being positively outcast, darling. What I mean is that, instead of being shunted outside of the circle of normality, they’re both placed on pedestals above it. Which is a different sort of outcast, but comes with its own package of problems. 

And this brings us to: vulnerability. Because they’ve bonded over this presentation thing, but they’ve ALSO bonded over the fact that they’ve found someone they don’t have to do that around all the time. Someone they can let their guard down with and just be themselves. Someone they don’t have to present and perform for. Someone they can just be HUMAN with. 

So we’re going to look more closely at the clothing aspect of this. Because there’s symbolism here, and it deeply interests me. With a focus on Jasnah, because Wit’s a mystery by design, and Jasnah’s got some more intentional stuff going on here I feel, re narrative symbolism. 

So from the moment we’re introduced to her, Jasnah always looks immaculate. She always looks perfectly put together. Shallan remarks multiple times on her havah, on her make up, on the intricate and perfectly done braids of her hair. Which is a little bit gay on Shallan’s part (which is valid) but it’s also significant, symbolically. 

I talked already about Jasnah’s idea of ‘power is an illusion of perception’, but I feel it’s worth coming back to. Both because of how much it shapes Shallan, but also how much it shapes Jasnah, and informs what we know about her. 

Jasnah is ALWAYS put together. She is ALWAYS perfectly made up, the absolute ideal of the perfect Alethi princess. Even in scenes of distress or ‘downtime’ scenes - such as waiting for Shallan in the hospital, or visiting her after her betrayal, or the relatively more relaxed setting being on board the Wind’s Pleasure. The text makes a point to note that Jasnah is perfectly done up and presenting exactly as she wishes. 

The times we see slips in that are DEEPLY interesting to me. 

The first one I want to look at, briefly, is That Controversial Scene in the way of kings, where Jasnah uses Soulcasting to kill the men who attacked her and Shallan in the alley. 

Just prior to this we see her bathing, where Shallan still remarks on how composed Jasnah is. This is also part of her presentation. She’s entirely naked, but that illusion is still up. She’s still more in control than other people are fully clothed. 

What I find interesting is the specific note that Jasnah does not take the time to have her hair braided before she sets out with Shallan. It’s mentioned as being unbound a few times. 

Symbolically, I like this, because I feel like it speaks to a slight loosening of her usual control. There’s something about that scenario that sets Jasnah on edge. There’s something about it that makes her feel. 

Besides, men like those…” There was something in her voice, an edge Shallan had never heard before.

What was done to you? Shallan wondered with horror. And who did it?

Shallan is unnerved because Jasnah seems calm. But I get the sense, from this line, and from the intense repetition of how unnaturally composed Jasnah appears, that her composure is a front. And that if we had her perspective on this scene, it would look very different from how Shallan imagines it. 

There’s something driving her here. Something beyond the logic she explains to Shallan, about making the city safer, about the guards not doing anything, about how innocent women will not be able to protect themselves from this, and how she wanted those men gone. All of which I believe is true, but that line from Shallan, and the way in which Jasnah goes about this...It feels personal. There’s something else going on behind the scenes that we don’t know or understand.

Regardless. This is the first time we see Jasnah step out of the cultured, reserved, stoic scholar. She’s something other than an ideal Alethi princess and studious mentor in this scene. And the detail of her hair being unbound, contained, wild, for the first time since we’ve met her feels..Significant. It’s an important detail to linger on, I think. 

Which brings us to the next exception to Jasnah’s exceptional presentation rule: her murder! 

Even in the scene before where we see Jasnah, arguably, the most vulnerable that we’ve seen her, in the cabin when Shallan confronts her about her fear of the upcoming apocalypse. It’s only a moment. Only a moment of genuine emotion that Shallan manages to glimpse before the mask comes back. 

This was not the Jasnah that Shallan was accustomed to seeing. The confidence had been overwhelmed by exhaustion, the poise replaced by worry. Jasnah started to write something, but stopped after just a few words. She set down the pen, closing her eyes and massaging her temples. A few dizzy-looking spren, like jets of dust rising into the air, appeared around Jasnah’s head. Exhaustionspren.

Shallan pulled back, suddenly feeling as if she’d intruded upon an intimate moment. Jasnah with her defenses down. Shallan began to creep away, but a voice from the floor suddenly said, “Truth!”

Startled, Jasnah looked up, eyes finding Shallan—who, of course, blushed furiously.

Jasnah turned her eyes down toward Pattern on the floor, then reset her mask, sitting up with proper posture. “Yes, child?”

The text notes in this segment that Jasnah’s poise and presentation is a mask, but it also describes it as her ‘defenses’. This is her armour. It stops people looking too close. It stops them reading her emotion, her weaknesses. This is also one of very few times we see Jasnah attracting spren in the series. 

However, even in this scene, clearly exhausted, overworked, and overwhelmed, Jasnah remains perfectly put together. All of her armour, her immaculate  havah, her make-up, her braids, are all in place. Even in this moment. 

Which makes a stark contrast to the next scene we find her in where she’s dressed only in a “thin nightgown”, and is lying on the floor with a sword in her chest. The vulnerability of unexpected assassination. 

When next we see Jasnah, in the epilogue, is when she’s freshly spat out of Shadesmar after an apparently harrowing ordeal. 

Her clothing was ragged, her hair formed into a single utilitarian braid, her face lashed with burns. She’d once worn a fine dress, but that was tattered. She’d hemmed it at the knees and had sewn herself a glove out of something improvised. Curiously, she wore a kind of leather bandolier and a backpack. He doubted she’d had either one when her journey had begun.

Even in another plane, apparently being hounded and in fear of her life, she’s managed to acquire some appropriate clothing, a glove, and a damn bandolier. Because of course she has. Perception. Iconic. 

After that we don’t see her out of anything beyond her famous havah-braids-make up combo. Even when she’s with her family, and Navani remarks in her setting down the mask of the queen, she remains masked. There are still defences up. She never fully lets her family in on her plans, or her thoughts and fears. 

No, the next time we see her symbolically, and emotionally, vulnerable: is with Wit. Perhaps for the first time, fully, without ANY of her usual masks and pretences, and under her own steam and of her own volition. 

Locked away in a central room on the second level—sharing no walls with the outside, alone save for Wit’s company—she could finally let herself relax.

She DELIBERATELY picks a house with a second floor, and an interior  room with no outside walls, with multiple fabrial traps to warn of assassins or intruders. But she manages to relax in  Wit’s company. There’s a trust there. An understanding. A much needed vulnerability. 

Clothing wise, in this scene Jasnah is dressed only in a nightgown and a dressing gown, and is carefully noted to have her safehand uncovered. Jasnah isn’t Vorin, strictly speaking, but she’s still been raised her entire life in a society that views safehands as something inherently sexual/to be hidden. So much so that she takes the time and care to sew herself a safehand glove while in Shadesmar. So all of this is a fairly Big Deal. It’s a Big Deal for anyone. For Jasnah? More miraculous than Kaladin giggling. 

Jasnah Kholin is not vulnerable. Jasnah Kholin is never unguarded. Jasnah Kholin never willingly lets her guard down. Jasnah Kholin is absolutely as paranoid as Elhokar, if not more so. 

She’s made herself a BUNKER at this point. She’s in an interior room, surrounded by traps, there’s spheres sewn into her dressing gown, and she has a wholeass BOAT waiting for her in Shadesmar JUST IN CASE someone manages to get through: guards, an entire BUILDING, multiple rigged traps, then her, with her plate, her blade, her Soulcasting ability, and all of her wit and skill, to somehow manage to wound her badly enough that she has to retreat to Shadesmar. 

This woman does not do trust. She does not do vulnerability. To the point that it is absolutely 1000000% a fault. This IS Jasnah’s greatest flaw. Her isolation. Her mistrust. Her paranoia. 

Anyone that comes into her life she’s suspicious of. She blithely warns Shallan about Kabsal stating he’s only using her to get close to Jasnah to steal from her/kill her. 

We dismiss this, and look at it as brilliance/Jasnah knowing all, because she’s right. But it’s flawed brilliance. Because it’s the ‘broken clock’ fallacy, you know? If you suspect EVERYONE around you of being an assassin...Well, some of them will be. 

Jasnah’s paranoia is another meta, however. But the point here is that: Jasnah doesn’t do anything by halves. She has an ideal for how she wants to live her life and she COMMITS to it. And part of that is her presentation, and the perception she projects, to an unhealthy degree, even around trusted family. 

So the fact she has found someone she can relax all of her INCREDIBLY strict and overzealous masking and enforced personal presentation? Is both very significant in terms of her relationship with Wit, but also herSELF? 

Because Jasnah NEEDS this. She needs it like Kaladin needs therapy yesterday. 

Jasnah is a “strong independent woman” but if you double down on that idea, and follow it up with “Jasnah is a strong independent woman who doesn’t need a man/anyone” then you are absolutely 1000% missing the whole entire point of her character. 

All the Stormlight characters are deconstructions of classical fantasy tropes, to varying extents. 

Jasnah is the ‘strong independent woman’ trope except asking what if you ACTUALLY apply that to an actual human person? What would that do to them? How would that hurt them? And what it does is everything Jasnah is.

Which has been done so MASTERFULLY because we look at all of these flaws, and these objectively negative things that she does to cope with having this label slapped onto her, and we golf clap quietly in a corner and go ‘wow that’s so badass, that’s so cool, let’s totally romantacise all of these actually deeply worrying coping mechanisms and not look at them at all until Brandon smashes us in the face with them like a baseball bat with the nails of Jasnah’s trauma pounded into it’. 

Okay maybe that was SLIGHTLY dramatic. But my point is: Jasnah’s apparent omniscience can also be looked at as extreme paranoia and mistrust. 

Her independence and ability to ‘get shit done’ on her own, to the point she doesn’t tell another living soul about the LITERAL APOCALYPSE for more than HALF A DECADE is actually self-inflicted dangerous isolation. 

Her constantly being poised, and on her game, and never displaying any emotion is actually extreme repression, to the point her own MOTHER describes her as ‘having the empathy of a corpse��. 

Her consistent othering by all of the other characters, from her ward to her mother, deifying her, and othering her, and considering her immortal is actually putting her on a pedestal and cramming an INCREDIBLE amount of pressure to reach an impossible, unattainable, and inhuman level of perfection that becomes so normalised and commonplace that her return from the dead is just like ‘well yeah that’s just Jasnah’. 

And all of these things are INCREDIBLY unhealthy!!! They’re not something any real person should have to do just to exist. Especially not in the middle of an apocalypse. When her father was killed in front of her. And then her brother was murdered. And the apocalypse she tried to warn everyone about is happening. And she’s the most experienced Radiant. And she’s also suddenly a queen of her kingdom. Which has been taken over by the enemy btw. And they’re in the middle of a war. And people are dying. And she’s responsible for those people dying. But also some of her highprinces are treacherous bastards. And oh look here’s a couple of slightly mad Heralds she’s taken charge of and- OH MY GOD PLEASE LET HER NAP!? 

Again. Slight hyperbole on my end but I feel like I’m #Justified. The point is, her suddenly, after FOUR books, having a single person that she can confide in, and be vulnerable with, and admit she’s afraid, and uncertain, and doesn’t know what she’s doing, and isn’t sure she can actually do this, is not ~anti-feminist~ and it’s not “out of character” and it’s not damaging her ideal it’s actually deeply positive, and healthy, and a symptom of Character Growth. 

Jasnah’s is choosing Wit. With her eyes wide open. And she has some reservations about things, because she’s JASNAH, of course she does. But she listens to him. She confides in him. She lets him see HER. She lets him help HER. She admits that she needs that help. She actually says to him, out loud, with full human words, to his face, right in front of him, that she’s frightened. SHE ADMITS THIS!!! Jasnah’s having all this stealth background character development that y’all are sleeping on but I am personally deeply hype about. 

And it’s because Wit UNDERSTANDS her. And she understands him. And this is really the crux and core of this whole relationship for me, you know? This whole idea around them always being The Strong One. and finally FINALLY (for him, too) having someone that they don’t have to be strong for. Or regal. Or composed. Or poised. Or in control. Or even knowing what the fuck they’re doing. 

She can just...Be. She can ask questions. And show uncertainty. And admit to fear. And to doubt, of herself, of the other Radiants, of humanity in general. And have someone to look to, when everyone is ALWAYS looking at her. 

It’s the beginning of an actual support system. Because she needs this SO badly. Because she has her family but she also...Doesn’t have her family? She looks after them. She protects them. From assassins, and then from what was happening in the world/her role in it. Because there’s that line in Oathbringer that she has, about people loving her but still hurting her. 

Navani mentions that after she hit adolescence (and after her parents locked her in a dark room and let her scream herself hoarse because they called her mad, lol) she withdrew. And she no longer asked questions. And she no longer wanted a mother, or a support figure, or someone to take care of her. She rejected all notions of that. Because there was something broken there. That trust was gone. And Jasnah will set aside the crown, and the mask of the queen around her family, but she is only fully vulnerable, and fully HERSELF with Wit. 

And I cannot understate (i feel like I’m doing a Good Job of not understating this here people) how absolutely fucking ESSENTIAL that is. 

Jasnah is NOT a machine. She is not a divine being beyond trauma and pain. She is a human being who has suffered, and who has responses to this. 

Jasnah accepting Wit’s support and companionship is as big a step in processing and healing from her trauma as Kaladin accepting he can’t protect everyone and does not deserve to always carry that guilt. 

I don’t care if you don’t like the ship. I don’t care if you think it was rushed (there was...a year long time skip. Things did not remain in stasis. Things changed. This is an interesting narrative device bringing us into them and letting us extrapolate backwards). I don’t care if you hate the bones of Hoid and never want to see him on screen: I DON’T CARE. 

If you have any respect and regard for Jasnah as a character I need you to acknowledge that this relationship is a positive and healthy thing for her. I need you to see that it’s a step forwards. I need you to see that, from a purely narrative standpoint: this is a thing that should be celebrated for her. 

In terms of Wit, too, this is a good thing. I am not about one-sided relationships where only one person is getting something out of it. Even when that one person is the light of my life Jasnah Kholin who deserves all the things ever. 

For all his talk of frivolity, he knew exactly how to present himself. It was something they’d bonded over.

Coming back to this RoW quote let me make things as abundantly clear as possible re why I’ve bonded over this ship: They’re kindred spirits. They understand each other. In a way that no-one else has understood them for Jasnah possibly ever, for Wit in a very very very very very very very very very long time. 

They’re both brilliant. They’re both intellectually at the pinnacle of humanity. They both know that. They’re also both damaged. They both  cover up that damage with a carefully crafted presentation. Jasnah’s is regal composure and Wit’s flamboyant nonchalance, but it’s a mask in both cases. 

They understand each other. And they understand the need to have what they’ve found in one another: someone they don’t have to be that way around. Someone they can just be with. Someone who understands why they have to be that way with everyone else; but can give them the freedom to be themselves. 

Such parallel. Much power. Very choice. 

I was gonna talk about Other Stuff in this meta but lol. 4k words of clothes screaming later and I feel like maybe this should be part 1 of an ongoing saga. Ahem. 

The take away from this is: I totally understand why Brandon put these two characters together. For the amount of characters he has, he actually has relatively few romantic relationships. None of them are done on a whim, and they’re always healthy, mutual, and positive for both characters. They make sense, in short. 

And these two as a pairing makes sense. On more than a “”””business transaction””””” level of them wanting and getting information out of one another. It makes sense even if there was no Desolation, and no threat to the world, and they were two randomers who met in a tavern and connected. 

There’s a personal connection there. There’s an intimacy, and an understanding, and a sense of looking into another person’s eyes and saying ‘yes. You know. You feel it too’. They go through life in much the same way - standing out, never quite fitting, never finding anyone on their level that can relate to them or compete with them or challenge them. 

They have someone who can fulfil them. Someone who can actually meet and exceed their abilities for once. But equally someone who can ground them, and meet them at their lowest point, and allow and even encourage that vulnerability. 

TL;DR: this relationship is positive for both characters, and healthy, and important for both and this is a hill I WILL fucking die upon. Just watch me. 

More metas to follow. Bc I have more to say. Not as long as this one, in all likelihood, bc I feel like this is the Lynchpin argument for this pair. But still. More to say.