#truly what is happening. i don't understand any of the logic here

[itwoodbeprefect]

youtube just threw me a curveball by adding "translate into thai" (in dutch) under every english comment in a comment section

[croquettish]

Claustrophobia as a Metaphor for Hans' Feelings for Henry

All right. I'm ready to go full tinfoil hat here but I have a theory, y'all. And there is a lot of evidence to back it up even if you decide I'm off my rocker for most of it:

I think Hans' claustrophobia exists in parallel to his feelings and, more importantly, how Hans feels about his feelings for Henry.

We first get the hint that Hans is claustrophobic when he and Henry get tossed into the dungeon at Trosky:

This is immediately post-divorce era. The boys haven't quite yet made up and Hans has gotten his first taste of what life is like without Henry. He did not care for it, and that realization comes alongside an incredibly unexpected vulnerability that Hans is not used to and has not had to deal with before.

The threat of losing Henry before was of course something he could conceive of before, most recently following Henry's ~terrible fall, but that would have been losing him in the abstract. If he lost Henry because of their fight, that would be (at least in his eyes), 100% his fault, at least in part because-- as you'll recall-- Henry was ready to make up literally the next morning. Earlier, even, if you watch the way he tries to look at Hans while Hans is stubbornly staring away as if to keep from being persuaded by Henry's puppy dog eyes.

The divorce era presented a different sort of loss, namely losing Henry not because of God's will, but because of his own stubborn pride. He got Henry back after, but the risk was there and it's only after getting him back that the full weight of what he almost lost hits him. At the beginning, when he's still panicking in the cell, he's still in what he perceives to be the proverbial doghouse, and he promptly follows this up by eating crow and apologizing to Henry for being an asshole.

Panic abated.

Until Henry is taken away from him, of course, and the walls truly start closing in. I have to really commend the creative direction of this scene in particular because that zoom out + transition to a Dutch angle is so fucking haunting in this scene while we watch Hans clearly trying not to have a full breakdown. It really induces the feeling of claustrophobia even if a person doesn't suffer from it themselves.

Henry was taken away from him, and as far as he knows, he might never see him again. No wonder the walls start closing in on him.

After that, things return to normal. No bad claustrophobia concerns for some time, incidentally. Henry is there, and his feelings regarding Henry are completely logical and rational. What a good friend Henry is!

The next time we see Hans' claustrophobia flare up is after Nebakov is hit by the Finger of God/bombard. Hans is trapped under a beam and is (understandably) freaking the fuck out. We also know from his dialogue later on that this scene magnified his claustrophobia even more than it was before.

What's notable, however, is that Henry at this point is barely conscious and isn't responding to Hans. As far as he knows, Henry isn't alive. That bombard could have easily killed any/all of them and tbh it's kind of a miracle that it didn't. Never mind that after his brief foray into consciousness, Henry is promptly hit by a full-length ceiling beam and (presumably, logically) knocked the fuck out. Meanwhile Hans is being crushed by his own fear of his feelings.

We obviously don't know what happens between the time of the tower's destruction and the scene in the cart after, but we do know that Henry was woken up at dawn to the commotion and by the time they get done being tortured, it's very late at night. So presumably Henry was out cold for a while there. Not only are the walls closing in on Hans here, they're literally crushing him. The fear of losing Henry is more present than ever.

And to make matters worse, he has no idea when or even if he's ever going to see Henry again. Henry has no value as a hostage. He could easily be simply disposed of without a second thought.

Henry could die, and it would, in Hans' eyes, be all his fault. At this point his feelings on the matter are guilt and a tremendous amount of self-pity (as we later learn from Brabant). As if to coincide with Hans being confronted with his feelings regarding Henry and the loss of him at this point and time, he ends up stuck in his gilded cage at Maleshov.

Once again, the walls are closing in.

We learn about how he felt about this only later when we chat with him at the Devil's Den:

The big problem with the room, Hans explains, was simply that he couldn't leave.

If we bear in mind the claustrophobia : confrontation of feelings metaphor here, this makes sense. Henry could be dead. He could have been tortured. He could still be in captivity. Hell, depending on how you play Henry being tortured, he even tells the torturer to just go ahead and fucking kill him because he's not talking. Henry was ready to die.

Hans knows Henry. Extremely well. He knows that Henry has some truly insane principles that he will stick to no matter what. There's no doubt in my mind that Hans probably knows there is a good chance that Henry doesn't make it through this. And he's confronted with all of these feelings over an extended period of time where he gets to sit and spin.

In light of that, I think it's interesting that he calls it a hole, because I would never use a word like that to describe what is effectively a fancy hotel room. But figuratively speaking, of course it's a hole for him. He's despairing. He needs Henry in his life and there's nothing he can do to get to him or to save him. He can't leave.

And then, of course, Henry shows up after all. No wonder Hans looks so unbelievably elated to see him. Of course, this is when Henry brings up the secret passageway. Hans is told that he can leave this enclosed space for another, even tighter enclosed space!

Now, if you pick the correct dialogue option here and tell him that you'll make it through, together, Hans of course discloses that the shit about how it's not ~chivalrous was bullshit and that it's because he might endanger him:

He just spent the last x amount of time (depending on how long you had Henry dilly-dallying around Kuttenberg and its environs) trapped here and steeped in his feelings regarding Henry. The fear of losing him is at the top of this list. To Hans, going into that passageway could also make him lose Henry. And it would be his fault. Again.

There's also something to be said here about close quarters. If we're to return here to the metaphors, then those close quarters force Hans to confront his feelings for Henry. Henry even says it himself back when they're in the Trosky dungeon together:

From there, it's on to Raborsch. Which is where things get very interesting.

Hans is told that he's going to be getting married. Much like in the Trosky dungeon, we get that zoom (albeit in the other direction this time) and then his POV. The way time seems to slow, the wobble of the camera... being something of a panic attack haver myself, this is exactly what it feels like. It is honestly impressive how well they mimic the feeling of it. And the way it's executed almost makes it look as though the room is shrinking.

This is my own personal headcanon that will probably not be shared by most people, but I think this is the moment that Hans realizes that he's in love with Henry. It would make sense for him to feel faint and like the walls are closing in on him in that moment.

It's also the worst possible moment for him to realize.

And then he proceeds to try and shove those feelings aside and repress them as best as possible. Nevermind that yet again Henry isn't there to help support him.

There was a wonderful post going around the other day about why Hans' responses to the romantic dialogue options Henry chooses sound so platonic. Because... yeah. He's holding that shit in TIGHT. He is on LOCKDOWN.

And we see that reflected in where he chooses to place himself physically after that point!!!!

After the announcement, Godwin can find him outside on the balcony getting absolutely hammered and talking to Rabbi Jehuda.

Even at the Devil's Den, where he's objectively free, he feels... crowded. Like the walls are closing in on him:

No fucking wonder. If he just realized that he's in love with Henry, then at this point in the story he's still trying real hard to repress that shit. Hans is erecting these walls himself as if he's trying to choke these feelings out of him. It also makes sense why he's constantly going out to get away from this confrontation of feelings as much as possible, riding out whenever he can:

Even in the group meeting with the Devil's gang, he says this:

Now it's the whole tavern! Anywhere that has walls and a roof is choking the life out of him! And of course here Henry is suddenly fucking everywhere.

When talking to him about the rides he goes on in the surrounding areas, this line of inquiry leads him to ask if he's fucking poaching again, and Hans comes back by saying this:

Allow me to just say.

And I cannot stress this enough.

He did not need to tell Henry that.

Henry tells him as much, but it feels fairly obvious that this was said with intent. It's like he's trying to reinforce his own heterosexuality to both him and Henry.

I would also like to highlight here that to Hans, it's always outside that this heterosexuality occurs. Even at the baths those hookups are merely in tents. The girl from Bohunowitz he found in (or near) a hunter's camp in the forest.

So we see a pretty direct correlation here. The inside of pretty much any building (or passageway) that also contains Henry or the Absence of Henry (in the abstract) is profoundly unsafe. This is the space where feelings always seem to happen and where Realizations™️ occur.

So! The outside is safe! Nothing can get him there, not even his feelings for Henry!

It's interesting, then, that Hans decides to invite Henry into that very space not long after:

Even in the space Hans uses as an escape (including as an escape from Henry), he still wants Henry there. Much as I discussed in this post, Hans views hunting with Henry in this scene as an escape into the past. Pre-betrothal, pre-feelings. A simpler time and a return to normalcy.

Naturally, he has to counteract Henry's presence in the Comphet space by bringing up as much heterosexuality as possible:

He brings this up regardless of how you respond.

Depending on your dialogue choices, you then learn that the girl from Bohunowitz is named Karolina. (Tbh if I didn't know better, I'd assume she was fucking made up seeing as she shares a name with the same girl he was running after in The Amorous Adventures of Bold Sir Hans Capon and there is no such girl to be found in Bohunowitz.)

Regardless of whether you chose to tease him or grumble about his womanizing, Henry makes it pretty clear that he doesn't want to hear about it. He says something similar as well earlier, when Hans says that the girl from Bohunowitz (who may or may not be made up) gave him a ~ride:

Hans quickly changes the subject, but Henry keeps them on topic and brings it up again, effectively asking him if these wenches are more important to him than he is:

(Tbh it's pretty fucking obvious from these interactions that Henry is already feeling quite a lot here and is looking for validation from Hans... which Hans then, perhaps unwittingly, provides. Maybe he just can't help himself. The truth slips through the cracks.)

Hans immediately reassures him, of course:

At which point it's Henry's turn to brush him off and put some distance between them again.

Distance which Hans immediately closes up again...

... only to freak out and instantly backpedal.

The assault on Maleshov really hammers this connection home, where even outside, he can't run from his fear.

In this case, because the Finger of God fires and hits the fortress walls.

Hans falls back and just... stares.

And just stays there for a while. For long enough, in fact, that Henry and Godwin have to come help him up.

Henry, in this instance, is both the problem and the solution: all Hans has to do is accept the fact that he's in love with him—with a little help from Henry.

And then we get to the Italian Job. Hooo boy.

It does not escape my attention that these two dialogue options come up in the same conversation, one of which of course leads to a romance choice:

Henry tries to insist on how much he enjoys Hans' company only for Hans to brush him off. Quite substantially. Like if I was Henry I'd be fucking gutted or at the very least baffled that my friend could be that obtuse when I'm over here dropping all these hints.

And then, of course, Hans promptly panics again when Henry brings up the underground passage and asks if he's joining him in going through it (almost as if those two bits of panic are related).

He even brings up societal judgment! But I think it's that last one that carries by far the most weight. He's still looking for any possible way out that he can find and asking for validation from Henry while he's doing it. Which is asking quite a lot of Henry imo.

Of course, then he suddenly doesn't have a choice anymore. Which is also where Hans actually comes to terms with his feelings. He has to go through the passageway. There's no choice. The walls are closing in and he has to accept it or he'll go insane if he keeps repressing any of this any longer. The narrative is practically telling him: you can't run from this anymore. His feelings for Henry are real and they're right in front of him and they're not this terrifying thing that he's been running from all this time.

Katherine tells Henry that Hans was trailing behind Godwin and her "like a dazed sheep" and that she hopes he didn't get lost.

The good news is that he didn't. Instead, quite the opposite happened: he finally found his way to accepting how he feels.

And when he does, he finds that he's no longer afraid of them. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, confronting his fears meant that they're not nearly as terrifying anymore.

Again, Henry asks if he's really all right, and Hans insists that he's never been better. No fucking wonder. This was a come-to-Jesus moment if ever I saw one.

And then he checks on Henry. All this time, he's been looking at his own fear, stuck in this, quite frankly, closet, and not thinking about how Henry has been feeling.

Even so, Henry is worried. At which point Hans gets to reassure him that, no, he's all right. In fact, the one holding him back and hurting him most in all of this has been none other than himself. If anything, Henry has been encouraging all this time. He does his job well. And that includes loving Hans.

Henry suggests that he overcame his fear, and Hans insists that no, that's not quite it.

Which makes sense. You don't just overcome your fears by facing them. Certainly not something like claustrophobia. It's also unlikely that an actual miracle occurred here. If you listen for his idle talk before or after this conversation, even Hans is absolutely baffled that he just... overcame his fear. Just like that.

To me, that suggests that this is about something else entirely, and not tight, enclosed spaces at all. He's always been afraid to face this part of himself.

In fact, if we recall what happened during their successful siege on Maleshov, Hans fell and couldn't recover without aid. Here, he fell and got himself up again because... it didn't kill him. It's okay to have—wait for it—fallen in love with Henry.

Is this a stretch? Maybe. But the fact that it happens twice makes me think that it was done with intent.

(If I wanted to bring in a real stretch here, I'd suggest that there's meaning behind the fact that Hans helps Henry up to his feet several times, first after his terrible fall at the beginning, while they're walking to Bozhena's, and again after he's on the floor getting kicked at the Semine wedding. If this was meant to be a hint as to where Henry realized that he was in love with Hans, having lost him first almost to death and then again to the divorce arc, it wouldn't surprise me tbh. He fell, and Hans was there to be his solution—the only difference is that Henry wouldn't have had a problem accepting it the way that Hans did. But, like I said, this one is a stretch.)

All of which brings us to the second confession.

Henry tried telling him this same exact thing before, after nearly losing him to the noose and their temporary split. Now he's saying this exact same thing again. Which feels... pointed and frankly intentional.

And this time, Hans responds in kind. He also cares about Henry. He's just really bad at showing it sometimes.

Because of course he's bad at it. He's spent the whole game thus far stuck in a closet of claustrophobia battling against his own internally homophobic demons.

But his success in a) escaping that closet and b) battling those demons brings us to the promised land.

Where they fuck in a (relatively, considering Hans' fear from before) small room and with Hans underneath Henry, the safest ceiling to come (down) on him of them all ♥

[fleuryuns]

presenting a fic by @FLEURYUNS

as the earth burns to the ground,

lay here with me

IN WHICH it takes an asteroid hurdling toward earth for you and jay to be pulled apart, and then brought back together—but it's worth it

PAIRING ⟡ wealthy (ex)bf!jay x scientist!femreader

UNIVERSE ⨯ end of the world au

WARNINGS ⟡ inspired by as the world caves in by matt maltese, exes to lovers, arguments, some platonic!jake thrown in there, ambiguous ending, elements from the movie don't look up, inaccurate portrayal of astrophysics and high school debate clubs

WORD COUNT ⨯ 4.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . starting again with the first fic i ever posted!!

"It's a silly rumour!" he said, exasperatedly.

You told him, "A rumour?! We've estimated its trajectory, analyzed dozens of possible routes, calculated probabilities... You can't deny the research, Jay!"

It was hard to believe that your relationship had come down to this. Had come down because of this.

You and Jay met during a high school debate tournament. His school had been reigning champions for years, until you joined your school's team and beat them. Jay was both annoyed, but impressed by your quips and arguments. He caught up with you after the match, and the rest is history.

High school sweethearts from rivalling schools, a true Romeo and Juliet reenactment.

The two of you went on to attend the same university in different programs. You—garnering a PhD in mathematics and physics, in order to pursue your lifelong dream of becoming an astrophysicist. Meanwhile, Jay went into marketing to one day take on the family business.

Although pursuing very different paths, you always came together at the end of the day. You'd often stay over at his apartment, large as it was, and watch movies together, cook new recipes he thought you'd like, whatever it is you both wanted to do, as a pair. Soon after graduation, you officially moved in with him.

Of course, you weren't perfect. You argued, you disagreed. There were a few significant arguments that led to you slamming the door on your way out.

But it always came down to how you first met. A good debate, a good argument, happens only when both sides respect each other, and don't let their emotions take on the best of them.

So, after every argument, you or he would call the other to apologize. Or, you'd wake up the next morning with a bouquet of roses with a handwritten note attached to it. Or, instead, you'd walk over to his place in the pouring rain, asking for forgiveness.

What brought you two together, however, eventually became what tore you apart.

During debates, Jay prioritized feelings over facts, in the sense that he would take on logical, everyday thinking to tackle the problem, usually winning over his opponents because they often lacked realism. You, on the other hand, gathered the facts and tackled the issue head on. In that way, you balanced each other out.

In another way, neither of you truly ever saw eye to eye.

You just didn't see it until word of an asteroid heading toward Earth came around.

You were ecstatic to be the one to discover the asteroid. At the time, its trajectory seemed to be close enough to Earth that it would be seen by an average telescope on the night it passes by.

"And my name will be on every article talking about it," you told him, wearing a proud smile.

Jay looked at you sweetly as you went into depth, ways that he certainly didn't understand fully, but he still listened intently because he knew it mattered to you.

Then, with further research, you discovered that you wouldn't even need any equipment to see the asteroid fly by.

"We could make a date out of it," he suggested. "When is it passing Earth?"

You continued to stir the pasta, humming at his words. "In about three months," you clarified.

You yelped when you suddenly felt his arms wrap around you. Leaning your head back comfortably onto his shoulder, you let him give you a short kiss. "Maybe we could invite the gang and set up a get together on the building's roof?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Within weeks, the morning tabloids were filled with new information revealed about the asteroid that you and your team discovered. Threads of information were shared on social media, and your name was attached to it everywhere. You felt a sense of pride whenever you checked your phone in the morning, scrolling through dozens to hundreds of comments congratulating you on your discoveries.

One morning, you woke up to a new headline greeting you:

Asteroid Heading Toward Earth: Here Is How To Prepare.

"Huh," you asked yourself, sitting up on your elbow to scroll through the article. You read some more and discovered there were more calculations done overnight by the rest of the team after you left earlier the night before, calculations proving a change in direction.

It was then that you noticed the seven missed calls from your team members. You mentally cursed yourself for being a heavy sleeper.

You quickly called the team leader first, and they barely greeted you before asking you to come to the lab.

"What's the hurry?" Jay asked from the kitchen. You rushed behind him to place a chaste kiss to his cheek, heading to the door to slip on your shoes, with your bag almost falling from your shoulder in the process. "I'm making pancakes."

"Check the tabloids. It's bad."

He frowned. "Yeah, I saw," he said with an unreadable expression. For a situation so serious, his voice seemed to toe the line of mockery too closely. "There's no way it's real, love, don't worry about it."

You stopped in your tracks with your hand still on the handle. "Sorry?"

"Are you serious? An asteroid heading toward Earth?" He raised his eyebrows. "C'mon, we're not in a movie."

"This is serious..." you told him slowly. "Just 'cause it's the first time something like this has happened, doesn't mean it's not real—" You shook your head. "—Look, I have to go. I can tell you about it tonight."

And, sure enough, you spent the day proving the team's theories from the evening. The asteroid was surely coming toward Earth, in approximately nine weeks. At that moment, you weren't able to estimate the true extent of the damage that it would bring, but it would be bad, you knew that well enough.

Jay didn't.

"Don't be ridiculous, Y/N," he said.

You had to take a step back, close your eyes and take a deep breath to make sure you didn't scream. "You don't trust me." The statement was short, but garnered a large reaction.

"Excuse me?"

"That's what you're saying," you explained. "You don't believe my research. I can show you my notes, I can call the team leader for confirmation. Yet, you don't believe me."

He scoffed at you. Looking around, Jay sputtered out half-finished words, taken aback by your confrontation. "I trust you, Y/N, I just—"

"Just what?!" you interrupt, throwing your hands in frustration.

"Park Enterprises has already disproved it."

You wait for him to continue, but he looks at you as if that was enough explanation.

Out of pure disbelief, you let out a half-breathed laugh. "No, this is ridiculous," you throw his own statement back at him. Classically using his own words to turn the tables.

"My father's team has been tracking that exact same comet you're all after, and their studies show that it won't be coming near Earth, not by ages." It was unbelievable the absolute lack of hesitance in his voice. The confidence, which used to draw you into his arguments, repulsed you. "They have better funds for their research, it's much more developed."

This had you looking around for an audience, waiting to hear the laugh track in the background because his speech was straight out of a comedy. "You rather believe people who are solely in it for the money, people who completely disgrace their PhDs and the professors who taught them. Jay, we've laughed at them together because we both agreed they'd agree the Earth was flat if they were offered a large enough check!"

"Well, at least what they're saying now is much more realistic! Your studies don't even make sense."

"So, the date?" you ask him. "What–What was that about?"

He laughed. Laughed. "Obviously I'd take any excuse to spend time with you, love. Sure, you'd be disappointed that we didn't see anything, but I figured the night itself would've gone so well that it wouldn't have even mattered." He shrugged at the end of the words, clearly thinking that it was a given.

"I need you to leave," you told him slowly. You no longer had the energy to deal with a baseless argument. Surely you could get to him, just not then. "I need to be alone. Please."

And with that, he left.

Only a few text conversations were shared after your argument. Neither of you came forward to settle what had happened, talk it out.

Two months went by. Not seeing each other again, nor speaking in all the time that passed by.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You look over your notes again, brows furrowed in concentration. Trying not to get distracted by the ticking of the clock, or your desk-neighbour sighing every few minutes, you scramble to find a sheet of paper you surely misplaced—because there's no way, no way that this is all you have. If it is....

Jake leans back in his chair and exhales loudly, and suddenly all hell breaks loose. "No way, no way..." you mumble over and over. "Shit! This can't be happening!"

He looks over at you in concern. You also start to hear the other scientists pushing back their own chairs, some turning around to look at what you're seeing. "Y/N? Everything okay?"

Wordlessly, or rather without any intelligible words shared, you turn your computer screen to his direction and hand him your papers.

Jake studies the notes quietly, looking up every once in a while to analyze the images and graphs from the screen to compare. Your hand instinctively comes up to your chest, trying to settle your heartbeat, if it's even possible. "Is this...." He doesn't finish. He understands.

You nod at him. Tears well up in your eyes.

"We'll send them up to Dr. Lee, and get his team to confirm everything," he eventually responds. His voice is clear, despite his own tears spilling. The other scientists come closer, leaning over Jake's shoulder, all reading until everyone is in the loop of what's going on—what's going to happen. He turns to them too. "In the meantime, we'll all go home. Spend time with your loved ones." It goes without saying that this is the last time everyone will be seeing each other.

Saying goodbye to the members of your research team is bittersweet, you learn.

Despite the pride you feel looking at them, considering everything you've learned and discovered together, it pulls at your heartstrings for it to come down to this. You almost wish you had never pursued this career path, wish you weren't even smart enough to come to these conclusions.

You hug Jake tightly at last. He's the one you've always been closest to, after all. "Thank you," he tells you, your face buried in his shoulder and finally letting the tears fall freely, since everyone else is gone. "For everything."

"You too," is all you say.

You hold onto each other for a few moments more when a pit forms in your stomach. Something different than the gnawing fear of knowing the end is near.

No, this is different.

Regret, you realize. Regret, with a mix of guilt.

You pull away from your coworker, a shaky smile on your lips that can't quite reach your eyes. "I have to go." And despite the ache of never seeing him again, you turn away from Jake for the last time and rush out of the building to your car.

As you're pulling out of the parking lot, soft melodies play from the speakers. You recognize the beat instantly.

My feet are aching and your back is pretty tired;

You resist the urge to pull to a stop and just let your eyes shut as you listen to the familiar tune. It'd be nice, but no. You know you have somewhere to be, and the radio coincidentally playing your—and his—song is only more proof that you need to do this.

And we've drunk a couple bottles, babe, and set our grief aside;

Driving down a road you've been through dozens of times brings up many old memories. You remember the first time Jay brought you to his parents' house, nervously fidgeting with your dress from the passenger's seat. He noticed immediately and placed his hand reassuringly on your thigh, risking taking his eyes off the road for a moment to meet with your eyes and ask silently: "Are you okay?"

You told him you were just fine, and that wasn't a lie.

The papers say it's doomsday, the button has been pressed;

Your phone buzzes from the compartment. Sparing a glance, you notice an alert glaring back at you, probably something along the lines of "Take immediate cover. Do not go outside. Protect yourselves."

The radio cuts out, nearly at the same time. The same announcement rings in your ears, so you swiftly turn down the volume and lean back into your seat.

You look through your blind spot for clear roads, and press the pedal harder.

We're gonna nuke each other up, boys, till old Satan stands impressed;

The nerves that have settled in the pit of your stomach ironically dissipate into a new wave of nostalgia instead as you pull onto the street, seeing the grand Park household in the distance.

Happy memories, although bittersweet, flood your mind, and you realize how grateful you are for having them.

At last, you make it to their driveway, relief washing over you when you see Jay's car parked right in front of yours. Clearly, he hasn't been staying at the apartment with you over the past couple months, so you just assumed he'd been staying at his parents' house during your time apart.

You know him well.

Walking up to the doorstep brings back a tremble to your limbs. You reach out with a shaky hand to the doorbell, ringing it once. Twice. And thrice—Like you always have.

It takes all but a moment for the door to open, when your eyes meet for the first time in forever.

"Y/N..."

And here it is, our final night alive;

It's been so long.

You could never forget what he looked like, not with his face still waking you up every morning on your phone screen. But still, seeing him in person again leaves you stunned.

"Hi." You hate the way your voice shakes on the syllable, but you conceal it with a nervous smile.

He doesn't look angry. If anything, he's surprised. Maybe even happy, if the way the corners of his mouth come up when you greet him says anything.

"Y/N," he repeats, disbelief leaking from his tone. "You're... here."

"I missed you," you say at the same time.

You share a quiet laugh before he steps aside and motions for you to come in. You follow him without hesitation.

Taking in his comfortably familiar scent that filters the air, you instinctively close your eyes when you make your way into the living room. You notice Jay doesn't sit down next to you on the couch immediately, so you awkwardly open one eye in a squint to find him standing across from you, with a small smile on his lips.

"What're you looking at?" you ask him with a teasing lilt.

"What are you doing here?"

"Have you checked the news?" Technically, you haven't either. But you know by now, from the announcement on your phone and the radio, it'll be all over every channel.

You watch Jay frown curiously and turn on the television. You're both welcomed with a pre-recorded video—as stated in the top right corner—of a newscaster anxiously fidgeting with her cue cards.

"—comet found and followed by a local research team associated with the Seoul National University is indeed heading toward Earth at a concerningly rapid rate." She pauses, looking over her notes and taking a breath. You can't imagine how it is to hear this news when you've been falsely led by the media for so long. "Park Entreprises have released a statement confirming their calculations."

You watch the colour drain from Jay's face.

"We have approximately seven hours before the asteroid collides with Earth, and causes severe to irreparable damage to the planet and all living organisms." A tear rolls down her cheek, she can no longer hold character. You notice the clip cut, before coming back, with the woman looking significantly more distraught; red in the face, tears staining her cheeks. "Please, everyone, spend this time with your loved ones. Stay safe. This has been Channel—"

Click. Jay shuts it off.

He stands in silence, staring at the blank screen. You watch him run his hand over his mouth anxiously, resisting the urge to get up and hold him.

"So... What—What does this mean?"

"The asteroid is much larger than we predicted, which means we gravely underestimated its speed." You keep your head down and voice low. You've been in this situation before and although you hate to admit it, you're afraid it won't be any different from the last time. "We thought we had at least another week before it came within radar, and with the size we had believed it was, it would've done damage, but nothing too extreme. We were wrong."

"And now we have roughly, what, seven hours before we..." He doesn't need to finish. You nod.

He runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" You think you misheard him.

Jay makes his way toward you, situating himself comfortably on the couch and turning to take your hands in his own. "I said some pretty messed up things that I no longer stand by. I should've let you talk, and I should've had the decency to listen and, at the very least, try to understand."

It's nice, you discern. Hearing what you've been wanting to hear for months. "Thank you," is all you can think to say because, well, what else is there to say?

"I think I've known that my dad's team was hiding something, or purposefully miscalculating, but I chose to ignore it," he admits. "I was scared. Fuck, I'm still scared."

"Understandably, there's a literal asteroid headed towards Earth!"

You both laugh in agreement.

"I know it's probably way too late to ask you this considering we won't be alive by tomorrow, but can we please spend these last hours together as a couple?"

"Are you asking me to be your girlfriend," you tease. "Again?"

"Yes, Y/N." He rolls his eyes, but he isn't annoyed. You feel your heart pull at its strings when you see the familiar smile spread across his face again, something you haven't seen in a long time. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Of course."

You spend the first few hours helping him out in the kitchen. Jay explains that he's been there all day preparing a big meal for the family, as a surprise because they hadn't spent much time together as of late. It's much clearer to him why.

Together, you make a mess of the place. Not much with Jay's help, no. He's always been the better cook of the relationship. Clearly everyone has their specialities. You—in astrophysics and having the balls in the relationship, and him in the kitchen and being utterly stupid sometimes.

"So, is your dad coming over?" You toss a grape into your mouth, sitting on the counter top after giving up on actually helping. "He probably has some kind of vendetta against me, or something. At least I do."

Jay gives you a look.

"What," you draw out exaggeratedly. "We're scientific enemies. It's textbook betrayal."

"No, he won't be," Jay assures you. "I was hoping to make a meal for him and Mom, but one of their messengers told me they were leaving for a business trip tonight. Looks like that isn't gonna end well."

You frown. "I'm sorry..."

He shrugs it off and waves his hand. "No, no, don't be. I think I'd flip at him if I saw him, and I'd rather not spend my last moments in a screaming match with my father." He quickly washes his hands in the sink before wiping them against his apron to dry them off. "Besides, I'm here with you, and that's all that matters."

If you let a smile escape you, that's for no one to know.

The oven makes a ding! which prompts you to hop off the counter, Jay swiftly catching your movement and letting you fall into his arms. You laugh as you notice his dirty hand hovering over your body to not touch your clothes.

"Do you want to help me plate this?"

As expected, the meal is delicious. Even the burnt edges caused by your excess lathering of butter were more than salvageable. It's nothing like a grand meal at a three Michelin star restaurant, but it's damn near close enough.

You furrow your brows as you take another bite—you can't help looking angry when the food tastes good!

Jay notices. "You like it?" he asks, but not genuinely. His smile hints that he already knows.

You simply hum in response.

The rest of the meal passes by in comfortable silence. Comfortable as either of you can be.

There's some tension in the air. A mix of fear, worry, maybe even curiosity.

How else are you meant to feel on your final night alive?

Once both your plates are cleared, Jay's quick to reach and grab the dishes. You follow him to the sink with whatever else he couldn't hold and help him wash them.

You watch him thoroughly scrub at a plate that's already spotless. You don't interrupt him.

In the meantime, you clear the table. Push the chairs. Rearrange the center piece. Even take out the broom and start sweeping the main floor.

You're not sure why. It's not like it really matters. All of this will be whipped out in a few hours.

A shiver runs down your back, and you decide that you're finished cleaning.

"You wanna watch a movie?"

You settle yourselves in his bed once the dishes are done. Jay toys around with the projector before turning back to you, his face twisting in an unserious grimace.

"Oh, right," he says pointedly. "I forgot you only started dating me for my projector."

"What can I say, the richer the man, the more attractive he is." Yet, even if he didn't have a dime to his name, you would still find Jay to be the most handsome man on this dying Earth. "Come here."

Normally, he'd probably tease you for your clinginess. He'd say something along the lines of your hands being covered in glue, or make a dumb joke about magnets.

Today, though, he doesn't hesitate for a second before diving under the covers next to you, wrapping his arm over your shoulders and pulling you even closer.

It feels good, but also makes reality set in.

He feels you let out a shaky breath. "It'll be okay, love," he whispers before placing a long kiss on top of your head.

The opening credits start to roll. You try to take note of all the actors you recognize, try to remember in what movies and series you've seen them in. It calms you down. Then your mind drifts, and you start to worry about what those actors might be doing right now.

Do they know the world is ending in less than four hours? Do they know that no matter where they hide, there's no way to protect themselves?

Jay runs a finger through your hair. Your thoughts hush.

As the camera pans to the main character wiping the back counter at the diner she works at, you look up at your boyfriend. His eyes are fixed on the screen, but you can tell he's not entirely paying attention either.

You shift your position to face him better, still lying comfortably on his arm. "Why didn't you go to culinary school?" The question's been on your mind since he told you about applying for business, but you never had the guts to ask him, already being able to guess the answer.

It's always been known that Jay loves to cook. He's always found experimenting, stepping outside of the box (or the cookbook) to try new things to suit his palette. It was one of the first things you two bonded over when you started dating way back then.

You remember the first time you went to his apartment. Already from the entrance, your senses were filled with the sweet smell of pastries and fresh meat. A combination that wasn't too shabby at all.

He'd been cooking and baking all afternoon, not sure what to focus on because he wasn't familiar with your preferences yet. "Just to be safe," he had specified.

Now, his brows furrowed in thought.

"It wouldn't have worked out," he says finally.

He lightly butts his head into yours. "Doesn't matter now, does it?"

Your eyes drift down from his eyes, to his lips, to the birthmark on his neck, to your hands fidgeting with the blanket. "This is really it," you whisper into the air.

"This really is it," Jay repeats.

To think, you had planned a night with your friends for this exact event. You'd be all gathered on the rooftop, set up on lawn chairs and the terrace sofas, with an abundance of snacks, music from your shared playlist, laughter and cheer filling the air as you all watch the sky, waiting for a star, that isn't really a star, to run through the blankness, just a little brighter than everything else.

And then you would go about your lives.

Heeseung and his girlfriend would celebrate their two year anniversary.

Maybe Jake would finally gain the courage to ask the barista out on a date.

Everyone would say goodbye to Sunghoon again as he'd head off on another skating tour—or whatever the athlete does.

Jay would eventually inherit his father's business. But out of everything, that would probably take the longest. Mr. Park wasn't planning on going anywhere any time soon. Clearly he was hoping so, too.

You.... You're not so sure about yourself.

After discovering one major comet, you'd move onto the next, you supposed.

People don't ever really stop discovering things about the universe. So much of the planet you live on has gone undiscovered, let alone the infinite plane of space and time.

You bite the inside of your cheek at the thought of the millions of things that will forever be left undiscovered, until another species comes to life and starts all the way from the beginning. You realize that maybe that's the point of it all; No one is ever meant to see the end of it.

Maybe it's the moments in between that matter the most.

So, you wrap your arm around Jay's waist a little tighter. You let the voices on the screen fade away as you take in his scent, the movement of his chest as he breathes in and out, and the soft way he strokes your hair.

You tell him I love you without words, hoping he hears it, and fall asleep before you can hear him say, "I love you too."

And as the Earth burns to the ground, it's you that I lie with—It's you I welcome death with.

[fairyminnie444]

I saw the manifestation/law of assumption hot takes by @stateswscarlet on Twitter and I agree with some of it, but since I no longer have an account about it on Twitter, I want to talk about what I found contradictory here because it bothered me a little to read it, so I want to leave my point/opinion here on my blog.

obs: btw about her warning to "keep scrolling", since she is a coach on a subject that I have a blog about (loa) and that was posted on public twitter, I gave myself the right to respond to something that bothered me

nothing against her or her content as it's the first time she's appeared on my TL. I just want to give my opinion as it was something that caught my attention in a bad way.

This is absolutely contradiction. You do not “depend” on the Law because it is the basis of reality. Everything that exists already follows this Law, whether the person is aware of it or not. It is like saying that someone “depends” on gravity to walk.

Furthermore, the Law liberates, it does not imprison. When you understand that reality responds to you, you take control instead of feeling hostage to the external world.

The question is not “to do or not to do”, but rather where the action comes from. If it comes from desperation and lack, it is useless. If it comes from the absolute certainty that you already have something, then any action will be natural and inspired.

And the truth is that you don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. Your physical appearance only reflects the identity you have already assumed. If your identity is unshakable, things simply happen.

This view comes from those who believe that reality is fixed and that there is an absolute “right and wrong” in the universe. But in reality, everyone lives within their own reality. Just because someone is already in a relationship in your current reality, that doesn’t mean that’s the case in your desired reality.

You’re not “taking” someone from anyone else, because in your reality that person is already with you. External circumstances are just a reflection of what you assume to be true. If you truly assume that you are with that person, then that is the only truth that exists for you.

This is YOUR ADVICE (and I’m not saying that I don’t agree) but it’s not a hot take on manifestation/loa. It doesn't make sense to say "you can't fix them" and say you can manifest anything despite the circumstances, that's VERY contradictory.

Anyway, I haven't read any more of her content and I don't know how she teaches (?) idk the law in her way. I just wanted to give MY opinion on MY blog specifically about these "hot takes" because I thought that yes, they are limiting beliefs and they are being passed on.

People who still operate at the level of doubt and linear logic always try to find flaws, but the truth is simple: reality responds to what you assume to be true. Period.

[dandylovesturtles]

havin' all these Splinter and Leo thoughts. augh.

this is partly the fault of @/turtleblogatlast's post about Leo just wanting to make Splinter proud.

post-movie

...

Seven days post-invasion, and Leo is feeling (relatively) pretty good. Sure, he's still on a truly ridiculous amount of painkillers and he can't walk two steps without collapsing, but he's able to stay awake and talk to his family and considering where he thought he would be right about now, well... that's everything.

So yeah, he's feeling pretty good. He just finished his lunch of soup and a protein shake, warm and a little drowsy while he listens to April talk about some of the more ridiculous conspiracy theories that have started spreading on the surface. Donnie's tinkering with one of his smaller inventions while he listens, Mikey is nestled in Raph's lap, and everything is calm and cozy in their makeshift medbay.

And then his dad walks in and says, "I would like to talk to Blue, please. Alone."

And suddenly Leo doesn't feel so good anymore.

"Aha, wait," he says quickly, reaching out and grabbing April's sleeve just before she rises from her chair. "Whatever it is, you can say it in front of everyone, right?"

Splinter shakes his head. "This is a conversation I think it is best we have in private." He makes a shooing motion at the others, and April pulls her sleeve from Leo's fingers with a helpless shrug.

"See ya in a few, Leo," she says, then walks out. The others look from Splinter, to him, then back to Splinter, and one by one they each get up and shuffle out, too, with their own hasty farewells.

Traitors, every single one of them.

The door closes, and Leo finds himself alone with Splinter for the first time since coming back from Staten Island. Or at least, the first time he can remember. He was pretty out of it the first few days; most of what he remembers is muddled and confused. And embarrassing. He cried a lot more than he'd care to admit.

Splinter hops into chair April was sitting in and pulls it closer; he has to stay standing to be anywhere near eye level with Leo. He wishes he could read Splinter's face, but his expression is giving nothing away. Sometimes it's easy to forget he spent a not-insignificant part of his life as an actor, until something like this happens.

Leo decides to speak before he can. Head him off at the pass, or something.

"If you're going to yell at me, just remember my eardrums are already damaged."

Which is true - turns out being 1, too close to an exploding alien spaceship and 2, getting punched in the head repeatedly by an alien very mad about said exploding spaceship is bad for the ears, even when you don't have outer ears like a human. So super loud noises are a bad idea right now, and thus Leo cannot be yelled at. Flawless logic; maybe he can keep using that every time he gets in trouble.

For the first time, his dad's expression shifts, just a little. A deeper frown, a heavier set to his brow.

"You think I came in here to yell at you?"

Leo feels his stomach twist. Does he have to spell it out? "I mean, didn't you? That's usually what kicking everyone else out is leading up to."

"I see..." Splinter is still unreadable, looking a little too intensely at Leo. "And what do you think I want to yell at you about?"

He really does want it spelled out. Leo suddenly realizes that there won't be any yelling because this is his punishment: to admit everything he's done, to speak all his sins for his dad's ears. Lay it all out in his own tongue and show that he understands, really and truly, the depths of his screwups.

Oh, he understands. He understands it so well he may choke on the words.

"...For losing the key," he says finally, and it stings on its way out. He hasn't talked about it since it happened; every time he tries to say anything to the others, they shush him, saying, "It's okay, Leo, everything is fine now."

It's not okay, and everything isn't fine, and this is when he finally hears about it.

Finally, an identifiable emotion on Splinter's face: horror, dawning clear and present. And Leo doesn't understand that, because doesn't Splinter know he lost the key? He was there for that conversation, wasn't he? Leo's memories of that day have grown a little hazy between the drugs and the recovery and the fact that thinking about it for too long makes him go fuzzy around the edges, but he's pretty sure he remembers Splinter being there. He flicked popcorn at Leo's head. He probably should have done more than that; maybe then Leo wouldn't have made such a mess of things.

Splinter doesn't say anything right away, just stares at Leo with that horrified expression, and the silence is so scary that Leo starts filling it without even thinking.

"I was kidding about the whole... not yelling at me thing. I know I deserve it. I mean, I was fooling around, doing what you and Raph told me not to do, and I doomed the whole world doing it! Some leader I am, right? And I know I'm not exactly your favorite son to begin with, and that's fair, because I keep letting you down, but this is definitely my worst screwup to date, and you yell at me when I don't close the fridge door all the way or throw balls around the TV room so why wouldn't you yell at me for destroying the planet, right...?"

His voice peters out at the end, too hoarse to continue. That's the most words he's strung together over the last week, and for the first time he's glad for his injuries, for stopping him from spewing any more embarrassing word vomit just to fill the air.

Splinter is still looking at him with that same horrified expression. If anything, he just looks more upset, which means that Leo at least accomplished his goal.

Leo's waiting for the yelling to start, but when Splinter finally says something, it's, "You think I have a favorite son?" throwing Leo for a loop once again.

"Uh, yeah?" he says, because that's all there is to say. He's always assumed it's Donnie - the "funny one", the one who fixes Splinter's TV when it's broken, and the only one of them likely to get a real job and move out of the house. But even if it's not Donnie, it's gotta be Mikey, or Raph. His brothers are amazing and talented, and all Leo has ever been good at is winning the Lair Games.

Splinter closes his eyes a moment, and when he opens them his face moves back to a more neutral expression. "I do not have a favorite son," he says, firm and serious. "I love all of you just the same."

Leo thinks that can't be true - if it is, he feels bad for the other guys. But he doesn't think he can just say that, so he says, "Yeah, Dad, of course," instead.

Splinter looks a bit crestfallen. "You don't believe me?" he asks, and shoot. Leo has no idea how to respond to that.

"...I know you love us," is what he says. And that's true, it is! He just doesn't know how his dad could like him as much as the others.

Splinter's expression turns sad. He reaches out and lays a furry hand on Leo's arm, careful of his bandages and all the many wires he's hooked to. "You think you doomed the world?"

"I lost the key," Leo repeats. "It was all my fault. It's why I had to..." His voice fumbles over the words, and he revises. "It's why it had to be me."

Splinter's mouth twists. He climbs out of the chair and onto the mattress, careful not to jostle Leo as he settles down on his knees.

"Blue," he says softly, gently palming Leo's face this time. "None of this was your fault."

Leo's stomach twists again. He thought he was being punished, but somehow this is worse.

"Yes it was," he argues. "I lost the key," for the third time, "and... and I ignored the order to retreat, and got Raph captured, and and and, I ignored the guys and tried to force our way into Metro Tower, and it was me who told Donnie to try to fly that stupid ship, and because of me Mikey had to-"

"Leonardo," says Splinter, sharp, and Leo goes silent. His dad looks devastated, but he keeps his hand on Leo's cheek, brushing with his thumb, and for the first time Leo realizes his skin is wet. Splinter sighs heavily, his entire frame seeming to droop with the weight of it.

"Leonardo," he repeats, softly this time. "You did not doom the world."

"But-"

A furry finger on his lip quiets him.

"You did not doom the world," Splinter repeats, once again firm and serious. "You did not take the theft of the key seriously, because you did not know what it was, the threat it represented. But it was the Foot Clan who chose to use that key, fully knowing what evil it would unleash. That is not on you, my son. The responsibility falls squarely on them."

Leo doesn't know how much he can believe that - isn't it their job to stop the Foot Clan? But Splinter looks so sure as he says it, and his hand is still tender on Leo's cheek, and for the first time a little bit of doubt seeps into Leo's heart, telling him that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't all his fault after all.

But still...

"Even if that's true," he says, with heavy emphasis on the if, "everything I did after that-"

"You are young," his dad interrupts. "You are inexperienced. You are learning. And the amount of growth you showed us all, even over just that one day... You shined as brightly as I know you can."

Again, Leo's stomach does a twist - but it's a happier one, this time. Splinter's voice is sincere, leaving no room for doubt, and Leo can almost, almost believe that this is true, that his dad has believed in him from the very beginning. Has seen something in him, whatever it was that led him to make Leo the leader, that lead to him putting trust in Leo.

He just wishes he felt like he'd done more to earn it.

"You did not doom the world," says his dad again. "You saved it. But, it never should have been like that to begin with. You should never have been facing down such a fierce foe so young, especially as alone as you boys were. And you-"

His voice becomes choked up, and Leo's heart lurches.

"You... sacrificed yourself to save us all. I... I am your father, and I... could not protect you."

He's crying. His dad is crying, and Leo feels panic, reaching out to try and stop this.

"Dad-"

"No." Splinter holds up a hand, giving his head a hard shake. "All I ever wanted for you boys was to save you from the sacrifices asked of our family. And yet I could not - and for that, you paid dearly. You almost paid the ultimate price, and we almost lost you forever."

A thick knot forms in Leo's throat, and he can barely get out, "I'm okay, Dad, I'm here."

"Yes you are." Splinter squeezes his shoulder desperately. "You are here. You are safe. But that doesn't change that it should not have been you to begin with."

Leo watches in dawning horror as Splinter steps back, then kneels over on the mattress.

"This is why I came in here, Blue. Not to yell at you. To apologize."

He presses his forehead against the sheets.

"I am so sorry that I could not protect you."

He's crying. So is Leo, openly now. He reaches out for his dad, fumbling for his shoulders and urging him to straighten up.

"No, Dad... This wasn't your fault!"

"But-"

"No! It was just... it was just a really, really shitty thing that happened, okay? It was the Foot Clan, and the Krang, but it wasn't- it wasn't..."

Splinter raises his face and looks at him, and suddenly the words he's been trying to get Leo to believe for the last several minutes barrel into him and Leo crumbles.

"...I didn't have to do it," he says.

"No." Splinter gets up, coming closer. "You had nothing to atone for. You did it because you are brave, and you are kind, but this was never yours to fix."

Leo sucks in one harsh breath, then another, and then he's sobbing harder than he ever has in his life, and his dad hugs him tight, his arms warm and his fur soft where Leo buries his face in his shoulder.

All the feelings he's pushed aside - the ones he didn't think he had the right to feel, because he'd had to do it, he had to make up for his mistakes - bubble over, gripping him with grief and despair but also relief, that he's still here to cry and be hugged by his dad.

"I was so scared."

"I know."

"I thought I wouldn't see you guys again."

"I know. We thought we had lost you, too."

"I just... I didn't know what else to do... I couldn't let him... I couldn't..."

"Shhh, it's alright. It's over now. We're all safe."

Leo hugs his dad back, as tightly as he can with his injuries, and sobs and sobs until he's all out of tears. And all along, his dad tells him he is safe, he is good, and he is loved.

Later, Leo feels even better than he had before.

[merakiui]

I’ve seen bits and pieces about your take on yandere Trey but i need to hear more of your thoughts on him. Your interpretation of yandere Trey seems so different from all the other interpretations I’ve seen of him… like you said he was the scariest yandere at one point, and then the post about chenya riddle and Trey — I need to know

*cracks knuckles* >:) here are my thoughts!!

He's definitely one of the scariest twst yans (to me)! Trey's character is so fascinating because, compared to some of the more powerful/influential characters, he seems like Some Guy. What's so frightening about Trey is that he doesn't have to use violence or threats. Rather, it's the way he can twist his words to keep you constantly questioning yourself and your reality. He has the perfect boy-next-door sort of charm that lulls you into that false sense of security, and you'll never truly know the extent of his manipulations because of how flawlessly he can gaslight you. And everyone else will think you're crazy because Trey's not like that. He's gentle and helpful, everyone's big brother! Maybe you're the crazy one... (Are you??)

His UM is quite literally just a more sophisticated, magical version of gaslighting (lol). ^^;;;; the way that can be used against you and you might not even know. Trey plays it off as a parlor trick in book one when he changes the flavor of food to suit everyone's preferences, but it's seen to be quite formidable against Riddle's magic. If a UM can overwrite the very overpowered Riddle's magic....... even if only for a few minutes,,, that's no mere parlor trick.

Perhaps the horror stems from how very easy it is to fall into the trap. Trey isn't a yandere you approach with fear because there's nothing about him that would give you valid reason to stay away. It's understandable for someone like the tweels or even Vil because they have that air of intimidation about them, but Trey is so sweet and kind. He couldn't hurt a fly. He's so easy to approach.

Trey is not very combative either. If you come to him with an issue (perhaps an attempt to call out his behaviors) he'll smooth things over in such a way that you come out of that conversation wondering what you were even trying to talk to him about. He understands where you're coming from, he knows you're just stressed, everything will sort itself out, let's all just calm down, etc etc., all while over tea and some freshly baked pastries.

Also,,, gaslighting is such an effective and dangerous form of emotional abuse because of how successful it can be. When it's happening, it doesn't seem very damaging and, rather, it can feel as if everything Trey is telling you is correct. After all, why are you getting so worked up? You must be exaggerating these feelings of yours! It sounds so logical coming from his mouth, and why would Trey have any reason to lie to you? You're so wrapped around his finger and you don't even know it. Your world is so closed off, crafted by the things he tells you. You may think you have control, but at the end of the day it's Trey who keeps you hooked on his line like you're nothing more than an impressionable fish.

Omg and the infantilization....... he tells you it's just a habit of his from looking after his younger siblings, and he plays it off so casually and jokingly every time. You begin to wonder if it really is just a bad habit of his. But then there should be no reason for him to treat you like you can't do things you're fully capable of doing. You ask yourself 'what if' all the time. What if you don't have Trey there to help? What if you truly can't do that thing? What if Trey was right?

You're not a child; you're not codependent. But you always feel this way around Trey, and that's a snare that's difficult to shake. Especially when Trey so smoothly hammers that narrative into your head.

[windcarvedlyre]

I've been following @druidposting's DR2 playthrough on discord and we just had a really good discussion about DR's Closing Arguments. Specifically the way the murderer is depicted as grey and featureless, which until now I found a bit annoying.

In Danganronpa it's repeatedly the case that we don't have the full picture until the talking actually stops- which always goes beyond the end of the trial. We generally vote first and come to understand what the murderer's actual motive was, sometimes filling in important pieces of the timeline in the process, afterwards.

But none of that matters for the killing game because characters' emotions aren't directly relevant to who was the 'blackened'- the only thing that matters to Monokuma- so it comes out afterwards and does nothing to change their execution. It doesn't matter how sympathetic they are (basically everyone) or whether other people share responsibility for the situation (eg. Hanamura, Pekoyama, Momota) or whether they intended to murder at all (Nanami). They objectively pulled the trigger and nothing else matters. Nothing about them as a person matters.

The Closing Argument mechanic might illustrate that problem- literally. They're a dramatic, conclusive summary of the entire case... constructed before the vote even happens, before we know if we're actually right, and they're missing something really important:

The actual perpetrator.

We quite literally don't even begin to see the real person behind the crime, any real exploration of their mental state, anything besides the cold, hard facts of the murder that are necessary to convict them, until the comic finishes and the protagonist makes their final accusation- replacing the grey figure with their real appearance in a shot that's often intensely emotional.

And these comics lack crucial parts of the case's timeline and sometimes important parts of the very scenes they depict that we only find out about afterwards. And those are what we know; characters may die with some pieces of the truth and prevent us from ever learning them. These aren't objective depictions of the murder, they're the protagonist's subjective attempt to connect the facts they have. A join-the-dots portrait of someone with missing dots and no colour.

Even characters' expressions may not match how they truly feel, with the grey placeholder potentially looking way more confident and sinister than they were in reality. Pasting Falter's commentary here since they put it well.

For obvious reasons this could especially be a problem for characters that die before the trial- the ones we never get a post-vote testimony from. DR1 chapter 4 really highlighted that in the way Asahina's huge misinterpretation of Oogami's feelings took up a lot of the post-trial discussion, only for Monokuma to reveal Oogami's real suicide note and recontextualise everything.

It might really be a problem for how Komaeda's depicted in DR2 chapter 5. While he isn't greyed out, we get panel after panel where he's either level-headed or maniacally evil, and even the depictions of his self-torture and death don't humanise him:

But we know that his real feelings were more complicated than that. We have his actual corpse to compare the last page to.

He died afraid.

If we approach the comic as Hinata's mental image of him instead of reality, he died without anyone truly understanding him. He was alarming, very hard to relate to, actively fought against people doing so, ensured even the killer didn't watch him die, and the survivors couldn't begin to understand his motive until a chapter later. The Closing Argument reflects that.

Early in DR1 Togami calls out the rest of his class for judging others by their own standards. However, he, too, is doing this, maybe more so than many other characters; his inability to view other people through anything but the cold, brutal logic of the killing game bites him in the ass in chapter 4. In DR2 chapter 2 voting without a good understanding of Pekoyama's motive or Kuzuryuu's involvement nearly got everyone killed. Komaeda's a walking embodiment of the problems with flattening people into caricatures and not empathising with them, suffered from people doing that back to him, and his case- the Closing Argument for which turned everyone else into grey placeholders- was impossible to solve with objective facts. It was only survivable because the survivors cooperated and one person tried to analyse things the way he would.

The games have always been a critique of the justice system and Japanese society and push us to care about others as individuals, not reduce them to- and judge their right to exist by- something they've done or their net impact on society. There are always consequences when someone neglects to do that, and the above might be yet another way the games explore that theme.

[wonnieluvr]

forever with you

pairing -> grayson hawthorne x fem!reader

summary -> you break off your current relationship for grayson hawthorne, a past love. logically, you know you shouldn't but the heart wants what it wants.

warnings -> none :)

a/n -> some fluff for my love finally !! pt 3 of photographs of you and thinking of you

seeing grayson again had not been in your plans. at all. you didn't know how you were supposed to explain any of what had happened to your family or to your date. your boyfriend. it wasn't an engagement you had really wanted, just something that would put you a step further ahead in life and he was nice, he treated you well.

but he wasn't grayson. he wasn't your grayson.

that shouldn't have mattered, you mother reminded you harshly the minute word of your meeting reached your family. as you had returned to the gala your mother immediately cut in, having heard grayson's name, warning you not to make any rash decisions.

was it really a rash decision if you had been waiting years for a moment like this?

your date had quickly noticed the change in demeanour. he was swift to pull you away.

as you danced in a room full of people, it should have been him on your mind. he, who was touching you, holding you gently and dancing with you carefully. but it wasn't. no matter how hard you tried it wouldn't ever be.

"you love him" the words had startled you, but they weren't untrue. your boyfriend offered you a small smile, bittersweet and so understanding. you hated it. hated the way you had never fallen for one another. maybe then you would have had no trouble. it might have been simple. you had shared stories of those you had truly loved, first loves gone wrong. you had bonded over that. the hurt.

and here you were now, selfishly considering your second chance while he was stuck without one. "darling, you love him. you can't do anything about that" he dipped you softly, eyes saying everything as you stared at each other. "it's okay"

your eyes begun to water for the second time that night. "i can't do that to you" your voice was full of pain and sadness as you stood straight again. "i don't know if i can do this"

"stop it" he chided softly, brushing your hair back into place as you both paused in your dance. "you would tell me to take my chance if she came back to me. so, i'm doing the same for you. you deserve to be happy. it's okay"

your shoulders dropped slightly, pained and fighting your raging emotions. "but i-"

"sh, go to him" he held your cheeks in his hands for a moment, gently caressing your face, admiring your beauty. "but if he breaks your heart again, i don't care who he is i will kick his ass"

you laughed softly, humourless. you couldn't help the way your heart filled with such great sadness for the boy you had come to spend so much time with. but your grayson was waiting, the same way you had been these past years. you had a chance and you'd be damned if you didn't take it.

you had cursed the hawthorne boy for years. you had harboured hate for the whole family after what they had said to you. you loved gray, yes but it wasn't going to heal those wounds over night. breaking off your relationship for him was something your parents advised against, very strongly when you had told them what you were doing. your mother had tried to dissuade you, remind you off their cruel words, the way they had treated you.

"i can't just give up. i have to try, i love him" you had pleaded. they had shaken their heads but they understood what this meant to you. they had hated seeing their little girl so hurt but they couldn't deny the happiness that had come before that. the way life shone in you when you had been with grayson was something they had never seen since.

it was worth the chance if you believed it was.

you met with grayson a week later. both of you were nervous, unsure of what to say to one another. you had barely ever seen this side of gray, the one who worried and fretted, the one who cared so openly.

while he had shared smiles and murmured words of love to you he had never really showed you himself. he had never been brave enough to truly let you in. and now he was.

he stood before you now, normally steady hands holding out flowers to you with a slight tremor to them. he had shown up at your door, sudden but expected, with the hopes of rekindling your relationship.

"gray" you breathed out, eyes widening when you opened your door to his figure. he wore a suit, as usual, but no matter how many times you saw him, he never failed to make your heart flutter. "hi"

you offered him a small smile, neither of you knowing how to proceed.

he stared at you for a moment longer before he blinked slowly, coming back to reality.

"hello, these are for you" he spoke softly, he had never used the hawthorne tone with you. even if he did, you would never have needed him to. he only needed to ask and you would have done anything he wanted.

"thank you, they're beautiful" you ignored the heat in your cheeks as you took the bouquet from him, fingers brushing his. you disappeared inside for a moment, putting them away in a vase and grabbing your bag before returning to the door.

"shall we?" you asked, trying to appear more confident than you felt.

if he noticed your nervousness he didn't mention it, merely holding an arm out to you, leading you to the car. he was tense, you noted. he knew it would take more than flowers to win you over again. and he was desperate to win you over.

"where are we going?" you asked, once you were both seated in the car, buckling your seatbelt up before properly turning to him. he was already looking at you, gaze soft.

"where would you like to go?"

with anyone else you would have frowned. you would have taken that as a cop out, a hint that he didn't know you and that he hadn't put the proper effort in to make the date special.

but this was grayson. grayson who bled power and control. he had a plan for everything and he had always had backups. he was giving that control to you.

you smiled softly, a memory coming to mind immediately as you glanced out the window to take in the weather.

a storm was coming despite the heat.

"what about the beach?"

the scene between you two was exactly like that of when you had visited last. it was the same beach you remembered, practically empty as a summer storm threatened the peace. the wind whistled in the quiet, as you walked side by side.

neither of you spoke for moment before you found yourselves in a familiar alcove. you smiled at the memory, warmth filling you despite the cold sea breeze.

"do you remember?" you turned to the tall boy beside you. he, once again, already had his eyes on you, watching you walk. you could practically see the two of you in his eyes, the same colour of the sea as you had unknowingly posed for his camera back then.

"how could i forget?" he whispered quietly, his hand reaching out for your face, pausing before he could actually touch you.

you didn't speak, breath catching in your throat as you stared into his eyes. you felt like you were back there again. back when everything had been fine, when there was nothing holding you back.

"i'm sorry" his expression twisted, lips forming a frown as he glanced away. his hand dropped away from you. he didn't deserve to hold you, to love you. "i hurt you and i-"

"stop" you shook your head, taking his hand in yours, gently squeezing it. the sensation was as familiar as it was foreign. "you are not your family, gray. i'm here for you not them. yes, you hurt me when you didn't say anything but i know how much pressure you're under"

"that's not an excuse-" he begun again, hand clinging to yours.

"i'm not saying it is" you grinned a cheeky smile, trying to lighten the mood. "you have a lot of making up to do"

he just blinked at you, mind running rampant with ways he could possibly do that. your grin only widened as you spoke your next words.

"you can start with giving me a kiss" you reached your free hand up to tap your lips, puckering them playfully and awaiting his move.

he didn't stay frozen for much longer, how could he ever refuse you? he let his own smile grow as he leaned down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss.

he pulled back first, but he couldn't move far, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck, holding him close. his hands automatically moved to your waist.

"i have a few more requests to make before i can forgive you" you announced into the centimetres between you. "but i think i need a few more kisses first"

he released a small laugh, eyes shining as he watched your lips move. "is that so?" he hummed, dipping down again to press his mouth to yours. he paused before he could, murmuring lowly. "and how long do i have to complete these requests, darling?"

"forever, gray"

-

the hawthorne empire's heir, grayson hawthorne, is rumoured to be dating. find out more here.

"well, shit"

[erenash]

Kiss Me on the Mouth, Love Me like a Sinner (JayVik)

Jayce Talis is grieving and goes to a confession booth almost every day to repent and try to heal.

Plot Twist: The Priest is Viktor!! YAY

-------

I don't own any rights to these characters.

Don't like it? Don't read.

Everything I know about this kind of stuff is from Flea Bag edits, so you've been warned.

TW: depression, mild drinking, mentions of grief and dealing with it, mention of the death of a child, religious stuff in here, okay, okay. (also available on my AO3: ashes_to_ash)

------- Part One

Jayce wasn’t sure what could be worse.

The before or the after.

In the before, everything was simple, easy, and drawn out for him. He would have graduated with his master's in Chemical Engineering and worked for Piltover Enterprises as a project manager.  His entire future was sealed with a golden stamp.

That was almost a year ago.

Before the accident. Before he killed an innocent child.

He hadn’t meant for his thesis project to go so horribly wrong.

“Tell me about the accident again, Jayce,” the calm voice on the other side of the thin wooden lattice urged him. “From the beginning.”

The distraught man choked out a laugh. “You already know everything. I’ve been here practically every day.”

“For the last two months, I’m aware.” Then, a soft chuckle before the voice said, “You take up a lot of time in my booth, though I’m not complaining. Not many people come to confession in this city.”

“Are you allowed even to tell me that?”

“What we talk about is between us and God. You can share whatever you wish with me,” the voice promised him.

Jayce never went to church after he moved to the States. His mother would drag him tooth and nail every Sunday to sing, pray, and find community in their small town outside Guadalajara. 

But he never craved that understanding, that sense of belonging, the hope of it all—until Henry died.

“It was supposed to save lives,” Jayce started for the hundredth time, rubbing his unshaven jaw with one hand. “Neutralize toxic waste. Clean up the planet, make things better for everyone…That’s what I told everyone, what I told myself.”

There was a beat of silence before the priest pressed for more. “You always start with this. Why?”

“You already know the reason–why do you make me retell it every time?” 

“Because you haven’t let yourself truly feel all of it, Jayce,” the voice explained. “It’s been almost three years now, and you only just started coming here months ago. You talk and talk, but it’s as if you’re reading a story sometimes. So, let’s try this again—Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

Jayce hoped the priest could feel the burning hot glare he sent through the wooden panel between them. “I’m starting to think you enjoy watching me fall apart, Father.”

There’s another soft chuckle. “If I wanted to watch people fall apart, I would have gone into politics or poetry, not priesthood.” He sighed gently, then tapped the wooden panel twice with one knuckle, his tone lilting with his thick Czech accent that the pained man had grown so accustomed to hearing daily, “Come on, Jayce. Start from the beginning. For yourself, not for me.”

He knew that Jayce knew that it was for himself. It always was. The priest didn’t need to hear this story every time. Jayce knew that.

Logically? Jayce understood grief: the stages, the emotions, the rage, the range of it all.

He’d researched it a few weeks after abandoning his thesis and master’s program, locked away in his room with thousands of calculations for how the accident could have been prevented.

On paper, grieving and moving on was easy, tangible, reachable.

In this small confession booth, with his fingers ink-stained and his heart heavy—Jayce never felt so far from everything.

“Dr. Heimerdinger was all for my project, and the advisor for the department backed him. I threw myself into the work, and I thought it would fix many things wrong in the world.” The words felt bitter on his tongue. “That’s when the cracks first appeared. The compound wasn’t stable. The reactions were violent ones when the conditions were not one hundred percent perfect. I told her. I told her we—I told her I needed more time.”

“Her is referring to?”

“Mel Medarda, the advisor for the department,” Jayce’s stomach twisted as he thought about how it all played out. “She waved off the Doctor, and I’s worries, saying that science works that way—it’s always messy until it isn’t.” His throat felt as if it was about to close up as he choked out, “She called it a ‘calculated’ risk. But it wasn’t her risk to take, was it? It was mine. I was the one in the lab. I was the one who signed off on the demonstration. I was the one who—” A sob cracks under his lungs and bubbles up out of him, cutting his words off.

The voice whispered, “Keep going.”

Shaking his head, Jayce continued. “The day of the demo, I was running on fumes. Stress, guilt, fear—I felt like I was suffocating, but I kept telling myself it would be fine. We’d rehearsed it, controlled everything. What could go wrong, right?” Fingers shaking, he grips his hands into fists, balling up the material of his sweatpants. “But then the sun hit the containment unit. And the reaction—it was so fast. One second, everyone is clapping; the next, there’s this BOOM—and the air turns to poison. Everyone’s running away coughing, and that’s when I saw that boy—Henry.”

“The one with the curly hair.” The voice remembered from when Jayce told him that fact last week.

Another sob rakes through the former golden star of the chemical engineering program. “Curly hair, big blue eyes, he stood there holding his mother’s hand. I didn’t even think to tell them to back up—Now, all I hear when I try to sleep is his mother's scream as she holds her son’s body. The medics couldn’t save him. The press swarmed us.”

The priest asked as if he didn’t already know, “What did Mel do?” 

“She acted as if the entire thing was a freak accident,” Jayce scoffed as he wiped his eyes with his sweatshirt sleeve. “Like it could not have been predicted. And me? I just stood there. Frozen. Watching Henry’s mother scream while I did nothing.”

Another pause. “You feel like you failed him?”

“I didn’t just fail him, Father,” Jayce stated, his hands opening and closing as he shut his eyes. “ I killed him. My hands, my signature, my experiment, my cowardice. And you always drag me right back here, to the scene of the crime, as if reliving it is going to fix me.”

“I’m not doing this to make you relieve it, Jayce,” the priest told him with a heavy sigh leaving his mouth before he added, “I’m helping you carry it. Every time you come here, every time you tell me this story—you’re giving a little bit more to me.  And one day, you’ll stop coming because it won’t weigh you down the same way. But that only happens if you keep going.”

Jayce probably owed this priest his life, and he wouldn’t even know how to start repaying him. “I don’t even know what made me start coming here. I don’t know how to keep going.”

“You come here because part of you believes there's more to your story than this,” the priest said, then let out  a small laugh before he finished with, “And you come here because you don’t have to face it alone, Jayce.”

He didn't respond immediately, but his shoulders relaxed a fraction.

Jayce could feel his eyes begin to pulse with heat, but he blinked the tears away as a tidal wave of vulnerability washed over his heart. “Sometimes I feel like you know me better than I know myself, Father. And I hate it,” He admitted, more to himself than the man listening. 

He’s never even laid eyes on the person behind the wooden lattice. He’s only ever heard his voice through his most challenging moments in the last eight weeks. The confessional booth feels like a second home to Jayce now, though he’s still not sure if that’s comforting or damning. 

“That’s not uncommon. People tend to reveal more in moments of vulnerability than they realize. But knowing you... that’s not my job. My job is to listen.” The priest said it so quietly that Jayce wasn’t sure if he believed him. Leaning forward on the small seat, his palms sweating as his fingers trembled, Jayce said slowly, “But that’s the thing. You do know me. You’ve heard every awful detail of what I’ve done, what I think. And you just sit there, calm and understanding, like some perfect saint who’s never screwed up a day in his life. It’s not fair.”

As if considering his words carefully, the man of God spoke after a few minutes, “Much of life is not fair, Jayce. There’s beauty in knowing nothing is perfect–including me. ”

“Then tell me something real .” “I have never told you anything untrue.” Jayce groaned in annoyance. There was nothing he hated more than a perfect circle. The priest always had a way of bringing him back to the start of everything.

“I just hate feeling like you’re untouchable,” he confessed, running a hand through his messy hair. “You’re truly like God. I’ve never seen or touched you–yet you’re always here. Talking to me, guiding me. It’s infuriating.”

So softly, as if more to himself than to Jayce, the priest professed, “ Untouchable . That’s the last thing I’d call myself.”

“Then prove it. You’ve heard my story a dozen times now. Give me something real about you. Just one thing. Anything .” He was practically begging, one hand flush against the thin panel between them. If he squinted in the dim light of the confession booth, he could make out a figure on the other side. 

Jayce would do anything to feel less like something that was created to hold grief. He always knew his heart was too heavy to carry alone. He never realized it would never get better–he always thought it would get better. That was the promise regarding grief–that it would get better. But it never did. And if this was how it felt because he killed one child he didn’t even know, how was he supposed to handle losing anyone else in his life?

“You think it’s easy, listening to people’s worst moments? Feeling their pain, their anger, their guilt, and not being able to take it away? I chose this, Jayce, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh on me,” The priest shifted, pushing his weight against the back panel of the booth as he sighed heavily.

“That’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking for something real. Not ‘ I carry people’s burdens ’—everyone knows that’s part of the job. I’m talking about you . The person , not the Father. Do you ever let yourself be vulnerable? Or are you just sitting there, soaking up everyone else’s messes while pretending you’ve got none of your own?” He regretted the words before they even left his lips. Jayce was always the culprit for making a mess of the before and the after.

He was about to lose the one person who had to listen to him cry and mourn about the same thing, the same accident, for weeks without complaint. The voice Jayce would crave at the darkest hours of every night finally broke the heated silence, “My name is Viktor.”

------- Part Two

The sound of the door closing behind Viktor echoed softly in his quiet apartment. He set his dark wooden crutch against the wall and leaned his weight on the worn table beside the door. His breath came shallow as he eased the brace from his right leg, the stiff leather straps creaking as they loosened. His hips ached with the familiar throb of a day spent sitting too long, standing too much, and listening too intently.

With slow, practiced movements, he shrugged out of his priest's cassock, draping the black fabric over the back of a chair. The starkness of his pale undershirt against his skin made him feel vulnerable, though no one was there to see. He rubbed his hands over his face, pausing to press his palms into his eyes as if he could block out the intrusive thoughts.

Thoughts of him.

Jayce.

The name alone sent a shiver through Viktor’s chest, like the first note of a hymn he couldn’t resist singing. He hated it, this weakness. This hunger . It was preposterous, of course. Entirely unbecoming of a man who had taken vows of service, of restraint, of devotion to something higher than himself. 

Yet there it was–there he was–gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed life.

He moved to the small kitchen, flipping on the light and squinting as it illuminated the worn linoleum floor. The apartment was modest but comfortable, provided by the church. He had been content here for years—almost a decade by now. The quietness of his evenings the simplicity of his routines, had once felt like blessings. Now, they felt hollow.

He poured himself a glass of gin, gripping the counter tightly as a fresh wave of guilt rolled over him. He could still see Jayce’s broad shoulders framed in the dim light of the confessional booth, the flush on his tanned cheeks as he spoke with such raw, anguished honesty. Viktor had spent years counseling others, listening without judgment, but with Jayce, it was different.

Drinking was not something Viktor typically did; he preferred to be sober most evenings–it kept the sinful thoughts at bay. When he drank, they’d come to him twicefold, making him doubt everything that’s led him to this life of quiet celibacy. He wasn’t always this reserved person; he hadn’t always dreamed of closing himself off from the rest of the world and stepping up to the high table to sit alongside God and all his disciples.

The shame of his thoughts burned hotter as he recalled how many times he had lingered near the stained-glass windows of the cathedral after Jayce’s confessions. He would stand in the shadows, hidden behind the heavy curtains, and watch as the slightly younger man made his way out to his car.

Jayce always moved with the weight of someone carrying an invisible burden, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Viktor’s eyes would trace the lines of his figure—the way his suit jacket stretched across his frame, the unruly strands of his dark hair catching the faint glow of the streetlights.

And every time, Viktor would curse himself for looking.

He sank heavily into the worn armchair by the window, stretching his aching leg before him as he took another drink from his glass. The golden accents on his crutch glinted faintly in the low light, a reminder of the concessions he had made to age and injury. 

He should have been used to this, the dull throb of pain that was now as much a part of him as his breath. But tonight, it felt sharper, more insistent, as if his body were rebelling against the tension coiling in his chest.

He wanted Jayce. Not just in the fleeting, physical way that would have been bad enough. 

No, Viktor’s hunger was deeper, darker, more damning. He wanted to take Jayce’s grief, his guilt, and swallow it whole. He wanted to hold him, to cradle his head against his chest, to promise him that the world wouldn’t always be this cruel.

And more than anything, he wanted Jayce to need him.

It was absurd. Blasphemous. Viktor was a priest—a man who had devoted his life to service, to faith, to God. He had no right to want anything for himself, let alone someone as broken and beautiful as Jayce.

But he couldn’t stop.

Jayce’s voice echoed in his mind, low and rough, filled with a desperation that Viktor had never encountered before. Jayce spoke like a man who had already condemned himself, who believed he was beyond saving. And yet, he always came back to Viktor, day after day, looking for something—comfort, absolution, maybe even hope .

And Viktor? Viktor gave him what he could. But it was never enough.

He leaned his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. His hands trembled as he clasped them together, a gesture of prayer more out of habit than intent. He whispered, his voice cracking with the weight of his shame.

“God, forgive me.”

But as the words left his lips, he wasn’t sure if he meant them. Because some small, selfish part of him didn’t want forgiveness.

It wanted Jayce.

Viktor’s eyes opened slowly, drawn to the faint glow of the church’s steeple visible through his window. He sat there for a long time, staring into the night, trying to convince himself that he could let this go. He could be the priest Jayce needed, not the man Viktor wanted to be.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He hadn’t felt alive like this in years—not since his college days, not since before the ache in his leg became permanent, not since the walls of his faith became a refuge instead of a choice.

And Jayce? Jayce was a fire he couldn’t seem to extinguish.

Viktor closed his eyes again, the ghost of Jayce’s voice lingering across his heart.

He wanted to save him.

But more than that, he wanted to keep him.

And that was a sin Viktor wasn’t sure he had the strength to resist.

------- Part Three

Jayce stepped through the heavy oak doors of the church, his footsteps echoing faintly in the stillness. The air was cool and faintly scented with beeswax and incense, and the sunlight filtering through the stained glass cast fractured rainbows onto the stone floor. He paused just inside, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets as if he could anchor himself to something solid.

He wasn’t here to confess, not really. He was here for him . For the man who had become an unwelcome fixture in his mind, a name he couldn’t stop repeating to himself in quiet, desperate moments.

Viktor.

It was all Jayce could think about these last few days, tracing the letters into the margins of his bible, whispering the name into the stillness of his apartment, feeling its weight settle deep in his chest. He hadn’t felt this fire to figure someone out in years. It burned through him like hunger, like need, like something he couldn’t control even if he wanted to.

For the first time since going to that cathedral, that church, that goddamn booth–Jayce felt something other than grief raging through his chest.

And it terrified him.

For months, Viktor had been a voice in the dark, steady and soothing, a presence that seemed too solid for the booth that confined him. Jayce had built him in his mind, piece by piece—a broad-shouldered, calm-faced figure with kind eyes and hands that could hold the weight of a thousand sins.

But it wasn’t enough. It never was.

Jayce needed more than the phantom he’d created. He needed to see Viktor, to put a face to the man who had listened to him unravel again and again. He needed to know who Viktor was, not just as a priest but as a person .

He wasn’t sure what he was looking for—closure, maybe, or clarity. But deep down, in the part of himself he refused to acknowledge, he knew the truth. He wasn’t here for absolution or answers.

He was here because he’d fallen for a man he could never have.

Jayce made his way down the aisle, his hands brushing over the backs of the pews as he walked. His legs felt heavy, his heart thudding unevenly in his chest. Instead of heading to the confessional, he slid into a pew near the front, his knees brushing the worn wooden bench as he sat.

The church was empty, save for a single figure at the altar.

Jayce’s breath caught as he took him in for the first time.

He wasn’t what Jayce had imagined. Viktor was more petite and leaner; his frame was a mixture of fragility and quiet strength. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and he moved with deliberate slowness, his hand resting lightly on the wooden crutch propped against the altar. His cassock hung loosely on him, and even from this distance, Jayce could see the lines of pain etched into his face—the faint crease between his brows, the tightness in his jaw.

And yet, there was something magnetic about him.

Jayce’s chest tightened as he watched Viktor light a candle, the flickering glow illuminating his features. He wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense, but there was a calm dignity and a weight to his presence that made it impossible to look away.

This is him, Jayce thought. This is the man who’s been holding my soul together for months. The man I’ve spilled everything to. The man I can’t stop thinking about.

His heart sputtered painfully in his chest, and he clenched his fists against the polished wood of the pew, trying to steady himself.

He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected Viktor to feel so... real .

Jayce’s pulse roared in his ears as he fought to reconcile the Viktor in his mind with the one standing in front of him. He was flesh and blood, imperfect and human, yet the pull Jayce felt toward him was overwhelming.

It wasn’t fair.

You don’t even know him, Jayce told himself. Not really. You know his voice, his words, the way he listens. But you don’t know him.

But Jayce couldn’t shake the truth that had settled in his chest like a sinking ship.

He’d fallen for Viktor.

Not the idea of him, not the comfort he provided, but him . The man who bore the weight of others’ sins while quietly carrying his own. The man who had become an anchor in Jayce’s storm, steady and unyielding.

It was wrong. He knew that. Viktor was untouchable, not because of his title, but because of who he was—because of the walls he’d built, the life he’d chosen.

But knowing it was wrong didn’t make it any easier to look away.

Jayce’s hands shook as he shifted in the pew, the faint creak of wood breaking the silence. Viktor’s head turned slightly at the sound, his gaze sweeping the room until it landed on Jayce.

Their eyes met, and Jayce felt his heart thumping erratically, his breath catching in his throat.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, Viktor began to make his way toward him, his crutch tapping softly against the stone floor.

Jayce’s pulse quickened with every step, his chest tightening as Viktor stopped a few feet away, his gaze steady but searching.

Softly, hesitantly, Viktor spoke, “You’re not in the confessional today.”

“I needed to see you.” 

And just like that, the walls Jayce had spent so long building began to crack. Because in Viktor’s eyes, he didn’t see judgment or distance. He saw something much more gentle, something that made his heart ache.

He’s real, Jayce thought again, and it terrified him.

Viktor adjusted his crutch and studied Jayce for a moment, his expression carefully neutral, though his golden-brown eyes flickered with something Jayce couldn’t quite place. Curiosity, maybe. Or wariness. “You needed to see me?” The question echoed throughout the empty cathedral.

Shrugging, doing his best to remain nonchalant, Jayce said, “Yeah. I figured after months of baring my soul to a faceless voice, it was time to... you know, put a face to the name.”

Viktor lets a small smile creep across his mouth. “And? Was it worth the effort?”

“Jury’s still out. You’re not exactly what I pictured.” Jayce’s cheeks burn as he tries to contain his own.

An eyebrow raises in amusement from the priest. “No? Should I be flattered or concerned?”

Letting his body lean back against the pew, the man sighed playfully before answering, “Flattered, I guess. You’re not what I expected, but that’s not a bad thing.”

“ And what did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Someone... taller. Broader. Like you could bench-press the weight of everyone’s sins or something.” The admission was a stupid one, but it was honest. 

A laugh escaped Viktor’s lips and then another, making Jayce grin wider as the priest told him, “I assure you, my strength lies elsewhere. Bench-pressing is not among my talents.”

“Shame. Would’ve been a great party trick.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for my next performance,” Viktor assured him dryly as he sat on the pew a few feet away.

The easy banter caught Jayce off guard. Viktor’s voice, so often calm and measured in the confessional, now had an edge of humor to it, a warmth that made him feel almost... normal. Like they weren’t priest and penitent, but two men having a conversation.

It was dangerous, Jayce realized, how easy it was to talk to him like this.

Shifting slightly, his gaze flicking to Viktor’s crutch before he could stop himself as he said, “So... you’ve got a name, and now I’ve got a face. Guess all that’s left is figuring out the rest of the puzzle.”

Another eyebrow raised in his direction. “I wasn’t aware I was a puzzle to be solved.”

“Oh, come on. You’re a guy who spends his days listening to people’s darkest secrets and still manages to stay calm and collected. There’s gotta be more to you than that.”

“Perhaps. But I’m not sure it’s the kind of ‘more’ you’d find interesting.”

Jayce tilted his head at the priest, his voice lowering slightly as he gave him a look. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

The shift in tone made Viktor pause. He glanced down at Jayce, his brow furrowing slightly as if trying to read the unspoken weight behind the words. Jayce felt exposed under that gaze, like Viktor could see every flaw in his carefully constructed armor.

“Why are you really here, Jayce? It’s not just to put a face to my name, is it?” The priest was…nervous. Jayce wasn’t the best at reading everyone, but he could read this. He saw the way Viktor’s fingers dug into his cane, the slight pinking of his pale cheekbones, the glint in his eyes. This was mutual.

Clearing his throat, Jayce looked toward the altar of candles. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I just... I’ve been carrying this thing for so long, and you’re the only one who hasn’t looked at me like I’m broken. Like I’m... unfixable.”

“No one is unfixable.”

A cold laugh escaped his chest before he could stop himself, “You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t know you—not entirely. But I know enough to believe in you, even when you don’t believe in yourself,” Viktor’s words fell over his grief-stricken soul like a warm blanket on a snowy night.

Jayce’s lungs felt tighter at the words, at the calm conviction in Viktor’s tone. He looked away, his jaw clenching as he tried to find something, anything, to say in response. But Viktor, as always, was patient, waiting him out in silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jayce repeated his confession from the other day, “It’s not fair, you know. You know so much about me, and I know next to nothing about you.”

“I think you know more than you realize,” Viktor’s face twitched as he gave Jayce another wry smile.

“Not enough.” Jayce figured that Viktor could tell him every molecule about himself, and he would still want more from the priest. Always more.

“What would you like to know?”

Blinking in surprise, Jayce blurted out, “What?”

“Ask me something. Anything. I’ll answer if I can,” Viktor offered, leaning back against the pew.

There had to be some code of ethics about this, didn’t there? Jayce’s mind began to swim rapidly at everything he wanted and couldn’t ask.

The openness in Viktor’s tone caught Jayce off guard. He hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected Viktor to offer him anything beyond the walls of their usual confessions.

His mind raced, a dozen questions rising to the surface, but only one made it past his lips. “Why do you do this? Why be a priest?”

Viktor’s gaze became distant as if he’d traveled to another timeline. Jayce almost told him to forget it; it was such a personal question, after all. Then the priest responded gently, “Because once, a long time ago, someone listened to me. And it saved my life.”

The simplicity of the answer hit Jayce harder than he expected. He stared at Viktor, trying to piece together the man behind the words, the weight behind the confession.

“Do you ever wish you’d chosen different instead?” Another far too personal question.

“Sometimes. When it’s quiet and I’m alone, I think about what my life could’ve been. But then someone like you walks in, carrying the kind of pain that no one should bear alone, and I remember why I’m here. Why I made the choice I did.”

Jayce thought he saw it for the first time—the breaks throughout Viktor’s calm facade, the quiet pain he carried, the humanity he kept so carefully hidden.

It made him want to know more.

It made him want to stay.

 After a long silence, Jayce responded, his voice softer, “Guess you’re not as untouchable as I thought.”

“None of us are. Not even priests.”

For the first time in weeks, Jayce felt like the weight he was carrying wasn’t his to bear alone.

With another chuckle, Viktor added, “The collar’s just for show, Jayce. Underneath, I’m just as human as you are. Full of doubts, regrets, and questions I don’t have answers to.”

The sunlight began to pour through the stained glass windows, painting the cathedral in a kaleidoscope of shifting colors. The faint smell of incense lingered in the cool air. Jayce leaned forward, hands pressed together as if in prayer, trying to keep his breathing steady though every inch of him felt coiled tight. He turned his head to lock eyes with the priest.

Viktor sat still as a statue beside him, watching him as if waiting for another confession to slip sinfully from his lips. The golden light framed him, catching on the streaks of silver in his hair and the faint lines on his face. Jayce couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He wanted him. God, he wanted him. And not just in the dark, desperate way that kept him awake at night, turning over memories of Viktor’s voice, his patience, his kindness. Jayce wanted to know him, wanted to peel back the layers until he understood every sharp and soft edge of the man who had somehow become his reason to wake up every morning.

What felt like hours later, Viktor finally whispered, “It’s almost closing time.”

“Should I take that as my cue to leave?” Jayce didn’t let himself look away.

“Not necessarily.”

Jayce’s heart stuttered at the response. He raised an eyebrow, trying to mask the way his pulse quickened with sarcasm. “Not necessarily? That’s cryptic, even for you,” He rolled his eyes before meeting Viktor’s once more. He wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but he felt as if he were being challenged, and it excited him.

Pausing, pursing his lips slightly, Viktor said, “I was thinking... you’ve been coming here for months now, spilling your soul in the confessional. Perhaps it’s time for a different kind of conversation.”

Jayce couldn’t help that both his eyebrows shot up his forehead in question, “A different kind? What does that mean?”

The priest shrugged as if it meant nothing, “It means... I live just next door. And I was going to pour myself a drink to end the day. You’re welcome to join me.”

Jayce blinked, caught entirely off guard. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, trying to process what he’d just heard.

A priest. Inviting him over. For drinks.

“ A drink? Are priests even allowed to drink?”

A low, warm laugh tickled Jayce’s eardrums as Viktor stood with a slight groan. “We’re not monks, Jayce. And even monks are allowed wine.”

The snort that left his nose made his cheeks redden as he nodded. “Fair enough. But isn’t this, like... wildly inappropriate?”

Father Viktor’s smile faltered slightly as if remembering the totality of his position in the church. “If you’re uncomfortable, you’re under no obligation to accept. I only thought... it might help.”

Help. The word lingered in the air, heavier than it should have been. Jayce stared at Viktor, at the quiet vulnerability in his expression, and felt something in him give way.

He should have said no. Of course, he should have said no. It wasn’t ethical, wasn’t appropriate, wasn’t safe . But Jayce had never been good at denying himself things he wanted, and he wanted Viktor.

He wanted more, more, more of him, in any capacity he could get him in.

Grinning despite himself, despite the grief that was ebbing fatally around his world, despite the hope he needed from Viktor’s voice, he said, “Well, if priests are allowed to drink, who am I to say no?”

Viktor’s smile returned, small and faintly relieved, and Jayce felt its warmth settle somewhere deep in his chest.  “Good. Then follow me.”

Jayce stood, his heart pounding as Viktor began making his way to the side door of the cathedral. The sunlight glittered on the polished stone floors, casting long shadows as Jayce followed him.

With every step, Jayce felt the weight of what he was walking into.

And yet, he didn’t stop himself.

------- Part Four

The first thing Jayce noticed when he stepped into Viktor’s apartment was how quiet it was. Not the hollow, sterile quiet of a simply empty place, but the kind of quiet that felt lived-in. It was cozy, warm even, in a way he hadn’t expected. The soft scent of old books and faint incense lingered in the air, mingling with the faint creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.

It was nothing like Jayce’s sleek, modern studio in the city. This place had history. 

The walls were lined with shelves overflowing with books, their spines worn and faded, interspersed with small, unassuming decorations—a cross here, a brass clock there, and a single framed photograph on the far table that he couldn’t quite make out.

The apartment reflected the man who lived in it: unpretentious, thoughtful, and far more inviting than Jayce had prepared himself for.

Viktor leaned his crutch against the wall near a small kitchen alcove, his movements slow and practiced as he reached for two tumblers from the cabinet. Jayce watched him without meaning to, his gaze trailing over the measured, careful way Viktor moved, his limp barely noticeable as he crossed the room.

How is this my life right now? Sitting here, about to drink with a priest— He swallowed hard, correcting himself —with Viktor. Not Father Viktor. Just Viktor.

It was strange to think of him like that. Bizarre, and yet... riveting.

Viktor set the glasses on the counter and uncapped a bottle of gin, the clear liquid glinting faintly in the light as he poured. He didn’t skimp, filling each glass nearly halfway before sliding one across the counter to Jayce.

“Is gin okay? It’s all I have, I’m afraid.” The priest looked almost as nervous as Jayce felt.

Jayce let himself grin as he picked his glass up. “Gin’s fine. Hefty pour, though. You trying to get me drunk, Father?”

The man raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into another small, amused smile as he set the bottle down. “First, it’s Viktor. And second, if that’s all it takes, you may want to consider eating more regularly.”

Jayce snorted, but the truth hit a little too close to home. He’d come here on an empty stomach, his nerves too shot to eat before heading to the church. Now, the gin was already warming his chest, the taste sharp and almost medicinal as he swallowed his first  sip.

He leaned against the counter, trying to keep his focus on his drink instead of Viktor, but it was impossible not to notice the way the man moved, even as he shrugged off his priest’s cassock. The black fabric fell away to reveal a simple white button-down, slightly wrinkled; the sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms.

Jayce almost choked on his second sip.

Jesus Christ. He grimaced internally at the irony. How does someone look like that in something so plain?

The man was all lean lines and quiet strength, the crisp white of his shirt making his pale skin and dark hair stand out in a way that was almost distracting. No, scratch that—it was definitely distracting.

 “You, uh... clean up well.”

Viktor glanced at him amusedly as he sat at the small table near the window. “It’s just a shirt, Jayce.”

“Not on you, it’s not,” He muttered into his glass as he took another drink.

Viktor raised a thick eyebrow but didn’t comment, though the faint curve of his lips suggested he’d heard. Jayce downed another sip of gin, the warmth in his chest spreading now to his limbs, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the alcohol.

After a moment, leaning back slightly in his chair, Viktor smirked. “You’re staring.”

Snapping his head up, his cheeks flushing, Jayce moved his eyes from the priest’s slender neck and shoulders to his golden gaze. “I am not .”

“You are. Should I be concerned?” The man laughed and took a long drink before setting his glass down and running his pointer finger along the rim as he looked at Jayce.

“Only if you don’t like the attention.” He really shouldn’t be drinking with the man he’d been dreaming about on loop the last few nights–or every night since they’d met.

That gave Viktor pause. For a brief moment, something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or curiosity. Jayce couldn’t quite tell, but whatever it was, his pulse quickened.

“I’m not sure what to make of you, Jayce. You’re brooding in a pew one moment, and the next, you’re... this.”

Jayce leaned on the table, his elbows biting into the wood as he put his head in one hand. “This? What’s ‘this’ ?"

Tilting his head as if Jayce was playing with him, Viktor said steadily, “Bold. Confident. Flirting , even.”

He let out a warm puff of air. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But he did. Of course, he did. The gin was making him reckless, and Viktor’s quiet, understated charm was making it impossible to keep his head on straight.

Jayce swirled the liquid in his glass, his gaze drifting back to Viktor, their eyes locking incredibly quickly. The man looked impossibly at ease, one hand resting lightly on the table, his crutch within reach but forgotten for the moment.

“I meant what I said, you know. About wanting to figure you out,” He confessed in a murmur across the small table.

Expression unreadable, Viktor asked, “And have you made any progress?” He knocked back the rest of his gin and said, “I think I’m getting there." The priest kept his eyes level as he drained the rest of his glass before grabbing the bottle from between them and pouring them each another glass. Jayce didn’t hesitate to take another long drink, needing the liquid courage to keep sitting here and talking to Viktor as if he didn’t want to fuck into him like it was the end of the world and the beginning of everything.

“You know, for a priest, you’re surprisingly good at keeping secrets. I can’t decide if it’s infuriating or impressive,” He taunted, lowering his glass.

Viktor snickered lightly as he drank. “It is part of the job description, Jayce. I thought you’d appreciate that by now.”

“Oh, I do. But it also makes me wonder... what are you hiding?”

Viktor’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I think you already know more than you realize.”

The gin had worked its way through Jayce’s veins, dulling the edges of his nerves but sharpening everything else. The quiet hum of the apartment, the soft clink of Viktor’s glass against the table, the faint scent of cedar and something herbal that clung to Viktor—it all felt too vivid, too close.

Jayce leaned back in his chair, swirling the last sip of gin in his glass as Viktor sat across from him, perfectly composed as always. Except he wasn’t, not entirely. 

Jayce had caught the way Viktor’s gaze lingered for a beat too long, the way his fingers brushed over the rim of his glass as if trying to keep them occupied.

There was tension between them now, electric and unspoken, and Jayce wasn’t sure if it was the gin or something more, more, more that made him bold enough to speak. “Not enough. Not nearly enough.”

The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Viktor didn’t have a quick response. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, his eyes locked to Jayce’s, and Jayce felt his ribs slink around his lungs like a vice.

The moment stretched, the silence heavy with everything neither of them was saying. Jayce stood abruptly, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he moved closer, unable to stop himself.

Barely a whisper, he held his hand out to the man before him, “Viktor.”

The sound of his name shattered something in Viktor. He stood slowly, leaning his palm into Jayce’s for balance, his gaze steady but masked. Jayce stopped moving, letting his fingers curl around Viktor’s, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise his chest cavity.

He wasn’t sure who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was Viktor—but suddenly, the space between them vanished.

Viktor’s lips were softer than Jayce expected, but his grip was firm, one hand curling around Jayce’s jaw as the kiss deepened. Jayce’s breath hitched, the taste of gin and something distinctly Viktor overwhelming him as he pressed closer, his hands fisting in the crisp white of Viktor’s shirt against his lower back.

This is insane. This is wrong. He told himself as he backed toward the couch, gently pulling Viktor with him.

But it didn’t feel wrong. Not with the way Viktor’s hand slid up his back, his touch warm and grounding. Not with the way Viktor pulled him closer as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting go.

Jayce tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his fingers moving to the buttons of Viktor’s shirt without thinking. The fabric slipped under his hands, revealing skin warm to the touch, and Jayce swallowed hard, his breath coming faster as Viktor’s hand traced the line of his spine.

The back of his knees hit the couch cushion, and his lips ghosted across Viktor’s as he spoke, “I’ve never... I’ve never wanted someone like this .”

Viktor’s voice was low, barely more than a growl, “You’re not the only one.” Then he shoved Jayce gently but firmly onto the couch behind him as he climbed on top of him, straddling him slowly to avoid jostling the leg with the brace too much.

The confession sent a shiver down Jayce’s spine, and whatever restraint he’d been clinging to dissolved completely. He surged forward, capturing Viktor’s lips again, their movements increasingly desperate, frantic, like they were trying to burn away the weight of months of unspoken tension.

Jayce’s hands roamed over Viktor’s chest, his shoulders, the sharp lines of his collarbone, every inch of him solid and real in a way that made Jayce’s head spin. 

He’s not untouchable.

Jayce had spent the last few days tracing the letters of Viktor’s name into the roof of his mouth like fucking hymns–but now he had him, in his arms, against his chest, against his heart.

The thought sent a rush of heat through him, and he pressed his forehead against Viktor’s, their breaths mingling as his fingers slid lower, exploring the contours of a body he’d only ever imagined. Viktor’s grip tightened on his waist, grounding him, anchoring him in the moment.

The rest was a blur—heat and skin and the quiet sound of Viktor’s name falling from Jayce’s lips, over and over like a prayer. Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Viktor, Vitkor, Vikt-

------ Part Five: Bonus Content

Jayce’s mouth was hot against his as they fumbled their way across the threshold of the two-bedroom apartment they’d just moved into a week ago. Pulling him closer, Viktor felt him kick the front door shut, and a lock clicked immediately after. This was heaven, the former priest decided as Jayce’s fingers slid to undo the buttons on the front of his shirt. He didn’t save Jayce Talis; in fact—Jayce saved him.

Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce's calloused hands slipped beneath his shirt, caressing the chilled skin. He arched into the touch, his own fingers tangling in Jayce's thick hair. The taste of whiskey lingered on Jayce's lips, a reminder of their celebratory drinks earlier that evening.

"Bedroom," Jayce murmured against Viktor's neck, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. " Now ."

They stumbled down the hallway, leaving his cane and a trail of discarded clothing in their wake. Viktor's bare bottom hit the black duvet, and he gazed up at Jayce, drinking in the sight of his lover silhouetted in the dim street lights filtering through the curtains.

As Jayce sunk onto the floor between Viktor’s knees, Viktor's mind flashed to the life he'd left behind—the cold stone walls of the church, the small comfortable apartment that ended up feeling more like a prison the longer he got to know Jayce. Carding his long fingers through Jayce’s hair, it had grown a few inches since their first time sleeping together around two months ago, the man below him hummed happily as he looked up at Viktor through his long dark lashes.

"You're beautiful," Viktor whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Jayce's eyes softened at the words, and he leaned forward to press a warm kiss to Viktor’s inner right thigh. A shiver traveled across his body as heat pooled in his stomach at the sight of the man before him.

"So are you," Jayce replied, his hands tracing gentle patterns on Viktor's calves, minding the brace he still wore on his right leg. "I still can't believe you're here with me."

Viktor's heart swelled with a mixture of love and lingering guilt. He knew he'd made the right choice, but years of indoctrination were hard to shake. "I'm exactly where I'm meant to be," he said, as much to reassure himself as Jayce.

“So am I,” And with that, Jayce dove forward to take Viktor’s half hard length into his slick hot mouth.

Viktor gasped, his head falling back as pleasure coursed through him. Jayce's tongue swirled expertly, drawing out soft moans that echoed in the quiet room. Viktor's fingers tightened in Jayce's hair, guiding him gently.

" Jayce ," he breathed, "Oh, God..."

The irony of invoking a deity he'd renounced wasn't lost on him, but coherent thought was quickly slipping away. Jayce hummed around him, the vibrations sending jolts of ecstasy up Viktor's spine.

Not to mention, having Jayce on his knees as if he were praying as he sucked Viktor off. He’d dreamed of moments like this one for weeks before it finally happened that night he’d asked Jayce to his apartment for drinks.

Viktor's mind swam with memories of that first night, the way Jayce's lips had felt against his own, tentative at first, then hungry and desperate. How they'd fumbled with buttons and zippers, laughing nervously between heated kisses. The guilt and fear that had plagued him for so long melted away in Jayce's arms, replaced by a burning desire he'd never known before.

Now, as Jayce worked him with practiced skill, Viktor marveled at how far they'd come. His hips bucked involuntarily, and Jayce steadied him with strong hands on his thighs. The sight of Jayce's head bobbing between his legs, combined with the exquisite sensations coursing through him, threatened to push Viktor over the edge far too soon.

"Wait," he gasped, firmly tugging Jayce's hair. "I want... I want you to fuck me.” Jayce released Viktor’s cock with a wet pop from his mouth, his chin and lips covered in pre cum and his own saliva. His dark golden pupils blown wide and his cheeks flushed.

Jayce smiled, a predatory glint in his eyes as he slowly rose to his feet. "As you wish," he purred, leaning in to capture Viktor's lips in a searing kiss. Viktor could taste himself on Jayce's tongue, and it sent a thrill through him.

With gentle hands, Jayce eased Viktor further onto the bed, positioning him against the pillows. Viktor's breath caught as Jayce crawled over him, their bodies aligning perfectly. The weight of Jayce above him felt like an anchor, grounding him in this moment of bliss.

"Are you sure you want to tonight?" Jayce asked, his voice husky with desire but tinged with concern. Always so considerate, even in the throes of passion.

Viktor nodded, reaching up to cup Jayce's face. "I've never wanted anything more" he murmured as he tugged him down for another kiss.

One of Jayce’s huge right hands traveled to Viktor’s smaller waist and hips easily as he gripped him obsessively before moving to grab the bottle of lube left on the bedside table.

Their lips continued to move against one another for a moment until Viktor began getting impatient and he tugged on the hairs at the base of Jayce’s neck, eliciting a whoreish moan from the much larger man. It sent a round of pre cum leaking down the tip of Viktor’s cock as he pushed his hips up to Jayce’s, their members sliding together as they ground against one another.

Jayce groaned at the contact, his hips stuttering against Viktor's. With practiced ease, he flipped open the cap of the lube bottle and coated his fingers generously. Viktor spread his legs wider, inviting Jayce's touch.

The first finger slipped in easily, Jayce's movements slow and deliberate. Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce added a second finger, stretching him carefully. The burn of the stretch mingled with pleasure as Jayce curled his fingers, searching for that spot that would make Viktor see stars.

" Jayce ," Viktor moaned, his back arching off the bed as Jayce found his prostate. "Please, I need you inside of me."

“I wanted to fuck that confession out of you, but we never got that far,” Jayce murmured, pressing kisses along Viktor's jawline down to his collarbone as he worked a third finger in. Jayce traced his favorite word with his tongue across the left side of Viktor’s chest a few times as he scissored his fingers to open Viktor up even further. Mine, mine, mine.

Viktor's hands raked across Jayce’s tanned broad shoulders, absolutely digging into the skin, leaving angry red lines.

A hiss left Jayce’s mouth as he moved to tongue over Viktor’s left nipple.

Viktor's mind reeled at Jayce's words, memories of suppressing his desires in the confessional booth as Jayce would pour his grieving heart out. He'd fantasized about Jayce taking him right there, sacrilege be damned. Now, with Jayce's fingers working him open, those fantasies paled in comparison to reality.

"Maybe we can roleplay that sometime," Viktor gasped, surprising himself with his boldness. Jayce's eyes widened, then darkened as he met Viktor’s gaze in the dim light.

" Fuck , V," Jayce growled, withdrawing his fingers. "You can't say things like that and expect me to last."

Viktor whimpered at the loss, but soon felt the blunt head of Jayce's lubed up cock pressing against his entrance.

Jayce paused before he slowly pushed forward until only the pulsing head of his huge cock was locked into Viktor’s heat. And he stayed like that, his large hands coming down to rest on Viktor’s hips before traveling up and playing with Viktor’s hard nipples again.

Viktor gasped, his body trembling with anticipation as Jayce teased him mercilessly. The fullness of just Jayce's tip inside him was already overwhelming, stretching him in the most delicious way. He squirmed, trying to push down and take more of Jayce's length, but Jayce's strong hands held him firmly in place.

" Patience is a virtue, sweetheart," Jayce murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His fingers continued to work Viktor's nipples as he pinched them sharply, sending jolts of pleasure straight to his groin.

Viktor sent him a stern look, his mouth falling open as he panted in wanting. “If you don’t start fucking me like the entire world is ending tonight I won’t let you look at me naked for a week, Jayce.” Leaning down to bite Viktor’s ear, Jayce chuckled darkly. “As you wish, Father Viktor.”

With those words, Jayce snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt inside Viktor in one swift motion. Viktor cried out, his back arching off the bed as he was suddenly filled completely. The stretch burned deliciously, bordering on pain but quickly melting into intense pleasure as Jayce began to move.

Jayce set a punishing pace, his powerful thrusts driving Viktor into the mattress.

Viktor's heaven and earth narrowed to the exquisite sensation of Jayce moving inside him, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

"Oh God , Fuck," Viktor moaned, his fingers digging into Jayce's back. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

Jayce's breath was hot against Viktor's neck as he pounded into him relentlessly. "Never," he growled, nipping at Viktor's earlobe. "You're mine now, V. All mine."

The possessiveness in Jayce's voice sent a thrill through Viktor. He'd belonged to the church for so long, but this— this was true devotion.

This was worship in its purest form.

Jayce shifted his angle slightly, and suddenly he was hitting Viktor's prostate with a drive that would put the most devout follower to shame.

Viktor cried out in ecstasy, his vision blurring as waves of intense pleasure crashed over him. Each thrust sent sparks shooting through his body, building towards an explosive release.

He didn’t know sex could be this good until he met Jayce.

" Jayce, Jayce, Jayce, " he panted like a fucking psalm, his voice raw and desperate. "Fuck, I'm close... so close..."

Jayce's rhythm faltered slightly as he groaned, clearly nearing his own climax. "Come for me, sweetheart," he urged, his voice husky with desire. "Let me see you fall apart all over my cock. Let me fill you with my release.” Nodding desperately, Viktor sighed in pleasure, “I want you to fill me to the fucking brim, pretty boy.”

Jayce's eyes flashed with desire at Viktor's words, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He reached between their bodies, wrapping his hand around Viktor's neglected cock and stroking in time with his powerful thrusts.

The dual stimulation was too much for Viktor to bear. With a strangled cry, he came entirely undone, his release spilling over Jayce's hand and onto his own stomach. His body clenched around Jayce, pulling him deeper.

" Fuck , Viktor," Jayce groaned, his movements becoming inconsistent. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

Viktor gazed up at Jayce through half-lidded eyes, drinking in the sight of his lover lost in ecstasy. "Come for me, Jayce," he whispered the command, voice hoarse. "Fill me up, make me yours."

The man above him let out a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside Viktor. The sensation of Jayce's hot release flooding him sent aftershocks of pleasure through Viktor's oversensitive body. But Jayce wasn’t finished just yet, he chased his orgasm, fucking his release into the former priest like his life depended on it. It leaked hot and heavy out of Viktor as Jayce pushed in and out of him slowly. Jayce’s head fell back as he whined at the overstimulation of his cock being milked by Viktor’s tight hole, already half hard again.

Viktor's breath hitched as Jayce continued to move inside him, the overstimulation bordering on painful yet exquisite. He could feel Jayce's release pulsing out of him with each slow thrust, coating his inner thighs. The sight of Jayce over him, head thrown back in ecstasy, was almost enough to make Viktor come again.

" Jayce ," he whispered, voice raw and trembling. "Look at me, love."

Jayce's eyes, dark with lingering desire, met Viktor's. The intensity of his gaze made Viktor's heart skip a beat. Slowly, deliberately, Jayce lowered himself until their foreheads touched, his hips still moving in lazy circles.

"You're so fucking—ugh, you’re everything to me," Jayce murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Viktor's lips. "I love you so much, V."

Viktor's mind swam under the devotion woven throughout Jayce’s tone and actions. He’d do anything the former priest asked of him without a second thought. The power of that kind of love was intense, it almost made Viktor hard again.

Viktor's heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He wrapped his arms around Jayce, pulling him even closer. "I love you," he whispered against Jayce's lips. "More than I ever thought possible."

They stayed like that for a long moment, bodies intertwined, breaths mingling. Viktor reveled in the weight of Jayce above him, the feeling of fullness and connection.

He was sacred , he thought. He was divine.

Eventually, Jayce carefully pulled out, both of them wincing slightly at the sensitivity. He collapsed beside Viktor, immediately drawing him into his arms. Viktor nestled against Jayce's chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"We should clean up," Viktor murmured after a while, feeling semen leaking from him and coating his backside and legs more, though he made no move to leave the warmth of Jayce's embrace. Church bells tickled against his ribs when Jayce’s laugh thundered around his eardrums like that, and he couldn’t help but smile against the man’s collarbone.

"In a minute," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on Viktor's lower back. "I want to savor this moment a little longer."

The former priest hummed contentedly, melting further into Jayce's embrace. The mess between his thighs was sticky, but not enough to make him want to leave the cocoon of heat and affection they'd created.

"Do you regret it?" Jayce asked softly after a few moments of comfortable silence. "Leaving the church, I mean."

Viktor lifted his head, meeting Jayce's golden stare. There was a wash of vulnerability in those dark eyes, a flicker of doubt that Viktor wanted to extinguish immediately.

" Never ," he said firmly, cupping Jayce's face with one hand, his fingers pushing into the tense muscle of his jaw. "Not for a single moment. You are everything I need and more.”

Jayce's face slackened at Viktor's words, a tender smile spreading across his face. He leaned in, capturing Viktor's lips in a sweet kiss, his tongue tasting Viktor’s for a second before pulling back a hair.

"You're everything to me too, V," Jayce murmured against Viktor's lips. "I never thought I'd find someone who understands me the way you do."

Heat washed across Viktor’s body. He traced his fingers along Jayce's jawline, marveling at the man before him. "We found each other when we needed it most," he said softly. "I may have left the church, but I've found a different kind of faith in you."

Jayce's arms tightened around Viktor, pulling him impossibly closer. They lay in comfortable silence for a while, basking in the afterglow and the warmth of each other's embrace. Viktor listened to the steady rhythm of Jayce’s heartbeat and lull of his breathing.

“Don’t ever leave me.” “I will never leave you.” It was the easiest vow Viktor ever made.

[characteroulette]

Okay y'know despite not receiving any answers on Apollo's apparent lack of character, I think I have figured out why people think as much about him. It's purely that they tend to just fill in their perceived lack with a more Phoenix motivation than Apollo's own actual motivations. Apollo gets conflated with Phoenix, especially in DD, despite how in AJ he wants nothing to do with Phoenix after his first case. It's easier to just treat Apollo as an extension of Phoenix since Phoenix is the main stay, the main focus, even if that couldn't be the furthest thing from the reality of the text.

Apollo wants the truth above all else. It's why he reveals that Machi is a smuggler and Vera is a forger despite how it might damage his clients' credibility. (We don't get things like this in DD, and in SOJ it's more revealing Datz is a terrorist would lose his case immediately. I think, at least.) But usually, when I see people muse in their fics on how Apollo would take defending an actually guilty client, they have him swap sides immediately. Just like Phoenix would. And I think that's not what Apollo would do. There's plenty of evidence in AJ that shows Apollo doesn't flip sides so immediately. He accused his teacher since the evidence and logic led him (/us) to that conclusion, but the entire time he was hoping for a different explanation. He pursued the truth in spite of his own misgivings on the situation. He presents the forged card because he is being manipulated into this, being led straight into the waiting jaws of that snake trap made specially to snare Kristoph.

He was naive, and he makes sure that doesn't happen again. Even in the final case of AJ, he makes sure to explain the second forged piece, to explain the same trick of it that Phoenix made for the first forged piece. It doesn't work this time (and I am begging Phoenix to have thought up a better way to get traces of poison from a convicted inmate's cell, even despite how favoured Kristoph was), but Apollo knows what he is doing now. He acknowledges instead of attempting to fudge anything, in direct contrast to Phoenix's own actions from the original trilogy.

I don't think he'd deny his client's guilt if they did truly commit the murder. I think he'd still fight for the truth, wouldn't settle for just a guilty verdict until the whole plot was figured out. Apollo wants to help his clients, sure, but that's never been his driving force. How could it be when it was never his choice who he ended up defending? What he wants is to know the truth. He wants to understand how the crime happened and follows the logical conclusion from that on how this crime occurred.

To be fair to Phoenix, he was under duress when this happened to him both times (Matt and Iris). But Phoenix is driven by belief in his clients while Apollo is driven by the desire to uncover the truth. Similar but very different motivations, I think.

I think this is also what separates Phoenix from Ryuunosuke. Phoenix believes in his clients. Ryuunosuke had to learn that belief but also carries Apollo's drive for the truth. He will claw and scrape until the worst is revealed, even if it hurts someone. (He'll feel terrible about it later, but he will still expose Kazuma's guilt in almost killing a man for the sake of the truth.) Taking this even further, the one who decides how like Phoenix or Apollo's motivations Ryuunosuke is are the choices the player can make. They might be meaningless choices narratively, but they matter in the same way the Matt Endgarde decision matters. You can choose for Ryuunosuke to turn a blind eye to McGilded's forgeries, belief in your client above all else. Or you can have Ryuunosuke acknowledge there is something shady happening here, truth above all else. Or you can have a mixture of the two! (I chose this option, making Ryuunosuke question the new evidence but ultimately pleading for a Not Guilty verdict.) It's a fascinating way to mix these two's strongest driving forces and leave it to the player to determine how much each side affects Ryuunosuke's personality as shown in the text.

Phoenix is willing to fudge the truth for the sake of his clients. We see as much in 3-3. Apollo would never do such a thing, he is here to find out the truth, no matter how ugly. And Ryuunosuke sits in-between the two, a little of column A and a little of column P. I just find this distinction between all of them so fascinating.

All this being said, I'd love to see Phoenix be put in this situation where he isn't under duress for once, actually. What he would do is fascinating to me hahaha

[hawnks]

"She almost killed me!"

The maid holds a hand to her bleeding throat. The wound is already starting to close, healing with the exceptional acuity of a healthy vampire. The offense certainly outweighed the damage.

"You were instructed not to startle her." Sayid is careful to keep any inflection from his voice. Any emotion at all tended to encourage excitement.

He allows the young woman a moment to rail against him, and the "monster" she was meant to serve. Sayid refrains from noting that if Jane was a monster, so too were they all. He only employs other vampires on the estate, knowing that their fortitude would prevent any serious disaster.

It would not, however, prevent frequent turnover.

He interrupts the tirade with a raised hand. "You're dismissed. Thank you."

Sayid enters the bathroom without knocking. Jane has already learned his scent, his footfalls. She could sense him coming from a mile away.

He clicks his tongue at the sight of her, naked and dripping in the corner of the large, tiled room. Her shivers increase as he approaches, forever wary of him.

He doesn't let that break his heart.

"You forget your own strength, my love."

She peers down at her hands, as if seeing them for the first time. "I didn't mean to," she whispers.

"I know." He takes her bloody fingers in his, pressing his thumb into her palms. Massaging her until the worst of the tension is released. "We'll work on it."

He leads her back to the sunken tub, lowering her in with a murmur to be careful, don't slip, there we are, darling.

She had been in here less than five minutes with the maid. She was still filthy, after today's escape attempt left her covered in mud and detritus. He plucks a leaf from her hair surreptitiously.

Sinking to his haunches and rolling up his sleeves, he breathes in her closeness. For a moment he just touches her, cupping her crown with one hand, petting her with minute little strokes. He lets her flinch and recover, lets some of the fight or flight ebb.

When she's still, he grabs the pitcher, dousing her hair in warm water. The dried mud starts to flake off, everything softening.

He gathers the damp strands so he can massage the shampoo in, deftly avoiding brushing against her neck.

The scars there are stark, even more so since her turning. Dark, mottled skin, ringing her throat like a collar. They were sensitive, too. Even the slightest touch was enough to agitate her, both the tenderness of the wounds and the memories they brought back could send her into a sightless rage.

She was nearly dead when he found her. Bleeding out, almost decapitated. Human. How would such a delicate creature ever survive such a savaging. Despite the taboo of turning one's own mate, Sayid was desperate. Even as a newly minted vampire, she almost didn't make it.

Her body healed. Her mind didn't.

The doctors told him this happened sometimes. Human minds weren't always strong enough to survive sudden immortality. Already so fragile after the attack, it was a miracle she retained any sanity at all.

But Sayid knew it wasn't only the immense changes causing her so much distress.

Jane resents what she's become. And she resents him for turning her, even as she craves the comfort and protection her mate can provide. She tears herself apart, wanting, hating that she wants. Her mind rebels against her own instincts.

In the early days, when she would cry and scream and claw, punishing him for turning her, he thought of reasoning with her. Maybe he could make her understand why he did it.

If you weren't a vampire, you would be dead.

But he knew exactly what her response would be, could hear her voice so clearly in his head. Good.

He couldn't bear to have it made reality.

Logic wasn't at the heart of this, anyway. She despised him, and he loved her anyway. He knew that she could only truly heal if she was free of this place, away from the man who forced her to live despite violent objections.

He smooths his palms down her arms, taking her hands again. Carefully, he begins cleaning the blood from under her fingernails. Once she's spotless, he cant bring himself to release her. He holds her hands, wrapped around her from behind, the bath water growing tepid as minutes pass.

She still breathes, manually working her lungs despite the lack of necessity. He wonders if she'll ever grow out of it. Part of him hopes he doesn't, that he'll get to listen to the steady rhythm forever.

"How can you even stand to touch me?" she says. "I'm a monster."

That word again. He wish he could ban it from the house.

He doesn't let himself be shocked by her self deprecation, tamps down the instinct to be rail against it, to tell her he loves her, whatever she may be. His praise only smothers her.

Instead, he kisses the top of her head, with every ounce of tenderness he possesses. "Because, darling, I'm a monster too."

[slenderversefunnn]

I want to make an appeal to the entire Slenderverse fandom. The fandom is sick and you are ready for this conversation. The fandom is sick not only because of the actors, but also because of the fans. Important note: I do NOT condone any violent actions on anyone's part, I just want to know the TRUTH and do not support either the madness of the fans or the inadequacy on the part of some actors. Also in this post, I will cover not only the situations with the actors of EMH and the Marble Hornets, but also the specific situations with Jeff Koval and Adam Rosner. We all remember how Brian was sexualized and threatened, how Tim was bullied, and how Evan was harassed and threatened. And this is just the tip of the iceberg, because in fact, many actors have been subjected to varying degrees of disgusting treatment from fans. Threats against the actors, death wishes not only for the actors, but also for their loved ones, insane harassment. And even if the fan frenzy has subsided at the moment, it's still there.

If we talk about the actors themselves, then when it comes to Jeff Koval, one logical question arises in my head: "why did they hush up what happened?"Jeff was an abuser and a manipulator and, of course, he is a vile person. The way Jeff treated his girlfriend and Evan is truly disgusting. And indeed, it seems to me very hypocritical and twofold how Adam was canceled, but Jeff was considered "not the same thing," and here's why: I conducted my own little investigation into Adam's situation and also looked at all the evidence here and I haven't found any convincing evidence that that he's a rapist, even though he's a really NASTY person. And before you start writing about how I justify him, let me explain my position: for me, Adam Rosner is an unpleasant, vile person with whom I would never want to have any personal contact, he certainly did and said a lot of disgusting things, but there is no evidence specifically that he's a rapist, and I'll explain why.

Now let's talk about my own little investigation into all the accusations that have been leveled against Adam Rosner. Personally, I consider him to be a vile person, but my goal is to find out the truth, not pin all mortal sins on him. So, let's see what I found out.:

Let's start with zoophilia. From what I saw, the "screenshots" come from only one person, there is no one else who could confirm them and say: "Yes, it really happened, I saw these messages from Adam not in screenshots.", or: "Yes, Adam personally told me about it." (with the real evidence base behind these statements). Usually, in such shocking situations, screenshots are taken not by one person, but by several. Also, the "screenshots" themselves don't look reliable, they look very strange. Regarding this, I share the same opinion as Ford Muybridge. If there is a real evidence base behind these screenshots and Adam Rosner mentioned somewhere else about his predilections for animals, then notify me about it, I will study the information and if it is reliable, I will edit and include it in the post.

The situation with Heather also looks extremely dubious. At least because based on how specifically the situations are described, the identity of this person will be quite understandable to those present at that party, as well as to Adam himself. And considering that literally the entire Internet is now on the side of Adam's victims, if this girl were a real victim, she would have no reason to maintain her own anonymity in wider circles either. There's nothing to be afraid of when you have so many people behind you, when you WILL DEFINITELY be supported, considering that other actors have turned their backs on Adam. I don't want to say that I don't believe the victims, I want to say that I consider it unwise to accuse without presenting evidence, at least because anyone who has at least some material or psychological benefit from this can say: "This man abused me." Please, kindly, if you are accusing someone of something, then show proof. Heather didn't attach anything to the post, even something trivial that would make it clear that she really knew Adam. And it's not necessary to reveal your identity to the readers of this post, it would be enough just to show some photos with Adam that are not publicly available. I can't believe that over the years of friendship, there can't be some personal photos or at least something that could confirm her personal acquaintance with Rosner. According to one of the commentators, under the full list of charges the actors from EMH have officially refuted Heather's words, but I personally have not yet verified this information and cannot say that this is true, however, I felt it necessary to indicate this here, as the commentators, who will also be like me, are not lazy to understand this, they may try to find more accurate information on this subject, and I will include it in the post if it is reliable.

About the situation with some screenshots and Adam's statements. His vile fetish for "little sisters" turned out to be really true, he confirmed this in his apology post, posted either in 2016 or in 2017 (I saw both dates and I do not know which one is correct). As well as some disgusting statements about some people. Well, to add to that, what's disgusting is disgusting, and I won't deny it. The only thing I would like to point out is that his apologies really look vague, without any evidence or specifics.

Regarding the situation with Ress. A shared selfie cannot be considered proof of a sexual relationship. But as for the screenshots, there are really big questions for Adam, however, there is still no direct mention of sexual contact, so I would like to see and know more, it's hard for me to draw unambiguous conclusions from hints and fragments, but I do not deny the possibility that Ress may be telling the truth, her words still sound more believable than Heather's words.

About Eve. Her story is more believable than other stories, given that the number of screenshots and photos is much greater than other people's. If the screenshots are not fake, then it turns out that Rosner was really in love with an underage teenager as an adult, which is certainly disgusting. But one thing is bothering me - why was Eva unhappy about being ignored with Adam Rosner's disregard? After all, if you think about it that way, then realizing his feelings, he tried to distance himself from her quite reasonably.

The situation regarding his phone call is ambiguous. In my opinion, two people are responsible for sexual intercourse. If a girl took birth control pills and knew exactly when to take them, as well as how much they work, then I have questions for her, because the pills she takes are her area of responsibility. Adam's area of responsibility is to inquire about the duration of the pills and read the instructions for them. In my opinion, they both behaved irresponsibly. In addition, she claimed that everything was fine when he was interested in both her condition and her financial situation (the situation in which she gave him the money). Agree, when a person constantly assures that everything is fine, but in fact it is not, then this is already his area of responsibility, since people around him cannot read minds. I am shocked that I have to explain such elementary things, given that the girl, as I understood from the phone call, had also inadvertently become pregnant before (starting at 08:20 in the recording of the phone call, the girl says that she had already become pregnant unplanned before not from Adam, correct me, if I was mistaken, English is not my native language). Given her previous unplanned pregnancy, wasn't it her area of responsibility not to have sex, realizing that her morning pill wasn't effective for the entire day? As for Adam's excuses, I don't like the way he tries to shift his part of the responsibility to the fact that he was young, as well as his phrase that he always regrets being in debt more than anything else in life, is really strange. My opinion is that they both behave like irresponsible and very impulsive people. I don't like Adam himself or the girl. My personal conclusion about the situation with Adam Rosner in general: of course, he is a disgusting and vile person and there is a high probability that he could REALLY be in love with an underage teenager, as well as have consensual sexual contact with a minor. However, it is just as likely that he is NOT a rapist or a zoophile. I think it is extremely wrong to pin all the sins of humanity on a person, let him be responsible for what he really did. And yes, this does NOT negate the fact that I find it disgusting that he fell in love with an underage girl, being an adult, it makes me sick, BUT he is not a monster, not a rapist, not a murderer.

Returning to Jeff Koval, I want to talk about the fact that the main claim against his manipulativeness and abuse is very similar to the claim against Adam, given that there is no real evidence that Adam Rosner committed violence (which does not negate his other vile actions, but we are now talking specifically about violence). And Jeff didn't do any better than Adam, not at all.

I am not calling for any cancellation or harassment of any of the actors or fans. I consider the "cancellation culture" to be a very ambiguous and in many ways destructive phenomenon, it's like how people stone a person, making him a scapegoat. The "cancellation culture" is disastrous due to the fact that it is lynching, and lynching is not always correct, it can spread a lot of false information. I don't want to say that the victims are "guilty" of anything, but seriously, do I have to explain why lynching is a bad thing? If we talk about people who turn out to be victims, then proving your words is important. Of course, one should not immediately blame someone who claims to be a victim, but I believe that the presumption of innocence SHOULD also be taken into account. Without proof, the world just turns into chaos. Indirect evidence may also not always be something that would really prove a person's guilt. The world is not black and white, please do not forget this and check the information PERSONALLY, use your critical thinking.

I would also like to discuss separately the topic of T12 cancellation in general. It seems very unwise to deny the importance of this project to the entire Slenderverse fandom. Of the main complaints about the plot from people who devalue T12's contribution to the fandom, only a couple of complaints turned out to be significant. Most people talk about things that are described and explained in Milo's journal. Correct me in the comments if this is not the case, but Milo's journal was written personally by Adam Rosner, therefore, this is canonical information. And I'm pretty sure that if this whole situation with Adam hadn't happened, the information from Milo's journal would have been included directly in the videos themselves. Read the journal and you will find that many plot holes are closed just by describing the events from there. Adam Rosner is a good screenwriter and creator, but a bad person. I also don't want to devalue his contribution to the Slenderverse fandom, although as a person and person he disgusts me.

I think I'll draw a general conclusion from all this and summarize it. I think that people in the Slenderverse fandom should reconsider their attitude to everything that is happening. Many actors no longer want to have anything to do with Slenderverse and Creepypasta, because fans have an extremely inappropriate tendency to treat actors as radically as possible, and there is definitely a problem with sexualization, bullying from series in the fandom, etc. It is inappropriate to wish someone dead, to find out where a stranger lives and threaten him. And yes, understand that lynching is not a good thing, and I'm surprised that I need to explain exactly why this is a bad thing. Check the information, ask for evidence, and stop trying to find scapegoats. Adam Rosner and Jeff Koval are really nasty and unpleasant personalities, but before accusing someone of all mortal sins, it's worth figuring out what's true and what's not. I would like the Slenderverse fandom to become better and less radical, as well as for people to engage in critical thinking before throwing serious accusations at anyone.

[paper-starz]

WELCOME HOME THEORY 2: The Theory Strikes Back

Good evening, gentlemen, gentleladies, and gentlethems,

Or Good night

Or even good morning,

Whenever you are, I humbly come to you all with another theory.

This time, its our favorite morally questionable sentient house, Home!

So strap in, buckle up, cause I have STUFF TO SAY.

THIS WILL BE VERY LONG AND IT WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE UPDATE!!

Alright, so to begin, what the HECK is going on with Home?

They are one of the most mysterious characters in Welcome Home, we don't know much if not anything at all. And what we do know... wellllll......

Yeah definitely not menacing at all.....

The only thing that we do know of Home is well… ^ This and the fact that it and Wally are sentient.

Ok, let’s backtrack. HOMES SENTIENT???

Yep! While it was implied in the first update that it was aware of us, this handy-dandy audio clip confirms that Home (like Wally) is aware of “You” (Whoever this “You” person may be. Either literally us or the Question Answerer).

Now, what exactly Home is saying is still up for debate. Some say that it’s “Help Me” while others say it’s “Hello”. (It’s incredibly hard to know what’s exactly dots and dashes with Homes banging) but one thing is for sure, Home is communicating with us.

“AHHHH HOW SCARY! THE CREEPY DEMON HOUSE IS GONNA KILL US” D:

And that’s where you’re wrong, dear viewer. While Home is clearly morally dubious and incredibly suspicious, like Wally, I don’t think it’s necessarily evil.

Take for instance this link right here. It’s an honestly cute lil audio of Wally singing to Home. But while that is adorable, it’s the ending that I really wanna focus on.

Wally: …Do you like it? Home: *Creaks* (it’s Morse code again! Spells out IDO) Wally: Thats good… I think…

Ok why did I bring this old little clip up? Oh ya know… no reason… OTHER THAN THE FACT THAT WALLY CAN’T UNDERSTAND HOME ANYMORE!!!

Ok, I know whatcha thinkin’ “Why not anymore?”

Take a listen at another audio clip, this time it’s a secret one!!

The clip is about Barnaby and Home having a conversation with one another! But if you listen real closely… Home is not speaking in Morse code! It’s their own lil Home language, still consisting of creaks and bangs… yet Barnaby doesn’t seem to have any trouble understanding Home.

So how come Wally can’t understand Home and yet Barnaby can?

It’s because Wally’s sentient now. He’s getting more real. More human. Cartoon logic does not apply to Wally anymore! To us, Home is speaking in gibberish! Since it’s gibberish to us, then it’s gibberish to Wally!

And Home knows that, so it does the next best thing and tries using another language to hopefully communicate better. Now that I’m listening to the first audio clip again (so-below), it makes sense why Home is “speaking” slowly. It’s not used to communicating that way. It’s hard to tell their dots from their dashes, their bangs from their creaks, and it’s pauses are sometimes too long and too short at the same time! In a weird way, Home kinda has an accent when speaking in Morse code.

It’s kinda sweet just how hard Home is trying to communicate with Wally and us. Makes ya forget that Home has a weird portal and a flesh heart inside of them.

“WAIT WHAT?!?” (<- That’s you)

Yeah, remember when I said the more sentient something gets the more “real” they get?

Yeah, it’s also been happening with Home too. Go on any doodle audio file, and you can hear assumably Home’s heart beating away. You can hear it very clearly in this audio right here! I doubt the Playfellow Workshop made Home with a literal BEATING heart, but hey, Home is where the heart is I guess…

And now, the portal thing.

“Since when did Welcome Home ever had a portal??”

Oh since the very beginning actually!

First updated “portal” picture

Many people (including yours truly) theorized that this swirly spiral was a portal to the real world. It seems that we have more evidence to support this theory too!

First updated portal (shown left) and second updated portal (shown right)

Hey…. Wait a second…. Is it just me or it the portal getting…. Bigger?

The first update it was small, even the black goo wasn’t as bad… on the second picture, the spiral is INCREDIBLY large, and now the goo is coating the trees.

Well, isn’t that ominous.

"But wait. If Home has a portal... where is this portal even going?"

Both portals have the same black goo surrounding it, the same white eye in the center and the same swirl.

It's going to the Restoration team. And look at where the portal is placed. It's on the ceiling. "As above"

and the one in Welcome Home is "So below"

So perhaps the portal in Home is on the floor... This CANNOT be a coincidence I swear!!

With weird goo covering everything. And like, thats not all!

If you compare the items that the Restoration team uploaded onto the site in the first update and on the second update, you'll notice that the items have grown significantly larger.

At first, it was just envelopes with paper crammed inside of it. As if the person was trying to cram in as much information as possible. It isn't neat.

About us page: All of the paper materials tucked away inside the envelopes we have received are usually crammed together and covered in paint and ink.

Now, in the second update, the items have grown larger.

These items are much larger than mail, and I believe it also has something to do with how much bigger the portal has gotten.

Pretty soon, we might have full-grown puppets jumping in. But now that begs the question... Why is Home doing this?

Well, I think it's because Home really wants to help Wally.

As you inspect the website, there's a bunch of evidence that Wally is growing increasingly desperate for some other kind of sentient connection. It's been growing so much that it starts to get worrying...

Let's go back to the conversation between Home and Barnaby, notice anything weird? Not really? Well, I noticed that every bug audio file was in the perspective of Wally. Here, Wally is just staring at his half-finished painting, even Barnaby comments on this and finds it odd that Wally stopped painting.

It looks to me that Wally was dissociating. There, but not really there. He's been disconnected from reality because it feels unreal to him.

And Home sees that. As soon as the conversation turns to Wally, Home goes dead silent. When Wally still does not respond, Home releases a series of quick creaks and bangs to try and get Wally's attention. It doesn't work. Once Barnaby says Wally's name, it snaps him out of his dissociative state.

And Home is worried about Wally.

It gives a whole new look to the infamous "so-below" image.

Home isn't looking at Wally, it's looking straight at us. Eyes shaking as Wally seems like he's begging. Home doesn't look malicious here, Home looks like it's begging us to do something to calm Wally down because it physically can't anymore.

Home and Wally don't have a lot, if not any facial expressions at all. And shaky eyes in cartoons are a good indicator that someone is scared.

And if Home (in this link) is saying "Help Me", then no wonder! Heck, even the freaking disk is shaking!

Home is reaching out to us for help because it can't comfort Wally anymore and I don't know about you but that is SAD.

Two puppets that recently gained sentience can't even get the comfort out of each other because they can't communicate anymore :(

So, all Home can do is wait and watch Wally.

And if help won't come to you, well, having a handy-dandy portal is very helpful!

You can go to the help instead.

[kinardsevan]

What do you think are the chances of Buck and Tommy getting back together at some point??

I have answered this, here. It's long-winded with specific references as to why I feel the way I do.

If you want specific odds? I still stand by my "I don't have hope, I'm hopeful" statement. I don't trust the writers, but the part of me that understands writing a story and how television works (and hello breaking up in the middle of a season that isn't a midseason finale? pfft.), that part of me feels that we're in the middle of the ride. I also contend with the fact that if this breakup hadn't come out of left field during election week, we wouldn't have reacted as wildly as we did. we put so much weight into those interviews at the time, specifically towards the one that OS and TM did together, and then the one that LFJr did, and so much on the way Fangirlish phrased things. But as I've commented on over and over, OS and LFJr can't tell us where things are going, and TM won't. One, because it wouldn't serve the story, and two, what's the fun in that? Of course they want us guessing so we'll keep watching.

Now, so much weight gets put into Tim's words about how he doesn't know what's happening in the show more than a few weeks in advance, but we also know that they have general ~ideas of character arcs, at least for the part of the season they're working on. To that end, I maintain my contention that you're not breaking them up and telling LFJr "yeah sorry we might bring you back but maybe not, we'll see". That man broke them up knowing whether or not he wanted for him to return in the spring. He may not know how the story is going to be told quite yet, but he at least knows yes or no. Moreover, if the story was well and truly over, we're not getting mentions of Tommy in 807 and 808, and Buck still hung up on him. It doesn't feed the narrative, once again. If you want Tommy done/dead/in the past, you don't continue to suggest the characters are thinking about one another. You can do Buck being sad about the breakup without that kind of storytelling (i.e., season 2 with Abby's exit).

Once again, though, I want to reference every break up that has lasted on OG: BuckAbby-110. BuckTaylor: 518. BuckNatalia: (off screen but effectively) 618/701. EddieAna: 501. EddieMarisol & EddieKim: 710 By correlation, Madney's breakups were midseason and didn't stay broken up. Bathena never really "broke up" for any period of time, but they did have their struggles... oh when? The middle of the season. The only other "break ups" you can refer to within the context of the show is Doug and Shannon's deaths, which yes were in the middle of the seasons, but they were serving the narratives (and also TM regrets killing both off as soon as he did so....). We've also seen TM pull some of these midseason breakups on LS, only to not have them last. He did an offscreen split with Tarlos that was wrapped up by the end of that season opener.

Even without all of that evidence though (I really just piece it together so y'all can follow my line of logic), at the end of the day, what I'm looking at is a story being told and figuring out how you make the right moves. Maybe LFJr was only intended to tell a small story, but you know what you don't do when a character is embraced by the audience? Send them off into the sunset because you couldn't forge a better plot for them. You go back to the drawing board and figure out how to expand their story. Shows have done it for ages, and I refuse to believe that ABC saw the reaction of people to LFJr and said "get rid of him".

At the end of the day, I stay with the fact that they have to get back together because, narratively, it's what makes the most sense with the information we've been given. I think it's messy to ask people to wait 6 months for that payoff, but I also grew up in a time when streaming wasn't the norm and we didn't wait full calendar years for TV shows to release a new season. I don't put a lot of weight in the weekly interviews at this point because it feels like they're now using those instead of real 30sec. promos the way it used to be. Granted, you can argue that they unintentionally found Buck's endgame "too early" for their own liking.... but then why have him be with someone who calls him by his first name when most people in his life don't? Why suggest that Evan sees a future with Tommy in a way that we understand as an audience isn't starry-eyed like the breakup scene portrays, but is actually out of something real (as the dispatch scene suggests)? Why EVER have Buck suggest something like marriage (which he never has, even about Abby) if we're not circling back to it?

Many have stated that these are ways to just twist the knife, make it hurt more, and I can't negate that or tell you they're wrong. Even if everything I suggest ends up being right, I still can't make the argument that some of those storytelling choices weren't just to make the breakup hurt more. At the end of the day, though, my hope is that at least some of it was done in service of the narrative instead of just callousness.

Anyway. I've rambled again, and I'm sorta not sorry about it. I hope this at least answers your question though 🤣🤣🤣🤣

[iamnmbr3]

Cursed Child rant? as a treat? 👉👈

Oh god. Where to even start. Listen, I know some people enjoy CC and I say more power to you. I'm not here to be the fun police and say what people can and can't like or write fic about or derive meaning from or whatever. But for me, personally, Cursed Child is an absolute mess of the worst kind that irritates me on a profound level.

First off, it's completely inconsistent with the canon characterizations and established rules of world building (and JKR didn't even do that much world building so there wasn't that much to keep track of and yet, they couldn't even bother to do that). I mean, Cedric, who tried to give the Triwizard Cup to Harry doesn't win and that somehow causes him to become a Death Eater??? Huh? It's not just ooc. It's bad storytelling. I mean, even if he was a hugely sore loser why would losing a tournament cause him to join an extremist blood purist paramilitary group? That has nothing to do with him losing. It's stupid and childish and nonsensical and SO bad.

And really? That's the best you can come up with? If the point of that whole thing was the tired trope of 'time travel goes wrong and makes things worse' they could've just had the gang expose Crouch earlier but instead of Voldemort not returning he just ends up returning but not using Harry's blood which allows him to do his original plan of growing his power in secret. And idk. Maybe then he takes over and he kills Harry and Harry doesn't come back. I didn't even put any effort into that. It's a bit dumb and inelegant but it gets the job done without wild character assassination and a lack of logic so profound it would insult the reasoning abilities of a fungus.

But ok, let's judge it as its own vaguely Harry Potter inspired thing rather than as an actual sequel to the canon series. You know what the result is? IT'S STILL BAD. It's just. SO BAD. I don't understand how it's a real thing.

It's like a parody of a bad play. It can't possibly be real. Harry suddenly has a phobia of pigeons? Why??? It's so...stupid. And I'm supposed to take that seriously? What? And the dialogue. The dialogue. "Bad" doesn't even cover it. The fact that "Wow. Squeak. My geekness is a-quivering" is a real actual line in the actual play causes me physical pain. WHO WRITES THAT?! AND THEN LEAVES IT IN THE FINAL DRAFT?!?!?

And Delphi. WHAT EVEN?! She's literally like a parody of a bad fanfic Mary Sue. Down to the blue streak in her hair. But we're supposed to take her seriously? As a villain? Tf? She's like a bad Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way knockoff. The whole play is like an unfunny parody of bad writing. But it's not supposed to be. It actually pretends to be a genuine drama. Which is so much worse. I truly think My Immortal is better. And way funnier.

No effort at all went into the story construction. Characters act incredibly childishly and unrealistically and simplistically. The story doesn't feel like it was written by adults. There's no feeling or depth or emotion. It's all plot contrivances and nauseatingly simplistic writing. It isn't a story. It's just some stuff that happens. Because the writers were just like 'eh it's Harry Potter it'll sell.' And that's not art. That's just churned out content. And it bothers me on such a profound level that they did it and got away with it.

I would be embarrassed to write that for myself, let alone to turn that in as a professional writer. It's so inconsistent with the original story that I legitimately think the 2 guys who wrote it didn't even read the books. They just glanced at the wiki and decided they were good to go. Despite being PAID to do this. How sloppy is that? Not to mention Harry Potter meant so much to so many people who were ecstatic to get more content yet the two clowns who wrote this just skimmed the wiki and then vomited out some of the worst lines ever penned in history and called it a day.

[shoechoe]

Trish and the Past

(This is part of a series of posts about Diavolo’s character, though they can be read in any order. The links to the rest are here.)

Trish is the major story aspect that ties Diavolo to the main cast in a personal way. In this post, I’m going to go into their dynamic, Trish’s similarities and differences with Diavolo, and how she connects to Diavolo’s theme of the past.

Word Count: ~3100

Trish

To recap what I’ve said in previous analysis, Trish is the first thing that hints to the Boss’s identity; his attempted murder of her is the major personal betrayal that leads to the main cast turning against him. She is vital to understanding his personhood and how he tries to erase it. And as she is the major ally character and he is the antagonist, I believe it’s better to frame her as the center of the dynamic.

When Trish is introduced, she is severely underestimated as a soft teenage girl who puts up a persona of snootiness and coldness to the main characters. It is assumed here that beyond basic self-defense skills, she is unable to protect herself and must be constantly hidden.

Throughout the La Squadra half of Vento Aureo, more layers are progressively suggested with Trish. The other characters begin to wonder about her feelings as she remains largely quiet throughout the journey. Her initial rudeness subsides to a more morose silence.

Logically, this makes sense; it’s easy to imagine any teenage girl being suddenly forced to travel with gangsters after the revelation of her father being a mafia boss, her future and her relationship with him entirely uncertain, wouldn’t be in a good mood nor very willing to talk. At the King Crimson arc, this is finally brought up herself.

Trish’s main hope throughout this entire part of the story was the possibility of finally reaching safety when she got to her father. Bruno takes time to assure her that he will do everything in his power to keep her safe- however, this was nothing but an assumption. Nobody knew anything about his true motives, but they all expected him to automatically care for and protect her because she was his daughter.

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Diavolo and Parenthood

Note Bruno's line "That's not something any family worries about" when Trish expresses worries about if she'll be able to like her father. This could be viewed as foreshadowing for the twist that's just about to happen; even before the reveal that he was planning on killing her, Diavolo could not really be described as a "father" in any way but a purely technical one.

Diavolo was completely unaware of Trish's existence while she grew up, and even now, they don't know anything about each other. To Trish, Diavolo was nothing but a possibility of someone who could potentially protect her or she may be able to connect to. But to Diavolo, in his perception, Trish is only a living danger. In his mind, she is nothing but a problem that must be eliminated.

Diavolo is as impersonal as possible when Trish is brought to him. He knocks her unconscious before she gets to see his face and attempts to murder her before she even realizes it. He doesn't really acknowledge her as someone with feelings at all; just an obstacle to get through, or as he puts it, just a "blood relation".

Diavolo and Trish exchange very little dialogue, the most notable of which being Diavolo's statement "If only you had never been born". While obviously hurtful, he does not seem to be really talking to her directly when he says it, following it up with a repeat of his usual statements about his own past regrets: "Fear truly does come from the past". Her fighting back against him seems to make him ponder his own fears and past regrets instead of who she is as her own individual.

I don't think that Diavolo sees Trish as a person. It seems like to him, she's more of a spectre of his past, an ultimate test to overcome brought to him by fate. He does not feel any apparent remorse attempting to kill her because he has detached her from personhood, let alone any familial sentiment.

While I have complained about the handling of the final fight, Diavolo's exclamation of "Now you've really made me mad!" as he guts Trish is, in my opinion, his scariest moment. Diavolo is not really comparable to most real-life abusive father situations, but I'd say this is where he comes closest to it. Here, he's taking out his own rage and regret onto his child that he never wanted to have, a "punishment" for her fighting back.

(Note that his treatment of Trish is also comparable with his tendency to hurt children and the vulnerable for his own gain, like the first thing we learn about his leadership being that he's willing to sell drugs to children.)

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“Erasing His Past”

As Bruno points out, every human possesses an identity, a connection to other people, that traces back to their very roots as a person. No matter what you do or how alone you might seem, the influence of your existence will stretch outward to affect others, even if you aren't aware of it.

In Diavolo’s intense fear and desire to overcome his past, this is what he is running from. With his attempts to erase all records of his identity and connection to others, he is fighting against the inevitable. Every past action of his that connects him to others has a chance of coming back to haunt him, even ones that he himself overlooked; ironically, they become more dangerous the more he tries to erase them.

He sees Trish's existence as a living marker of his past and thus why he is so afraid of her, but it was never impossible for her to coexist with him. Maybe a healthy relationship would’ve been impossible, but Trish, an innocent teenage girl with no motive to usurp or threaten Diavolo, did not have to be murdered. If he sent her away and kept her safe without trying to kill her, the main cast aside from Giorno wouldn’t have turned on him so easily, and he could’ve likely stayed in power.

Diavolo’s inability to accept his past is what leads to his defeat, not exactly the past itself- something emphasized in how the explicit events of his past are never actually shown or discovered. His teenage daughter becomes the focal point of this fear, and despite her being the only character with nothing to gain from usurping him, she becomes perceived as the biggest danger.

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How is Trish Like (and Unlike) Diavolo?

Family ties are an extremely prevalent theme in Jojo, and it's especially strong with Trish and Diavolo. Part of why Diavolo wants to dispose of his daughter so badly is because of her immutable connection to him, both familial and spiritual. As such, Trish shares a lot of traits with her father, but also divulges from them to become better than him.

Trish has the initial tendency to hide her true self from the other characters, a protective layer to shield herself from gangsters she's never met before- in a sense, similar to Diavolo. This is why she at first appears on the surface as cold and occasionally snippy, and the others viewed her as weak and incapable of fighting or handling the emotional heaviness of her situation.

However, it becomes apparent throughout the story that she has hidden strength. A bit like Diavolo's twist in character revealing him as crueler than he let on, Trish reveals herself to have a fiercer nature, allowing her to win her first Stand fight. She has confidence and conviction similar to her father's, which she ends up using against him as she refuses to cower or give up when face-to-face with him.

But, unlike Diavolo, she does not become cold and closed off from the world. While she has a layer of distrust towards the strangers she was forced to be with, she ultimately ends up protecting and fighting alongside them.

The others often encourage her to hide away from Stand threats while they protect her, and at first, she can't understand the compassion it would take to risk your own life to protect others.

This is similar to Diavolo's expressed inability to understand compassion- such as his confusion that Bruno is willing to betray him and risk his life to save Trish. (It’s almost like Trish herself has internalized the idea that someone trying to save her isn’t a rational choice.)

But when the other team members become jeopardized and Trish is pushed into action, she realizes that she has the same instinct to protect, and this is when she unlocks her Stand ability.

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Spice Girl and King Crimson

Both being close-range power types and resembling each other in appearance, Spice Girl and King Crimson’s similarities are clearly intentional, representing the familial bond between Trish and Diavolo.

Many things about Spice Girl’s introduction are directly comparable to Diavolo and King Crimson. It shares Diavolo’s poses and speaking mannerisms, it has bursts of rage comparable to King Crimson’s constant expression of seething anger, and it speaks to Trish as her inner identity like how Diavolo speaks and represents himself through King Crimson.

These similarities also make their strong differences contrast even greater. Spice Girl is firm but kind and its expression is serene instead of twisted. Instead of introducing itself by brutally tearing things apart, it makes objects unbreakable, and when it attacks, it does so slowly and carefully.

It presents itself as a kind guiding figure to Trish, representing the inner self unknown to her- when Trish fully realizes this inner self, Spice Girl becomes silent. (There is probably a comparison here between this and Diavolo’s theme of split identity, but the poor handling of Dissociative Identity Disorder in Vento Aureo makes me reluctant to bring it up uncritically.) There’s also a likely connection in its very upbeat, friendship-based music reference of Spice Girl and the song Wannabe compared to the desolate tone of In the Court of the Crimson King.

The matter of Trish’s stand ability is something brought up by La Squadra early on, with Formaggio asserting that her Stand is why the Boss wants to hide her so badly. This doesn’t end up being the case, but I can’t really tell if this was simply an incorrect assertion on Formaggio’s part or some early plan that was dropped along the way. However, I would wager a guess that there were more ideas for Spice Girl and King Crimson to intertwine throughout the plot that were not implemented.

Spice Girl shows that while Trish does possess strength like her father, she does not share his cruelty, and that allows her to develop from constantly waiting to be saved to becoming capable of fighting back and saving others.

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Vento Aureo’s Flawed Handling of Trish

One of my major criticisms for Vento Aureo is its tendency to push Trish into acting as an object for the other characters instead of her own person. She is often pushed to the sidelines when she shouldn't be and gets used to reflect the motivations of other characters instead of proper focus being given on her own feelings.

For example, the moment with the Boss trying to murder Trish is used more as a character moment for Bruno and Narancia rather than for her. Even when she becomes conscious again, her reaction is a short "I already knew" with little to no real probing into her inner feelings- hardly even a scene to think by herself.

And while the Spice Girl arc is fantastic, it leads you to expect more of an active story role for Trish that just does not come. Trish is forced right back into being of no use in the Cioccolata arc, and Spice Girl’s ability is used just once in the final fight.

It's frustrating that Vento Aureo does this because Trish is arguably in one of the most interesting and emotionally taxing situations out of the cast. Her mother just died, and now she's flung into a gangster world to be brought to a father that she's never met, only to realize that his goal the whole time was to murder her. She has the strongest dynamic and connection to the main antagonist and, in my opinion, the strongest character development out of the whole cast.

I do wish that we had more insight into her life and Trish actually interacted with Diavolo more, even if it was just more exchange of dialogue in the final fight. Their dynamic is mostly relegated to her unseen inner thoughts and symbolism when it could've been a lot stronger.

Though I complain about Diavolo’s potential depth not being capitalized on, since Trish is a major ally character, I would argue that her development and giving her narrative spotlight is actually more important than his. Since the major role antagonists play is to reflect the heroes, Trish having character focus would also make Diavolo feel more like a tangible threat.

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Donatella Una

Being Trish’s mother and the woman Diavolo had a fling with in his past, Donatella as a character naturally brings up a lot of questions despite being given no focus.

The first question that seems natural to ask would be how Diavolo, someone who’s given no reason to be interested in casual sex, would have a random fling in his youth. Donatella and Diavolo’s past relationship goes utterly unexplained throughout the whole story- in the manga, Donatella does not receive so much as a speaking line. (The anime does attempt to give her dialogue, but I have complained before that the anime’s alteration of Diavolo’s backstory is nonsensical, so I’m going to ignore it.)

Bruno suggests that there was a time where Diavolo was once an ordinary man, but this conflicts with the strong implication in his backstory that he also buried his mother alive at around the same time he had the fling with Donatella- likely to display that he was willing to kill off blood ties even then. If this is truly what happened, the idea that Diavolo was once an ordinary man who spiraled into the life of a mob boss doesn’t work. So how on Earth did he have a fling?

This is not actually a unique instance in Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure. It is fairly common for male characters to have off-screen relationships that are never explained purely for the plot’s sake of them having children (see Jotaro and DIO). Essentially, she’s written as less of a character and more a vector for the story, so her relationship to Diavolo and Trish goes as unmentioned and unwritten as possible.

I also actually find the way Diavolo barely talks about her very interesting. When he does hint to or discuss his memories of her, he seems very cold. He even expresses disbelief that Donatella seemed to hold any sentimental feelings about their relationship, having a burst of anger upon discovering she kept a photo that he took of her.

Donatella being hardly remembered as a person makes sense on Diavolo’s front. He has become so detached from people that he now simply views her as another fragment of his past coming back to haunt him. Similar to his inability to emotionally attach to others, he cannot understand that others may remain emotionally attached to him; in fact, he probably interprets it more like an attack sent by fate.

I’ve seen it argued that it’s a plot hole how Diavolo didn’t kill Donatella before or during the establishment of his mafia, but I actually don’t think it is one. It seems like he was in a rush to set his village on fire and vanish, so he decided it was better to simply abandon her without leaving any information to find him. Seeking Donatella out to kill her after he erased himself was likely too dangerous and would only point more eyes at his past.

You might argue that it was odd for him to not suspect she may go looking for him at some point, but I think it’s just as reasonable that he didn’t expect her to remain emotionally attached after all that time, since it’s established that sentimental attachment is a motive he cannot understand. (The biggest thing I would call a plot gap here is the way Donatella only apparently tries to look for Diavolo when she’s dying as we’re given no reason she couldn’t have done so any time, but that’s a relatively smaller problem because her motivations narratively matter less.)

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Diavolo and Donatella’s pseudo-dynamic is awkwardly put together and certainly built for plot convenience above any real character insight, but I would argue that it’s shakily sensical in some way. However, the disregardance of Donatella’s memory ceases to make sense on Trish’s front. Being her child, you would think Trish having her mother suddenly die while she’s in middle school just a short time before the story would be more central to her character.

You could argue Trish simply doesn’t want to talk about her dead mother to strangers, but it’s never brought up at all- not when we see Trish by herself, when she’s having a moment of opening up emotionally, or when we see her inner thoughts. Donatella is only mentioned once, and it’s a pure information dump about the Boss. It’s more likely that Donatella was simply not considered as someone who would be a massive part of Trish’s struggles because she is treated only as a plot object instead of being thought of as a deceased loved one.

I imagine it would’ve been easy to fill in the gap here; have a scene with Trish talking or thinking about her mother with some kind of familial sentiment. She could give a brief explanation of her personality or what she meant to her. I would’ve also added a flashback scene where Trish asks about her father to Donatella and she gives some tidbit of what he was like when she met and dated him.

Donatella is a minor character who is dead before the story starts, so it’s unrealistic to ask for exceeding character depth. Her narrative importance begins and ends with how she pushes the plot forward and how she impacts Diavolo and Trish. However, her treatment makes this point of the story feel bare and mechanical; she very easily could’ve been treated as more than a pure story cog in a way that would’ve enhanced the two major characters who knew her.

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Vento Aureo suffers from the common tendencies Jojo has with writing female characters. There’s some attempt to evolve Trish into a character with more agency, but the story never fully manages to break away from treating her more as an object than as a person. Donatella could’ve been a fascinating look into Trish’s life and the remnants of who Diavolo used to be, but instead, she’s hardly what you could even call a real character.

Regardless, I would argue that Trish is the most important ally character in relation to Diavolo- which is interesting, as she is not the intended protagonist. This relates to the topic in my next analysis, where I will discuss the trouble Vento Aureo has with tying Giorno to Diavolo in a satisfying way.