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ramp-it-up · 9 days

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II Most Wanted Pt. 2: Pedal so heavy

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup" (w/ Betty Bronco)

Summary: The feelings are getting real as you make a decision about giving Jake Syverson the time of day (or night, rather) at your 20 year reunion.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, fluff. Flashbacks, horny teenagers being horny (over 18 tho). Prom night, early 2000's music, mentions of sex acts, "Captain" kink, mentions of teenage pregnancy, divorce, breakups. The Powerpuff Girls, old automobiles, 20 year high school reunion, drinking, swearing. Reckless driving?

Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the second installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part here

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May 2024

“Well, now Buttercup, that’s a long story. I know you want to hang with your friends. And I don’t know what you’re doin’ later tonight, but I would like to go somewhere quiet and talk about it.”

When you heard that, you went into fight or flight mode. Rage, regret, and sadness all flooded your body at once, and Sy’s eyes flicked down to your dominant hand which was curling into a fist. A wry smile started on his lips, and then he straightened up and looked you in the eye as he started to speak again.

“Butter-”

You shook your head, which silenced him. Then you raised your chin, released your fist, and turned your back, walking toward your friends.

—---

Get out (LEAVE!)

Right now

It’s the end of you and me

It’s too late (NOW!)

And I can’t wait

For you to be gone…

Carla and Tiffani followed as you fled to the restroom.

“Why did you even tell him I liked him? I blame both of you.”

You were hurt, so you brought up a 20 year old slight and lashed out weakly at your friends. You were trying to ascribe meaning to your emotions.

How could everything still hurt this much?

Carla wasn’t having it.

“Unh unh. No. Nope. We were sick of you running your mouth all the time about how cute he was. And Jakey boy had heart eyes for you since the day you walked into school, despite Becca the Bitch. After they broke up, we had to put you both out of your misery. It had to be done.”

Tiffani was nodding her head in agreement.

You sighed.

“‘M sorry guys,” you sat on the bathroom vanity and smiled to yourself about your Powerpuff councils in the 3rd floor Central High bathroom all those years ago. Then you grimaced when you thought of Sy.

“I just… Can’t…”

“So what just happened?”

Despite your surliness, Carla was ready to go to war for you.

“He wants me to go talk with him, ‘someplace quiet.’”

“Wow. Your air quotes are kind of aggressive.”

Sweet Tiffani was also calling you out.

“Maybe you do need to talk to him. I heard what happened, and it’s kind of a lot. A hell of a story.”

“Tiff has a point. You forbid us to say his name after you two broke up…”

You interrupted Carla.

“After he found out Becca was pregnant, you mean..”

“...That is a part of the story you need to hear. She did him dirty. They split when he finished his first tour. He asked about you, but you were already engaged to Scott…”

You’d heard that Sy enlisted instead of going to State for football like he planned when Becca fell pregnant, but the bit about the split hit you like a ton of bricks.

But why? And what did it matter now?

“Sy spent the better part of the last 20 years in Afghanistan, and I think it’s because…But that’s not our story to tell. You really ought to talk to him.”

“I don’t have to do-”

Your voice was a little shrill and you closed your mouth when you heard yourself. You stood in the bathroom awkwardly until the familiar beginning of a song wafted into the room:

“Teen drinking is very bad.”

Carla and Tiff started screaming the next line:

“Yo, I got a fake ID tho.”

The beat dropped and they pulled you out of the bathroom onto the dance floor.

One, here comes the two to the three to the four Everybody drunk out on the dance floor Baby girl ass jiggle like she want more Like she a groupie and I aint even on tour...

…..Everybody in this bitch getting Tipsy.

This was your thot song, and after a minute of standing there, fake offended by their dancing, soon you were shaking your ass with your lifelong friends.

—-----

Sy knew how much he was trying it when he asked you to talk, but he had been waiting 20 years for this chance.

Tonight was the night.

And he wasn’t going to let the night pass without shooting his shot. But the truth needed to be told first. He hoped that you still cared enough to let it happen.

When you stared at him blankly, he started to sweat. He knew you lived your life since then. He feared that any feelings you may have had for him were over and done with. But then he saw your hand balled into a fist, and hope entered his heart.

Sy never shrank from a fight; hell, he’d started too many, but he never wished for someone to sock him in the mouth as much as you.

He wanted to fight with you.

And he wanted to make it up to you.

His heart dropped when you walked away, but he decided to let it ride and give you some space. After you disappeared into the bathroom with Carla and Tiffani, Sy ventured into the venue, ready to interact with others now that he had laid down the challenge with you.

—---

You were having a ball dancing with the girls until that song came on. You stopped moving, the hair raised on the back of your neck. When you turned you found Sy staring right at you. You’d managed to ignore him the entire night, but this song and his blue eyes were wearing you down.

I'd sure hate to break down here Nothin' up ahead or in the rear view mirror Out in the middle of nowhere, knowin' I'm in trouble if these wheels stop rollin' So, God help me, keep me movin' somehow Don't let me start wishin' I was with him now

You walked toward Sy, drawn to him as if on a string. You had that feeling in the small of your back as you stood before him, the one that you hadn’t felt in ages, and suddenly everything felt inevitable.

Just like it did 20 years earlier.

—---

May 2004

On Prom night, you came out of your bedroom and Sy’s mouth dropped open. His eyes never strayed from your face as he murmured,

“You look amazing.”

You blushed and smiled while your mom ‘awwwed’ and went to get her camera. You approached your boyfriend and he took your hand to twirl you around as he appraised the rest of you in your sleek emerald green dress. When you faced him again, he was licking his lips, trying to make the look on his face respectable. You smiled because you could read his mind.

Sy didn’t flinch as your mom called him “Jacob,” and you didn’t have it in you to be annoyed as she took a couple of pictures. Sy’s hand on your waist and his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin at the opening on the side of your dress made you shiver in anticipation.

You were caught up.

Soon, Sy was loading your bag into the back of Betty, and pulling off, your mom having accepted your explanation of staying over Tiffani’s after going bowling with the group after the prom.

In reality, a bunch of the crew were renting a huge chalet in the mountains, 45 minutes away. You and Sy had your own room, and you were ready to give him everything that night. You were distracted, imagining having your way with him that night.

And Sy was right there with you.

“Y’know, Buttercup, we can just head on up to the chalet.”

He cut his eyes over to you to watch your reaction. When you didn’t answer and just bit your lip, that’s when he knew.

“Our suite has its own bathroom with a shower in it. We’re definitely using that this weekend. Can’t wait to see you all soapy and wet. ‘S all I could think about in the shower tonight. Almost jerked off to the image, but I decided to save it all for later…”

Sy knew you too well, and had keyed into how you responded when he talked dirty to you. He was priming the pump for later.

You pictured Sy in the shower, his lithe muscles clenched as he fisted himself, made you suddenly need a drink of water. You cleared your throat and found your voice.

“We have to go, Sy. I spent so much time getting ready. And you look so handsome in this tux….”

You skimmed your hand down his lapel, down his torso to his thigh, and you quickly ascertained his situation. He grinned at you.

“You’re right.”

Sy winked, smiled and concentrated on the road while you tried not to be a slut in the passenger seat. By the time you reached the venue, you had yourself under control. He parked, then turned toward you.

“Let’s have a good time tonight, Buttercup. Think you can keep your hands offa me for a couple of hours?”

You scoffed, and Sy took your hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and kissed your palm, smoothing the joke away because in reality, It was him who couldn’t help touching you.

“Don’t want to mess up your makeup right now… might ruin it later tho.”

You whimpered in his grip as he kissed up your arm and you tucked a long errant curl behind his ear.

Sy’s eyes went soft and he held your hands in your lap.

“Y’know, we don’t have to do anything tonight. We can dance all night if you want to. Bowl the blue balls away.”

You laughed and Sy fell in love even more. You were so beautiful.

“I love you, Buttercup, and us having sex or not won’t change that, not one bit.”

You melted as you stared at your handsome fella. He was fiddling with your hand, and then you felt something cold on your finger. You pulled your hand back and saw the delicate white gold ring with a tiny perfect diamond in the center that had been his grandmother’s.

You gasped.

“Sy!”

You looked from him to his grandmother’s ring. You’d come across it the first time you were over his house, ‘studying’ in his room on a chilly November night after football practice. You were being nosy and looking at everything you could touch as he went to get some snacks.

Sy was embarrassed when he came back and saw you with it. You thought he was mad at you for snooping, but he wasn’t. He’d told you that it was just a ‘tiny little ol’ ring, not worth anything,’ and that no one would want it, but that his Gran had left it for him to give to his future wife.

“But, I’ll propose to someone with a bigger ring than this.”

Sy’s denim blue eyes held yours for a beat. Your heart flipped. You didn’t know why, because you’d only been talking for a couple of weeks and this was the first time you were alone together.

You didn’t know that Sy was repeating something Becca had told him when she turned her nose up at the antique when she happened to see it, and you didn’t care as you took the black box and sat down on his bed. You stared at the ring inside like it was the crown jewels, and after about 5 minutes of studying it, you looked up at him.

“Well. I think this ring is beautiful and precious. The detail is stunning. Your future wife would be lucky to get it.”

That was exactly when Sy realized that he was in love with you.

Back in the Bronco outside of the prom, you were in disbelief.

“What are you doing Sy….?”

All of a sudden, you felt too young for this moment. But after only six short months together, Sy knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Calm down, Buttercup, this is just a promise ring.”

He kissed your hand again.

“I know we're jumpin' the gun, and we're both still young.”

Those eyes held you in a trance.

“But one day, we won't be.”

“Oh, Sy…”

“It’s my promise to you, Buttercup. I will love you ‘til the day I die.”

And it seemed kinda crazy. But you believed him.

—-

May 2024

I made it this far without cryin' a single tear An' I'd sure hate to break down here Oh, no

It was either the music, the dancing, or the alcohol, or all three that made your mind up, but you were ready to listen to what Sy had to say.

Stephanie Prince, the class president, was calling the Homecoming court up to the stage, and Sy looked that way. Anger bloomed again inside you.

Damnit, Sy needed to choose you this time.

“You still wanna talk, Sy?”

Your body language that screamed aggression: the cocked hip, the crossed arms that pushed up your tits, the tapping foot in those heels, all made Sy soft on the inside and hard on the outside for you. When he answered you, his voice broke.

“Ye– yeah.”

Christ, you had him weak. But he made a decision, found his strength, and grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the Marriott.

You followed him obediently, and that set him on fire. He stopped and turned around when he reached the Bronco.

But he didn’t let go of your hand.

You two stared at each other in the late spring night air, stars winking down on you two.

“So where we goin’, Sy?”

Being this close to him again, and the feeling of his touch made all those 20 year old pheromones perk up again. Damn, this man.

This huge, handsome, hairy man.

“Where do you wanna go, Buttercup?”

What your brain was doing was insane, so you just kept silent.

Becoming mute was one of your tells. Sy was elated that maybe you wanted him, at least physically. He was so thirsty for you.

“Hm.”

Sy grunted, straightened up, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, all while still holding your hand. It was like he didn’t want to let you go.

And he didn’t.

“Tell you what. Let’s take a spin in Betty. See what’s up in the ol’ town.”

Your eyes flicked toward the truck, and you knew it was dangerous.

But you were grown now.

And so was Sy.

Sy led you around to the passenger side door to help you up into the high profile vehicle, leaning over you to buckle you in, only releasing you to put his hand on the door.

“I can’t believe you still have her,” you whispered, indicating the Bronco. “How is she still the exact same condition?”

“She’s been in storage for the better part of 20 years. Thought about her everyday though.”

Sy was looking at your lips, and the memories came flooding back.

“I bet she missed you.”

Sy cocked his head and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. His voice came out gruff and he had to clear his throat again.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Sy.”

Any smooth line was lost as his brain short circuited with the concentration it took to not kiss you right now.

“Well, we’re about to have some fun together again, you, me, and Betty. Sit tight, pretty lady.”

Your cheeks heated at the compliment.

“Ok, Captain.”

Sy actually blushed, shook his head and closed the door, leaving you to breathe in the old leather smell of the Bronco with your eyes closed, conveniently leaving him to pump his fist behind the car unseen by you.

He got back in the car, jacket off. And he leaned near you to place it on the back seat, you got a whiff of him, the familiar cologne adding another dimension to your roiling senses.

When you opened your eyes, you witnessed him rolling his shirtsleeves up his forearms. He caught you ogling him and you gulped and crossed your own arms and legs, angling yourself to look out of the open window.

Sy looked over at you closing yourself off from him, then smashed the gas to make sure that you'd squeal and grab his arm like the good ol’ days as he peeled out of the parking lot, pedal so heavy like you were the two most wanted criminals in town.

—---

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pink-sparkly-witch · 6 months

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Forever Hold Your Peace

Summary: Dean and Y/N dated for years, but his hunting lifestyle means he’s unwilling to move past dating. A few years later, Y/N invites Dean to her wedding to another man. A man who isn’t right for her, one she doesn’t love, one she hopes Dean stops her from marrying.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (past)

Rating: 18+ Only

Bingo Square: The quote: “You’re never going to have a happy ending—just remember that.” for @j3bingo. This quote will be in bold.

Warnings: implied smut, double date, insecurities, wedding jitters, religious wedding ceremony (not overly descriptive), heart-to-heart, cheating, smut, fingering, oral sex (m rec), unprotected p in v, creampie, break up.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: I’d like to start by saying that this is fiction, and I do not condone cheating in any capacity. I personally think it’s vile and unforgivable. With that being said, a little brainstorming session for this fic resulted in a cheating plot bunny that my muse would not leave alone and this is what happened. Please consider reblogging to spread this far and wide around this Hellsite, or leave a little comment. It really does fuel our muse. If you’re too shy or too cool for people to know you read fanfic and you don’t want it showing on your blog, you can submit an anonymous ask or drop me a DM 💖

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

“Dean!” you giggle as your boyfriend nuzzles at your neck, pulling the hem of your dress up. “We’re going to be late!”

“Don’t care,” Dean skims his fingers over your panties, groaning when he feels the damp spot already there. “Haven’t seen you in weeks, baby, and I need you. Now.”

You don’t argue with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him towards your lips.

Walking into the restaurant twenty minutes late, your hand rests on Dean’s forearm as he guides you slowly and carefully to your table, being mindful of your high-heeled feet.

You grin, remembering what your boyfriend had done to you not half an hour ago and how he’s still taking his sweet time and is sure to be pissing Sam off with every second you’re late.

“Finally!” Sam groans as you reach the table. Dean, always the gentleman, pulls your chair out and tucks it back in, checking that you’re comfortable before he takes his seat.

“I know that look,” Eileen grins, and you feel your cheeks heat up.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” you say bashfully.

“Don’t be. I know you haven’t seen each other in six weeks,” Eileen smirks.

“Eight,” you blurt out. “Not that I’m counting.” Chuckles ripple through around the table, and Dean places his hand on your thigh and squeezes.

“So, what did you guys want to tell us?” Dean asks the couple sitting across from you.

“We’re engaged!” Eileen says, throwing her hand out to flash her ring.

“Oh my God, congratulations, guys!” you gush, standing to hug the couple. You’re genuinely happy for them. Sam and Eileen are made for each other, but it’s tinged with some sadness because you wish you were the one sporting a gorgeous, sparkling diamond ring and planning your wedding and future with Dean.

“Now Dean just needs to get his shit together and finally propose. It’s been five years, dude. Put a ring on it already!” Sam teases him, and you laugh good-naturedly but can’t help but notice your boyfriend isn’t even trying to pretend to be humoured as he scowls at his best friend.

Dean is quiet and withdrawn for the rest of the evening. The thick tension that fills the car ride home makes the insecurities you have about your relationship resurface.

While he’s never given you reason to doubt that he loves you or finds you attractive, his reluctance to take your relationship further and get engaged is starting to wear on you.

“Are you okay, De?” you ask cautiously. It’s not the first time someone has asked him about proposing - Sam and his friends never stop asking, but every time, Dean would push you away and pull into himself.

“Fine,” he nods, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. You know he’s not fine, but you don’t want to push. He clams up whenever someone mentions getting engaged, making you think you’re not worthy of him or good enough to be his wife.

You know it’s not healthy to ignore the issue, and you know if you want to know what’s going on here, you need to be the one to bring it up, but you’re scared. You love him deeply. Dean is your everything. And if you have this conversation with him, it could end your relationship. But you can’t keep going like this. You want to get married, and if it’s not what he wants, then you don’t think you can stay with him.

Caught up in your thoughts, you don’t notice you’re in Dean’s apartment until he throws his keys on the sideboard.

“We’re okay, right?” It comes out of your mouth before you’ve thought about it, and you know there’s no backing down now. You and Dean are having this conversation tonight. “Because every time someone gets engaged or mentions us getting engaged, you clam up and shut me out. What is it? Do you not want to get married? Or do you just not want to marry me?”

“Can we not do this right now? Please, Y/N?” Dean asks, defeat clear in his tone.

“I think we need to, Dean.”

TWO YEARS LATER

“Y/N, honey, you look beautiful!” Your mother gushes when she sees you in your champagne wedding gown.

“Thanks, Mom,” you smile, straightening the front of the dress.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, taking your hands to stop you from fidgeting.

“Nervous,” you chuckle, and your mom smiles.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t!” she giggles. “Let’s get a few photos before you walk down the aisle.”

The past two years have been a blur, and you don’t really know how you got here. After you and Dean broke up, you weren’t looking for anyone to take his place yet. But when you saw him and another woman leaving a bar not even a month after you ended your five-year relationship, your best friend declared you needed to get back out there and get laid.

That’s when you met Matt. Sensible, quiet, safe, non-hunting Matt. He was everything Dean wasn’t, but at the time, that’s precisely what you needed. Within a year, you were living together, and three months after that, you were engaged. Next thing you know, your wedding day is here, and you’re questioning if you’ve even been present in your own life for the past two years.

It’s just the last-minute jitters you keep telling yourself, but you know deep down this isn’t what you want. You want to get married and have a family. You want a nice man who works hard and treats you right. Someone who has good values and ethics that match yours. Matt has all of those qualities, and yet something is missing.

“Smile, honey,” your mom says, and you do, completely on autopilot as you have been since Matt proposed.

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the priest says, and your heart pounds in your chest.

You don’t know what you were expecting, but when the priest’s words are met with silence, your heart sinks, and you resign yourself to your fate.

Dutifully, you repeat the vows the priest tells you to, say I do and let Matt place the ring on your finger. And smile prettily as Matt does the same, and you put a ring on his finger. You kiss your newly pronounced husband, take his arm, and walk down the aisle.

At the back of the church, in the last pew, your gaze lands on familiar green eyes, and you feel pure anger. He came… he came, and he didn’t stop the wedding. Absence didn’t make his heart grow fonder, and he still doesn’t want to marry you. He doesn’t want you.

The rage dulls quickly, and bile rises in your throat as you realise what you were waiting for before you said your vows. You were hoping and praying Dean would stop the wedding, that he’d tell you what a mistake he made and that he still loves you and wants you back.

But he didn’t. And now it’s over for good.

Somehow, you manage to pull yourself together enough to greet each guest as they leave the church. Dean politely kisses your cheek and smiles sadly as he tells you you make a beautiful bride. He congratulates Matt and tells him he’s a lucky man, and then he’s gone.

Someone ushers you both away to take the official photographs with your family and close friends, and you once again force a smile on your lips, trying to mask your broken heart.

“Hey, sweetie,” Matt kisses your cheek and wraps his arm around your shoulders. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” you lie, getting your marriage off to a good start. “I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I’m going to the room for a bit. Refresh my makeup and take my hair out before these hairpins give me a headache!”

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks, and you shake your head with a giggle.

“No. I’ll be fine. Besides, we can’t have the bride and the groom disappear. People will talk!”

“I guess you’re right,” Matt chuckles. “Hurry back so I don’t miss you.”

“I promise, I won’t be long,” you reassure as you kiss his cheek and sneak away to the bridal suite for some breathing space.

Walking along the hallway, you smile politely and thank the hotel’s non-wedding guests who congratulate you as you pass on the way to your room and hope the tears don’t fall yet.

You sigh in relief as you swipe the card and open the door. Hurrying inside, you turn around to push the door closed, only for a foot to push in and stop it.

“Y/N? Can I come in and talk,” Dean says. In your shock, you let go of the door and step back, unintentionally inviting him into what you’d hoped could serve as a sanctuary for you to get your shit together.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Dean.” He’s already closing the door behind him, and you know no matter what you say or do, he’s not leaving until he says what he came here to say.

“Sweetheart,” he says, and your body responds to the term of endearment with goosebumps. “Why are you crying?” he asks as he steps towards you, but you step back.

“Why are you here, Dean?” you ask, throwing your hands up in exasperated defeat.

“You invited me,” he responds, confused by your question. “And I gotta say, Y/N, I’m glad I came because you’re making a huge mistake here. You don’t love him.”

“Of course I do. I just married him, for god’s sake. He’s kind and funny, and he takes care of me. He’s a good man,” you defend.

“That doesn’t mean you should marry him, Y/N!”

“At least he wanted to marry me. You didn’t think I was good enough for that!”

“What?”

“I know you, Dean. When we were friends before we started dating, you always used to talk about settling down and getting married one day. Having a couple of kids and a dog and a white picket fence. We were together for over five years, and whenever I brought it up, you shut me down or changed the subject. You strung me along instead of telling me you didn’t love me and letting me go.”

“I didn’t mean—I did love you. I still do. I didn’t ask you to marry me because I was scared I wasn’t enough for you. I was always gone, always hunting some creature from hell, always putting you in danger. I couldn’t drag you into all that. I love you too much—”

“That’s bullshit, Dean, and you know it! Sam and Eileen got out of the life just fine. If you wanted to make it work, you’d have made it work. Fuck, I thought we were working!”

“We did work because we loved each other, but sweetheart, every time we saw each other, you knew the exact number of days or weeks it’d been since we’d last seen each other, and it killed me. Because you deserve better than that.”

“Shouldn’t I have been the one to make that decision? Been the one to tell you if I couldn’t handle the time apart or you hunting monsters every other week for months on end? No,” you hold your finger up at him. “Don’t answer that because you know what? I don’t care. It was a mistake to invite you today.”

“Then why did you?” Dean asks, and you frown, taken aback by his question.

“Because as stupid as it sounds, I thought you might still love me. That we still had a chance. That just maybe, you’d…” you sigh. The worst thing you can do right now is tell him you wanted him to stop the wedding; wanted him to be the reason you called this shit-show off.

“I do love you. I made a mistake when I let you leave me, and you’re making one right now. You don’t love him like you should. Like you loved me. And if you go through with this, you’ll regret it.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I do in church? In front of God and a whole bunch of witnesses - you included?”

“You can get it annulled. He’s not right for you, sweetheart.”

“And you are?” you scoff, exhausted with the whole situation.

“Yes!”

“You’re unbelievable, Dean! I’m married. Happily.”

“You said you know me. Well, I know you, too, Y/N. You’re not happy. I know what you look like when you’re happy and in love. And this isn’t it. You don’t love him. He loves you, sure. That’s clear from a million fucking miles away, and maybe that’s why you’re marrying him. But you don’t love him. And if you’re set on staying with him, you’re never going to have a happy ending—just remember that.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” you finally let it out. The thing you’d secretly been hoping and praying that he’d do.

“Because you look absolutely stunning, Y/N. You’ve always wanted to be a bride and get married, and he’s a decent, safe, and stable guy. And I can’t…” he trails off and looks away from you for the first time.

“You can’t what, Dean? Love me? Because you did. Really, really, well. Take care of me? Because you did that, too. Marry me? If being with you means I can’t be a wife, it doesn’t matter because I don’t need to be your wife to be loved and cared for by you.”

Dean’s lips find yours, and you gasp in surprise. He slides his tongue in your mouth, and you moan. You’ve missed his kiss, his taste… fuck, you’ve missed him.

“Say the word, sweetheart, and I’m gone forever, but I need you to know that I never stopped loving you, and I never will. I’ll get out of the life for good. I’ll get a house and a job, and if you want me, want us… we’ll leave here together right now.”

You kiss him this time, knowing it’s wrong, but it feels so right. You haven’t felt like this since before that fateful dinner where Sam and Eileen told you about their engagement.

“Dean, please,” you gasp against his lips, and he quickly pulls your dress up around your waist and slides his hand into your wet panties.

Dean groans as your slick coats his fingers, and without warning, he pushes two fingers inside you and curls them while thumbing your clit. It’s been so long since you’ve felt pleasure like this, and you quickly fall apart on his fingers.

“Good girl. You must’ve needed that, sweetheart. Even our first time together, you didn’t come that fast,” Dean growls in your ear, and you shiver at his warm breath brushing against your neck and hair. “Mattie boy’s not much in the bedroom, huh?”

The mention of your husband’s name should snap you back to reality, but it only does the opposite, and you drop to your knees and undo his belt. You moan when you uncover his hard, leaking cock and wrap your lips around it.

“Fuck, baby girl, I forgot how good that mouth is,” Dean growls, sliding his hands into your hair and pulling on it. “So pretty with my cock in your mouth, sweetheart.”

He still knows what to say to get you going, and his words make you moan around his cock, smirking when it makes him push in further. “Fuck, Y/N, need your pussy, sweetheart.” He pulls himself from you and helps you stand.

Dean pushes you onto the bed and reaches under the skirt of your dress to pull off your panties. Once he’s thrown them across the room, he grabs your ankles and pulls you towards the end of the bed, wrapping your legs around his waist.

You grab the skirt and pull it over your waist, giving him a good view of your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so perfect, baby girl,” Dean rasps, teasing you by sliding his stiff cock between your soaking folds, coating himself in your slick.

“Dean, please!” you beg, wanting him to stop teasing you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he smirks, pushing the tip of his cock into you and pulling out again to tap it against your clit.

“I need your cock inside me, Dean. Please!” you beg.

“Alright, baby girl. You ready for me?” he asks, his gaze trained on yours. The second you nod, he pushes in and stretches you perfectly, ripping a low moan from your throat.

“Fuck!” you gasp, your walls fluttering wildly to comfortably accept him.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” His concern for you is sweet, making you smile and reach your hand out to grasp one of his.

“Yeah. Forgot how big you are,” you grin, and Dean smirks at your response as he pulls out and pushes back in, a moan now ripping from his throat.

“It shouldn’t be this hot to fuck you in a wedding dress, especially when I’m not the groom,” he growls as he sets a slow and hard pace, slamming into you as hard as he can and pulling out agonisingly slowly.

“Dean!” you whimper, and Dean presses your thighs further into the mattress. You push up, resting on your elbows and watch him pound into you with abandon, moaning as he pushes in and out of your core.

“Fuck, sweetheart, not gonna last. Your pussy feels too fucking good,” Dean growls, his hips speeding up, his eyes fixed - like yours - on him disappearing and reappearing from inside you.

His fingers tease your clit, making you fall over the edge in the most powerful orgasm you’ve had in years. It’s no exaggeration - the last time you felt like this was by Dean’s hands before you broke up.

He slams into you one last time, pushing against your cervix and stills. With a roar, he empties himself inside you, and the feeling is euphoric, sending you into a smaller climax that makes him hiss as your walls squeeze his sensitive cock.

Once he’s caught his breath, Dean pulls himself from your core, and you wince at the loss. You feel his come pour out and watch as he looks down at your abused hole and smirks at the mess he’s left there.

“Y/N?” you hear from the door, and both of your heads snap towards the unexpected voice.

“Matt!” you gasp. “Look, I can explain.” It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth, and it’s a lie because how the hell do you even start trying to explain this?

“Don’t,” Matt scoffs. “We haven’t even been married for two hours. You’re still in your wedding dress!”

“I know. I didn’t intend for this to happen, but Dean—”

“Dean?” Matt asks in disbelief. “The Dean that broke your heart? That Dean?”

You gulp and glance at the man in question before looking back at your husband and nodding.

“Why is he even here, Y/N?”

“I invited him,” you mumble weakly.

“You…? Invited… why?” Matt is fuming, and you can feel the rage coming off him in waves, and honestly, you don’t blame him for a second.

“I wanted… no, needed to see him one last time—” Matt’s scoffs cuts you off.

“We’ll, you’ve certainly seen him, haven’t you? And for god’s sake, cover yourself up! I don’t need to be reminded that my wife was unfaithful on our wedding day!”

You quickly pull your skirt down to cover yourself, and the shame you feel is overwhelming.

“Do you still love him?” Matt asks, his tone softening. You gaze towards Dean, wanting to get a read on what he’s feeling. “Don’t look at him; look at me.” You take a deep breath and look at your husband. “Do you still love him?”

“Yes. I never stopped,” you say, telling Matt the truth. After all, he deserves that.

Matt nods sadly, accepting what you’re telling him. “Did you ever love me?” he asks, and your heart breaks to know what you say next will hurt him.

“Yes. I do love you, Matt. I’m just not in love with you. I’m sorry.” Tears slip from your eyes, but you quickly wipe them away.

“That’s what I’ve always been afraid of,” Matt says, a soft smile on his face. “I suppose I should be glad it happened now and not years from now when we’ve made each other miserable. I’ll get annulment papers drawn up. Let you know when they’re ready to be signed.”

Frowning, you glance at Dean, who looks just as confused by the turn of events as you are. Looking back at Matt, you see that despite the tears in his eyes, he’s still smiling softly at you.

“Y/N, when you told me about Dean, I knew you’d never love me the same way. I just hoped I’d be enough to make you happy. But I see now it was naive of me to think I could do that.”

“Matt, I—”

“Take care of her, Dean,” Matt says as he turns and leaves the room, leaving you and Dean dazed and stunned.

“Well, that went surprisingly well,” Dean announces. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, unable to think straight with your wedding ring weighing heavy on your finger and Dean’s seed still dripping down your thighs.

“You wanna get out of here?” Dean asks, crouching before you and placing his hands on your cheeks. “Go out to the cabin and try to figure this out?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you smile when Dean presses his lips to your forehead.

“Alright, let me grab your things, and we’ll get you out of here.”

Tags: @acitygrownwillow @akshi8278 @ashbatz @candy-coated-misery0731 @chriszgirl92 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @deansbbyx @deanwanddamons @duncanhillscoffeecups @foxyjwls007 @giggles1026 @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @hoboal87 @impala67rollingthroughtown @iprobablyshipit91 @jackles010378 @jamerlynn @jc-winchester @k-slla @kazsrm67 @kmc1989 @lacilou @ladysparkles78 @leigh70 @lyarr24 @maliburenee @michecolegate @mrsjenniferwinchester @nancymcl @negans-lucille-tblr @nelachu2423 @octoberclidan @perpetualabsurdity @roseblue373 @sandlee44 @sexyvixen7 @snackles87 @spnbaby-67 @spnwoman @stixnstripesworld @stoneyggirl2 @suckitands33 @synmorite @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @winchestergirl1720

#j3bingo #18+#tw: cheating #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Note

firstly I love your new blog layout it’s so fucking cute, secondly I love you 💕 thirdly, for your baby prompts, I’m thinking……… butterfly

happiness is a butterfly

got a little carried away with this one. 3k words of modern day!best friend!eddie munson x afab!reader. contains: fluff, alcohol, confessions of feelings, bisexual reader, two friends in a room who might kiss (they do), suggestive innuendo (eddie’s a sweetheart), and argyle’s matchmaking ways. thank you @breddiemunson and @ghost-proofbaby for always calming my wild thoughts, and katie’s line where eddie asks reader not to make him say what she already knows. genius, that one.

“happiness is a butterfly

try to catch it like every night

it escapes from my hands into moonlight…”

happiness is a butterfly - lana del rey.

Photo after photo. Swipe after swipe. Endless hopefuls that aren’t really hopefuls, because there aren’t many of those in Hawkins these days.

No—there are merely boys, wearing the skin of men, playing with hearts with a carelessness that leaves damage in their wake. Leaves your heart ripped to shreds; battered and bruised. Wounded, but not broken, with jagged lines where smooth surfaces had once been.

Tonight is no different. Tonight you mourn your relationship with Travis. Travis, who played hockey and apparently a different girl or guy in every state. You’d only found out through social media.

One of the girls he brought back to his hotel room had posted an image on her story while he slept, which then surfaced on another person’s social media account, and then eventually became a social media article on some gossip website you couldn’t, for the life of you, be bothered to remember.

You suppose the “Travis debacle,” as Eddie has been calling it, is your fault. A guy from out of town. The allure of some famous player with a broken down car in front of the Hideout, where you worked as a bartender, that you’d had your friend Eddie fix up as a favor.

You’d tossed him his keys as the sun set, burnt orange and red across the summer sky, and he’d asked, “How much?”

And suddenly you’d spent the week welcoming him around Hawkins, as well as the intricacies of your susceptible heart. Had preened and praised him while he perused his options in the next town over on his problematic apps.

The same apps you’re now frowning at, watching the population around you continue to dwindle with every pass of your thumb.

“You know, they say insanity is—”

“Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

You shoot a glare Eddie’s way, watching his dexterous fingers pull his hair back into a makeshift bun at the back of his head. Those same fingers reach down to grab your glass, chipped black nail polish capturing your attention as he draws your drink up to his lips and takes a long sip.

“Tequila. Travis really fucked up.” He chuckles. The movement has his cropped shirt billowing around his hips, tattoos on his sides visible where the holes his arms extend through as he settles down beside you. “You know, I think you need to ditch the apps. I did, and I’m much better for it.”

“You got a puppy a few weeks ago,” you point out, finger jabbing him in the ribs. He hisses, cupping his pec. “Getting a puppy is code for throwing in the towel.”

“Ozz is the cutest puppy, I’ll have you know. Look—” He waves to Gareth as he passes by, drumsticks twirling in his hands. “Delete the apps. Take a break. Isn’t there some quote about happiness? That Nathaniel Hawthorne one. You know, the ‘happiness is a butterfly’ one you used in a paper back in school.”

“One, I can’t believe you remember that.”

Your nose wrinkles at the thought of your teenage years. Of you with braces and he himself being the first person to welcome you to sit with him on your first day of school, snapping at Jason Carver when he’d brushed by you and thumped your shoulder a little too hard for his liking.

“And two, the quote is actually ‘happiness is like a butterfly, which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp. But, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.’”

“So stop chasing it. Just let it happen. C'est la vie. Carpe diem. Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”

You don’t even bother letting him know none of those things mean what he thinks they do.

“Eddie.”

He loops his arm around your neck. Presses a kiss against your temple. You lean into his embrace, comfortable warmth that seeps into your bones and floods you with familiarity.

He’s hard lines against your softer edges. Inky tapestries of collected memories that tell a tale of his adventurous life on the forearm tangled in your hair. His ring-clad fingers delight in toying with the tips, hair shifting between digits like water.

Calming and soothing Eddie. A constant in your life since you were teenagers, now going on ten years of friendship later. Someone you’ve always been able to turn to at the end of the day; someone who never once questions your motives, even if he might suggest you try different methods to your lifestyle habits.

And now, your dating habits.

“I’m just saying it’s worth a try.”

Maybe you don’t stop right away. Maybe it takes a date with Joe, Jim and Jessica to realize the truth of Eddie’s words. Maybe there’s some weight to pushing it all aside, stepping out of the way of your own preconceived timeline, and allowing someone to walk in at the right place and time.

And on a night such as this, where Corroded Coffin are getting set up on stage and citizens are packing out the bar to see the increasingly popular band play, it’s easy to remember why swiping on your phone has brought you here. To asshole Andy Lerman standing before you while you work. Basketball coach at Hawkins High and douchebag royalty from what you remember of him back in your years of teenage angst and adolescence.

He’s had a few drinks now. You know because you’ve served him. But all they’ve done is instill courage in him to step over to the girl who people teased in school for being a “freak fucker” by merely being associated with Eddie, claiming time ‘really did wonders for you.’

He’s staring at your tits when he says it, and it takes everything in you to not toss his next drink in his face. But in a town where money is hard to come by, and there’s not much to do by way of work, bartending pays the bills, and you’re not about to mess up one of the few good gigs left.

“Andy, it’s really not going to work,” you tell him, “but here. Your last one of the night…on me.”

With a quick pat to his shoulder, you send him on his merry way with a fuller pocket and a story to warp when regaling his friends with the time he pity-invited the “freak fucker” on a date.

“Don’t look now, my lady, but Eddie Munson is staring at you,” Argyle says, working on mixing a margarita beside you for a patron.

“He’s not staring at me,” you retort, sliding a vodka soda across the bar, thanking your customer for the hefty tip they toss your way. At Argyle’s raised brow, you reiterate, “he’s not.”

“He’s always staring. That’s the look Eden gives me. You know, the look of someone in l—”

Argyle’s words are cut short as Eddie appears on the other side of the bar, bare elbows pressing against the counter, hair falling out of his ponytail, bangs long overdue for a cut shifting every time he blinks.

“Are you okay?” He asks, thanking Argyle as he passes him the beer he knows he prefers. At your arching brow, he continues, “I saw Andy Lerman flirting with you. You looked uncomfortable.”

You snort, getting to work on a moscow mule. “That’s because I was uncomfortable. But I took care of it. I appreciate you always looking out, though.”

He reaches over and grabs your chin. Gives your head a little wiggle until you’re grinning against his palm. Then reaches his fingers over toward you, rests them so gently against your curled palm resting on the bar and pauses. He waits a moment and closes his ringed fingers into a fist, knocking his knuckles against yours.

Then he’s off toward the stage to get ready, leaving you with a knot in your throat and warmth prickling against your skin.

Argyle passes you a knowing smile and before you can yell at him to get back to work, embarrassment roiling in your chest, he announces he’s going to take a quick break and call his wife.

His words spin in your head once more. Comparing Eddie’s gazes to Eden’s. To the nature of the depth in which he cares for you. But you shake your head free of it.

You’ve been unlucky in love.

It couldn’t be so simple.

Argyle’s words don’t change much in regards to your Eddie conundrum.

They’re a phantom in the back of your mind. Wispy tendrils of a memory that feels distant now.

Weeks pass, and the warm heat of summer in Hawkins turns to a sweltering hell on earth.

The Hideout becomes quieter most evenings. Those with air conditioning prefer to stay home, remain by their pools, to host gatherings where alcohol and coolers are plentiful.

And you don’t blame them, letting out a long huff as you wipe down the counter, while Argyle counts your tips.

“Oh, how was that date with…Paul, was it?” He muses thoughtfully, beginning to split the money.

“Not great.”

“You said that about the last three. What was wrong with this one?”

And that’s the thing. You sit across from these people, trying to force a square into a circle, trying to sparse out the qualities that they’re lacking.

Not funny enough. Not the right hair color. They lack that unruly smile. That glimmer of brightness in their amber eyes. There’s no dimple in Paul’s cheek. No banter on your date with Jeremiah. Caleb doesn’t like metal, and Kayla thinks D&D is a breeding ground for satanism (you’d thought that one was left in the 80s, but it appears not).

“He said Dio was overrated.”

“Interesting,” Argyle laughs, shaking his head.

You whirl around, damp bar towel flicking water his way. “What’s so interesting?”

“Just funny when two people are so obviously similar and don’t even see it,” he says, humming to himself, conversation over.

And that was that.

It’s funny, you think, that it only hits you then.

Like the flutter of butterfly wings on your flowerbeds you’d managed to stumble upon earlier that morning, the flicker of wings on a bird in the sky. The soft beating of both, like the constant thump of a heart in a chest.

A constant.

It’s the word everything hitches on as you sit on that work table in your garage, watching the man who stopped everything he was doing when you’d called earlier at the drop of a hat. All just to make sure you were okay.

That same person who is now up to his elbows in grease, fingers stained an oily black. With his hair pulled away from his face, you catch the determined line of his mouth, the jut of his tongue pushing lightly against pink lips. The corded lines of his arms move as he works, barest hint of stomach on display when he reaches up to slam the hood of your car down once it’s finished.

You toss him a towel, grinning at the shadowy form of him blocking the sun from your eyes. “Sorry you’re doing this instead of the movies.”

“Stop that. You know I’m happy to spend any time with you, sweetheart,” he laughs, wiping the planes of his face that are streaked like the fingers pressing against terry cloth to keep it in place. “Fixed the alternator and did an oil change. Seeing as you always forget anyway.”

He walks over slowly, grunting when your sandaled foot kicks him playfully in the kneecap. “That was why my car made that awful sound and shut off?”

“Exactly.” He curls the towel around his neck. “Day is still young. How about we—”

“Why’d you delete all your dating apps?”

The words fall from you in a rush. A swift exhale that has Eddie’s back drawn ramrod straight. Rigid, but not with anger. Instead, you watch that full mouth part just slightly. Like the words he had been about to say were lost to the wind, left to titter away into nothingness.

He swallows audibly, palm sliding over the towel across his neck. “I…just didn’t see the point in them.”

Determination hardens your resolve. Brings to attention Argyle’s teasing these weeks. The wondering, questioning, burgeoning curiosities brimming. So you utter a simple, “Why?” and try your damndest to ignore the nerves welling up in your chest at the fear of what comes next.

“Just kind of felt like I was using them to get over someone else,” he admits, taking a step closer.

Your bare knees brush the tops of his thighs. Warmth seeps into your skin, bristles at his touch.

Dark eyes drag along your form. Along the dress you wore that evening, covered in flowers, a thin thing that would have fluttered in the wind if you and Eddie had been able to do what you’d planned for the day. Simple drive to the lake to eat some lunch, share a joint and fish (a new hobby he'd picked up from his uncle), then movies at the theater when the sun had set.

You meet his stare. Remind yourself of those eyes that had been on you the whole time Andy had leaned over the bar just weeks ago. Ready at any moment to come to your aid, should you have needed it. He’s never pushed you, never crossed the boundaries of your friendship, trusted you knew best.

But he’d always been there if you ever needed a hand.

You only ever needed to reach out.

Always.

You swallow thickly. “Who?”

“Don’t make me tell you what you already know.”

It’s quiet. A plea for pity that has your heart clenching within your chest.

But it’s not scary.

It’s not frightening at all.

Dozens of memories flash behind your eyes.

Of teenage years, laughing in the cafeteria, trading snacks, sneaking off to the woods between classes to smoke. Of you in community college, and his van screeching through the parking lot to take you to lunch between classes. Of nights at his place, your place, the movies, around town. Of ice cream at Lover’s Lake with his van doors swung wide, trying to make out the shapes of the clouds in the sky.

Birthday parties, milestones, weddings, grieved losses.

To highs and lows and everything in between. To all those shitty dates, to his own failed dating escapades. To that time you had to ice his lip in the back of the Hideout when Jeff had accidentally elbowed him in the face, or when you’d fallen off Max’s skateboard and ripped open your shin and he’d had to hold your hand while he disinfected it.

To this very moment, where he’s just finished fixing your car. To him with his dirty palm tapping lightly against your kneecap, feet shifting awkwardly beneath him.

Your head tips up and you catch the downturn of his lips, frozen in time by your prolonged silence.

Argyle was right.

“What?”

You hadn’t realized you spoke out loud, but confusion swirls behind Eddie’s gaze all the same, mollified only when your hand snakes up around the back of his neck and drags him downward to your level. Only when you pour your affection into him where you’re finally, lovingly, connected at last.

The fullness of his mouth against the softness of yours is hesitant at first, like his brain needs a moment to catch up to his current reality, before he’s tipping your head up with his hand. Until his fingers slide across your cheek, cupping you gently, easing you closer to him.

Before long he’s gripping you closer. Deft fingers in the dough of your thighs, tugging you flush against him, skirt indecently high up on your hips. But you don’t care. Not as your ankles lock around his waist, nor as he hums into your throat while he leaves a sloven path along your skin, learning the sounds you make when he’s tender, sweet—when he scores his teeth against your pulse point and you melt like putty beneath his devotion filled fingertips.

Ten years. Ten years of watching that silly butterfly float away into the sky, only for it to have been there all along.

Only for it to have been the man with his forehead against yours, noses flush together, your fingers beneath his shirt and his around the bend of your kneecaps.

You’re not sure where you start and he ends, but even that incites a new thrill, a new world to explore further. A desire to know the depths of him beyond the limit of friendship.

“Argyle got to you too, huh?” At your nod, Eddie barks out a laugh. Kisses you softly. “Fuckin’ guy thinks he’s Cupid or something.”

“I don’t want to talk about Argyle right now.”

Eddie’s lips curl into a grin. The whites of his teeth flash in your gaze, your fingers trailing along his stubble-lined jaw.

“I don’t either.” His thumb comes to swipe at your cheek, dimple in his cheek twitching slightly. “Got you a little greasy. Just…ten years, you know? Got a little carried away.”

You nod, reaching out to lace your fingers with his. He watches as you hop down from the work table, brow arching curiously as you tug him toward the door leading into your home. “Well, like you said, we’ve got ten years to catch up on. So before I kiss you more, Edward Munson, we’re going to shower.”

“We?” He swallows, voice hoarse. “Like a two people conserving water shower?”

You enter the small laundry room, humming as his chest brushes your own, his weight just enough against yours to press you into the lip of your drying machine. Cool metal chills your skin at the open back of your dress, balanced by the heat of the knee that slides between your thighs to pin you in place. Your body both buzzes with life and oozes honey into your system as you melt into him, pliant under that smoldering dark gaze of your best friend in front of you.

“We,” you nod, grinning into his kiss. “After that we’re cuddling on the couch and ordering a pizza.”

“And tomorrow…I’m taking you on a date.”

🦋

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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leviismybby · 19 days

Note

However, I don't know how to feel about Levi because of the real source material (Isayama interviews, smartpass story and side material like that…) and the 'professional' Japanese translators on this blog. I think he really is, according to the correct Japanese translations and Isayama interviews, he is really dragging humanity through the mud for his personal feelings… and he is someone who is floating and aimless because of Erwin's death… So much so that Isayama even thought of killing him many times because he didn't know what to do about him and threw him aside… also I guess he has no interest in women… oh and Ackerbond is probably real… I know it's not a canon ship and I know he's not in love, but that doesn't mean it's not written too reductively to Erwin. And it disgusts me…

Because of the source material, side material, canon discourse and Japanese translator blogs, my opinion of him is changing more and more and I think I will throw my LevixOc project in the trash… Levi is really someone who (because of Isayama's writing) has been hypnotized by Erwin's own goals and has taken control of Levi's entire character and actions. I don't think I could take him (or s/o) out of this hypnosis.

I know you can say "Isayama's opinions can change" or "only what is in the manga is canon" and I used to hide behind that for consolation, but I realized that once Isayama said it, it was true and it stayed there. And I think the interviews are necessary to understand the content of the scenes etc. in the manga.

Even analysis is no longer a comfort for me… after all, why need complicated writing when interviews and manga are the source of what really happened there…

I guess he's not the character I thought I wanted… I wish he was his own man… I wish he wasn't a character to be discarded just because he died because of another character… or someone who is too picky and only accepts high standards… (this is just my own opinion based on the manga and the material/opinions I think Canon!Levi would be like that)

I'm deeply disappointed… As delulu as the Eruri fandom is, most of what they say is unfortunately true… after all, they take real sources and cite them as evidence… I don't think they are mistranslating because there are professional cold-blooded translators in this fandom and most of them quote what that blog says…

I wish I had never encountered this fandom and this character, so I wouldn't have to be so upset all these years…

Except that half of the interviews are either fake, completely twisted or don't exist. Especially that flaoting ballon bullshit, which a lot of Japanese fans say wasn't even said.

I will this again, please read the manga on your own and base your opinions on Levi on your own.

Since you already mention Eruri and i might ruin your day here but Eruri is as canon and Levihan is, it isn't. No Levi never prirotized Erwin over humanity and you'll understand that if you read the manga for yourself and analyse it for yourself without letting the fandom get to you.

Levi is his own man, he has his brain to think with and the only people who think he doesn't are shippers. Not once did Levi put his own selfish desires before humanity for anyone, he was as sad about Erwin's death as he was for the rest of his comrads. Not a single instance in the manga/anime or any actual official interviews given by Isayama was Levi reduced to Erwin, only a shipper would think that way. Oh and Ackerbond thing too, not only is that damaging to Levi's character, it is just creppy and definitely not a thing.

I am sorry anon but it seems like you don't understand Levi and his character at all. Isayama always said that Erwin and Levi were equal and sworn friends, he didn't say that because he hid some sort of hidden romance between the two, he said it because that's how it is, its a strong bond of trust and commandership and reducing it only to "Oh Levi is a love sick puppy who only cares about Erwin." is a mischaractertion at max.

My advice to you is to take a break from the fandom is they are making you not like your oc x Levi anymore, that's the best way to get them out of your head and please, base your own opinions, not what people online say.

#levi #levi ackerman #attack on titan #aot levi #captain levi #anonymous asks #also to point out #this isnt about all shippers #most are sane and can actully be talked to #and then there are some who have to harass and bully people for not shipping a fanon ship

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choicesficwriterscreations · 25 days

Text

April Creator of the Month: Aallotarenunelma

Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists, and this month’s creator of the month is the lovely @aallotarenunelma! The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page. Past COTM's can be found here.

Quick Links:

Tumblr Blog My Masterlist

How do you want to be known on Tumblr?

Aallotar is fine. I am agender. My pronouns are they/them.

More below...

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played?

I saw the app being highlighted a lot in Google Play in 2017, but it was only at the end of February-beginning of March 2018 that I downloaded it. It was when Perfect Match 1 started releasing and shortly before Bloodbound 1 began releasing. Time is flying!

There were already a lot of books, and it was a bit overwhelming. I chose the series that was being heavily advertised: The Royal Romance.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I joined the Choices sub-Reddit in July 2019, then the Tumblr fandom in April 2020.

I first joined the sub because I wanted to discuss the books and the characters, and hopefully befriending other players. It was lonely to read the books, and having no one to share my opinions and theories with. Then, I took a step back from it and after lurking a bit, I joined the Tumblr community.

3- How did you pick your blog name?

When I joined Tumblr, in April 2020, it was initially to be a Writblr. I was writing a story about a heroine named Aallotar. Its title gave my blog’s URL. My blog’s title is its English translation: Aallotar’s dream.

In the end, my blog turned into a bit of everything.

4- Pull up the first post in your archive, and tell us about it!

This is my very first post. This is my original writing, conveniently mentioned right above. :)

5- Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both?

I define myself as an artist because I create. This is how I express myself. It doesn’t matter if the pencil I use is to write or to draw as long as I create. Before I started learning how to draw, I was always saying that I was drawing with words. To me, this is what writing is. I draw and paint with my words to depict stories that my characters want me to tell.

I mostly write, but I also create fan art, such as sketches and various kinds of edits: quotes, sprites, moodboards, etc.

6- How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?

For the defunct app Lovestruck, from December 2020 to October 2021.

For Choices, since April-May 2020.

7- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?

My all-time favourite Choices book is Veil of Secrets. I adore it!

I heavily create for the It Lives Anthology - the three books - and also for Immortal Desires. I love these books so much that I made a crossover, and most of the characters from the Anthology and from ID have met and even befriended each other.

8- Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?

My first Choices fiction is a Blades one: Of Stardust and Light.

I still love it and I wouldn’t change anything - except the typos and the clumsy grammar/syntax, due to the fact I am not an English-native speaker.

For a long time, I thought it was my masterpiece, that I wouldn’t write something as good or even as better than this. But I proved myself wrong in the end.

The other reason why I wouldn’t rewrite it now is because I have definitively stopped writing for my Blades pairing, Tyril x Soile. I made it official a few months ago, and this decision is final.

9- What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created?

It’s really hard to choose only one, but I do have a soft spot for Répondez, S’il Vous Plaît ! #3 because this is where I tell about my OCs’ Ash and Skylar’s meeting. It was a story I wanted to write for a long time and I love it.

Chronicles of a Crimson Summer deserves to be mentioned as well. This is the longest story I have shared here, and it’s a real balance of angst, fluff, and funny moments. Also, because its birth was extremely painful, so for all of these reasons, I am glad I wrote it and shared it.

10- Do you have a fic/art that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?

I never expect anything I share to be well received, whether it’s a fiction or a drawing. I’m only sharing it, hoping that at least someone will find it and enjoy it. Even better if it helps the person in any way.

That said, sharing my art remains a lot more difficult than sharing my writing, so any art reblog is leaving me a bit confused, due to my imposter syndrome.

Most people here who are familiar with my stories have read some of the funny stories I have shared, as well as the fluffiest stories I have ever written - sometimes too fluffy for me.

However, this isn’t only what my writing is about. Darker Than Night has generated so much indifference that it saddens me.

This series really shows what my writing is, minus the layer of humour that you can usually expect. It truly deserves better, just like In Joy and Sorrow, that actually gives a good idea of what my writing really is.

11- (WRITERS) If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why?

I usually share a lot of fluff here, because the world outside is hard, so I want to uplift people with sweet and funny stories. However, my original writing is usually angsty with some funny and fluffy moments to alleviate all the angst a little. So, I’m choosing angst. Definitely. To me, writing angst is comforting.

11a - (ARTISTS) If you could only draw one style or type of art for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?

I could easily do oil pastels for the rest of my life. It’s an easy technique to learn, it’s very forgiving, it’s calming, and I love how it looks.

12 - Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

I am agender and aspec, so in any non-binary and/or aspec MC / OC of mine can be found parts of me, regardless of how they define themselves on those large spectrums. Representation is highly important to me, so this is one of the recurring themes in my writing.

Also, the witty/sarcastic and playful characters are easy to write because I know them too well!

13 - What element of writing/art do you struggle with most?

Finding the right word is difficult, either in English or in my native tongue. I always want to capture the emotion, the feeling, the landscape with the perfect word. I’m still learning in my daily life.

Regarding my art, at the level I am right now, that would be shadows. Sometimes, they look great, but they often don’t. Practice makes perfect, so this is what I do whenever I can.

14 - Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

I tend to have only one WIP that I see to end. One reason for this is that I usually write my stories in a notebook, before I type them down to share them. The state of the notebook is not always great; I even sometimes struggle to re-read what I corrected!

If it’s about my original work, then, yes, I want to finish that one novel’s second draft.

15 - If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first?

It has actually happened with one of my siblings. At that time, I was only writing for Blades and had maybe like five stories posted. I let my sibling read them because we are close. For other people, I think it would be on a case-by-case basis, but most likely not. I'd rather make them read my original writing, if my shyness isn’t getting in the way.

16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing or art? Are there any artists that influence you?

Émile Zola and Arto Paasilinna are my all-time favourite writers.

I am learning from every fanfiction writer I am reading. First, because I read in a foreign language. Second, because I believe you learn from everyone every day.

In terms of art, I don’t think I have a particular influence. I am still exploring my style.

17- (WRITERS) Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series?

It would be In Joy and Sorrow. I created this It Lives in the Woods AU series to give a life to my first MC, Riikka. The one she couldn’t have. In this series, I talk about close friendships, coming outs, being bilingual/bicultural, how to navigate a romantic relationship as an aspec*, how to deal with bullying/harassment, etc. I talk about timeline collapse and time-travelling as well.

And because there’s the most delightful OC ever, my all-time favourite: Ash. He truly is one of a kind and his friendship with Dan is really something special.

*aspec: a person on the aromantic and asexual spectrums.

18 - (ARTISTS) Which one of your creations would you like to see a fiction written about?

I don’t have any yet that would justify the honor of having a fiction being written about.

19- Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art?

I started writing when I was 10 years old. It was thanks to an assignment for my native tongue class when we were studying the structure of a fairytale. I really enjoyed writing one, so I kept writing over the summer. Little stories about everything and nothing.

I wrote my first novel when I was 13, but never dared to send it to a publisher. I kept writing novels - and not sending them, I have a nice collection, now! - and branching out in other forms of writing, in hope to develop as a writer: rpg forums, poetry, (fan)fictions, creative writing course, etc. I took a ten year break from writing (fan)fictions before returning to them.

I am working on the second draft of a novel about grief, and I have three other different novels already outlined.

Regarding art, I mostly create non-fandom art.

20- What other hobbies do you have?

Except writing and drawing; I paint murals and do oil pastel; I do theatre; I design and crochet my own clothes.

I enjoy watching old films, Hollywood era and silent ones included, but modern films as well, if they are excellent.

I love learning foreign languages, listening to music and going to gigs.

I am also a true race car enthusiast, preferably Formula races - F1 to F4, Formula Regional included.

I also enjoy going for walks in nature and travelling.

21: Tell us anything you’d like (if you want to).

I want to thank CFWC for highlighting me, and giving me the chance to talk more about my characters, my stories, my writing and my art. This means a lot, especially as this month is also when I’m celebrating my 4 year Tumblr Anniversary.

Thank you for your support throughout these years!

I want to thank so many people, but I’m also scared to miss any of them!

Thank you to my friends, old and new. 💛

Thank you to everyone who has read and reblogged my stories and left kudos and comments on them. It has been helping me so much in believing in myself and my writing.

Thank you to everyone who has reblogged my art and my edits and left comments on them.

Thank you to every talented person who has gifted me a piece of their beautiful art, written or not, anonymously or not.

Thank you to everyone who has asked about my characters and my stories.

Thank you to everyone who has sent me positive and uplifting messages.

Lastly, thank you to every single person who has supported me these past months, in many different ways. Your kindness and your presence have made a difference, and I am grateful for those and for you all.

And a special shoutout to my fellow rainbow creators! 🌈

#choices fic writers creations #cfwc creator of the month #choices stories you play #playchoices #aallotarenunelma #choices #choices fanart #choices fanfic #april creator of the month #playchoices fanfic #playchoices fanart

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kustas · 6 months

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I'd love to hear your hashtag wha critical thoughts about recent developments if you feel like sharing them :)

I'll preface this with saying that for this answer I will not be making a distinction between my personal tastes and what is "objectively worst". The TLDR is I have felt like WHA's been dipping in quality since book 8 approximately.

One of WHA's strong points is its ongoing theme of accessibility, via its premise of how magic is purposefully restricted from people, and via its characters, mostly the kids, who showcase various life issues and allow the story to talk about how to solve them. Disability is an important one and was at the center of book 8, which is one of my favorites. You get to see Tartah and Coco work together for a goal (=making their friend a better mobility aid), and by doing so they brainstorm the why and then how which allows for complex notions to be carried out and explained to the reader. Cute story with touching implications that flows well. This quote in particular sums up so well what WHA is "about"

After this we transition rather brutally to the latest ongoing arc of the Silver Eve. This arc has been ongoing for years now, and three volumes, making it the longest so far, I'll come back to that, putting a star on it [*]. It delves further into aspects of accessibility the series had talked about before - access to magic, access to healthcare, and poverty. This is where this blog's namesake gets relevant. Custas is a kid who was already poor, who got badly wounded ending up disabled, and who because of that was stuck in a situation with no good endings: he can't make money in his state and needs money to get out of his state. On top of this gets added magic, and comes back the question at the center of WHA: Is it wrong to restrict the use of magic, and how?

After the arc is kickstarted by Custas getting his share of spilled beans of magical secrets revealed, enter immediatly strong players via ch.48's introduction of the Wise Ones and the king himself. The political aspect of how the world works was not mentioned before. Great chapter, interesting stuff all around, personally answered much of my questions. Immediatly after this chapter the focus in 49 fully switches to the Knights and their job, and the rest of the chapter is dedicated to a story of a sexual assault survivor and how she made it. It's a surprising topic to see pop up and it's handled with the respect it deserves. Chapter 50 goes back to Coco and her troubles. This concludes book 9 and...it makes for a Lot of stuff to deal with. Put a Second star on that. [**]

Addressing those stars before we move on:

[*] This arc is taking forever. WHA's arcs in earlier volumes only took a few chapters. This arc has taken three books thus far and I doubt we have reach its climax yet. I personally don't like it and it raises an issue the series did not have before: Will the payoff be worth it? Where it is worrying for the future of the series is that manga serialized regularly tend to up the stakes progressively until the end and it might...not work out.

[**] Too many things at once unresolved. This has already had consequences with the progressive vanishing of something WHA was once excellent at: sneakily introducing elements that get used a few arcs later in important ways. The manga has been, for a while now, accumulating unfinished plot threads via not answering the questions it opens and instead adding more and more characters. Jumping from a group of characters to another was not an issue beforehand because unlike this arc's, chapters took place at different times and/or in totally different places. The Silver Eve is both set in time AND place, making it hard to follow because all sideplot happen at once.

Book 10 continues to accumulate ongoing unresolved plots with: the royal family being shady, Agott's struggles irt. her mother, Dagda running around confused and tracked by the Knights, Custas and Ininia jumping Tartah and Coco, and Galga's accident + relationship.

Book 11 does the same adding Agott's crush on Coco, the actual festival, Jujy's inner troubles...Funnily enough, this page is a good summary of the ongoing mess.

Instead of solving all of this stuff we instead get stakes ramped up to 100 with the introduction of what I can only describe as a kaiju attack. As much as I love the horror and drama element, given what was already going on, this does NOT strike me as a good decision.

Now, we go back to the three latest chapters. These follow the same subplot: Custas' faction change and Coco's attempts to save him. This subplot has, to me, a whole lot of issues. Way earlier on in the story, even before Dagda's ambush, I had issues with how Custas was portrayed in relation to his anger, being drawn weirdly spooky for...a frustrated poor kid? Others have also pointed out it wasn't great to have one of your only dark skinned characters be a slum kid. Obviously given my handle on here, I am still a huge fan of the character. After chapter 45 (included), I already found it a bit tasteless to have so much horrors piled on him. WHA is a rather unsubtle series at time which I really, really dislike. Sure, makes it hard to miss the point, but when you're dealing with sensitive topics it can fall into touchy territory fast...

In the latest chapters, Coco appears to save Custas, the "how" part of her plan still being a mystery. Meanwhile, a timelooped and very confused Dagda looks for him, accompanied by Lulucy, who knows them both and is unaware of their ties with forbidden magic. She ends up telling him to abandon the faction he sided with by literally ripping off the brim of his hat with her magic. Meanwhile, Lulucy starts attacking him on sight. I have so, so so many issues with all of this.

Coco's story is about knowing the system in place sucks. Custas' story is about being screwed over by the same system. The story explicitly points those two out as mirrors: Custas is what would have happened to Coco without the right support. Coco's unique POV on the pointed hat witches shows us many prior times they are not the good guys. Hell, Custas himself talks about how the pointed hat's magical gatekeeping prevented him from living a better life.

To me, the point was supposed to be: the system in place doesn't work, which results in people in need not getting help. We loop back to the accessibility I started off mentioning. Yes, before the current system, bad things happened - but the current system is still allowing other bad things to happen now. So...why is Coco pushing Custas to join the pointed hats and abandon the faction he sided with? If a character who was upholding the status quo was doing so it would make sense (like Beldaruit) but Coco as a main character exists partially to point out why the pointed hats are not good. She demonstrates it to the reader via what happens to her AND knows it as a character. It comes off as inconsistent and frankly makes little sense.

Speaking of inconsistencies...why does Lulucy not recognize Custas, a child she's known for a while? Why does the young prince, introduced as a suspicious character on behalf of his family's unknown goals, become a helpful selfless little guy? Why are the Knights, originally introduced as an antagonistic faction because they are a milita enforcing the status quo, suddenly portrayed as fighting for good as a bunch of remarkable individuals?

Ah yes, the cops. I'm going to address something really fast about them. It makes me frankly uncomfortable the author chose their faction to evoke the two very sensitive topics of sexual assault and homophobia. I think the way those topics themselves were handled without greater context was surprisingly good, and it's touching in the first place to see an author who not only cares, but uses her series, destined partially for younger readers, to explain why she cares. However, Witch Hat is a very black and white series: the bad guys are bad and ugly and you should dislike them, the good guys are good and you should like them. There are some exceptions but who have been losing steam as of late. While originally introduced as a group of individuals who act in problematic ways for their day job, the Knights have slowly lost that bad guy flavor to become a fun band of colleagues/friends. They are law enforcers who enforce unjust laws, but it seems that the author's not on board with people hating them because this is the second time she gave a Knight a tragic backstory that makes them more sympathetic to the reader. First of: I do not see what's to redeem about them if the story's about changing an unjust system, so I don't get the necessity to make them nicer. Secondly: at least in my country (which has legal gay marriage and notably less sexist than Japan) law enforcement is renowned to not help sexual assault victims or gay people. The Knights Moralis are fantasy cops and cops, in real life, tend to abandon people who need their help regarding those two issues - if not worsen them, and count a majority of sexists/homophobes among their ranks. Making your unsubtly cop stand-in faction have both characters with those issues comes off as at least a poor decision if not bad taste.

(big words from the guys introduced in the story by arresting a bunch of children who were on a rescue mission for a misunderstanding they would not have cared about. Die idgaf)

Some more surface level things:

The art. The first books of WHA are noticeably more complex in their style featuring more reaslistic proportions for the characters. Latest arc has seen art lose some of the decorative "classic" flair in the linework and characters looking simpler and stylized to look way...Younger? In a way I do not like. Yes, it's expected for manga series to see their style evolve. I also want to make this clear: I consider the pace imposed on manga artists to be inhumane and if Shirahama had decided to draw her manga as stick figures to work less I'd be down for it.

The dialog. While WHA is very in your face (you may call it preachy) the dialog in the latest chapters especially Coco's feels off. A 12yo wouldn't give off speeches about the world in the heat of battle. When it's a calm scene between two characters discussing a deep thing, sure. When it's an epic public adult figure (see: Dean), sure. I'd prefer having the kids talk like kids.

Goddamn the story has become less nuanced and subtle over the time. Scenes like Qifrey getting confronted by Tartah post mindwiping his grandpa owned. The story's current "morally grey" moments just don't do it for me anymore. No, I don't want the witch politicians of the faction you established as a mistake beforehand to continue. I don't care if the fantasy cops are offended by a grieving husband pointing out they suck. I kinda wish he'd thrown hands actually

So...yeah, that's about it. While WHA's plot beats has always been impossible for me to predict, I don't know if I can trust where the story is going anymore. The fans eating it up confuse me and I might even get hate for posting this. Truth is, while some aspects have always been more or less present in the series since the start, I've felt like the really good bits that balanced it out have been going extinct. I don't know why and it's none of my business to. Some friends have pointed out we might be reaching a point where the author ran out of pre-written story and is now improvising. What's a bit concerning to me is I've also noticed she's way less active on social media, where she used to post regular bonus material for the series, this has stopped and I hope it's not because she lost her interest for the series or way worst, is overworked. Given the conditions for mangaka it wouldn't be impossible and like previously stated, I am of the opinion that no comic book series is worth putting their author's life, health and free time down. It's more important than me disliking the comic.

And regarding Custas - him joining the atelier to study with Qifrey would not be a good ending, no matter what the fandom says. It won't be cute found family. Custas has a family who's unique member wouldn't be able to follow him as a witch. That ending would separate a very traumatized child from the only adult he has in his life that gives him unconditional love and support. Custas needs to not be seen as a criminal so the rest of his life won't be over, and also a whole bunch of cash.

I'm not excited for the anime.

#ask #witch hat atelier #this took me like DAYS to type sorry

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albeitinzane · 2 months

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sooo i'm watching james somerton's apology video (an unlisted reupload because i do not want to give him money!) and i'm only 2:31/43:01 in but i already have so many thoughts about how manipulatively worded this video is so i thought i'd make a blog post about it, maybe see what some other people thought.

james tries to frame himself as a wellmeaning, albiet privledged, white cis gay man. he tries to say that he was trying to be a voice for the queer community because he wanted to uplift more marginalized members of the queer community. i think this is inherently false.

the way james repeatedly presented himself to his audience was that he was the only person talking about the issues he was discussing (while stealing other people's words, but we'll come back to that in a second). he literally said "people thought i was crazy until i explained it and then they came around to seeing it my way" (maybe he didn't say it exactly that way, i'm paraphrasing, but you get my point). him trying to say that this is not what he did is so obviously untrue. he DID do that. multiple times. he propped himself up as the only gay creator talking about the issues he discussed, and rarely promoted other queer content creators. if he wanted to be a spokesperson for the queer community, he would have at least mentioned other queer people who talked about issues he found important, rather than just stealing their content and reposting it as his own. it's disingenuous to call himself a spokesperson when he never highlighted the people he was supposedly speaking for.

it wouldn't be bad, per se, if james was actually trying to be a spokesperson for the queer community, though i think that even if that motivation were true, it'd still be misguiding. while allyship from more privileged members of the community is important, it feels like a bit of a white savior complex for him to claim that he wanted to be a spokesperson for the queer community. plenty of other people are much more qualified to be spokespeople for the queer community, and i personally think that if the queer community did have a spokesperson, it would make more sense for them to be a black trans woman instead of a cis white gay man.

and back to the stealing part. if you wanted to be a spokesperson for a community, you'd respect them. you'd credit their work. you'd make it clear where you were quoting them, and you'd promote their content, not just the content you're citing or borrowing from, but other things that they create that you find meaningful or interesting. james never did this. if someone made an intelligent article about queerness in media, he wouldn't promote it. he'd steal it, and use it along with some stock footage with an intro he bought to make a video where the only acknowledgement the article would receive is a vague "based on" credit, assuming they'd get anything at all.

so, no. i don't believe james is telling the truth. he had many opportunities to come clean. he was called out before, and instead of being honest, he chose to lie. and i hope that the best job that he can find in the future is being a fry cook at burger king, where he can experience just a tiny taste of the exploitation that he utilized to make thousands of dollars off of small queer writers.

#but yeah just some food for thought #i swear i've only seen the first 2 and a half minutes #i don't think i can finish this video #i already have so many thoughts about it/neg #james somerton #hbomb #hbomberguy #hbomb versus plagarizing baby!!@#i love hbomb #he's so cool

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loslentesdepedrito · 4 months

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I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Javi gif by: @skyshipper Jack gif by: @javier-pena My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Word count: 9.2k+

Chapter summary: It's time for Ángel's surgery and the transplant preparation. Following the procedure, Jack visits his son, providing some closure regarding your marriage.

A/N: This chapter concludes the final installment of the series and stands as my penultimate post on this blog. Next week, hopefully, I'll be sharing one more post—a Din piece—officially wrapping up this blog. I intend to maintain my writing for another two weeks before ultimately closing my account. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles. Also, Jack's texts are in bold.

CW: angst is back again, but a happy ending is guaranteed, some science, mentions of surgery, chemotherapy, and stem cell transplant, Jack cannot use an iPhone, Javi and Jack tension, jealousy, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease.

Your conversation with Jack three hours ago left you drained and exhausted, and now you're perched on the chair in the corner of your son's hospital room. You're engrossed in watching Ángel and Javi talk about an upcoming soccer game and the probability of their favorite team winning the match when your phone vibrates underneath your thigh. With a subtle shift, you reach for it and once it’s in your hand, you flip it over. Your phone is illuminated with a family picture of you with your husband and son in the background and there’s a message on your Notification Center.

Jack Daniels: HI. TEXTING YOU FROM MY NEW PHONE.

Another vibration follows, prompting a second message.

Jack Daniels: WHY DID THE TEXT SEND IN UPPERCASE?

The sequence of messages from Jack continues, each notification accompanied by a vibration.

Jack Daniels: HOW DO I TURN THIS OFF?

Jack Daniels: HELP me. Wait, I figured it out. Sorry.

You haven’t clicked on the messages to take you to the chat. Instead, you hold and press, sending him a brief response:

Hi, Jack.

He doesn’t send anything back, and you turn off your phone. As soon as the screen is black, it lights up again.

Jack Daniels: I went to the store and picked up a new phone.

A second later, an image comes through.

You hover over the message once more, and it’s a front selfie Jack took. Well, it’s not quite a full-face selfie. It only captures just beneath his eyes, and his eyes and face are not looking directly at the camera, so you guess he was looking down trying to take a picture of something else.

You’re proven correct when a second picture comes through. This time it’s a box of an iPhone.

There’s a bubble on your text chain, and this time you fully click, opening the message thread with Jack.

Sorry, I don’t know how this phone works. I just didn’t want my phone to fail, and you didn’t have a way to contact me, so I got a new one. Did I miss anything?

You reply back with:

Ángel is already ready to go, we’re just waiting for a room to open up in the OR. Could take hours, though.

How did he take the news?

Very well, actually. Saying he’s excited to go home is an understatement. He sensed that we were worried about his surgery and he kind of gave us a lecture on how important it is to listen to doctors and gave us a small list of the benefits of chemo ports. When we asked him how he knew about the port, he said, and I quote, "some light reading."

Jack doesn’t take long to reply:

Smart boy. He definitely got that from you.

A smile graces your lips at his message, but you decide to shift the conversation:

We never talked about it, but do you want us to tell Ángel that you’re his donor?

Your nerves are on edge, and waiting for Jack’s response heightens your anxiety. Glancing up from your phone, you see Ángel still in deep conversation with Javi. Your phone vibrates again, and you look down at Jack’s response:

No. I don’t want him to want a relationship with me because of the donation. If he wants a relationship with me, I want it to be because he truly wants it, not because he feels any obligation.

You exhale, relieved, and reply:

Okay, we won’t tell him.

Thank you.

A text bubble appears:

How do I send the accent on his name?

Suppressing a laugh, your fingers glide over the keyboard:

Press the letter A for a good two seconds, and a whole lot of options should appear. Click on the third one.

It doesn’t take Jack very long to send a single:

He follows with:

Be honest, does it sound a bit funny when I pronounce his name?

You weigh your options, lie or be honest. You decide to go with the latter:

A little bit.

I remember when you used to make fun of my accent…

Liar. I didn’t make fun of you.

I miss that...

Oh, God, not again.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

“Hi, I’m Will. I’m with patient transport services, and I’m here to take Ángel down to the OR,” he says.

“Come in,” you invite.

Javi stands up and retrieves your thick to-go bag from underneath the sofa. It's filled with water bottles, a variety of snacks, sweaters, sweatpants, and a few changes of clothes—because, as Javi says, uno nunca sabe (one never knows).

Will walks over to Ángel and looks at his hospital bracelet. He takes out a phone with a bulky blue case and scans the ID barcode. Will asks to no one in particular, “Can you please confirm his full name and date of birth.”

Javi does that for you.

Will nods and types something onto the phone. After a moment, he looks at Ángel, “Hey, little man, how are you doing?”

Ángel smiles, “I’m good, sir. I'm just waiting to get my chemo port. After that, I can get chemo and then a transplant so I can go home.”

Will chuckles, “That's a great plan, buddy. We’ll get you down to the OR, and they’ll take good care of you so you can go home soon. Ready to go to the sixth floor?”

Ángel nods enthusiastically, his eyes filled with trust.

“Great,” Will says, glancing at you and Javi. “If you guys are ready, we can head downstairs.”

Javi, lifting the heavy bag over his shoulder, nods in agreement. He glances at Ángel, a mix of tenderness and concern in his eyes, and then turns to Will.

“He’ll be under anesthesia, right?” Javi asks, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

Will offers a reassuring smile, “Yes, sir. That's what his chart says.”

Javi nods, visibly swallowing some of his worry. “Okay, let’s get him down there.” He moves to help his son get up from the bed. Will positions the wheelchair closer to Ángel's bed, and together, they carefully lower Ángel onto the wheelchair. You reach for one of the blankets—a gift from your father-in-law—and drape it over Ángel. Will takes the IV wire and secures it on the designated hook at the back of the wheelchair.

"Are we all set?" Will asks.

"Yes," you affirm, and then Will wheels Ángel toward the door. Javi, anticipating the need, beats them to the exit, opens the door, and holds it wide open to let them pass. Stepping into the corridor, Javi instinctively reaches for your hands, intertwining fingers not just for your comfort but for his own solace as well. Together, you trail behind your son as Will expertly steers Ángel's wheelchair through the hallway.

Descending from the tenth floor via the patient elevators, you and Javi follow Will, who scans his badge to usher you through the double doors into the pre-op room.

Guiding Ángel to the left side of the room, Will selects a quiet corner and draws back a side of the arctic blue diamond-print curtains, revealing an unoccupied bed. Positioning the wheelchair beside the bed, he assists Ángel in transitioning onto the soft mattress.

"Alright, good luck, buddy. You'll do great in there," Will encourages, raising a fist. Ángel meets it with his own, and as their fists connect, they both playfully mimic the sound of an explosion.

"Thanks, sir," Ángel replies, his voice carrying gratitude. Then, in a quiet and unsure tone, he adds, "I'll see you after?"

Will's smile is reassuring. "Absolutely. I'll be the one taking you back up."

With that, Will takes a step back, giving Ángel some space. He turns to you and your husband, saying, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Peña, Mrs. Peña. Someone should be with you shortly."

"Thanks for everything, Will," you say, watching as Will, with a warm smile, exits and closes the curtain, providing you with some privacy with your son.

With only one chair in the room, Javi insists you take a seat, not wanting you on your feet.

"¿Y tú? (what about you?)" you ask, concern etched in your voice and face. Maybe it's because you went so long without a partner prioritizing you, or because in the time your son has been in the hospital, Javier has really taken care of almost everything. Sometimes you can't help but feel guilty that he always puts your comfort above his own.

"Me paro (I’ll stand)," Javi shrugs his shoulders as if it's the most obvious choice in the world.

"Papi, you can sit here," Ángel offers, patting the mattress.

"Está bien (it's okay), mijo, I can stand for a while," he smiles, loving that his son is always considerate.

"Baja ese bolso (put down that bag), at least," you plead with him.

"I'm good, someone should be here soon," Javi reassures.

"Pero, Javi- (but, Javi-)" You're interrupted when you hear a woman asking if she can come in.

He smirks and whispers, "Ves (see)." Dropping his cocky look, Javi opens the curtain to let the woman in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gaddi. I'll be Angel's anesthesiologist. Can I please get a full name and a birthday?"

Your son happily responds to the doctor's requests while she verifies the information on the computer.

"Great, thank you, sweetheart. Mom or Dad, I'll need your signature on the consent forms. If one of you will please follow me," she says.

"I'll go," Javi says, and to your relief, he finally drops the bag from his shoulder.

"It's just straight this way," the anesthesiologist says, motioning past the curtain where the nurse station is in the middle of the big room.

Javier nods and follows the doctor. "Ya vengo mis amores (I’ll be back my loves)," he says with a big smile before closing the curtain.

Once on the other side of the curtain, where you and his son can't see him, he exhales a shaky breath. The fear is there, gnawing at him, although he doesn't want to show it. He wishes he could share it with you, as he normally would, but you're pregnant. The stress is already too much, and he doesn't want it to affect the baby. That thought terrifies him, and he can't risk it. Through the course of your marriage, he's come to understand that sometimes, marriage isn't a perfect fifty-fifty. There are moments when one partner has to carry more, and right now, he knows it's one of those moments. He must bear the fear and shoulder some of yours. While he wants to share these worries with you, a deep-seated commitment to putting family first holds him back. His protective nature takes precedence, always prioritizing his family.

Javier raises his head back up and quickly turns around to follow the doctor, who is waiting for him.

Once he catches up to her, she tells him the forms are for consent of treatment. The doctor reads the online document, informing Javi about the procedure, the benefits, and the risks it entails.

Dr. Gaddi must have seen the look on Javier's face after she listed the risks and the way he nearly crumbled when she said "or death" because she stopped and turned to him.

"But... everything will be okay, right? He’s in good hands?” Javi asks, his voice cracking as if he's on the verge of tears; even speaking those words makes his throat ache, causing a noticeable strain in his voice.

"Sir, I can't make any promises. Every surgery does come with risks, but my team and I have successfully done this procedure multiple times.”

Javi tries his best to remind himself that everyone in the OR is experienced and has done this procedure before.

"Where do I sign?" he manages to ask, his voice slowly regaining its composure.

While Javi is with Ángel's anesthesiologist, a nurse, and another doctor come in to check on Ángel. He had only managed a short nap, so now, as he rests, you take out your phone and send a text to Jack.

Hey. We're in the Pre-op area. There's a room in the OR now, and I've met his doctors. As soon as the anesthesiologist comes back, they'll take him.

Jack replies instantly as if he's been sitting by, waiting for his phone to ring:

Thank you for letting me know.

He sends a follow-up:

His surgery is only supposed to take an hour, right?

That's what the doctors said. I'm sure he won't be in there for too long.

As Javi, Dr. Gaddi, and a nurse approach, you text Jack:

The anesthesiologist will be here soon. I'll send you any updates I get, and I'm going to send you Javi's contact info just in case.

After adding Javi's phone number and hitting send, your husband and the surgical team arrive.

Dr. Gaddi approaches, “Hi, Mom, everything is ready on our end to take the patient to the OR."

“Okay,” you say, rising to your feet. The staff gathers around the bed and begins to move it. Ángel stirs at the movement, calling for you and Javi before opening his eyes.

Javi quickly rushes to your side, closer to your son, and reassures him, "It's okay."

"Oh, am I going to surgery?" Ángel asks.

"Yes, you are, Angel," the nurse responds as he releases the brakes on the left side.

"Oh, okay, yay," Ángel smiles.

The nurse chuckles at his excitement, "You know, not many kids are excited for surgery."

"I'm excited because chemo ports look more comfortable than the IV. It gets in my way when I do, like, anything," Ángel explains with a huff.

"Well, I've heard from other patients that they prefer the port, so hopefully you will too," says Dr. Gaddi as she stands to the side, waiting to wheel Ángel out of the room.

She turns to you and your husband, saying, "You guys can follow us until that red line, and then you'll be taken to the waiting room."

You start feeling more anxious, and Javier senses it. He begins to rub your lower back, his warm hand moving up and down, offering comfort.

"Okay, ready," says the nurse.

With the curtain open, they go through first, and you and Javi are right next to your son’s bed.

You're so hyper-focused on your son that you don't realize you've made it right before the line that you can't cross.

"Love you, Mommy, love you, Daddy," Ángel says, reaching out for your hand.

You take his little hand in yours, and Javi covers both of your hands with his.

"Te amamos más, mi niño (we love you more)," Javi tells him in a soft voice. Everyone can hear the love pouring out of his words.

Ángel knows this and doesn't try to contradict his dad because he knows it would be in vain. Instead, he simply says, "Nos vemos en un ratito (We’ll see each other in a little bit)."

"Okay, mijo," you say, fighting back tears.

The doors open, and Ángel is wheeled in. You think the tears are coming, but when you hear the light sound of your son's laughter, you're able to compose yourself.

"Would you like to be taken to the waiting room now?" a non-surgical nurse asks.

Thirty minutes pass, and you and Javier are seated in the waiting room, the only occupants at the moment. Purple chairs surround you, and you're on a blue seat cushion against the wall, your attention fixed on the TV opposite. It's a modest 35-inch screen designed to keep you informed about the ongoing surgery. Your son's name is displayed in green, and the message changes from ‘Surgery in progress: Incision and Pocket Creation’ to ‘Surgery in progress: Port Implantation.’

"They're placing the port-disk-chamber thingy inside the incision they made on his chest," Javi says matter-of-factly, pointing at the text.

You turn your head toward him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "'Port-disk-chamber thingy'—is that what the doctor said, Jav?"

He bursts out laughing, placing his right hand over his chest, realizing he was mimicking the tone doctors use when imparting information: authoritative. "Casi me cago del miedo (I almost shitted myself from fear) when the doctor told me step by step what they would do, so I don't remember exactly what he said," he chuckles.

Javier's laugh is contagious, and you can't help but laugh too. Your laughter fuels his, and vice versa. The only thing that interrupts your laughter is when you feel the baby kick.

"Ay, me pateó (oh, he kicked me)," you exclaim happily.

Javi instantly stops laughing too and shifts his hand to rest on your bump. As soon as you feel the weight of his hand on your stomach, your son responds with another kick, right where Javi's palm is placed.

A boyish look crosses your husband's face. He always loves feeling the baby kick, reminiscent of the first time he felt his first son kick.

"¿Hola, mijo, ya te despertaste? (Hi, my boy, have you woken up yet?)" he hums softly.

In response, the baby kicks again.

"He loves your voice so much. I swear he only kicks so you could talk to him. A mi no me quiere, nomas le gusta que le cantes y le leas (He doesn’t love me, he just likes it when you sing and read to him),” you huff out in fake annoyance.

"That's not true. The second-born is always the momma's boy. So the baby loves you the most," Javi says.

"And the youngest loves daddy the most, so no," you refute.

"He won't be the youngest for long," he grins suggestively.

You gasp, “ya me embarazaste, sinverguenza! (You already impregnated me!)"

"But if it was scientifically possible..."

"Shut up," you playfully scold him.

With Javi's hand still over your stomach, your son kicks again, this time much lighter.

"He's upset you told me to shut up," his gaze shifts from looking at you to your stomach as if he could see the baby, and he lowers his voice, “¿verdad, mijo? Dile a tu mami que no sea mala conmigo (right, mijo? Tell your mom to stop being mean to me).”

He looks back up at you, "te acuerdas cuando Ángel hizo eso por primera vez? (Do you remember when Ángel did that for the first time?).”

“Jesus Christ, he scared me, and he made you cry,” you laugh, a smile on your face remembering.

"Oh shit! I forgot to update Jack," you realize and scramble to get your phone. As you start typing to let him know what's going on in the OR, you tell Javi, "By the way, I gave him your phone number."

Javier lets out an unenthusiastic and dry, "Yay."

“Mira (look),” he says while you’re still typing. You look up to where Javi is pointing, and the TV changes to Surgery in progress: Catheter Insertion.

You wince, "They're in his vein now."

"The catheter is the tube that delivers the medicine to his body, right?"

"Yeah," you mumble, typing the next update to Jack.

Javi reaches for one of your hands and rubs soothing circles, “Deja de pensar en eso. Él está bien con ellos (stop thinking about it. He’s safe with them).”

He removes his hand and turns his body to the to-go bag. Javi reaches for the zipper and undoes it. He digs in the back, and you see him pull something out. "Do you need a blanket?" he asks, with a large fuzzy blue blanket in his hand and his soft brown eyes looking at you tenderly. Before you can reply, he places it in your lap and goes back to the bag. Javi fights a little and finally tugs a pillow out of the bag, "a pillow?" he asks with the same puppy eyes.

“I- thank you," you accept both items. You put the pillow behind you so you won't rest your back against the hard and cold wall. You take the blue blanket from your lap and extend it to drape it over the both of you.

"¿Tienes hambre? (are you hungry?)" Javi asks adjusting the blanket.

"Sí"

He goes back to the bag and pulls out some snacks: Goldfish, Chips Ahoy, granola bars, fruit snacks, dry plantain chips, and a pack of assorted nuts.

"Sorry, I don't have any actual food," he looks at what he's offered you and feels guilty at the limited options. Javi gets up quickly, "I can go get you real food. Are you craving anything?"

"Hey," you wrap your fingers around his wrist and grip somewhat tightly. You look up at him and push him to sit back down. "No. I don't want you to leave."

"Okay. I'll stay," he says softly, kissing where your hair and forehead meet.

A knock reverberates in the room, and a nurse comes in. "Hi," she says, closing the door to come closer to you. "Everything went well. There were no complications. They're ready to transfer Ángel to the Post-op room if you guys would like to follow me."

Both of you look relieved at the news, and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Thank you," you tell her, and Javi can't get any words out. His eyes are watering, and he tries his best to not let them fall.

He starts hurriedly putting away the snacks, just keeping the bag of nuts, while you fold the blanket back up into the neat roll Javi had it in. After the snacks, blanket, and pillow are in the bag again, Javi helps you get up. You send Jack a quick text informing him that everything went well, and you're on your way to see Ángel. Javi puts the bag over his shoulder, and you both follow the nurse to go see your son.

Next morning - Day 1 of Chemo:

Hey, Jack. Ángel is awake and doing well. He asked about having visitors and hoped you would come see him. We explained that it's not possible right now. He understood but wanted to call. Would you like to FaceTime?

That's great. What’s FaceTime?

It's a video call.

Yes. How do I do that?

Instead of texting him back, you initiate a FaceTime call and hand the phone off to Ángel when it starts to ring.

As soon as Jack accepts the call and his face takes over your screen, Ángel's little face lights up. "Mr. Jack!"

Jack's face mirrors Ángel's: a smile so wide, eyes so soft looking at his son.

"I just started chemotherapy," Ángel blurts out just before Jack greets him.

Jack's heart glows watching his son's face. "How are ya feeling?"

"Mmm... I feel okay. Oh! I got the surgery last night, and look at my chemo port." Your son takes one hand off your phone and pulls his hospital gown just enough to show Jack his port. "Look! You can see the bump of the port under my skin. Eww, it looks gross. It's so cool."

Jack laughs, and that makes Ángel move the phone back to his face.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asks.

"Nope. It was a little bit like... sore when I woke up, but it doesn’t hurt now. I had chemo in the morning, and it pinched for a second, but it's wayyy better than the IV."

"It's not a pain to use the restroom, huh?"

"It's easier and faster to go now," his brows pinch in the middle, "I almost peed myself once 'cus I had to wait for the wires to detangle from the bed." Ángel trails off, tilts his head to the side, and squints. "What do you have behind you? Is that a needle?"

Jack turns his head behind to see what his son saw. He had picked up the prescription he needed to be Ángel's donor from the pharmacy the previous night. Jack opened the box out of curiosity and took out a needle to look at, but then he got caught up texting you in the morning and forgot to put the small vial and needle back in the pharmacy bag.

"Umm... yeah?" Jack says uncertainly, not knowing how to explain it to his son. He doesn't want him to know that he's his donor, at least not yet. "That is some medicine I have to take in two days," Jack says, trying to keep it vague.

When the words come out of Jack's mouth, Ángel's eyes show pure concern, "Oh, are you sick?"

"No, buddy," Jack blurts out immediately, "I'm not sick. I'm just takin' them for... to... Just takin' them to stay healthy. They're like vitamins."

"Maybe I should take some so I could be healthy. What's the name of the medicine?"

Jack's heart drops at his son's words. His mind starts spinning, but he takes a deep breath. He'll be healthy soon, he tries to remind himself. "You can't take this one, buddy. It's for adults."

"Oh," he sounds disappointed, but his voice goes back to normal, "Well, that's okay. I can't take vitamins on chemo either way. I think. Vitamins can affect chemo because of cancer cells, but I don't have any so I don't know. I can ask later. How are the horses?"

Donation Day - Day 7 of Chemo:

Jack sat comfortably in a green chair, his right hand extended over a pillow, squeezing a small blue ball as his blood cycled through the machine. Two hours had passed since he settled into the chair. He arrived at the hospital early in the morning with the last dose of his five-day filgrastim prescription, and for the first time, someone other than him administered the injection. Throughout the morning, he had been texting you, checking in on his son, and, though he wouldn't admit it, checking in on you. Of course, he cared about his son and wanted to know every detail of what he was going through, but this had been the only line of communication he had with you for years, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while you were willing to entertain his conversations. From you, he learned that Ángel's last day of chemo had gone smoothly.

Jack's head spun when he heard a knock against the door. His heart thumped wildly in his chest at the thought of seeing you. When the door opened, a wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn't you who set foot in the room; it was fucking Javier.

Jack instantly tenses and clears his throat as Javier walks over to him.

"Hi."

Javi crosses his hands over his thick biceps, "How's the donation coming along?"

"It's goin' well. They think in 30 minutes we'll have enough for Ángel," Jack fills Javi in.

"H-how are umm... how are you feeling?" Javi gets the words out, although with much effort. He sounds physically pained asking a simple question to Jack.

"You sound very concerned for my well-being," Jack quips sarcastically.

Not really, Javi wants to say. Instead, he tells Jack, "I’m trying really hard to not hate you.”

It doesn't faze Jack one bit. "Same."

"So just don't do anything to piss me off. More like don't do anything else to piss me off even more," Javi lowers his voice more, "She's my wife; she tells me things. Don't you ever dare call her ‘baby’ again. You're lucky she's not that uncomfortable with ‘sugar’, but if she ever shows one ounce of discomfort, you will stop."

"She never minded all those names before," Jack challenges, glaring at Javi."

Javi smirks, wearing a shit-eating grin as he nonchalantly shrugs. "Yeah, she never did lots of things before me."

Jack is furious. All he sees is red, and just as he begins to rise from his chair to get up, the nurse walks in.

"Oh! A visitor," she exclaims.

"Hello," Javi greets the redheaded nurse in blue scrubs with ducks all over them.

Seeing the nurse enter, Jack comes to his senses and sits back down. Subconsciously, he squeezes the ball so tight in his hands that his knuckles turn white.

"Mr. Daniels, are you okay?" the nurse questions with concern. All she sees is her patient gripping the ball so tightly that his nails are about to rupture through the material. She moves to him and checks his arm to see if there are any signs the needle is causing pain.

Jack's glare tears from Javi and shifts to the nurse. "I'm okay, thank you for checkin’ in on me," he tells her and moves his hand to signal for the nurse to release his arm. "Nothin’ hurts," he smiles up at her.

The nurse understands and checks the progress of the donation. While looking at the machine, she decides to make small talk with her patient and his visitor. "Are you Mr. Daniels' brother?" She turns to ask Javi innocently.

"No," Jack's words drip with disgust.

Javi smiles at how fast Jack denies the nurse's initial thought and says "Not related," under his breath, mumbling, "Thank God."

The nurse doesn't seem to pick up on their animosity and comments, "You two look alike, what a coincidence. Best friends then?"

"No, nothing like that. My wife and I know him, and he's giving our son a gift," Javi says 'our' while looking at Jack.

Suddenly, Ángel crosses their minds, and they both feel some shame for their earlier behavior. They know they can't go on still hating each other because it'll eventually turn into a fight. They just don't know how to set aside their differences.

"I'll call the doctor to get her thoughts, but it looks like we have what we need for the donation," the nurse says, taking note of the blood volume. "In a few hours, one lucky little boy will receive the cells, and he’ll be one step closer to being healthy."

After Jack was hooked up to the machine for two and a half hours, the staff deemed the collection enough and sent the blood bag to the lab to confirm that Jack’s procedure had collected enough stem cells. Four hours later, it was confirmed that there were the desired amount of stem cells, and the team took the cells to Ángel’s room. Due to your son being immunocompromised, he isn't allowed to have visitors other than legal guardians. So, you and Javi update Jack on the transplant.

Day 11 post-transplant:

Remember how I told you he started grafting on the tenth day?

Yes! How his body was accepting the stem cells, and the cells were growing and making new cells.

Mhm. Well, if everything keeps going at the speed it’s been going, Ángel gets to go home in four days!!

Oh, wow! It’s just day 11 after the transplant, and the doctors estimated it wouldn't happen until closer to day 25! Can I go see him then? I know I was cleared to go five days ago, but because I wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t go. My fever’s still here, but I’ll continue to monitor myself.

Sure! You need to be cleared of a fever for 24 hours and have absolutely NO symptoms.

You have my word, sugar.

Day 14 post-transplant:

You're packing all of Ángel's belongings to take home. It's been 14 days since your son's transplant, and he's cleared to go home. You don't know who's happier— you, your husband, or your son. But that doesn't really matter; all that matters is that your family is together. Just as you're collecting your son's toys and getting them ready to shove into the white personal belongings bag, someone knocks on the door. Javi stops placing Ángel's books into a box and hurriedly opens the door. He was expecting the doctor to come in with discharge papers, but it was Jack waiting on the other side.

"Oh, right, you said you'd stop by," Javi remembered.

When you saw Jack standing there not quite stepping inside the room with a red gift bag, you gasped. "Sorry, we forgot you were going to stop by." You turned your neck and saw Ángel reading the book Jack had gifted him, One Hundred Fun Facts About Horses.

"Come in," you usher Jack in. "Mijo," you call, and Ángel looks up from the book he's got his nose buried in.

"Mr. Jack!" Ángel's face lights up like a Christmas tree. He pats a spot in his bed as he tells Jack to sit down next to him. "I want to show you something," Ángel puts the book aside and lowers his shirt to show Jack that the port is gone. "They took my port out!"

Jack almost reaches out and touches his son's scar but settles for examining it with his eyes. "Are you sore?"

"Not really. I'm just excited to go to my house. Did my mom tell you I'm leaving the hospital today?"

"Yeah," Jack chuckles, "she mentioned it. And here I brought you this," he lifts the gift bag onto the bed.

Ángel tears it open and begins to pull the items out. The first gift he reaches is a book, Her Right Foot. "Oh, my God!"

You see the title and direct your question to Jack, "He's wanted that book for a while, how did you know?"

"Really?" Jack's smiling ear to ear. "I just went to the bookstore and thought he'd like that one." His heart feels like it could rip right through his chest because he feels like he knows his son. Jack had browsed many children's books and read the synopsis of every last book. The one he had purchased was the one he felt his son would love, the book his son is currently holding, and Jack was right.

The little boy takes out the next item, which is a box. "A Lego set!" Ángel flips the black box to the front, and he sees that this particular set is one of horses. The horse in the center looked similar to Andor, one of Jack's horses his son loved the most. "Is this an Andalusian?" Ángel looks to Jack, his eyes sparkling."

Jack nods his head, "It is, buddy. It's like a mini Andor."

Ángel seems pleased with Jack's answer and moves on to the last gift. It was another box, but this one was a shoebox. The little boy lifted the top off, and he was met with boots—dark brown leather boots with beautiful and intricate stitching all throughout.

“Is that a longhorn?” Ángel points at the center of the boots. He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking again, “My grandpa has longhorns on his ranch. Do you have them on your ranch, Mr. Daniels?”

"I don’t have any longhorns, but umm... I have the same boots," Jack looks down at the floor like he’s suddenly interested in the simple pattern of the hospital floor. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but when his son's sweet voice reached his ears, Jack looked up.

"You do?" Ángel was beaming, a smile brighter than the sun. He leaps to move sideways so his legs would hang from the bed. He took his left boot and put it on his baby blue non-slip sock-clothed feet and did the same for the right boot. When both boots are on, he pinches the tip to feel where his toes are. Ángel drops to the floor and begins to walk, showing all three of you his new footwear.

"How did you get his shoe size?" You're amazed at how they seem to fit perfectly.

"I asked him," Jack nods his head towards your husband, who is smiling broadly, showing his perfect teeth. Javi squats down to Ángel's level and presses his fingers on his son's boot toe box to feel if they're pinching Ángel's feet. "Perfect fit," Javi smiles up at his son, dimple on display, still on the floor.

Once Javi's hands are removed from Ángel's boots, he runs to Jack, "Thank you so much, Mr. Jack," he says, jumping up and down. Ángel runs back to Javi, who is now standing up straight, "¡Papi, quiero una foto! (Daddy, I want a picture!)" Javi complies and takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You turn to Jack, and your voice falls to a whisper, "We're hosting a dinner in a few nights to celebrate Ángel coming home, and we'd love it if you'd join us."

Jack's head reels at the prospect of seeing you and Ángel in a few days, but beneath that excitement, there is fear, "Is your family going to be there?" he asks.

"Yes, and Javi's too."

"It's your family I'm worried about," he confesses, looking into your eyes.

You take in the way his face pales slightly, his eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot near his hairline. "No. You're more than worried; you look genuinely scared, but you'll be fine."

"'Course I'll be there, Sugar," he says, looking at his son laughing while Javi takes his pictures. If Ángel was a happy and giddy boy before the transplant, Jack now sees how his innocence is amplified now that he's healthy, and Jack can't wait to see more of his son's childhood joy outside the hospital.

"Hey, can I talk with you alone before you leave?" Jack asks you, hoping you'll agree.

"Um, yeah, we can go outside," you agree, noting his urgent tone.

"Javi, Ángel, I'll be back soon. I'm just going to walk Jack out," you say, moving to the door with Jack on your heels.

"Okay, we'll keep packing, amor," Javi tells you, brushing his hand with yours. You lean into your husband for a while until Ángel and Jack say their goodbyes, promising they'll see each other at the dinner.

You and Jack exit the room, and you take him to a little corner further down the hall.

"What did you want to discuss?" you ask resting your back on the wall with brown and cream diamond wallpaper.

Jack's nervous to tell you what he wants: a father-and-son relationship with Ángel. You two never went into detail on how you would tell Ángel the truth about Jack and he's terrified of asking you for something this big so soon after a big weight of stress has been lifted off you.

"Jack?"

"Sorry," he clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about telling Ángel that I'm his dad- biological."

"Oh," you sound surprised. "Yeah. We didn't really discuss that, did we? I haven't thought about it in so long, I'm sorry. Maybe we can get some pointers from Ángels counselor?" You suggest. "Javi and I thought about making an appointment with a child therapist because of this entire hospital stay. We were hoping to get your opinion on that actually."

It's Jack's turn to be surprised. "I think that's wonderful, Sugar. Thank you for including me in the decision."

"Of course. I think it would be great if we could get the counselor's opinion on how to best handle the situation. And we too can figure out how this new dynamic would work. For example, medical decisions moving forward. We'll tell Ángel about you and I have no doubt he'll want to have the relationship you want to have with him. We can talk more about the appointment in a few days. We haven't set an exact date for the dinner but it will probably be this upcoming Sunday."

"I'll clear out my entire schedule," Jack says sincerely

"We'll have food for you that won't send you into a choking fit," you tease.

Jack covers his eyes with his hands, "God, 'M so sorry."

You laugh at his embarrassment, "No, it's okay. I understand the food we serve can take some getting used to." You continue to tell him about the plans for the dinner that is slowly turning into a party and he just stares at you while you keep talking he gets lost in the moment. He thinks about your laugh and the consideration you still have for him and suddenly Jack blurts out, “I love you."

The smile you had vanishes.

“Jack,” you warn dangerously. “We were doing so good, Jack.” You don't want to—can't see him now, so you close your eyes. The words only needed to be said once for them to threaten tears to spill. "How dare you say those words to me now?” You hiss, your tone now angry but more than anything, filled with frustration and pain. You thought you could handle seeing him, so you open your eyes. "What do you expect me to do with that? I won’t leave Javi if that’s what you’re hoping for.

"S-" Jack opens his mouth, but you cut him off immediately. "No, Jack, let me speak."

"Once, those three words would have made me the happiest person in the world, but now? They’re only causing pain,” you pause, exhaling a shaky breath. “You humiliated me, Jack. Time and time again. Even if I didn’t have Javi, I wouldn’t go back to you.” You sound defeated, your voice carrying the pain of past wounds, and it crushes you to keep thinking about the past.

“I did love you, through everything,” Jack whispers, his eyes searching yours. They are watery and dazed.

“I think…” you run your tongue over your lips and then purse them, “I think you loved me in your own way. But that’s not how I wanted to be loved. During our engagement, and more so during our marriage, I never really felt loved by you. Can you blame me for that if I can count with my fingers the amount of 'I love yous' you gave me?” Your words are like shards of glass, cutting through the air with the sharpness of your pain.

“When you did show me your love, I was so happy, Jack. So happy that I thought, hoped, you would give me more love, so I stayed with you. I longed for the morning you woke up and things would be different, better. Because that’s exactly what happened. You woke up after the night of our engagement, and you were a completely different person, and I couldn't comprehend what I did wrong. I was willing to stay with you forever for the odd chance one day you would feel for me how I felt for you.”

“And I stayed because I always hoped you would go back to your old self. Sometimes there were indications that you were going to become the old Jack. Well, I don’t know if I fooled myself, but sometimes I thought you were happy. Like right before I told you I was pregnant, you had this smile on your face….” Your voice trembles with the weight of those memories.

“Other times I genuinely thought you hated me, and then I thought that’s not possible. ‘Why would he ask me to marry him if he couldn’t stand me?’”

“Did you always think that?” He sounds sad, a quiet plea for understanding. But your heart, scarred by the past, struggles to find solace in his remorseful gaze.

“Yeah. When… when we were together, it was rare you would look at me in my face. The majority of times you had me face down. How do you think that made me feel? You made me feel used and disposable.”

“I wanted to be loved by you," you continue, your tone a mix of vulnerability and strength, "and you always made me feel like I was the other woman. Then I decided I should stop trying and let you go.”

“What changed?” Jack's question hangs in the air. Everything you’ve revealed up to this point has felt like glass shards embedded in his heart. He knows you still have a lot left to say, and it will continue to hurt him, but he owes it to you to hear everything you went through.

“I was at a park one day after you didn’t come home," you recall, emotion tinging your words. "I came across this older man, and he showed me pictures of his family. When he talked about his wife…” you pause, emotion catching up with you. “It was beautiful. And I realized that would never be you. You wouldn’t talk about me that way. Since that day, I took off my rose-colored lenses and thought everything through."

"I thought about your behavior but also about mine. I hated who I was because it sounds ridiculous, but I was jealous of someone who wasn't here anymore. And I swear I never wanted to replace her or erase her from your life, I just wanted you to love me too. I loved you so much; I would've settled for half the love you had for Allison, but you couldn't even give me that. I never told you you couldn't love or mourn Allison. She was your wife, I get that... but I was your wife too, and knowing you would never love me like you did her was slowly killing me.”

"I thought about one night, which I don't know if you remember," you confess, the vulnerability in your voice palpable. "But one night on her birthday, you got extremely drunk, and you kept slurring your words. I couldn't understand half of what you were saying, but I heard loud and clear when you yelled at me that you didn’t choose to stop loving her; you were forced to. And you said that you would’ve never looked at me otherwise. That you wish she came back and I disappeared… That we s- switched places,” you confess, exposing the scars engraved into your heart, and the pain of that night that is still etched in your memory—a wound that refused to fully heal. You were surprised that you weren't sobbing, because the night he told you those words, you felt your world had ended.

Jack was appalled, his face reflecting the shock and guilt that surged through him as he listened to your words. The heaviness of the past, the pain inflicted, all rushed back to him as a floodgate of memories suddenly opened, each carrying the weight of its own hurt.

"I always felt I was the third person in our marriage. You made me feel things I hated, and maybe even worse, I became someone I didn't recognize. After that day in the park, I was going to ask you for a divorce because I didn't want to be the person you settled for… then I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to give us one last try, and well, you remember what happened after I told you the news,” you say, the bitterness of the past lingering in your words.

"You kept hurting me, and you're smart, Jack. Did you not think I would leave you?"

Jack exhales, the reminder of his own mistakes heavy on him. "I think I couldn’t let ya go, so a part of me hoped you would leave me if I treated you horribly. Every day I fought with myself to treat you like you deserve, but I wasn’t strong enough to open up to you."

The silence lingers, and Jack takes the opportunity to share a piece of his truth. "The night after I proposed, I had a dream about Allison. She told me I was replacing her, and I dunno, instead of working out through my issues, I took it out on ya.”

“Over a dream? You... you let our relationship go to waste because of a dream,” you say, a mix of disbelief and frustration in your voice. You want to be angry at him because such a trivial thing ruined the chance of happiness, but then you put yourself in his shoes. "Oh, Jack," you add, this time with a tone of understanding and sadness.

“Have you been to therapy?” you ask him, your tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah…” Jack admits with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Can I be honest?” you tilt your head, your fingers playing with the collar of your shirt.

He nods.

“I don’t think it helped.”

Jack smiles, a sheepish expression on his face, “If we’re being honest, I went in for two sessions and never saw my shrink again.”

“Well, your therapist probably knew what they were doing,” you playfully scold, but then your voice softens, "Please see a therapist so Ángel can get to know the best version of you. When I knew that Jack, he was amazing, and that's the man I want my son to know."

A sad smile greets Jack's face, "Yes, Sugar."

There's another thing you've always been curious to know but never had the stomach to ask, and this seems to be your window. "Can I ask, did you, um, did you ever sleep with someone else while we were married?"

"God no," the words tumble out of his mouth.

"Well, that's something, I guess," you say, a sense of relief evident in your voice.

"I'm really sorry about everything, sweetheart. I can't believe I ever hurt you. I just miss you so much. I’ve never regretted anything in my life as much as I do not telling you I loved you when we had a chance," Jack confesses, the weight of regret heavy in his words.

"It’s okay, Jack. I’m not your wife anymore, but we had some good times. Sometimes love doesn’t work out how we thought,” you tell Jack, your gaze turning when you hear footsteps that are familiar to you.

And Jack would forever kick himself for driving you away and not accepting your love. The only piece of solace is that Ángel will have a happy and full life, and you finally got the love you deserved and dreamed of.

Javi starts calling your name, and you answer him so he can walk over to where you are. Once Javi comes into view, he tells you that Ángel’s been discharged and that they're ready to go home.

Jack looks at you once more, his gaze lingering, as if trying to capture every detail to hold onto. He sees the love in your eyes for your husband, a love he once had the chance to cherish but let slip away. It hurts, but at the mention of his son, it gives him the slightest glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he has learned from his mistakes, and he'll find a way to be a part of your lives, even if it's not in the way he once dreamed. The love of his life and his son are happy and healthy, and that will have to be enough for him.

"Bye, Jack. I'll let you know what time we're having the dinner," you say, while Javi wraps his arms around you—a protective gesture that Jack once held the privilege of doing, but did so sparingly.

"Take care," Javi tells Jack over his shoulder, his voice firm but not unkind. He then leads you to Ángel's room, leaving Jack standing alone in the corridor, grappling with the ache of what could have been.

You both start heading down the hallway, and Javi pauses halfway. His eyes search yours, concern written all over his features.

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," you lean into him and smile. "Jack and I were talking about when we were married," you begin, and Javi tenses involuntarily.

"Hey, no, you don’t have anything to worry about," you reassure him, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Our talk was more about what went wrong, and the bottom line was that I‘m okay with the fact that he wasn’t the one for me."

Javi takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control the surge of emotions within him. "It’s just- me cae mal ese - (I don’t like that-)” You can't help but chuckle lightly at your husband's choice of words.

"As stupid as it sounds, I wanted to make it work when we were married. I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in his words and actions; he didn’t love me, and I couldn’t stay in a marriage like that. I wanted a life with him... It didn't work out, and it's okay. Everything I dreamed of having, I found it with you. I'm the happiest I've ever been at your side. You’re the love of my life and I love being your wife, don't ever doubt that, okay?" Since the beginning of your relationship, you always repeated your love to Javier, not because he was insecure, but because you knew how it felt to be second place, second best, a consolation prize, and you never wanted Javier to think that you settled for him after Jack.

"Say it again," Javi requests, a genuine smile softening his features as he looks down at you.

"What?"

“That you’re my wife," Jack wants you to repeat the words that make his heart flutter.

“I’m your wife," you say.

Javi, still reveling in the warmth of the words, spins his finger in a playful circle, silently requesting you to say the words again.

“I’m your wife," you repeat, the pride evident in your tone. You take Javi's hand and begin walking to your son’s room.

"Again," Javi insists, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m your wife.”

“Otra vez," he requests, this time in Spanish.

You comply, “Soy tu esposa," you tell him and drag him further down the hall to your son's room.

When Javi playfully asks you to say it once more, this time it's you who stops. “Por dios, Javi, ¿en cuántos lenguajes quieres que te lo diga? (My God, Javi, how many languages do you want me to say it in?)” you feign annoyance.

He shrugs, answering with a mischievous grin, “En todos (in all of them).”

Amused, you grab him by the collar of his blue button-down shirt and bring him to a level where you can whisper into his ear, “Ay, Jav, apenas y hablas español (Oh, Jav, you barely speak Spanish).” You kiss his cheek and pull back, leaving him slightly offended but oddly proud. He had hoped for a different outcome when he saw you pull him down; the glint in your eyes made him believe you were going to kiss him on the lips. But, to his dismay, you chose to tease him instead.

"Take it back!" he demands as you stand right outside the door.

“Si lo dices en español (if you say it in Spanish),” you tease with a grin. Javier contemplates for a moment, and in the brief silence, Ángel's laughter and Dr. Navarro's voice echo from inside the room.

"Please?" Javi implores, wanting to savor one more of those heart-skipping phrases before joining his son. Unable to resist his pleading eyes any longer and mindful of the precious moments with Ángel, you relent.

“I’m your wife.”

END

Extended Note: The end! Thank you, everyone, for your kindness throughout the series. I truly appreciate every interaction 🥹.

As for my departure, I'm unsure whether I should deactivate my account or just private my writing. There's one post I received only positive comments on, especially from people with SPD who found it relatable. Apparently, there's a shortage of such stories, so I'm conflicted. Hopefully, I'll have a definitive decision next week.

I'm planning to post the Din story next Thursday; it's just one part, a sex pollen with Virgin!Din, titled 'Paleta.' I'm a fan of El Alfa, and I recently discovered that a song in his new album was sampled from the one I used for the Din story. It got me thinking about what I had written, and I wanted to share it with y’all before I bow out.

Thank you for reading 🫶🏽!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

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greenhikingboots · 1 year

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Jon’s Pre-Canon Crush

Okay, Jonsa fam. I’ve seen a lot of great posts, especially in the last few months, about Jon’s reactions to Val. Among them, there’s one particular vein I like to assume everyone loves as much as I do. That is, when Jon thinks of Val’s hair as silver vs. when he thinks of it as the color of dark honey. You’ve seen those metas, right? They explain the likelihood of Jon’s future connection to Dany being negative — The air tastes cold. / My tongue is too numb to tell. All I taste is cold. — while his future connection to Sansa will be positive — It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Well, in this post I want to expand on the angle of Val-is-sometimes-a-stand-in-for-Sansa. Only, I don’t want to speculate on what will happen between Jon and Sansa in the future, if we ever get GRRM’s last two books. Enough people have already done that, and they’ve done it so wonderfully that I have little to add. Instead, as the title of this post says, I want to focus on Jon’s pre-canon crush. More specifically: I want to focus on what Jon’s thoughts and feelings about Val say about his thoughts and feelings about Sansa.

But let me lay some groundwork first, okay? Until a few weeks ago, I went back and forth on pre-canon crush theories. I agreed they held a lot of potential and were a lot of fun to daydream about — a great premise for a one-shot, to be sure! Oh, and I’ve always loved it when people said things like, “Hey, Jon, your Targaryen is showing.” That’s classic stuff. But did I really think GRRM meant to hint at prior feelings rather than just laying a foundation for future feelings? Again, until a few weeks ago, I wasn’t totally convinced either way. But now I am fully committed to the Pre-Canon Crush Camp, assigned to cabin Jon-Had-Feelings-for-Sansa. [Did Sansa have feelings for Jon too? Ummm maybe? I think there’s some evidence to support that, but not as much. But, hey, that’s not the point of this post. Sorry. Moving on.] So what changed? Well, basically some ideas I’d previously had sunk in on a deeper level. It started with this post from @sherlokiness. It talks about GRRM commenting on a discrepancy in the books, two occasions where Jeyne Westerling’s physical descriptions do not match up. GRRM said the discrepancies were a mistake, a really unfortunate one because it distracts from the times when he intentionally included discrepancies of physical appearances. And basically us Jonsas loved it. Like, “Yep! Make sense! We assumed as much already, Mr. Martin.” And that’s because of the canon line mentioned earlier, right? You know the whole thing, don’t you? Oh, but you want me to quote it here anyway? Okay, fine, I’ll oblige.

They [Ghost and Val] look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white [bleh, bleh, bleh] …but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Direwolf. Lots of white. Suspicious ellipses. Blue eyes. Long braid the color of dark honey. Right, okay, got it. [BTW. Did you know there’s also a point, early on, where Val’s described as having high cheekbones? You know, a feature Sansa has as well!?!?] Anyway, when I saw sherlokiness’s post about GRRM’s comments and the Jonsas relating it to that canon scene with Ghost and Val, I reblogged it. Naturally. And in the tags I said something like, “I’ll have to double check but I’m pretty sure the willowy creature line comes after this line. As in, maybe Jon knew exactly who Val reminded him in that moment and he was trying to talk himself out of his pre-canon crush coming back to the surface.” I’m paraphrasing here. My tags were probably not as clear as that. Also, I was being a bit facetious. It was a thought I’d had before, but just a passing one. Again (AGAIN! Do I say that too much?), I’d been going back and forth about pre-canon crush theories for a long time. But @agentrouka-blog saw my tags and was like, “You might be onto something there.” And then @zimshan saw my tags too and did the double check for me. Thanks! And guess what? GUESS WHAT, JONSA FAM!? I was right about the order. First, Jon sees Ghost and Val, thinks her eyes are blue and her hair is like dark honey, and it is a lovely sight. Second, this line:

Val looked the part [of a princess] and rode as if she had been born on horseback. A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her.

But guess what else? The order isn’t even the most striking thing. The most striking thing is how closely these two lines appear to one another — within just a few pages!!! That's what zimshan said. So I went back to read it myself. Not just the two lines to check the order, but a little before, and a little after, and everything in between. If you want, you can do the same. It’s ADWD Jon XI.

Want to know what stuck out to me most? The willowy creature line actually seems… so odd, and out of place, and unnecessary. I swear to you. Let me try to explain.

Basically, by that point in the chapter, Jon has already clearly established his take on Val. She’s beautiful, everyone knows it, but she’s more than that. She’s strong and capable. She found Tormund and brought him back to Castle Black when Jon’s Night’s Watch Rangers couldn’t manage it. Like, Jon’s thankful for Val, okay?

Oh, and he also seems aware that he holds her in higher regard than the rest of the men who keep calling her a princess even though she’s not one. I think he feels smug about it, to be honest. Like, he wouldn’t use these words because it’s ASOIAF, but he knows he’s a budding feminist and he’s proud of himself for it. Like, “I’m so much better than these asshats who don’t respect women and think all Val has to offer is her pretty face.”

How great is that? I love book Jon so much.

Where was I, though? Oh! Oh, oh, oh! This next part is key. Up until the willowy creature line, Jon has not had a single disparaging thought about Val. Val being cruel about Shireen’s greyscale hasn’t happened yet. But for some reason — *Getting too executed. Brain malfunctioning!*

AH! I SWEAR JONSA FAM! If you read the willowy creature in fuller context, it comes across as if Jon’s correcting himself for having a disparaging thought about Val, like he’s reminding himself of who she truly is. She’s a warrior princess, not a willowy creature. But like, why? Why does Jon feel the need to do this? He hasn’t had a disparaging thought about Val, so why correct himself as if he has?

Just because she’s beautiful? Just because he’s tired of other men calling her a princess? I mean, I guess that could be the whole story. That’s certainly how we’re supposed to take it, if we’re taking it at face value. But I’m not convinced. Go read it again, and I think you’ll see that when the willowy creature line happens, it actually feels like a weird logic leap.

The dots aren’t connecting because one dot is missing!!!! Let me put a pin in that for a moment while I turn to other mini metas in our Jonsa fandom. Antis like to say, “Jon doesn’t like girls like Sansa. He doesn't like willowy creatures, he said so himself.” But we know that’s crap, right? The boy who liked Ygritte’s gentle side? The boy who helps Alys Karstark by marrying her to Sigorn? The boy who dreamed his mother was a highborn lady with kind eyes? The boy who wanted to show his hypothetical wife Winterfell’s glass gardens and bath with her in the hot pools?

Yeah, that boy is a budding feminist, like I said.

So again I ask (AGAIN!) why would Jon — who is not especially critical of women in general and has not been critical of Val at all up to this point — feel the need to correct himself by thinking this critical thing about willowy creatures? In other words, why does he lift up Val by putting down some vague idea of other women he’s never had a problem with before?

Well, obviously it turns out that I believe my facetious, tongue in cheek tags more than I realized when I wrote them. My position is that somewhere in the two pages between ...a long while since Jon had seen a sight so lovely… and ...not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair… Jon realized Val reminded him of Sansa, he felt guilty and ashamed about it, and then felt the need to do damage control. And because guilt and shame are icky, confusing feelings, his damage control took the form of being critical of Sansa even though he isn’t normally critical of such women.

Am I making sense? How do I explain myself further? Like, why am I so stuck on this idea Jon’s willowy creature line being two pages after the Ghost and Val looking lovely together line must mean Jon had a pre-canon crush?

I think the crux is what I said about the willowy creature line feeling like a weird logic leap — like the dots aren’t connecting because one is missing. The missing dot is Jon being aware that he’s mentally swapped Val with Sansa. He just doesn’t acknowledge this on the page.

Let me be extra clear. I’m now differing from several others who have written about pre-canon crush theories in that I think Jon was aware of his crush. I’ve seen many say it’s all subconscious. But this stuff with Val makes me think otherwise.

I mean, I know Jon has a pattern of dissociation. For him, thinking, and speaking, and acting from his subconsciousness is a common occurrence. So, yes, he could have subconsciously thought Val looked like Sansa and subconsciously felt guilty and ashamed and therefore subconsciously decided to do damage control by subconsciously reminding himself Val is a warrior princess and therefore not a willowy creature.

But I think GRRM was hinting at an exception to Jon’s pattern with these canon lines. Because if the first part is happening subconsciously — Jon thinking Val looks like Sansa and that it’s a lovely sight — then he wouldn’t feel the need to do damage control afterwards? If he wasn’t aware of thinking of Sansa in that moment, isn’t it more likely he’d just carry on with taking Val to meet Selyse, and the odd, out of place, unnecessary line about a willowy creature wouldn’t have been included? What else, what else?

I said earlier that I think Jon’s crush is an innocent, not sexual thing. Let me expand on that. And uuuuuhhhhh... let me clarify that I think that might be changing some over time. My guess is when Jon was younger, his thoughts were more along these lines: “Sansa is pretty, and a proper lady, and everything men are taught to want. She’ll be a good wife for someone someday. Obviously not me. That’s sinful, I don’t want it, and I’m a bastard so I can’t marry a highborn lady anyway. But objectively, Sansa’s a good catch.” Which kinda matches how Jon thinks of Val at times, right? Like, she’s a catch but he doesn’t want her. He’s not taking Winterfell and a Wife because Winterfell belongs to Sansa and he’s a man of the Night’s Watch, dammit! But hang on a second. Sometimes Jon’s thoughts about Val are more elicit, aren’t they? He thinks about the size of her breasts and she’s the hypothetical wife he pictures romancing in Winterfell. Don’t worry, I’m not saying I’m secretly a Jon/Val shipper. What I’m getting at is this other thing we’ve talked about in the Jonsa fandom. Jone projects his general desires onto Val. He’s getting older. He’s unhappy at the Wall. Winterfell isn’t Robb’s like he thought it would be, and Bran and Rickon are thought to be dead. And Stannis is offering Winterfell and Val to him. Plus he’s now been intimate with a woman, Ygritte. So he knows that sex feels nice. All in all, Jon’s becoming more in tune with wanting Winterfell, and a wife, and a family, and wanting to fu—

You get the idea. ;)

Soooooo. If you buy into the premise that A) Jon considered Sansa a good catch when they were younger B) He’s thinking more and more about romance and sex C) Val is also a good catch and easy to project feelings onto and D) Woopsies, Val just reminded me of Sansa! Well, then where does all that leave Jon? Feeling like he needs to distance himself from positive thoughts about Sansa, right? But without ever thinking her name because of his pattern of dissociation and because GRRM is tricky like that. Am I making my point clearer, or just talking in circles? Like, I know plenty of people have already said Val is a switch-back-and-forth-stand-in-for-other-characters. The first two short paragraphs of this post mentions those metas. But holy smokes! If Jon is aware of A-D mentioned above, that adds a fascinating layer of subtext to his scenes with and thoughts about Val. Let’s talk about it forever!

Just kidding. I think I’m almost done here. Basically, I think the willowy creature line is Jon knowingly saying to himself, “Yikes, the thoughts I had about Sansa in the past didn’t bother me much because they were 99% innocent. But they are less innocent now and that’s a problem! You can’t like Sansa! Don’t confuse Sansa with Val, dummy! Val is a warrior princess! Sansa is a willowy creature and willowy creatures are bad!”

Okay, sure, Jon. Let me wrap up with one more canon line.

Of Sansa brushing out Lady’s coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow.

We often link this line to Ygritte for obvious reasons, but I’m now in the habit of linking it more to Val and the canon lines mentioned previously. I think GRRM wrote a the three lines — a sight so lovely + willow creature + of Sansa brushing out Lady’s coat — as a subtle continuation of one another. Us Jonsas saw the potential for underlying romantic feelings in the last one, that’s nothing new. But I want to add that it’s a direct contrast to the willowy creature line. As Jon is bleeding out, he can no longer be bothered to put up a front and pretend he doesn’t have feelings for Sansa, feelings that have gotten more complicated as of late.

Oh so subtle. Really not that much different than what others have said before me. But different enough I wanted to mention it. Now someone put it in a fanfic!!

#jonsa #jonsa meta #jonsa pre-canon crush #did this make sense?#it's a blur #i almost gave up on writing it #but people seemed interested #so i hope i don't sound like a crazy person

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sgiandubh · 5 months

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A study in media fabrication: the Metro interview

I was on a late, self-prescribed ☕ break at the office and lo and behold, mindlessly scrolling @bat-cat-reader's page, what do I see? S's last 'interview' to Metro UK. Rarely have I seen such a poorly cobbled fabrication, so I thought I might share a couple of quick thoughts about it.

A word about the newspaper, first. This is not, as you might think, a part of the Swedish-owned and worldwide present Metro conglomerate of free commuter tabloids, that usually end up littering the carriage, by the end of the day. Nope, and I had no idea. Metro UK is owned by DMG Media (The Daily Fail people, in other words) since 1999 and uses a different logo, to avoid being sued on what is, in my opinion a blatant trademark infringement (remember, S was the culprit the EUIPO punished for way less than that!). More interestingly, though, the print and web editions have totally different content, which means that you'd look in vain for the James Bondesque pic while commuting from Wimbledon to London, for example. The relevance of this interview is nearing 0, in my humble opinion: if anything, it just served to check a box of the PR's current media plan and justify the retainers a couple of people cashed in, as a result.

Quotes and references like the one below abound:

Now, if you imagine S talked face to face to Ms. Josie Copson for the sake of this article, you couldn't be more wrong. In fact, I doubt he knows her name or (when questioned) even if he ever gave an interview to Metro.co.uk. In plain English, he didn't "tell" Josie anything: PR probably sent her some formulaic 'answers' by email and let her add some fill-in material, then revised and greenlit the whole for release.

How do I know it? Easy: no photos. No specifics (random example: 'seated at the counter of Soho's BAFTA Bar, in London, SRH' this and that). And the almost scrupulous rehashing of the talking points we have already seen (and it did break my heart to see so many upset people for literally nothing, in here). Give or take some last minute inserts, some of which are quite dubious, to he honest.

This one, for example:

How odd. A Zoom call apparently happened, of which - again- we have no evidence at all. It's not impossible, but it is improbable. What is interesting, though, is the 'related' discreet surfing suggestion at the end of the article, which sheds new light on that Gen Z. joke - which yes, now sorta makes sense:

Why? For more (monetized) clicks and traffic. Remember the tiny detail that Metro's business model is based on a free offer. So, they have to make it viable somehow: in print, it's the ads. Online, it's all about the ads and the clicks.

The only interesting thing I could take out of this would be a very peculiar choice of words:

Being spied on... By all means, please clarify and thank you. I can think of one or two people in this fandom, regularly and almost obsessively dueling for the position of best informed in town. Using very different methods, to be sure, but still qualifying for this spying position, in my book. Both of them completely lack perspective and offer very little context, but that is of no particular import, when it's all about feeding your captive audience with nonsense.

If these two people wanted to come clean, they'd only need to write two very simple phrases:

This is a gossip blog exclusively focused on SRH.

and

This is a social media monitoring blog exclusively focused on SRH.

Not gonna happen anytime soon. Cue in the mystique of 'sources' and repeatedly absurd 'lucky strikes'. It certainly makes things way sexier than they really are. Because when you know things, you don't brag about it. Easy as 1, 2, 3.

Oh, and mark me: it's always been about SRH. No wonder the boundaries feel 'blurred'.

#fandom #shitshow

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mxtxfanatic · 1 year

Text

Xue Yang and Jiang Cheng are Parallels

I wanted to make sure I covered this in my Yi City arc reread since it became such a hot topic on my blog for a minute. Wei Wuxian and Xue Yang are not parallels; Xue Yang and Jiang Cheng are. Here are two quotes from each individual about their never-ending hatred and perpetual thirst for vengeance paid over and over in blood:

Wei Wuxian retorted, “He’s already a dead man. I’ve also died once. What else do you want?”

Jiang Cheng pointed at him with his whip. “So what? He can die a thousand times, or even ten thousand times, but it’ll never appease the fury in my heart! Since he wasn’t destroyed then, then fine! I’ll personally destroy him today. I’ll go and torch him now, then scatter his ashes in front of you!!”

–Chapter 23: Malevolent Part 1: Running into Gunpoint, taming wangxian

“If you wanted to avenge yourself on Chang Ci’an for breaking your finger, you could have just cut off one of his and been done with it,” Xiao Xingchen said in disbelief. “If you absolutely cannot get over your grudge, then break two, or ten! Or you could have even cut off his arm—even that would have been better! Why did you have to kill his entire family? Don’t tell me you think a single one of your fingers is worth more than fifty lives?”

Surprisingly, Xue Yang pondered this carefully for a while. As though he found Xiao Xingchen’s question very strange, he replied, “Of course. The finger was mine, while those lives were other people’s. No matter how many I killed, it wouldn’t have repaid the debt. It was only fifty or so people—how could it make up for my single finger?”

–Chapt. 41: Flora IX, fanyiyi

Both of them use their trauma to lash out at innocent people who have done nothing wrong to them: Jiang Cheng chasing after Wen Ning (who, in fact, aided the Jiang heir at risk to his own life) despite having already successfully murdered his entire family for the crimes of the long-dead Wen Chao and Wang Lingjiao; Xue Yang chasing after the Chang Clan despite Chang Ping being the clan leader and not his father who hurt him.

At the same time, Xue Yang’s response provides a deeper look into why they have this mentality. “The finger was mine, while those lives were other people’s...” he says, “It was only fifty or so people—how could it make up for my single finger?” At the end of the day, Xue Yang and Jiang Cheng consider themselves above everyone and everything else, including laws and morality. In fact, this is their morality. In their world, they are justified in kidnapping and torturing people to death for reminding them of someone they do not like and are validated in annihilating whole clans because they consider an individual to have committed an offense against them. The lives of others mean nothing in their worldview; it is only their lives that hold any and all intrinsic value that must be protected at all costs.

#human reads mdzs: take 2 #human metas mx

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kittyamore0 · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can i request a Slasher with a manipulative, attention seeking reader who will do anything for fame and kill which they already have? Slashers can be any you want!

A/N: ooh! I love the idea of this!

Slashers with a S/O who kills for fame:

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

[PART I] RATING: SFW with NSFW mentions

FANDOM/GENRE: Slashers, dark romance, horror

TAGS: @kittiescrownedsoul

POV: Second person

WRITING STYLE: Headcanons

Characters: Carrie White, Jill Roberts, Micheal Myers, and Jason Voorhees

REMINDER: Do NOT transfer, translate, modify, copy or steal my work!

Reader: Quotes that you say will be colored.

Appreciation note: Thank you for 100 followers! Love you guys. Stay safe, healthy, and have fun!

CW: Blood, blood kink, weapons, manipulation, gore, killing, comiting crimes for fame, murder, GN! Reader, framing others, sexual themes, sex mentions

CARRIE WHITE

She puts it behind her, acts like it never happened.

You were quite popular at Carries school

You had a blog and everything

Among your followers was Carrie

She uses the library computers and even bought one for her use only

We can say she had a crush on you

A BIG one at that

She could see why you were popular at her school

You were kind, smart, pretty/handsome, but sometimes a bit...off?

You would disappear at times and take very long

You got jittery when someone asked where you were and what were you doing

But you quickly put on this 'nice' persona to throw the person off

Huh, weird.

Anyways

Another reason Carrie liked you was because you had helped her out many times

Whenever Chris would try and harass her, you'd stop Chris and defend Carrie

"Oh, c'mon. [Name!], why are you sticking up for shitty Carrie?"

"Because she never did anything to you or anyone else. Shes innocent, so leave her alone before I get Ms. Collins on your ass again, Chris."

cue angry chrissy

You were perfect in her eyes

Sometimes you two would hang out!

And she'd trust you enough to tell you about what her mom does

You obvi saw it as abuse, but you didn't say anything

When you asked her to the prom, she was thrilled

But Chris was so ever pissed

She just broke up with Billy to go to the prom with you, and you're going to the prom with CARRIE WHITE instead of her?!?!

So now she had to go back to Billy, and make a goddamn fool of herself by begging for him to come back!

She planned revenge, and how was she going to get revenge? Well, she planned to take your popularity away by making her more popular than you

You notice she started a blog and started copying trends and things you were doing

She started getting more followers, and thats when you realized what she was trying to do

You were absolutely mad!

Who did this dumb, whore think she is?!

You had to take care of this, and fast.

You invited Chris to coffee the next day and she complied

Carrie was at the library and you gave her a spare key to your house, but that meant that you had enough time to go home and freshen up

Clean up your messy, bloody tracks before greeting your girlfriend

By the time you and Chris finished having coffee, you offered a walk around the nearest park

It was night

You both were walking on a small bridge, before she started choking and scratching at her neck

You had poisoned her

She grabbed the bridge railing and tears spilled from her eyes

That's when you bashed the side of her head with a log, splashing blood on your face, and making her fall face first into the running stream

You used your oversized sleeve to hold the log, dropping it too into the river

By the time you got home, Carrie was there

Which threw you off

She wasn't supposed to be home yet

"Oh, [Name ]"

...

"Oh, my god. What happened to you?!"

"Uhm "

"Are you okay? Who hurt you?!"

"Carrie, let me ex "

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god. We should go to the po "

"Carrie! I did it! I hurt someone..."

...

"W what...?"

“Chris, it was Chris.”

"The girl who...bothers me...?"

"Yes, and she, uhm, she did some things that got me really mad so i...had to..."

Carrie felt sick

Well, one half of her did. The other felt quite...relieved, for some reason...

Carrie didnt talk to you for days

But when she did, she just wanted to put it all behind her

You agreed and became more careful with your murders

You two continued going to prom together, the prank on Carrie didnt happen because Billy was too devastated to continue on

Ater prom, you convinced Carrie that her mother was abusive and that she should go with you

She did.

After all, she does trust you.

JILL ROBERTS

She loves it! You're just like her. You're both soulmates!!

Fell inlove with you instantly

She first found your blog and became an admirer

She found out about your love of the stab movies and what happened in Woodsboro

What happened to her attention seeking cousin, Sideny Prescott...

This couldnt have been a coincidence, right?

Where you two...soulmates?

She loved seeing your post, and would fangirl over your outfits, what you were doing, etc...

She sent you many gifts

All labeled 'Secret admirer'

You thought it was really cute

Always making videos about the gifts she sent you

She was happy to see you liking her gifts

Especially the ghostface mask, plushies, knives, fake blood

She would dream about being ghostface partners with her

With her upcoming plans for Sidney returning back to Woodsboro

And surprisingly, you were also visiting Woodsboro

When she found out, she was absolutely estatic

Where did you live?

Oh, well, luckily you posted a video about showing your front house

She saw the address on the nearby sign that was still on your lawn.

One morning, she happened to stumble across your house

And thats how you met her

She expressed her love for you and your blog right away

"Im such a big fan!"

"You know, im the one who sent the knife, fake blood, not really fake..., ghost face mask, shirt, etc..."

"Oh, really?"

"Yea!"

You found her big liking, love, for you really cute.

So you invited her out to coffee and she was so excited

Practically bouncing off the ground

Kirby had never seen her so happy

You two practically hit off when you met on that coffee date

And you two ended up becoming close friends

Enough that she has caught you murdering one of your haters

But you never knew she knew that

She honestly found it hot

And thats when she brought her master plan to kill Sidney, make herself, and you, famous

You loved it, like she expected

The perfect ghost face duo.

MICHAEL MYERS

A bit annoyed, but mostly doesnt care

He finds it hot

Sex after you've killed

Wants to keep the blood on you if you got messy because BLOOD KINK

No excuses

We all know Micheal would not have a clue on who you are

But, while killing his victims, the computer was on

He managed to catch a glimpse of it and see your face on screen

Your video was playing

Your account was on display

We all know Micheal would not have a clue on who you are

But, while killing his victims, the computer was on

He managed to catch a glimpse of it and see your face on screen

Your video was playing

Your account was on display

He watched a few of your videos, before hearing police sirens

Yep. Victim material you are.

Yes, he wanted to kill you

So he started stalking you a lot

He noticed your habit of seeking out attention, more like fame, a lot

That got him curious about you

You still were gonna be his victim of course

Until...he caught you slaughtering this famous blogger

Damn.

He didnt expect that coming

He just watched you in silence as you stabbed that persons stomach over and over again

After that, he couldnt bring himself to kill you.

Dammit. Why?

He doesnt even know the answer to that himself

And for you, you've known hes been stalking you

So one day, while he was stalking you, you saw him in position and waved at him

While smiling

He just tilted his head in response

How amusing.

from there he realized what hed been feeling

Hes got a harmless crush on you, and lust

So while you were alone, vulnerable, he just happened to sneak into your house

You caught him standing there, head tilted, in your dark hallway

"Hello, Michael,"

You smiled sweetly at him.

JASON VOORHEES

He was annoyed at first, still is a bit

Why? Well, you posted about going to Camp Crystal Lake

So now there were a bunch of weirdos camping there, and trying to meet you 'out of the blue'

When you did get there, he stalked you for a bit

Why werent you going through any of his traps?

What the hell

I mean, he did want you to last a little longer because of how pretty/handsome you were

Maybe you werent so bad

He saw how you were gentle with nature, even though it was only to avoid his traps

When you visited the lake, the first thing you did was pray...for him.

You said you felt bad...felt bad when he drowned

"You didnt deserve that,"

...

Oh.

How...sweet.

You werent like the other people who had stepped on Camp Crystal Lake

(Not me feeling like a pick me from saying, 'You werent like the other people ')

(SORRY LMAOO)

Anyways, those people were disrespectful

Drinking, partying, fucking, doing drugs. In a place that belonged to Jason and was not for horny teenagers or adults

But you...you respected the camp and...him.

He didnt want to kill you anymore and just let you be

Though, you heard his foot stomp of the branch

Fuck.

"Whose there?!"

He grunted and sighed under his hockey mask

He came out of those dark shadows and let you see him

You just stared at him, eyes bulging out of your sockets.

"Jason?!"

He nodded

"Oh, my god. Oh, my god!"

You laughed in disbelif

"Im meeting a dead person?! And...even if you are lying and just pretending, holy shit!"

He just shook his head

"Can i take a picture?!"

He shook his head once again, cue a frown-y you

"I get it...but can i stay here?! Oh, my god. I always wonder about dead people, how they work and and stuff!"

He didnt see a problem with it, so sure.

He nodded

"Thank you!"

you squealed with excited

"You're gonna like me. We're gonna be friends!"

He didnt nod nor shook his head, but he shrugged.

Meh.

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murdereraisuha · 9 months

Text

Classpecting TWST: Heartslabyul

After basically an eternity, I have finally gotten back into the mood for TWST character analysis and classpect. Therefore, I am briefly emerging from my swamp to slap this on the internet before retreating back to my hermit hut.

For everyone who wasn’t here years ago for my previous classpect posts, please check the classpect tag on my blog for more info on what the hell this is. Spoilers for chapter 1, chapter 5, and some personal stories. No knowledge of Homestuck required to read. This post will be using quotes from Kanade Musing’s translation of the original Japanese version of the game.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Riddle, the symbol for the rage aspect, and the words “Riddle Rosehearts: Maid of Rage”]

Right off the bat, I can’t think of any 2 aspects that could fit Riddle better than rage or doom, which both have to do with limits/rules. Rage focuses on stubbornness and “no,” while doom focuses on systems and caution. To me, the distinction between the two seems to be like personal vs universal. Anyway, Riddle’s strict self-discipline and adherence to the rules obviously relates to one of those aspects.

How exactly does the concept of limits/rules factor into his personal growth? The conflict in chapter 1 revolves around Riddle going ridiculously far with enforcing the rules in his dorm. From Trey and the post-overblot flashback, we learn that Riddle’s behavior stems from his mother being extremely controlling and teaching her son to value the rules & success over his desires & happiness. At the end of the chapter, Riddle apologizes to the dorm and becomes more lenient with enforcing the rules.

Ah yes, the good old days of less than 30 episodes a chapter. This is a refreshingly straightforward story compared to basically everyone else, which means that I’ve already narrowed it down to 2 classpects: maid of rage or maid of doom.

Maids, the active creation class, make their aspect, as shown by Riddle enforcing the rules amongst his dorm. In terms of their personal journey, a maid is first controlled by and reliant on their aspect. Their moment of development comes when they rebel against their aspect and finally claim it for themself. For Riddle, he is first controlled by the rules, like when he has to throw away the tart Ace made when he actually wanted to eat it. However, in the end, he rebels against his mother’s teachings and starts thinking about how he can work towards his own goals rather than blindly upholding the rules.

The question now is whether Riddle’s aspect is rage or doom. After some thought, I believe that rage suits him better. First of all, rage deals with negative emotions like hate and fear. Those emotions characterize the interactions we see between Riddle and his mother, from her vehemently declaring that sweets are poison, to her outrage at Riddle hanging out with Trey and Chenya. You can also see it in Riddle in his destructive anger and his despair at not having friends.

Secondly, rage deals with refusal and denial. It is the opposite of hope, the aspect of belief. Prior to and during his overblot, Riddle stubbornly denies that he is wrong. Just look at these lines from episodes 1-23 and 1-24:

Riddle: Are you saying that I’m wrong, too? Even after I did my best to protect all those strict rules?! Even after I’ve endured so, so, so many things! I won’t… I will never… I will never believe it!!!!!

Riddle: HAHAHAHAHAHA!! I do not need anyone who defies me in my world. I am my world’s absolute ruler. My world itself submits to me! I will not tolerate any answer aside from, “Yes, Lord Riddle.”!! It’s off with the heads of everyone who defies me! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Riddle: I’m the only one who’s always right!! If not, then all that I’ve worked for was…!!

Doom, which deals with caution, death, and acceptance, does not seem nearly as relevant to Riddle’s personality and struggles as rage is. Therefore, Riddle is most likely a maid of rage.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Trey, the symbol for the mind aspect, and the words “Trey Clover: Heir of Mind”]

I’m gonna start out with some pieces of dialogue from episode 1-17

Cater: Are you really okay with this…?

Trey: ……….. There’s nothing I can really do…

and episode 1-19

Trey: … I understand why you’d think of him as a tyrant, and I understand that the way he does things is a little wrong, too. But, I… I still can’t find it in myself to go against him at all.

Ace: ………. Now that I know more, I understand completely now. The reason why Prefect Riddle is like that… It’s all your fault…

Ace: If you think that the Prefect’s making the same mistakes as his parents, then tell him directly. Fix your mistakes. What’s gonna happen to him if you just feel sorry and spoil him? So you’re just gonna watch everyone hate him and alienate him from a distance?

I feel like these lines encapsulate Trey’s problem in this chapter. He knows why Riddle acts the way he does and he knows that what Riddle is doing is wrong, but Trey hasn’t done anything to fix it. Therefore, in terms of Trey’s classpect, I currently believe that the class that fits him best is seer.

Seers, the passive knowledge class, invite understanding of their aspect and through their aspect. For Trey, in chapter 1 he provides the 1st years with knowledge on apologizing to Riddle and Riddle’s upbringing. Also, a seer’s main problem is their struggle to understand and use the information that they have. In Trey’s case, he doesn’t know how to handle the situation with Riddle, so he ends up just giving advice to the rule breakers instead of actually confronting Riddle.

Now, we need to do some more investigation to figure out what aspect he is.

Trey has a obsession with dental care because his parents, who work as bakers, did not want all the sugary treats he grew up with to negatively impact his health.

Trey has many younger siblings and he often treats his dormmates like younger siblings too.

Despite how Trey’s brotherly behavior suggests a romantic and selfless outlook on things, he can actually adopt a rather practical and self-serving attitude as shown in his lab coat and dorm outfit personal stories.

Also in his dorm outfit personal story, Trey lets the other students try and utterly fail at making cakes to teach them how difficult baking really is instead of just telling them that their cake requests are unreasonable.

Trey is perceptive and was able to figure out that Cater dislikes sweets by observing him.

Trey’s unique magic, “Doodle Suit,” overwrites qualities (ex. taste, unique magic, color) of things or people with something else.

Going back to Trey being a seer, what exactly does he know and invite understanding of? Trey holds knowledge about Riddle, baking, dental care, Cater’s dislikes, and dealing with siblings. How the hell do all these things relate to each other?

Actually, hold on. Is he a seer? Cause I’m realizing now that he could also be a sylph, the passive creation class. Sylphs are typically known for getting involved in others’ business and fixing what they think needs to be fixed. For Trey, he offers advice to the 1st years, he tries to calm Riddle when he’s angry, he makes sure Unbirthday Party preparations stay on track, and he tries to enforce good brushing habits in the rest of his dorm. Giving up on fixing the Riddle situation might just be him failing as a sylph.

I’m kind of stuck there now, let’s consider aspect for a bit. Though his unique magic does relate to space, I don’t think his aspect is space, time, light, or void. Whatever his class is, it seems to mostly relate to concepts like harmony and healthiness. Therefore, the 2 main aspects I’m considering are heart and life,

Life would relate to his nurturing nature, his concern for dental health, and his relationship with food/baked goods. Heart would relate to his management of others’ emotions, his unique magic which basically alters the identity of something, and his turmoil with the Riddle situation relating to their relationship with each other. Now that I’ve listed these out, I’m gonna say that his aspect fits closer with heart due to that relating better to important things as well as the pun there with Riddle’s name being Rosehearts.

However, it is also important to consider the opposite aspect of mind. The thing is, about half of this post was written more than 2 years ago. Back then, I ended up putting Trey as seer of heart. However, looking back, I really don’t feel like that fits with my current understanding of his character. So, I am going to argue against my past self’s reasoning now.

Trey’s relationship with Riddle is indeed a big part of his character, and the events of the main story did induce some character development in Trey. However, Trey is his own person who is not defined by Riddle and who has his own problems and areas for personal improvement outside of Riddle.

What his own problems are can be seen in his personal stories and his appearances in event stories. A recurring theme with Trey is how he stubbornly denies that he is anything more than average. In his gym uniform story, he deliberately tries to get average grades in flying class, then proceeds to pull off maneuvers in an emergency that has Vargas praising him. In the port fest event, he makes an excellent chowder for the class’s booth, and then brushes off the others’ praise for it. In the 2nd Vargas Camp event, he comes up with a successful strategy for defeating the monster (Vargas) and then, again, brushes off the others’ praise for it.

So many of his efforts go towards blending in and hiding his true capabilities. Going back to chapter 1 of the main story, his main problem is that he hides what he is truly thinking about Riddle. Together with stuff from the bullet points up there like his “practical and self serving attitude”, I don’t think this behavior is something to do with what his class is like my past self did, but I think this is a symptom of his aspect being mind.

Now, after looking at the possible classes to pair with that, I believe that Trey’s classpect is heir of mind. Heir, the passive manipulation class, really seems to fit Trey. Trey seems to naturally default to putting up a mask, since he is often misinterpreted by other characters to be more caring about others than he actually is. He has a goal of not standing out and getting into trouble, and he does stuff like aim for average grades and shy away from going against Riddle as an extension of this goal. These two things seem to be examples of him being embroiled in or manipulated by “mind”, as an heir of it.

Then, as shown in his Starsending Robes personal story where he convinces Riddle to get the dorm a food processor that it doesn’t really need or his ceremony robes story where he successfully stalls Riddle while Cater fixes the roses at the dorm, he is great at getting what he wants through manipulation, but it is not very focused/deliberate like active manipulation would be. He did not make a premeditated plan to talk Riddle into getting a food processor for the dorm, but he happened to stumble on Cater and other students struggling in the kitchen and took the opportunity to bring up a food processor in conversation. In fact, Cater and the other students join in the conversation to back Trey’s sales pitch up without even knowing Trey’s true thoughts on the matter, which seems like a obvious example of inviting manipulation of mind. Therefore, I’m pretty sure that Trey is a heir of mind.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Cater, the symbol for the heart aspect, and the words “Cater Diamond: Bard of Heart”]

First, here’s a link to my Cater analysis, which contains my evidence and reasoning for my interpretation of Cater. You only need to read it if you’re curious about how I came up with this summary of him:

Cater’s puts up a constant happy façade to hide his inner sadness. He blends in with the crowd by following the latest trends and acting like a peppy cheerleader towards others. Because of family issues and constantly having to move, he has built up a strong resistance towards trusting others or forming close bonds with others.

Based on his deception, his blending in, and his unique magic “Split Card” which basically allows him to fragment himself, Cater’s aspect is most likely mind or heart. Mind deals with apathy, conformity, and masks, while heart deals with emotion, showing off, and identity.

For classes, I’m going to eliminate page, sylph, and the theft classes cause those don’t seem relevant. I don’t think he really rebels against anything so witch is also out, and the way his personality was shaped by nurture instead of nature doesn’t make heir seem likely either. Finally, though he puts up a mask, it’s more of a way to avoid attachment than hide insecurities so he’s probably not a knight. The remaining options are mage, seer, prince, bard, and maid.

Pairing those up with aspects (and also throwing out seer in the process) leaves us with mage of mind, prince of heart, bard of heart, and maid of mind.

I think the best way to decide between these 4 classpects is to focus on what Cater’s biggest problems are and how he as a person would change when those are resolved.

First, I feel like one of his biggest problems is how he pushes others away. He hides the depressed mandrakes he made in his lab coat personal story, and it is Trey who has to deduce that Cater doesn’t like sweet food rather than Cater telling him that. Second, the other big problem he has is how he not only refuses to acknowledge his problems to others, but also to himself. Even when he is completely alone, like at the end of his ceremony robes story, he still insists on maintaining his happy, life of the party persona.

The natural resolution to these problems would for him to be more truthful with others and to himself, revealing his “heart” and reducing his reliance on his masks, his “mind”. The resolution to his personal journey is really not a change in his relationship to “mind” but a distancing from “mind” and towards “heart”.

Therefore, I think that his true aspect is heart, and his specific classpect is bard of heart. I feel like the way that he lies to himself about his feelings and his overall laid-back nature aligns more with the passive destruction that a bard brings about than the active, focused destruction of a prince. With no other options remaining, I’m locking in my final answer for Cater as bard of heart.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Deuce, the symbol for the hope aspect, and the words “Deuce Spade: Heir of Hope”]

Deuce is a very earnest and “act first, think later” kind of guy. Though he is hard working, his enthusiasm and naivety can lead to him go about things in not very thought out ways, which makes me think of him as having an opposite attitude to the lazy but calculating Leona.

An issue he is very conscious of is how he is quick to anger and get into fights, which is what led to him being a delinquent in the past. Now in high school, he is trying his best to change his ways and be an honors student out of a desire to help instead of hurt his mother.

He is pretty hard on himself about this, but in chapter 5, Rook and Kalim help him see that his approach to things isn’t necessarily bad, leading to him accepting himself and developing his unique magic during the overblot fight.

Overall, his personal journey and character development seem to really revolve around the concept of going with your instinct versus strategizing. However, it doesn’t seem to be in the heart/mind way which is focused on rationality and expressing or hiding one’s true self. Instead, Deuce’s behavior comes more from an drive to get things done and push forward towards his goals regardless of what stands in his way and what others may consider unrealistic odds. His unique magic, “Bet the Limit”, is all about taking a bad situation where facing down someone who is stronger than him and is winning and flipping it on it’s head by retaliating with an even stronger version of the magic they’ve used against him.

Therefore, I believe he is strongly involved with the hope and rage aspects, with the hope aspect being the most likely of the two, so I am going to proceed with the hope aspect for now

So, for classes, the main thing we have to consider is how Deuce interacts with Hope. His personal journey is basically first he rejects hope because it caused him anguish because of his mother, then he realizes how he can use hope in a good way and accepts it. However, I do not think his relationship with hope was really destructive. Unlike someone like Cater who buries his “heart” as far down as he can, Deuce still does things based on hope. He acts according to his ideals and instincts, he’s just ashamed of it afterwards. Therefore, I don’t think Deuce is a prince or bard.

Therefore, I think one good possibility is heir. Like an heir would, Deuce naturally connects with core parts of the hope aspect such as trust and “doing” rather than “stopping”. His unique magic is based so much on his intuition that after he uses it he isn’t even sure how to do it again, which seems quite heir-like. Connecting his class to his personal journey, his challenge was to redefine his relationship with hope into a more healthy one instead of letting it pull him down bad roads like his delinquency, which kind of seems to fit with heir based on what tiny bits of memory I still have left of John Egbert’s character development in Homestuck.

I’m not 100% sure about that though, so another possibility is seer. As the passive knowledge class, the challenge of the seer is to reach a better understanding of what their aspect is and figure out what the right path to follow. This looks somewhat similar to Deuce’s case, but after some thought I don’t think seer fits. After figuring out the course of action to take, a seer tells others about it instead of taking action themselves, and Deuce is the only one here doing stuff with his hope. I don’t think Deuce is a seer or even a mage, because understanding/comprehension doesn’t seem to be a major thing with him.

Deuce could be a page. However, the problem is that he didn’t try to be better at hope or anything like that, he avoided hope. His behavior just doesn’t mesh with a page’s. Deuce could also be a rogue. He does struggle with owning his spontaneity/hope, but he never does any giving of it to others. Finally, going over the rage aspect and possible class pairs with that, nothing seems to really match up given how hope-based Deuce’s final character development and unique magic is.

So, in the end, the best fit I can think of for Deuce is heir of hope.

[Image description: A banner containing a picture of Ace, the symbol for the breath aspect, and the words “Ace Trappola: Sylph of Breath”]

In contrast to Deuce’s honesty, sense of duty, and occasional naivety, Ace is shrewd, independent, and has a talent for deception.

Ace often looks for the most efficient, corner cutting way to do things, such as in the 2nd part of his dorm uniform personal story where he decides to focus his rose painting efforts on the ones that are most in view.

One of his hobbies is doing magic/card tricks.

Though Ace puts himself first a lot, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about others at all.

Ace is not afraid to call people out if he thinks they’re being unfair or doing something harmful, such as in the dialogue I quoted in Trey’s section in this post.

Though Ace insists they he just hangs out with Deuce, Grim, and the player character out of pity, he shows a lot of care for them, such as in chapter 4 when he makes the long trip back to NRC because of the distress call the player sends when they’re held captive in Scarabia. Ace’s Halloween costume personal story is specifically about Lilia and Malleus commenting on how much Ace cares about his friends, complete with flashback scenes of stuff like Ace giving up his omelette at lunch to stop Deuce and Grim fighting over Deuce’s omelette.

Another cute example of how Ace acts aloof is in his dorm uniform story, when the hedgehogs go missing. At first Ace just tries to find the hedgehogs quick so Riddle won’t punish him for forgetting to lock the cages. However, once he actually starts to worry about if he can get the hedgehogs back, his mind automatically goes to how distressed Riddle was about the hedgehogs. He starts begging the hedgehogs to come back with him because Riddle will be really worried otherwise, even though Ace had previously made fun of another student for talking to the hedgehogs since they can’t understand human language.

According to the wiki.gg Twisted Wonderland wiki, throughout the main story, Ace apparently shows a talent for wind magic.

Given these facts, the first thing I want to consider for him is the breath aspect. Though his occasional contrarian attitude could look like witch-like behavior, given other parts of his character, I feel like it is more a manifestation of his aspect rather than his class. He insults people and expresses unpopular opinions as an assertion of his freedom and lack of attachment to others. Therefore, compared to other aspects, breath (and its opposite, blood) seems like the most relevant one here.

Now, to figure out what his relationship to breath might be. I’m just gonna copy paste this dialogue down here too cause I think it’s a good example of how Ace operates.

Trey: … I understand why you’d think of him as a tyrant, and I understand that the way he does things is a little wrong, too. But, I… I still can’t find it in myself to go against him at all.

Ace: ………. Now that I know more, I understand completely now. The reason why Prefect Riddle is like that… It’s all your fault…

After hearing about Trey and Riddle’s situation, Ace is able to quickly figure out what the essence of the problem with Trey and Riddle’s relationship may be, figure out what should be done to solve the problem, and succinctly communicate that to Trey. This ability immediately makes me think of the knowledge classes (mage & seer) or sylph.

What’s also interesting about this is the exact advice Ace is giving. Looking at this while thinking of the breath and blood aspects, what Ace is saying can be interpreted as him telling Trey that he is too restricted by his feelings for Riddle, (aka blood) to tell Riddle what he needs to know, so Trey needs to make the hard decision to step back (aka move towards breath) and confront Riddle.

Based on this, I think that Ace’s tendency to call people out for stuff is a result of him being a sylph. As the passive creation class, sylphs are known for meddling in other people’s matters and “healing” any lack of their aspect. For example, this advice that Ace gives Trey can be seen as an example of Ace “healing breath” by trying to introduce more objectivity to Trey and Riddle’s relationship, which in this context means more breath.

His feigned apathy towards his friends and the feelings of others ties into how a sylph can have a very fixed interpretation of their aspect, which can lead to problems when others challenge that interpretation. Ace seems to view attachments to others in general as something negative. Not just concrete relationships like friendships and romance, but also simple empathy and care, like that which the random student in Ace’s dorm uniform personal story shows to the hedgehogs when he babytalks to them. In the story, Ace pointedly notes that the hedgehogs can’t understand them, discouraging the guy from talking to the hedgehogs. This is an example of Ace going too far as a sylph and micromanaging breath here to an unnecessary extent. Therefore, Ace’s challenge is to learn when to limit his pursuit of freedom and recognize that some personal connections are alright to have.

The idea of Ace being a sylph of breath really felt right to me, so there is a decent probability that something else that I didn’t notice fits him better, but I’m gonna go with the ~vibes~ and settle on sylph of breath.

It was close, but basketball club didn’t end up as blood club. It’s just blood-and-breath club now I guess. Freshman breath player gets bullied by a pair of sophomore blood players. Hah.

Anyway, bye.

#twst #twisted wonderland #classpect #heartslabyul #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #deuce spade #ace trappola #homestuck #twst analysis #I would like to apologize for the banner colors idk anything about graphic design

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