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chorus-the-mutate · 7 months

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This is an edited repost of the Erzsebet Bathory character analysis I wrote yesterday that I refuse to let go to waste. I tried doing the right thing and tagging all of the necessary trigger warnings only for this post to be completely hidden from the Castlevania Nocturne and Erzsebet Bathory tags. Since I can't afford to tag the proper trigger warnings without being punished please do not read this post if discussions of rape or sexual assault triggers or upsets you in any way. I don't take these topics lightly and they are vital to this analysis of Erzsebet Bathory.

This post also contains major spoilers for this first season of Castlevania Nocturne.

This may seem presumptive of me to say but this thought has been stuck in my head for several hours: Erzsebet Bathory is the most rapist adjacent villainess I've ever seen without her actually being a rapist.

The first and smallest point against her is how often she mentions virgins. I know that Erzsebet's initial mention of virgin sacrifices is supposed to tie into the origin of her alter ego and consumption of Sekhmet but it's super fucking weird that it played into why she wanted to sacrifice Maria.

Next point against her is the lawyer's daughter. I'm not sure if this lady was a virgin but when she's first brought to Erzsebet she's already terrified and too dazed to fight back. It's obvious that she doesn't want to be there and that even if she did that she can't really express that desire. But Erzsebet still takes this lady out of a literal gilded cage, sits down and sits this lady on her dress to admire her despair before drinking her blood. The next time we see the lady she's still dazed. The only differences are that she's dolled up and seems more suggestible. Even with hundreds of people in this ballroom scene the lady is literally ignored by everyone except for Erzsebet who dances with her and parades her around for her own amusement. Everyone else knows that Erzsebet likes to make her victims suffer and they still refuse to acknowledge the lady because Erzsebet has made it clear that she's her possession. Hell the only person who is unhappy enough with Erzsebet to go rogue at this point is Olrox and he STILL IGNORES THIS LADY. When the lady is dragged outside to be fed on again without anyone batting an eye it reminds me of a rapist roofying their target and proceeding to do everything in their power to seem interested in their victim's well-being in order to take them to a second location. And no one speaks up since Erzsebet is the Harvey Weinstein, Prince Andrew or Thomas Jefferson of the vampire world; the embodiment of people in power getting away with abuse until the damage has already been done.

The last and biggest point against Erzsebet is the entire scene where she turns Tera into a vampire. For me personally that is just an allegorical rape scene and it's executed very well. Erzsebet makes her entrance at the abbey as a lioness of a woman, a literal predator who wants to take Maria as a sacrifice and turn her into a vampire to ensure Emmanuel the Abbot's loyalty. Tera protests and offers herself to Erzsebet instead. This is such blatant coercion that Tera refers to herself as the ram Abraham sacrificed to God instead of Isaac. And the only question or concern Erzsebet has at this point is if her sacrifice should be a virgin. The only reasons she accepts the sacrifice are Emmanuel's genuine love for Tera and the fact that Tera is a powerful sorceress. Once Erzsebet settles for Tera and physically lifts her to her level no one can stop her. Maria gets knocked out for trying and Richter gets bodied immediately after. Their only option is to get the hell out of there once Annette makes an opening and Richter rightfully runs for his life. Even Maria, the only person that could look back and see Tera turn, is knocked out and that feels like an intentional writing choice to give Tera one last shred of dignity. Erzsebet holds Tera really close in this sort of hug as she feeds on her and once she's fed she literally sits Tera on her lap for her turn to feed. Then Erzsebet cuts herself and the blood starts dripping down on Tera, starting at her skirt, going to her blouse and reaching her face. At first Tera doesn't react but then her body responds to the blood and she feeds even though she doesn't want to. Even though no one wants this for her. And that is exactly what it's like when someone has an unwanted orgasm. Tera's body is protecting itself the same way a victim of assault would and that paired with the blood on her skirt being reminiscent of the blood on a woman's thigh in the aftermath of an assault hammers home the rape allegory. It's very sad and uncomfortable to think of Tera's turn to vampirism this way but the thought lingers hours after like a grimy film on my brain.

I 100,000% believe that Erzsebet would have been an actual rapist if Netflix Castlevania didn't romanticize Lenore raping Hector and ending their relationship on friendly terms. Not to mention Sumi and Taka's sudden shift from allies to sexually assaulting Alucard out of spite. Castlevania Nocturne seems to shy away from rape and sexual assault in favor of allegories or moments so brief that I missed them unlike its predecessor. So I'm blaming the gratuitous depictions of sexual assault in Castlevania on Warren Ellis, the creator of Netflix Castlevania, who doesn't work on this show for a very good reason.

Everything from her size as Sekhmet to her tendency to torture women and girls before killing them contributes to the allegory of Erzsebet being the vampire equivalent of a rapist. She exudes power and not only does she enjoy making others feel helpless she's also great at it. She is a sadist without honor, willing to parade her lady victim of choice around vampire high society or hang a young girl on hooks to drain dry rather than let any of them die a quick death. The dragged out, needless suffering Erzsebet inflicts along with her preference for women and virgins frames her feeding as something more sexual in nature than the other vampire nobles who simply indulge in their gluttony. Even Olrox feeding on his former boyfriend isn't framed sexually, it's framed as a desperate, romantic gesture to keep his lover alive. And every vampire I remember from Castlevania has their feeding framed as a tool for political power or sheer, simple gluttony. Even the vampire general Cho was shown to be more of a tyrant or a general sadist clinging to power in Japan than a deviant.

Erzsebet's sheer sadism actually contrasts quite well with Dracula's humanity and restraint. He understood humanity, only feeding to survive or strike down the merchants who slighted him. (He probably also used feeding as a tool for political power but I don't think we saw that directly.) Dracula ultimately came to understand humanity so well that he fell for Lisa Tepes, the exemplar of what it means to be human. And that love is why I believe he respected Lisa's wishes and let her keep that humanity instead of turning her into a vampire. And after Lisa's death Dracula stopped feeding entirely, hoping to extinguish his life and take out as many people as he could because he believed that humanity should've been better. He believed that the people who lived alongside Lisa would've stood up for her and they betrayed her out of a mix of fear, religious reverence and apathy. Meanwhile Erzsebet doesn't care about humanity, seeing people like the lawyer's daughter as possessions or people like Tera and Emmanuel the Abbot as pawns to further her own rule. She might be taken aback by Drolta's death once she learns of it but there's an equal chance that she wouldn't even bat an eye.

So what do these points of analysis mean for Erzsebet and Tera's future dynamic as master and pawn? The one thing that's certain is that Tera has been fundamentally changed, forced into an unprecedented nightmare scenario that will drag her down a dark path. But I'm an optimist and I believe that Tera will ultimately be redeemed. She may never be human again but her humanity, her love for her son and daughter will save her soul. Ultimately I hope that Tera lives and recovers from the trauma of Erzsebet turning her. I hope that she goes home to her children and is taken in with open arms. But if Tera dies she will die as Tera, not as a pawn, and that is because Erzsebet could never kill her humanity.

#castlevania nocturne #castlevania nocturne spoilers #please heed the preamble #this post still discusses dark subject matters so I want you guys to be careful #erzsebet bathory #tera #tera renard #tera castlevania #dracula vlad tepes #anti lenore #sumi castlevania #taka castlevania #I really want to know what you guys think #and please forgive me if I've read way too much into Erzsebet #I just can't stop thinking about her lack of regard for most anyone #this could contribute to the colonization allegory with Erzsebet but I don't have the background or education to contribute to that talk #long post #ash rambles

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tavyliasin · 4 months

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ATG 1 - Meat? Cute.

In which a beginning occurs, and a sample taste of what is to follow.

----- Summary ----- Pairing: Astarion/Tav SPICE Rating: 1/5 (no sexy bits) Content Warnings: Biting, blood, brief overstepping boundaries

Spoilers Setting is ACT1, and includes the early start of the game, along with one of the first encounters with Astarion in camp where we learn about his identity as a vampire spawn. Canon Compliance Canon Adjacent - Follows most of the atmosphere of the scene with a little additional flavour and some changes to make it a little more personal to both characters, and a bit more true to how I felt the scene would play out with this specific Tav. Other Notes This is the warm-up, the beginning of an idea and the way that I flexed some creative muscles to prepare for the rest. Song Suggestion/Mood Pairing Whoever Brings The Night by Nightwish "All you love is a lie You one-night butterfly Hurt me be the one Whoever brings the night The Dark, created to hide the innocent white, the lust of the night Eyes so bright, seductive lies Crimson masquerade where I merely played my part Poison dart of desire" ----- FULL CHAPTER BELOW THE CUT -----

Tavylia Rugala had not been having the best of days, and it was, of course, about to get worse. Blinking away the bright sunlight, she took a moment to check herself over. A quick pat down informed her that all of her limbs were where they were meant to be, with no extra tentacles, and surprisingly none of the searing agony she had expected after the Nautiloid had crashed. What a way to start a day, escaping a mindflayer's ship with a Githyanki as like to murder her as help her, and a slender human woman who was almost certainly hiding something. Probably several somethings, but then who wasn't hiding anything?

Tav sighed and tried to catch her reflection in the still-bloodied dagger she had been clutching like a lifeline. Her eyes looked fine, the usual deep green hue, despite the flashes of memory of something being inserted as here eyelid was prised open… No, no. Not going to think about that. Her skin also looked relatively normal - relatively, because by all standards for a wood elf she was unusually pale. A quirk of birth, perhaps the moon elf lineage on one side or another, not that she could ask her parents either way. All she knew was both had been adventurers, one leaving when she was young to chase down some old family foe, whilst the other succumbed to illness before her tenth year. The elven lifespan meant she had already lived more than one human lifetime on the streets which had taught her several important lessons - first being that dangerous times were better survived with allies.

"Right. Time to find where those two ended up…" ---

Several hours later, Tav had managed to scavenge food, armour, weapons, and even a bunch of junk to sell for more essentials should there come a chance later. She had found Shadowheart quickly too and was grateful to have a Cleric's skills close by, although they were able to confirm that they both had lost many of the skills and strengths they had before the Illithid ship had taken them. A problem for later, they decided, before heading up the coast.

It was here that they heard a new voice calling out for help, and so they found themselves along the cliffs in front of an aristocratic looking elf with skin somehow even paler than Tav's own. Approaching him, her instincts bristled - danger. But there was also something enticing…

Astarion, as he introduced himself, was hardly the helpless one in need of rescue that he pretended to be, even if she did choose to play along at first. His little trick had failed to catch Tav off guard, one of her few remaining Rogue skills being her keen senses that saw his blade glint in the sunlight before it ever had a chance to come close to her. His deep red eyes didn't carry nearly the same edge as his blade, though, as his voice also wavered with uncertainty. It didn't take long to realise this "noble" (an act she failed to believe for an instant) also carried the same unwelcome guest in his head. For a moment she perhaps envied the worm for having such a fine vessel to carry it, though this was hardly the time for curiosity or libido to raise their heads.

By the time the sun set, she had also pulled an all too charming mage - Gale of Waterdeep, who did seem like every bit the noble that Astarion pretended to be - from a broken portal, and rescued a rather thankless Lae'zel. The darkness brought with it a restless curiosity, which Tav decided might be fun to indulge until rest became a more distinct possibility.

The ruffles on the white silk shirt Astarion wore seemed uniquely designed to draw more attention to the slight area of bare chest and collarbone, his neck also more exposed with a few unusual scars just visible under the moonlight. Although, Tavylia had plenty of her own beneath her scavenged and ill-fitting clothes.

"Well, hello. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" His voice carried a musical lilt, tinged with the same mix of danger and provocation as when they had first met earlier that day. He smiled, a well practiced expression that raised more alarms that Tav was silencing.

"So, you can't sleep either?" Her question was innocent enough, for now, though it was clear both rogues were sizing each other up. Both wary to trust from long decades of learning the hard way.

"I thought I might make myself useful and keep watch for a while, you know, keep an eye out for danger while the rest of you get some beauty sleep."

Tav frowned for a moment.

Astarion paused before continuing, eyes taking in the measure of her as she suddenly felt far less dressed. "Well not that you need any of that, of course. Clearly I don't either, though I wouldn't mind a hot bath."

"Clearly." She replied, deciding to play him at his own game. "Perhaps I could offer some company? Four eyes are better than two, right? As long as they aren't in the same head, that is."

"Do the tadpoles count?"

"Gods, I hope not."

"You're right, it is bad enough they're claiming a free ride in our brains. Anyway, I'm sure I can handle a few hours in the dark, why don't you go and get some rest?" Astarion pushed the point, gently perhaps but the barbs on his words were there. The pale elf was unlikely to let Tav talk his pointed ears off all night, it seemed.

"There could be murderers or thieves around, perhaps both of us should be on watch for a while." Her own message carried a sharp point, though the brief moment of disappointment in her companion's face turned to a swift regret for her choice.

A mirthless smirk crossed his features. "Perhaps I am a murderer, and you a thief? For all I know you're just waiting to steal my coin purse the moment I'm asleep-"

"And perhaps you are just waiting for an opportunity to pierce my heart with your blade."

"That would be a waste."

Tav blinked silently, words escaping her entirely at the unexpected response..

"Well, anyway, it looks like we're just going to have to agree to a truce for now. As delightful as it has been to cross sharp wits, the dawn waits for none of us, and you look more exhausted than I feel. How about you agree not to cut my purse, and I agree not to cut your throat, hmm?"

"I suppose I can't say much fairer than that. Although… Look, the lack of trust isn't personal. It's just self preservation. I haven't lived this long by throwing my lot in with every handsome man who tries to stab me on first meeting." A little more truth slipped out than she had expected, though there was as much chance to shove the words back into her mouth unspoken as removing the damned tadpole with a well timed slap to the back of the head. Though she did consider the latter as an option.

She was rewarded by a smirk, a hint of teeth sparkling between his lips. "Handsome now, is it? Good to know."

Tav could've sworn that the man in front of her was a bard had she not already known better. Every motion like a dance, even the tilt of his head as he observed her reaction seemed to be uniquely designed to seduce her away from her better senses. No , she thought firmly, not yet. Safety comes first. We secure our lives, and only then can we indulge in what it means to live.

---

Within a few days the party of assorted tadpoled strays had grown, and much to their relief had not begun to grow anything more from their own bodies. The tales of ceremorphosis were terrifying, and knowing it could begin at any moment was worse. The druid poison sat in Tav's pocket as a reminder, though she had little desire to use it. There was also the matter of the visitor in their dreams - although each companion spoke of a different appearance, it seemed the messengers delivered similar words to each. Warnings, half truths, and some encouragement and comfort that might help in the days to come.

However it wasn't the ethereal visitor that stirred Tav's dreams, nor was it the hard ground uncomfortable beneath her bedroll. With her eyes still closed she gripped her dagger tightly in her fist, listening to every sense that was screaming DANGER.

She rolled casually, keeping the pretence of sleep, using the moment to allow one eye just a glimpse of the threat she felt prickling at her skin. But the sight confused her more, and she quickly chose to drop the act and find out what was really going on.

"Astarion?" she whispered, one eyebrow raised at the pale elf standing over her in the moonlight. "You seem…unwell."

"Yes, well…oh this is awkward, can't you just go back to sleep? I won't be gone long." He shifted a little awkwardly, his usual airs and graces hidden beneath a level of exhaustion that Tav hadn't expected to see.

"I don't think I can. Besides, why were you walking towards me if you were leaving?" Her eyebrow was creeping ever closer to her hairline as she questioned him.

"At first I thought perhaps you might be willing to help, but on second thought I can manage just fine on my own. Do go back to whatever you were dreaming about, I'm sure it's far more interesting."

"And leave you here looking like that? Something is wrong, and it will be far easier for me to help you if you just tell me what it is." She looked him up and down, trying to figure out what could be peeling back the noble facade so deftly.

"The thing is…I'm hungry. Famished, actually."

"Then get some supplies from my pack, I have plenty and I'm not playing chef to some spoiled rich brat in the middle of the night." Her face softened as she noticed the pained look in his eyes.

"If only that would suffice… Listen, I… There's no easy way to say this, and - not that I blame you - you already clearly don't trust me-"

"I can trust you. I could. But only if you give me the truth." Tav beckoned to the edge of camp. Although the others were asleep, it wouldn't last if they kept up their conversation here.

Astarion followed, looking far less like the confident and swaggering rogue he usually portrayed, and much more like a lost and bedraggled cat, claws still readied but desperately seeking shelter from the storm. "If you're certain…"

The pair took a seat on a fallen tree, illuminated only by the moon. Tav marvelled for a moment at how there was someone even paler than her, though now they were so close in the still air her senses became more aware of the sweet scents drifting from his skin. How he found time to apply such perfumes on the road was beyond her, but the sweet notes of herbs and oils mingled with something a little more sweet and metallic as she drank in the aromas quietly, allowing him time to speak when he was ready.

"What I said a minute ago wasn't a deception. I am hungry. Terribly so. Usually I'd just sneak off and find some animal to satisfy my needs, but with this bloody tadpole and everything else… I'm too weak. I couldn't even catch that blasted boar I tried to send you after." Astarion sighed, hands curled into fists with his frustration. Tav recalled the other boar they had found on the road, and everything began falling into place.

"Vampire."

"So you did know."

"No, not entirely. The waking in daylight didn't seem to add up, to be honest. But that confirms it." The unspoken words, of course, were that it also explained most of the air of danger that had lingered around him since they had met, but the sheer exhaustion and for a moment helplessness in his eyes kept that thought from Tav's lips. "So, do you need me to go and hunt something for you, or…?"

"Would you consider that 'or', darling? I would hate to send you off into the woods at this hour." The musical tones were creeping back into his voice, his lips parting just enough for the moonlight to illuminate his fangs.

That prickle of danger in the back of Tav's mind began to be stifled by a far more powerful wave of curiosity. "I'm not going to just give you my entire life on a whim."

"I just need enough to get my strength back. I'll stop before you can come to any real harm, I promise." His eyes were regaining their fire now, still sunken with hunger and exhaustion, but coming alive with possibility and a spark of hope.

"If you don't, I will stop you. That's a promise too." Tav's words were firm, but she could already feel the allure of curiosity, her head tilting back slightly of its own accord to reveal more of her own slender neck.

"Then…if you're sure…" Astarion licked his lips as he took just one more moment in thought. "You should probably get comfortable, at least. Set a bed roll out over here, then you can rest easily afterwards."

"Such a gentleman!" She teased, as she loosened the collar of her outfit while he spread the rough blankets beneath the stars.

Tav wasn't sure what she expected, or even what she had wanted, but given the choice she might have preferred a little less haste. Although, given how clearly famished he was, she could hardly blame Astarion for wanting to quench his thirst.

At first he sat beside her, giving her a moment longer to move her hair aside, but he soon turned to face her, raising on his knees to grip her shoulders with cool and firm hands. With a swift but gentle motion, Astarion pressed her back to the ground, his upper body now above her and his lips swiftly finding the blood vessels on her neck. He didn't, or perhaps couldn't, wait for further words to pass between them. His fangs found their mark, a sharp pain giving way within seconds to a rising heat as they penetrated her soft flesh. His breath was warm and heavy, soft sounds tickling her ear with growing arousal as his tongue traced her skin, tasting and savouring the blood that flowed from the fresh bite. Astarion's grip tightened, a soft gasp escaping Tav's lips as she gripped the bedroll beneath her, mind fighting a confusing battle between lust and self preservation.

The latter, however, began to reassert control as she felt the edges of her consciousness begin to swim.

"Astarion…"

No response, save for a ravenous moan barely muffled against her throat.

"Astarion! Stop."

His weight still pressed her down as she realised his mind was lost to his hunger, greedy tongue not letting a single drop of her blood away from his lips. Had this not been likely to end her days, Tav would've perhaps preferred to enjoy those sensations, but enough was enough. She summoned the last of her strength to curl her fingers through his soft hair and physically pull him away from her neck. "ENOUGH."

Astarion gasped, a thin line of blood trickling down from his lips, the rush of the moment quickly fading to dark realisation. "Oh. Oh shit. I didn't mean to…I got carried away. I'm sorry, truly."

If it were anyone else, Tav would have thought those wide puppy dog eyes to be another trick, a part of the act to lure her into a false sense of security. But there was a genuine guilt, almost on the brink of tears, that brought a wave if deep sadness rising through her heart even as she rushed to press a handkerchief to the wound on her neck. Although, she was pleased to see that a little more colour and life had returned to the pallid elf above her, as she watched him pull a potion and fresh cloth from his pack.

"Please, allow me. It's the least I can do." The animal hunger in his eyes had entirely dissipated, replaced now by the concern as he gently cleansed her wound, cool hands soothing the heat where his mouth had just burned with desire at her throat. "Drink up, darling, then get some rest. You have given me more than enough strength to get by for now."

Tav let him hold the open potion to her lips, grateful for the slightly bitter medicine as the magic within it sealed her wounds and soothed her soul. Allowing herself a slight smile, she closed her eyes and let sleep take over her mind.

"Delicious…" Astarion muttered, his absent minded whisper barely reaching the edges of Tav's consciousness before the darkness closed in. ----------- ----------- ENDING NOTES ----------- -----------

This was my first ever even mildly spicy fanfic, originally written in late September 2023. That's when Tavylia was born, and the Sins began~ It was the help and encouragement of friends the gave me the courage to start sharing my works, then going a little deeper into fandom...and, well, it snowballed from there, didn't it darlings? Now, if you know my later works, this one will seem very tame. And that's how it goes, really. I built confidence gradually, getting more spicy with time and practice. Is this my best work? Absolutely not, it's rough, tame, and shows real ragged edges. But it set the scene, laid the groundwork for what was coming next. What is that? You'll see, the same time tomorrow, unless you wish to read it all on AO3~

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion's first taste #vampire bite

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corancoranthemagicalman · 3 years

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So @nebulous-bondage , you said that you liked Dean being an idiot with internalized issues that he confronts, misunderstandings and miscommunications, and long-suffering Sam. I attempted to do a bit of everything but adjacent to anything I would usually do, took a movie metaphor and ran. I hope you like it!

Great love and hugs to Sophie over at @starrynightdeancas for hosting this AWESOME event for a fabulous celebration (and once again congrats on the milestone!!) I got to meet at least TWO new cool people from it. (My gifter and giftee.) If you want some amazing content, please check out Sophie’s stuff that I totally drew inspiration from. Figured if my giftee was a fan of Sophie’s, I couldn’t go too wrong taking a card out of that deck.

Lots of love!

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

The crux of the issue if you asked Dean, was this:

He was an idiot.

Okay, he was not—he wasn’t stupid stupid. He has got mediocre intelligence, right? He wasn’t like Sammy and his multiple languages thing or Bobby and his random lore thing and—

The point was Dean, while not stupid could be a massive idiot. And that was the conundrum that led him to soaking in the middle of a diner in Nebraska of all places with his mother gasping at him and his brother facepalming at him and Jack glaring at him—

And Cas… well, Cas was just. Looking. But his face was, if Dean had to pinpoint some emotion, reading like it was a heartbreak that he had just experienced.

Maybe Dean should start from the beginning. Just so you understand his perspective, okay? Because he wasn’t—he wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t entirely his fault, except that it might have been. And he might have a lot of talking to do. Which sucked, because Dean kind of hated talking.

Okay, maybe not the beginning. The beginning was fire and brimstone and sulfur. The beginning was something Dean was told, but didn’t remember. Or the beginning he did remember, which was lightning and fear and salvation—well.

Dean was far from the beginning. The real beginning. It had been longer than a decade. An entire lifetime—more than that—separating him from what he was. What they were now to what they were then.

But there is a beginning to every stage in Dean’s life, he’s found. And that’s what he means. This thing Dean had for Cas? It began long before Dean was aware of it. This particular circumstance that led to a soaked shirt in a corny booth? Well, Dean with the benefit of retrospection could pinpoint it exactly.

In the Bunker’s library was where this had all started.

Cas had just walked in, deeply conversing with Jack. All of the conversations that Cas had he treated with that same seriousness. Even back when he had just been newly revived. Newly in Dean’s passenger seat, donning a cowboy hat, and calling himself Huckleberry.

(His Huckleberry. Dean’s Huckleberry. Even if he didn’t mean it like that. Could never mean it like that. Because angel’s didn’t feel like that.)

Jack had spotted Dean first, or at least turned to face Dean first. Dean had wondered if Cas had that same peripheral awareness as him. If his eyes always looked for him when he entered a room. If he could feel the charge he exuded with every step.

(Probably not. It was probably an angel thing that made Dean aware of Cas. Something about electricity and grace. Even though Cas’ grace was fading by the day, he was an angel. Would always be an angel if Dean could do anything about it.)

The point was, Jack had turned from Cas. Had asked Dean something about courting rituals in film. Dean had scoffed, reminding Jack that he didn’t watch chick-flicks. Because he didn’t. And had given him some sort of half answer.

(Ten Things I Hate About You didn’t count. And neither did Dirty Dancing. Ledger was not starring in a chick-flick, and Swayze always got a pass.)

Frowning, Jack had made some comment to Cas. It was probably regarding their previous conversation, and that’s why Dean hadn’t retained it. Didn’t really get it. He was, as stated previously, an idiot. And maybe if he had paid more attention, he would have stopped this before it had started.

But he didn’t. Instead, he had turned to Cas. Because he had been thinking about Dirty Dancing. And how Cas hadn’t seen that yet. And Dean had asked Cas if he wanted to do a movie night. Just—just the two of them.

(He said it was because Jack was four, and maybe Cas should vet the movie first. And Sam hated Dirty Dancing. And Mom wasn’t even home. Which was all true. But it wasn’t often that Dean had the excuse to be alone with his best friend.

At the beginning of their friendship, Dean hadn’t had to share Cas with anybody. That was his best friend. His buddy to laugh harder with than he had in his entire life. His buddy to watch movies with and make jokes with. Now even Mary liked circling around Cas—not that Dean would blame them. But maybe—maybe he would like to be a bit selfish. Just this once.)

Jack’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree, and Cas’ eyes had looked as gentle as soft-serve. “I would like that,” he had answered, and that had been that. They had watched the movie, just the two of them. And if Cas sat closer into Dean’s personal space—well. Cas never knew what that was, did he? No need to correct him now.

And it was small things like that. Adjacent to what they had been doing before, but somehow different. Maybe Dean was laughing more. Maybe Cas was smiling more. Whatever the hell it was, it was nice.

(Nice in the way that butterflies in the stomach felt. Light and dizzying and wonderful and terrifying. Not that it was butterflies. Not that this was even remotely anything like that.

Because, if Dean were to be honest about it, butterflies didn’t come close. The butterflies in Dean’s stomach had once had jetpacks. But now? Now they were settled. They just lived there and Dean was used to it and it was—

It was more than butterflies. In theory.)

And it was Sam shaking his head at them. Them laughing. Jack sitting across from them with a board game on a team with Mary, facing head to head. And it was… nice.

(Nice should have been Dean’s warning.)

Jack’s movie night picks were always varying, but he had recently shoveled 90s romantic films into the fray. Sam, as predicted, had ducked out to FaceTime with Eileen when Dirty Dancing had made it to the top of the list, but otherwise stuck it out. Dean couldn’t even begin to list all of the names that had bled together and the faces with their generic, lovestruck expressions.

There was Jack’s wide smile, though. Sam snorting a laugh and shoving popcorn into his mouth. Mary, intrigued and curious, asking as many questions as Cas might have once upon a time. And Cas was there, right next to Dean’s arm, and warm beside him. Lovely and warm and giving that same smile Dean thought was beginning to make a regular appearance.

Sitting with his entire family—all of them safe for once?—of course it had to go wrong.

(Of course Dean had to be the one to ruin it.)

It was an entire nest of vampires out in Nebraska of all places. Mary had been in the area and willing to meet up with them. Jack had been desperate to learn more about hunting, a fact that reminded Dean of a far off memory of Cas newly returned from Purgatory. A gummy smile and determination braced into an angel who still had his wings. Dean would be damned if Jack wasn’t a spitting image of that.

(But, maybe… Maybe Jack could go without all the terrible things that happened during that time. Cas, back from Purgatory and not in control of all of his faculties. Cas, longing for penance and willing to pass vindication on Dean’s guilty conscience. Even if Dean wasn’t a great role model. Even if the first few weeks with Jack had been—

Sam called it living with John Winchester again. Dean hadn’t known what to call it. Didn’t know if he could call it anything. But that—

Well, that was for another time. Dean would always be living with that guilt, but for the moment, the guilt bloomed in a Nebraska diner sitting across from Cas.)

Laughing, smiling—things that seemed to subtly be a new normal for them. It made Dean lean back in the booth, sling his arm over the back of it and relax into his seat. He turned to Jack, ruffling the kid’s hair after Jack shot a syrupy smile to Cas across the table. Cas offered a shy smile, ducking his head.

Beside Cas, Sam rolled his eyes and resumed his conversation with Mary. Mary had squeezed into the side with Dean and Jack. Five people didn’t work for booths, and Dean couldn’t help but think that in another life he would have prevented this exact thing from happening. But he didn’t mind being half on a seat, Mary squeezing between Jack and the window, and Sam sitting across from her laughing. Cas’ still shy smile on him.

“I did have a question,” Mary raised a brow. “I mean, when did movies start getting so… formulaic?”

Sam huffed a laugh, giving a shrug of his shoulders. “Well, they’ve kind of always been that way, haven’t they? Old Japanese myth becomes Hollywood cowboys becomes modern Sci-Fi.”

“Hey,” Dean spoke pointedly. “Treading dangerous waters there, Sammy. You can’t go wrong with cowboys or aliens.”

“Oh! Or Cowboys and Aliens,” Jack beamed, pointing with his fork before returning most of his attention to the remaining stack of pancakes.

Dean acquesied the point with a crooked grin. “That too.” He took a sip of his coffee, enjoying the slow burn of hot caffeine into his system. “What sort of formula are we talkin’ about though? Are we talkin’ young girls getting hypnotized by weirdly boyish supernatural creatures?”

“Even that has some basis going back to at least 1897,” Cas pointed out, “at least from what most people with any familiarity of fiction are concerned. Stoker’s Dracula was also a youthful seeming figure who enchanted a young woman.” His brow furrowed in that thoughtful way of his before he continued. “Though, I suppose that since some scholars believe it is possibly an allegory for sexuallly transmitted diseases, that does reaffirm the belief that it is meant to be an alluring but dangerous figure threatening the virtue of a young woman.”

Mary chuckled, shaking her head with wide eyes. She still wasn’t used to Cas being… Cas.

(There were times where Mary forgot Cas was an angel. Not in the sense that she was not always aware of the supernatural aura around Cas, but in the sense that sometimes Cas was so human. He was thoughtful and kind. His words were provoking and caring. His emotions were as volatile and as gentle as any man Dean had ever known.

Perhaps better than most men Dean had known. More human than some men that Dean had known.)

“I meant the whole boy meets girl thing.” She gestured with her free hand. “I mean the movie dates and the plastic solo cups. It’s all so… basic.”

“Not exactly the boomboxes and the mermaids, is it?” Sam smiled gently, nodding. “I guess people just like it… simple. Y’know? That love can just be something as simple as movie dates and sharing milkshakes.”

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck. Sam nailed it on the head. The best part of movies was that they were simple, and you always knew how they were gonna end.

(The hero always beat the bad guy, always saved the girl, always lived happily ever after. Didn’t mean Dean didn’t like movies where the cowboy rode off—grievously injured—into the sunset where you knew he would fall off of his horse after the fade to black. It was just that sometimes—

Dean knew that was going to be his ending. The cowboy holding his bleeding side. No one beside him but his trusty horse. Orange sunset on his face. That’s where his life was heading.

So sometimes it was just… nice. To pretend those stories didn’t exist. And Dean wasn’t living in one.)

“I guess,” Mary sighed, “I just miss the romance of it.” She looked forlornly at her drink. Dean wondered if she was thinking of John. Thinking of a jukebox and Zeppelin songs that he knew all the words to.

“I suppose everyone has their own unique definition of romance,” Cas offered diplomatically. “Humans tend to think romantic actions are circumstantial rather than objective.” He turned a small smile to Dean. “Take for example movie dates.”

Scoffing, Dean rolled his eyes. “Just ‘cause I like movies doesn't mean I think that’s romantic.” He could feel his cheeks burn, causing him to scratch at his scruff with an index finger. He was going to have to shave, wasn’t he? His hair was getting long—

“What.” Jack’s voice pulled Dean from his pondering. It sounded a touch colder than Dean was used to coming from the kid. Usually, Jack was sunshine and rainbows. Storm clouds and thunder. A spitting image of his dad—the one he called dad—but softer. Softer because Cas had done his damnedest to not let Jack be hardened into a soldier.

(Not like Dean had been. Not like Sam had been.)

“What what?” Dean furrowed his brow. Sighing, he rested his forearms on the table. “Look, movie nights? They’re nice for getting a girl alone in the dark and getting handsy on the couch or whatever,” he shook his head. “But romantic? Hardly.”

(He wanted to say that he didn’t believe in romance. Maybe because he didn’t want to believe that romance was out there, but not for him. It was hard to say that though, when thinking of his mother and her Zeppelin songs.

When thinking of a tape full of Zeppelin songs.

So he didn’t say any of that.)

“So,” Cas began slowly, “you don’t like movie dates.” He nodded, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “I see. What sort of dates would you prefer?”

Dean quirked a brow at Cas, letting out a chuckle. “Cas, I don’t do dates.” He shot a wry grin toward his brother. “Sammy prefers the wining and dining, but I’m more straight forward. If I want to hook up with someone, I just ask.” Looking at his hands, Dean confessed softer than he had meant to. “I’m too old for messin’ around.”

(And it was true. He was too old for it. He was still a handsome son of a gun. Still drew some attention, but—

But any time he had tried, he found himself just wanting to be home. Just wanting to be on that couch with Cas beside him and Jack sitting at their feet watching a movie. Sam and Mary coming and going as they pleased but there. Home.)

“You don’t… date?” Mary’s voice sounded careful and her gaze felt scrutinizing. “I—I was under the impression—”

“Mom,” Dean stopped her, feeling an embarrassed flush overcome his features. “C’mon. Don’t pretend like people didn’t do hookups back in your day too.” He tried to come off as teasing. Tried to lighten whatever was strengthening Jack’s glare, whatever was making Cas’ eyes grow a far distance away, whatever was raising Sam’s hand to his forehead.

Jack fixed his jaw and Dean had to swallow the bile that rose in his throat. He could recognize that look from the mirror. And that was a terrifying thought, that Jack looked anything like him.

(Made him think about the weeks where Jack was living with John Winchester. Made Dean wake up in a cold sweat that maybe Jack had been learning from them during that time too. That despite Cas’ hard work, Dean would’ve turned Jack into John anyway.)

“Movie dates aren’t romantic,” Jack listed, “and you only want to hook up?”

(And none of that was really true, was it? Dean liked watching movies. And he liked doing it with Cas. He had admitted as much to himself even if the circumstances of those daydreams weren’t romantic.

But the idea of it being romantic wasn’t lost on Dean. That he could want it to be romantic. If asked, though, he’d say maybe movie watching was more domestic. Somehow that meant more to Dean. His little house and his little family watching a film, Cas pressing close and smiling.

But he wouldn’t say that. Couldn’t say that.)

“Love isn’t like the movies, Jack,” Dean huffed. “And I sure as hell don’t want it.”

This was where we were now. Dean’s shirt soaked. Mary gasping. Sam’s face in his hands. Cas’ face being etched with something sharp.

“Jack!” Mary reprimanded, hand resting on his shoulder.

Jack held his chin up in the air, looking down at Dean despite not having the height on him. “Isn’t it customary that when the guy says something stupid, the girl throws her drink at him?” His eyes squinted, head tilting, and it might have made Dean’s heart seize in his chest despite the frightening cold from the water clinging to his chest. “Cas is too kind to do it, so I did it for him.”

Cas was too kind for a lot of things, but—

“Thank you, Jack, but there is no need.” Cas spoke softly, but his face did not reflect that gentleness he always aimed at his son. Instead his eyes were still distant. Still lacking that shade of blue. “I believe this is, ah.” He shook his head and Dean could recognize that self-deprecating crook of his mouth from any distance. “This is the part of the film where the girl grossly misunderstands what is happening.”

“Can someone explain to me what is going on?” Dean snapped, jerking into action to dot at his shirt with napkins. “I’m freezing in Nebraska and we’re still talking about chick-flicks! Life isn’t a movie!”

The crook of Cas’ mouth shrunk, turning a touch sad. “I know,” he spoke calmly and pushed himself out of the booth. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need some fresh air.”

No one kindly mentioned that Cas had never needed air before.

Dean was left staring at Cas' retreating form, that trenchcoat quickly crossing the horizon. It reminded Dean of the cowboy movies he had been thinking of. The injured cowboy carrying himself out of town, retreating from burdening his loss of life on anyone else. Bleeding and lonely.

Silence fell over the table, the napkins clutched in Dean’s grip quickly soaking some of the water from his shirt but doing little else to dry him. Sam’s elbow thunked against the table and shook Dean out of his reverie.

“So…” Mary began slowly. “You and Cas… aren’t dating?” She cautiously spoke, pushing her mug closer to the window as if that might spare it of whatever her words would stir within Dean.

(There was, admittedly, only one thought to cross Dean’s mind.

No, that wasn’t true.

There were precisely twenty-five different thoughts that had crossed Dean’s mind all at once. The largest of these—the loudest of these—was in a voice Dean ignored.)

“Mom, what the hell?” Dean furrowed his brow. “Cas is my best friend!”

Mary looked contrite, thinning her lips into a line. “I know that,” she reassured gently, “I just thought that…”

“Thought what? We were playing tonsil hockey or something?”

“Gross, Dean,” Sam sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He lifted his gaze to meet Mary’s across from him. “No, they’re just. Always like that.”

Dean swiveled to face Sam. Sammy was always insightful and usually right. But sometimes he spouted things that just… they didn’t—

(It didn’t make sense. To think of Cas and Dean as Cas and Dean. Not when Cas could never feel that way. Not when Dean was adamantly not thinking about it.)

“You told us that guys ask girls to movies when they like them!” Jack argued, pointing a finger accusingly at Dean.

“I what?” Dean furrowed his brow. “We do movie nights all the time! Watching a movie with someone isn’t a date!”

Jack turned to his pancakes with that same laser glare. Kryptonian son of a Kryptonian man. Super-human strength in the most unassuming package. Maybe the kid would have laser eyes. “We asked you why guys asked girls out to the movies in movies, and you said it’s just what people do.” He huffed. “Then you asked Cas to watch a movie. Isn’t that just what people do?”

It was then Dean realized he had no idea what conversation Jack was referring to, and he would have asked as much had it not suddenly come to his realization that—

(That—)

“Cas thought I was dating him?” Dean let out in a harsh whisper that felt like a whip to his heart.

Jack stabbed at his pancake, muggish and solemn with his movements. “I was so excited. I thought I had figured it out.” He let out a slow breath. “Cas tried telling me that… that sometimes humans say things and don’t mean it, but I thought…” Jack rested his chin on his balled fist. “And Mary said that her husband gave her a mixtape of Zeppelin too, so I thought—”

“Wait, wait,” Dean waved his hands in front of himself, speaking over Sam’s squeaking. He could feel his brain fritzing. Blowing smoke and threatening to stop in its tracks and never resume to whatever destination it had been plummeting toward. “Stop. Cas thought I was dating him. And he never said anything.”

Sam snorted a laugh, cracking a smile for the first time since this whole conversation had started. “When have you ever known Cas to say something?” He shook his head, hair curtaining his face. “He’s like the definition of happy with what we have.”

“Another movie trope!” Jack pointed with his fork, lifting his head from his plate. He turned with his silverware pointed at Dean this time. “See? You guys are like a movie!”

“It’s exhausting,” Mary let out in a quiet breath.

Dean could see her mulling over her abandoned coffee before he was distracted by Jack brandishing the fork near his face. He pushed the fork away with a single finger, furrowing his brow.

“We’re not a movie,” he admonished. “We’re people. People who’ve got—” Dean felt the words snap in his throat, clogging it with something thick. “He’s Cas. I’m me. Got it?”

“What the hell does that mean?” Sam furrowed his brow, matching Dean and leaning forward across the table. “You’re you and he’s him. Cut the bullshit, Dean.” Dean could feel Sam’s eyes on him like a searchlight. Felt it beam into every nook and cranny Dean kept hidden. Spotting the rats and the liter festering in corners.

Shaking his head, Dean pushed himself up from the booth. “I’m not having this conversation with you.” He spoke pointedly, looking at his family. His little, broken family.

(He could remember Lilo & Stitch. That had been one that Jack had insisted on watching. Dean couldn’t deny the kid the full cinema experience for a classic.

Sitting on the couch, watching the film, Dean could spy the intensity in Cas’ gaze. The way the green of the film reflected on his blue eyes. Dean caught himself before he leaned into Cas too far, but Cas caught the movement. Caught him staring.

“I just…” Cas had trailed off. “I hadn’t realized how much I could relate to a small, animated alien.” He shrugged. “I suppose now I understand how you could form a parasocial relationship with the talking dog.”

How could Dean put into words how much Cas was Stitch? Something alien and far away. An answer to silent prayers. Something that added to their small and broken family.

But still good.

Yeah, still good.

Instead he had just shrugged, made some remark about Scooby-Doo being everyone’s best friend until Sam had aggressively shushed him into silence.)

The problem was Dean knew he had to talk about it. What was worse was that he knew who he had to talk to. This wasn’t a conversation for his family in the middle of Nebraska. This was a conversation for Cas—wherever he was.

Running his fingers through his hair in aggravation, Dean could feel his boots stomp across the floor. He could hear Sam sigh and place his palm to his forehead. Feel Jack’s Kryptonian stare. Sense his mother’s fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.

(The truth was this:

Dean wanted to run too. Wanted to hide away from this conversation and never resurface. Hide beneath every shout from every hunter he had seen growing up.

But he was getting too old for this shit. And he was tired. And Sammy was always insightful and usually right. And if Dean’s gut was saying what Dean’s heart hoped it was saying? Well.

Well.)

“Cas,” Dean called out, spotting the slowly soaking shoulders of his trenchcoated angel as soon as he turned the corner. “Why the hell are you standing in the rain, man?”

Cas sighed, turning his heavenward face to the concrete. “I wanted to take a walk. It started raining. I didn’t let it deter me.”

“Doesn’t look like you did much walkin’,” Dean gestured to how close the diner was. Its comfortable brickwork was still three feet from Cas’ figure. Stepping closer, Dean inhaled sharply. “Cas, talk to me.”

“What would you like me to say, Dean?” Cas furrowed his brow, turning his entire body to face Dean. Dean didn’t know which was worse. The sharpened profile made of millennial old granite, or the thousand eyed stare that had raised him from perdition.

(It was neither of these.

It was a pair of blue eyes, a shade darker than those of Jimmy Novak’s, staring at him in a barn. Telling him he deserved to be saved. And continuing to tell him he deserved to be saved twelve years later.

That was the face that did Dean in. Always.)

Huffing, Dean could feel an instinctual, defensive fire burn in his chest. “First off, you could start with how the hell I was supposed to guess we started dating.”

Cas’ face hardened and crumbled. It reminded Dean of an old cookie. Stale and full of raisins. It was hard to look at. “We never started dating, Dean.” He spoke sharply. “I… I had made an assumption, and I know what people say about assuming.”

“Let me get this straight,” Dean shook his head. “My best friend of twelve years thinks I asked him out on a movie date in front of his kid, yeah?” He did not wait for Cas’ answer before continuing. “Then he just, what? Thinks that nothing would change? We’d just keep watching movies together forever?”

“I would ask for nothing else,” Cas confessed and his whisper was almost lost to the sound of the rain picking up, thundering against the roof of the diner beside them. “Nothing had to change. Nothing has to change.”

Dean growled. “Then why storm out, huh?” He bit. “If nothing has to change, why are you out here taking a smoke break in the rain?”

Cas inhaled sharply, turning away from Dean. “I…” he began, “I thought for once we were on the same page.” He let out a breath. “I just needed time to… think. Reconceptualize some things.”

“Reconceptualize things.” Dean echoed, ignoring the increase of the rain falling on his skin. “Cas, I don’t even know what to say.” He threw his arms with a shrug. “What am I supposed to say?”

Hadn’t he known what conversation he was supposed to have? Why was it so hard to speak to Cas about this?

Wasn’t it supposed to be easy? If Dean wanted this, and Cas wanted this, then wasn’t it that simple? Just like a movie?

(The problem, Dean figured, was this:

He actually didn’t know what Cas wanted at all.

All that time thinking Cas couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Now here they were, and Cas thought they were dating, but he hadn’t done any of the things Dean would have done if they were dating. What would dating Cas even be like? What they had already been doing for weeks? Years?)

“Cas,” Dean inhaled a fortifying breath. “Man, what do you want?”

Cas brow furrowed and his head tilted, scrutinizing Dean. Being solely under that powerful gaze made Dean shiver. The angel’s eyes widened and he took a measured step forward. “You should get out of the rain—”

“No!” Dean gripped tightly at Cas’ shoulders. “No, I’m not leaving until you tell me what you want Cas!” He shouted and he was certain his voice would have bounced throughout the nearly empty parking lot of the diner had it not been for the deafening rain.

“What do I want?” Cas shouted in equal force. He shrugged Dean’s hands off of his shoulders, pressing forward into Dean’s space.

(Suddenly, Dean was reminded of an alley. Of Michael and Lucifer. Of Cas pressing him against the cold, damp wall. Beating his convictions into him.

It felt holy, those dangerous touches. Punishment at the hands of an angry god reminding Dean what he was fighting for. Even if he hadn’t lost sight of it yet, and even if Dean didn’t know it yet—

Cas would always hold him to that.)

“What I want,” Cas growled, eyes squinting against Dean’s features sharply, “is the one thing that I know I can’t have—”

“And how do you know?” Snapping, Dean took the last step between them. Their faces were close as they had been in the past, but…

But it had been so long since Dean had been this close to him. And it was somehow not close enough.

Cas’ eyes widened, breath that he didn’t need hitching. Dean watched in fascination as the blue of his eyes was slowly overtaken by the dark of his pupils. His crows feet somehow diminished with his wide eyes.

Youthful.

He looked like an echo of a Cas Dean once knew. But this was the Cas Dean always knew. Just older. Wiser. Kinder.

(And Dean loved him more with every day.)

“Cas, I'm tired.” Dean confessed. “I'm tired of lying to myself. I’m tired of pretending that I don't—I can’t—” he stumbled over his words, searching for some hidden strength that might have resided on Cas’ skin. “I keep telling myself you couldn’t ever feel like… like that. And it’s easier that way. Maybe if you can’t ever feel like that, then it’ll never happen so why should I hope for anything else, right?”

Cas made to interrupt him, but Dean wasn’t finished. Not by a mile. And Dean had been driving all of his life. Knew the comfort of driving. There was something like that here, with Cas.

(There always had been.

On a park bench in a small town Dean couldn’t even remember the name of. Cas saying he wasn’t a hammer. Dean listening. The first smile or the first joke that wasn’t a barb. Or both.)

“But that's bullshit, isn't it? ‘Cause you feel like nobody I’ve ever met, Cas.” Dean laughed breathlessly and it felt like oxygen deprivation. The kind that made you dizzy and squeezed your chest. “You feel so much all the damn time. That's the whole reason Naomi hated your guts. You’ve got this—this heart, man, and I gotta tell you, I’m jealous.

I’m jealous of every person who gets that from you. That gets a piece of you. ‘Cause I want all of it. Isn’t that nuts, man? That I’m too chicken shit to get over myself but I want you completely like that?” Dean gulped in a fresh lungful of air but he still felt like he was choking. Cas’ eyes taking on the appearance of mist, glistening and open, growing the thing beating its way out of Dean’s ribcage.

Dean swallowed, closing his eyes and trying to finish what he had to say. What he knew he had to say. Dean wasn’t good at talking. He didn’t like talking.

(But he loved Cas.

That probably balanced it out.)

“I’m scared, Cas,” came the confessional, “I’m terrified that I’m gonna—about everything.” Opening his eyes, Dean looked to Cas again. Found the remainder of the strength he needed looking back at him so intensely. “But there’s, uh, there’s this guy who sort of makes me feel better. About all of that. And I think I could move fucking mountains for him if he asked me to.”

“Dean,” and Cas spoke it like absolution. Like forgiveness for all the things that Dean had done. All he would ever do.

(And maybe he did. Maybe Cas did forgive Dean of it. There was so much to forgive. Little to forget. But maybe—

Maybe Cas saw Dean. All of Dean. The John Winchester that he was and the John Winchester he could be. The Mark of Cain on his arm and the Demon in his eyes.

But maybe he saw Lilo, too. On her knees and praying. Hoping. Someone who was trying.

And god.

Did he want to try.)

Licking his lips, Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas’ mouth for a moment. “Y’know Cas,” Dean whispered. He couldn’t risk speaking louder. Not if it was going to break the spell. Not if it was going to fade to black before he could get this. “I’ve always wanted a movie kiss.”

Cas’ smile spread gently across his face like warm butter over morning toast. “I thought you said life wasn’t a movie.”

Dean chuckled, ducking his head in hopes that Cas wouldn’t catch the burning of his cheeks. He probably did, though. Cas was just observant like that. Knew Dean like that. Bringing his face back up to meet Cas’ gaze, Dean couldn’t help but smile wider.

“It isn’t usually,” he shrugged with a single shoulder. “But, uh, way I see it?” Dean leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose along the bridge of Cas’. “I think we just might be.”

(And god that was corny. But Cas made Dean corny.

No.

Dean was corny. Cas just made Dean comfortable enough to be whatever he wanted to be. And what Dean was right now was kissing the love of his life in the rain, receiving a foot-popping silver screen worthy first kiss.

Fade to black. Roll credits. Cue the 90s pop cover of the title song.)

#starrynightdeancas gift exchange #the sndc gift exchange #gift exchange #fics #my writing #destiel #spn #thought they were dating #everyone thought they were dating #miscommunication #misunderstandings #dean is an idiot (affectionate)#I hope you like this. I was experimenting and I had fun writing it. So I hope you at least halfway enjoy it?#welcome to the C is insecure channel #but seriously I hope this at least somewhat hit some of the buttons I was aiming for.#Big thanks again to Sophie for running the event.

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sineala · 3 years

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Hey! I know you've received asks about long distance relationships before but I hope you don't mind if I ask, too :) The thing is a bit complicated and I need some advice, and your story is just so beautiful I'm like, "please adopt me!!" There's this person on tumblr whom I have a crush on, sort of: we've never actually interacted because I don't have a tumblr account but she posts a lot of things I love and info on herself too, so I feel like I know her. 1/2

2/2 I'm ace and never dated, which is a problem because I don't really know what to do, and I'm also very shy, but... the question is... what can I do? i can't just send her a message and say, "I have a crush on you, but you don't know anything of me. Can we try to date?" But on the other hand I really don't know how to start talking to her... :( sorry, I'm just an awkward human being... and thank you for listening to my problems! But of course feel free to ignore me. Take care ❤️

Okay. Wow. This is a lot, anon. I had to think for a while about how to say this as nicely as I possibly can, but: I don't think you should do what you're asking me how to do. At all. I don't think your feelings are bad or wrong or invalid, and I get why you feel the way you do, but there's really not a good, kind, or fair way to get the outcome that you want. You can try to make friends with her if you legitimately want to be friends with her, but you can't be friends with her for the purpose of dating her.

I have more to say under the Read More.

You might find it helpful to read something about the concept of parasocial relationships. The tl;dr version is that parasocial relationships are relationships that an audience experiences with people like celebrities or performers. You, the audience member, don't actually interact personally with the person you have this parasocial relationship with -- everything you know about them is because you actually know the persona they are adopting for public consumption, rather than the person themselves -- but you feel like you know them anyway.

I'm not saying that parasocial relationships are bad. They can be good! They can be positive! I'm pretty sure we all have them. Heck, media fandom is basically us having massive numbers of parasocial relationships with fictional characters! Parasocial relationships can be great and inspiring! Having a favorite character or a favorite celebrity can make you really happy! Do I have parasocial relationships too? Yeah, sure, you bet. The Goodreads review I have that has garnered the most likes is the one that is approximately 50% me explaining that I have a giant crush on Rachel Maddow. I have never met Rachel Maddow. I obviously do not know the real Rachel Maddow, and I would not want to actually for-real date her even if both of us were single. I can just be happy reading her books and watching her TV show. There's a video game I like to play, Slay The Spire, and I have a favorite Slay The Spire streamer on Twitch, and at this point I have probably watched hundreds of hours of this dude playing video games, and because of that, I know a lot of random facts about this guy's life. Does he seem like he'd be cool to hang out with? Yeah, sure. Have I ever interacted with him in any way other than subscribing to his YouTube channel? Nope! I don't even have a Twitch account! Do I know him as a person? Absolutely not.

I'm saying all this because social media is a place you can have parasocial relationships, and the relationship you have with this Tumblr user is parasocial. (Incidentally, the relationship you have with me is also parasocial; I mention this because I feel like you should know that asking me to adopt you is coming on a little too strong, as an opening interaction. I don't mean to make you feel bad about this, and I'm sorry if I have, but since you're asking about how to interact with people you've never spoken to before, you should probably know that.)

It basically comes down to this: you don't actually know this person, but you feel like you do because you've read her Tumblr. I'm not saying that's a bad thing. That's not a criticism. That's not a value judgment. I mean, technically, you don't know me either. That's just not the kind of relationship that I have with you, or that you have with her. It's parasocial, not reciprocal. And you really need to keep that in mind.

Can you form reciprocal relationships with people you have parasocial relationships with? I mean, yeah, maybe, depending on the person. And the answer to how you do that is basically the answer to the question "how do you make friends with people?" -- and it seems like you might like advice about that, since you said you were shy, You talk to someone about mutual interests that you both enjoy. You hang out. Maybe in RL in Better Times you meet up and go get lunch together. These days on the internet I make most of my internet friends by (1) squeeing back and forth at them about whatever fic they wrote and clogging up their AO3 comments until we take it to email, (2) yelling about fandom on Discord until we mutually discover we are like-minded enough to start yelling at each other in DMs directly, and (3) murdering them in games of Among Us and then lying about it. (Games are a bonding experience.)

You listen well, you share some things about yourself because that's what friends do and if the other person wants to be your friend they will share things back -- or maybe they will share things first, if they decide they want to be friends first. This is how we humans like to bond with each other. I feel like I am not very good at this friend-making thing, so I am not sure I am the best person to ask for tips. But that is basically how it works.

Can you be friends with this person? Maybe. I don't know. You can try. But what I do know is that you absolutely should not try to be friends with her with the intention of dating her. People don't like when they think someone is friends with them because they want something from them, and, generally, people really really don't like when someone is friends with them when the thing they want from them is a romantic relationship. You know how you hear people (usually straight guys) talk about being "friendzoned?" They're upset because they're friends with a woman they want to date and the woman sees them as only a friend. That is the realm your proposed interaction is adjacent to, and that is not a good place to be. Don't be like one of those guys.

I think you should ask yourself if you would be happy being friends with this person if there were zero possibility of romance with her. If you would be happy being just friends. And be honest with yourself. If, after some soul-searching, you decide that, yeah, you would feel 100% satisfied just being her friend if nothing else ever happened (and you have to honestly believe this), then and only then should you try talking to her.

What should you talk about? I don't know; you must have something in common. I have made friends with people because we both enjoyed Avengers volume 3 and classic Star Trek. I made friends with a bunch of people in college because we all liked to watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Smallville. I have made friends with people because I told them I liked the book they were reading or the pins on their backpack. I have made friends with people because we both were in the same science-fiction online roleplaying group as teenagers and it turned out twenty years later we were sharing a fandom, we now lived in the same state, and we also liked the same folk music! I made friends with my wife because I wanted to complain to her about a Due South fanfic I was reading and she didn't like it either and then I was translating a text for class that was in Ancient Egyptian and the footnotes were in German and I didn't know German (and still don't) but I knew she did. At that point I had absolutely no clue there would be any romance involved there; I just thought she was really cool and she seemed to think I was cool and then we just kept talking.

So, y'know, maybe, if you just want to be her friend, you can try to do that. You can find out if you actually like her as an actual, real person. But you have to want to just be friends.

But if you think you'd be unhappy if you were just friends with her, you absolutely should not try to be friends with her, because that would be misrepresenting what you want and it would also be very unfair to her.

(Edited to add: I guess the other option is that you could, in fact, just be like, “Hey, I have a crush on you,” which would be both honest and forthright -- but I feel like that has a very, very low chance of working. Hence all the other advice.)

I hope that helps.

#Anonymous #replies

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riviae · 4 years

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so anyway... did anyone ask for a regis-centric character study set during his time in beauclair in ‘lady of the lake’ ft. angouleme? no? well i wrote it anyway lol:

Beauclair was a fairytale place—that much Regis was certain of. However, even fairytales bore monsters, gave blood and bone to things that were better off not existing at all. And, more often than not, fairytales gave birth to monsters in the shape of men.

The land was an illusion of peace, a mirage of vineyards and bustling cities that fed the monsters that thrived there. Where there was peace, there would also be strife. Where there was laughter, there were also tears. Where there were innocents, so also were there those who sought to spill blood. Regis had not spilled blood in a long time, but some of his more... tumultuous memories resurfaced during the full moon, the urge to fly high above the castle battlements and walls giving way to more long-repressed desires.

He wanted to fly. He also desired a drink—though this wasn’t confined to full moons. He settled on walking and humming the melody of some tawdry ballad that Dandelion had composed when they reached the Sansretour Valley. Regis could have misted through the cobblestone streets as a barely perceptible fog—in fact, it was how he had favored to travel before his encounter with Geralt and his rag-tag hansa—but his time spent traipsing the narrow pathways of Beauclair with his companions had made him oddly nostalgic. Walking at a human’s pace allowed him the chance to reminisce, to commit the sprawling array of shops and houses to memory.

To his right, he saw a row of apartments painted a soft peach, dark green ivy climbing over an overhanging trellis and up the façade of the building. In the mornings, there was often an elderly woman that sat on one of the stoops with her cat. She had a faint Nilfgaardian accent and spoke animatedly with Cahir, who, to Regis’ surprise, smiled and laughed brightly. Regis could count on one hand the number of times Cahir had laughed in his company, which was only once more than Geralt.

Without the winged helmet and cape, Cahir looked almost boyish, his tan, freckled skin and dark hair giving the impression of someone who worked hot summer days on his parent’s farm. In truth, with just his sword at his side, Cahir did not look like a soldier or even a knight. It was only in his most basic mannerisms such as the way he postured himself as he walked, the subtle way he mapped a room with his gaze, his back always pressed to a wall, that betrayed his years of service as a soldier. War had not yet taken the kindness from his eyes or the gentleness by which he spoke to Milva, Angouleme, Regis, Dandelion, and, at times, Geralt. So, along with his politeness, it was only natural that he would be popular with the older generations.

Regis stopped in front of the elderly woman’s door, his eyes shining silver in the flickering lamplight. In the dark, he could see that she did not choose to close her window, the drapes within the first-floor bedroom moving almost imperceptibly due to the mild draft.

In a fairytale, a monster would materialize from the shadows to crawl through the window. It would approach the woman’s bed, its rows of teeth poised over her, only to have its head lobbed off by some kindly knight.

The vampire approached the window. He could hear her snoring loudly, heard her shaky intake of breath and then a brief stutter. It was a moment where she had stopped breathing, but Regis was not worried. Most sleep apneas were generally harmless and he did not hear any other telltale signs of more serious ailments such as excess fluid in her lungs. In fact, her lungs and even her heart seemed strong. It was likely nothing more than apnea brought on by the muscles of her throat relaxing, something that could be treated by learning to sleep on her side or abdomen.

Quietly, and without difficulty, he misted into the room. He locked the window and closed the drapes before disappearing again, this time the dark fog of his incorporeal form crawling underneath the space between the stoop and the door. When he reappeared, he was human-shaped and he suddenly felt the lateness of the night tugging at his eyelids. Sleep was not always necessary for his kind, but it was a luxury he had been spoiled with ever since coming to reside in Beauclair castle.

It had become a habit thanks to Angouleme’s insistence on sleep being a ‘good fucking elixir to any ailment’—her diction taken, more or less, from Regis, but sprinkled with her choice of vulgarities. It was quite endearing. And it also explained why he spent some afternoons in the shared common area within their wing of the castle, tome in hand, dozing now and again on a wide chaise lounge while the flaxen-haired girl snored in his ear. Sometimes even Milva would join them, though she took to the adjacent sofa and either played cards with Cahir or sharpened her arrowheads. Geralt, on the exceedingly rare days where he wasn’t tangled up with Fringilla Vigo or taking on a contract, sat in the armchair and scribbled in his own personal bestiary, gazing now and again discreetly at his dozing company with an expression that could almost be described as tender.

Perhaps he truly was getting old even for vampire standards, he thought, returning to the present. Giving a very human yawn that he covered reflexively with his palm, Regis turned away from the apartment and immediately met the gaze of two teenagers. One of which who had brandished a small, curved hunting knife.

If they had seen Regis reappear from a spindle of smoke, neither teen acted as if it mattered. As if all he had done was but an elaborate parlor trick, as evident by the way that more muscular teenager pressed the blade silently and fervently to his neck. The vampire allowed himself to be pushed into the nearby alley and against a brick wall as the blade pressed deeper into his skin.

A few beads of red dripped down the knife, splattering onto the ground in a star-like shape. The pain barely registered to the vampire, though his nostrils flared at the scent of sweat and alcohol. The teenager with the knife to his throat was sober, though possibly high on fisstech if his dilated pupils were any indication, but the other boy, lean and dressed in black with a sabre at his side, had definitely been drinking. He smelled of cheap beer and blood—many people’s blood.

“Looks like you’ve caught us a meddler, Boris,” said the boy with the sabre. He pulled a metal flask from his belt and took a swig, wiping the excess with the back of his hand. “Listen here, grandpa, we’ve been casing this place for weeks. So instead of worrying about some elderly wench, you should focus on yourself.”

Boris flashed a grin that sent a sinking feeling to the pit of Regis’ stomach. It was a wholly familiar grin. One that he had given long ago, so long ago that it felt like he had dreamed it. “This guy looks like a fucking tax collector, doesn’t he? Hey, gramps, you’ve got any coin on you? You must, it’s Beauclair, after all.”

“I’d bet he has more coin than common sense. Only a senile old coot would walk around alone at night, ” the other boy added, snickering. “It’d be almost a mercy to kill him.”

It was, disturbingly, like looking into a mirror of his youth. The jeering, the recklessness, the utter lack of respect or dignity for life—they were young, stupid, and thought the world owed them something. Something that they had no qualms taking violently.

This is what I was like before, he thought to himself. I only cared about myself. I lived to drink—and died for it, too. How pitiful.

His inner thoughts were interrupted by a swift strike to his cheek. Boris had dropped the knife in favor of using his fists, one hand curled around the vampire’s throat while the other prepared to punch him squarely in the jaw. Regis fought the urge to snarl, settling on a frustrated huff. If they realized he was not human, he would likely have to kill them. He did not want to—bloodshed no longer suited him. At least that was what he kept telling himself whenever the option for violence arose.

Regis did not fear many things. He did not fear fighting or war or even death, really. But he also knew that there were many fates worse than death. He feared returning to the habits and mindset of his youth, of losing the respect he had for others that had taken centuries to come to fruition. Regis was not naturally kind; kindness did not come easy to him. But he was naturally good at learning through observation and, like any skill, kindness could be cultivated—even in the worst of people if given the time to change. Or so he believed.

“Listen to us when we’re talking to you, old man,” Boris hissed none too kindly, this time reaching to tug at Regis’ greying hair. “Vinny, let’s just kill the guy already and go rob that wench.”

“No,” Vinny replied, his tone almost playful. “I’m just starting to have some fun.”

The words echoed loudly in the vampire’s ear, alchemizing into a voice that he recognized as his own.

“I’m just starting to have some fun,” Regis remembered himself saying as he rose from the barstool, lips pulled into a sneer. In a blink of an eye he had crossed the entire distance of the tavern to seize a drunken man by the scruff of his neck.

“Now, now, there’s no need for tears, my good fellow,” he said calmly, pulling the man closer. “We’re just having a party and need your… contribution.” Fangs met flesh then, the man’s outcry cut short as Regis dug his teeth cruelly into his neck. The vampire rolled the body away from himself when he was done, barely sparing it a second glance. He was already thinking of where he could get his next drink now that the last human patron of the tavern was dead, adding to his morbid pile of bodies.

Back in the present, the lean, dark-haired teenager had traded places with Boris, choosing instead to point his sabre directly at the vampire’s Adam’s apple.

Again… must I always have swords pointed at my throat?

Vinny blinked, dark eyes widening in surprise. “Huh, well I’ll be damned. The old man’s got a sense of humor.”

Regis, who had not realized he had spoken his previous thought aloud, hid his own shock with a hum of agreement. “Amongst other things,” he said, voice calm and polite. “Anyway, I’d be more than willing to part with some of my coin if you would be so kind as to lower your weapon. I am not in any mood to fight.”

“But what if I’m looking for a fight?” Vinny goaded.

Regis sighed. Perhaps he couldn’t talk his way out of a confrontation. He was tempted to use hypnotism, to simply have the pair fall into a drunken slumber beside the nearest gutter, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t prey on some other innocent citizen the moment they awoke. “I’m sorry,” Regis began, tone and expression severe, “But a fight with me is equivalent to courting death.”

“This old fuck must be on something…” Boris muttered, a full-body shudder wracking his muscular frame at Regis’ tone. “Let’s go, Vin. Something doesn’t feel right about all this.”

Before Vinny could respond he was cutoff by a distinctly raucous laugh from the mouth of the alleyway. “Hey, uncle!” a familiar voice chirped. “Need a hand?”

“Angouleme?” Regis breathed, watching as the teen approached, both hands shoved casually in her pockets.

As she approached, her grin grew even wider. It was an expression that very much reminded Regis of a feline who had gotten its claws hooked into a canary. “Oho, now look at what the cat dragged in! Vinny and Boris, it’s been awhile, you whoresons.”

“Angouleme,” Boris greeted, giving a nervous look to Vinny. “What are you doing all the way in Beauclair? Thought the Nightingales didn’t travel this far south.”

“They don’t—I’m not a part of their shit gang anymore. They’re also all very, very dead.” At this, Angouleme flashed another wide grin, giving the two boys a wink. “So maybe don’t bother my Uncle Regis anymore if you don’t wanna end up in the ground.”

“Fuck this,” Vinny groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He lowered the sabre from Regis’ throat with a frown and stepped away. “Ang, we were just casing some house when your uncle or whatever showed up.”

Regis took the brief interlude to fix the collar of his shirt, smoothing out the creases in the dark fabric. His gaze then returned to Angouleme who had now stepped in front of him, acting as a barrier between him and the two teenagers as much as her petite, lithe frame would allow.

“I’m sure you were,” Angouleme agreed. “But y’know what else I think, Vinny? I think you’re just out looking for someone to kill. Steal from whoever, I don’t care—but watch your blade. Too many murders in one area and people are bound to notice.”

“Almost sounds like you’ve gone soft, Angouleme,” Boris said, tone neither accusatory nor playful—as if he was only stating a very obvious fact.

“Almost sounds like I should’ve let Uncle Regis kill you two,” Angouleme replied icily. Her right hand twitched, ready to reach for the blade she kept hidden in her boot—a gift courteous of Milva after she had lost her own. “No one’s going soft, especially not me. Go find some drunk in a ditch to rob if you must and then get the fuck out of Beauclair.”

“And what if we don’t want to leave?” Vinny asked with obvious bloodlust. “What’ll you do then, Ang? Because I don’t believe for a second that your geriatric, grey-haired babysitter could even throw a punch before I have him gored on my sword.”

Angouleme cackled, a feral glint in her eyes. “Since uncle doesn’t like resorting to violence very much and I’m feeling particularly nice tonight, I’d be sure to kill ya both myself. And since we used to run in the same circles, I’d make it a quick death too. You’d both be bleeding out before you even had a chance to piss yourselves in fear. Call it a friendly discount—two quick, painless deaths. Hell, I’ll even bury your bodies so the birds don’t dine on your insides.”

“Now there’s the girl I remember,” Vinny said, whistling appreciatively. “You always had a way with words. You were all bark and bite. But now I wonder if you’ve been muzzled; why else would you be traveling around with a man who looks like a bank teller?”

“If I may interject?” Regis asked, raising a hand politely. Angouleme whipped her head back to shoot the vampire a confused look.

Regis cleared his throat. “I think there’s another way we can settle this. Without bloodshed.” Not waiting for a reply, Regis turned his gaze to Vinny and Boris, sighing. He addressed the dark-haired man first. “Vinny, was it? You like killing, don’t you?”

Vinny nodded, tone expressionless. “It’s fun. I like hearing ‘em scream. Why do all these people get to live cushy, painless lives here in the city? What’d they do to deserve a good life? Nothing. I’m just here to settle the score. Be the monster all these rich folk told me I’d be growing up. It’s a bonus that I enjoy it.”

Boris gawked at the other teen. “What the fuck? Why’re you admitting all that? Have you gone fucking mad?”

Regis continued, ignoring Boris’ outcry. “So you feel that you have some right to kill? Because you were wronged in life?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m good at stealing and killing. It came with practice. Do anything long enough and you learn to develop a taste for it.”

“I see…” Regis trailed, now turning his attention to the other teen. “Boris. Why do you follow Vinny? I can tell that you have less of a stomach for murder than him. Though it seems as if you are fine with violence… within reason. ”

“He’s a right bastard but he’s also my only friend. I can’t abandon him no matter how much I want to sometimes. He likes getting into trouble—starting brawls, drinking till he pukes, murdering when he doesn’t have to, racking up as many bounties on his head as he can without it being chopped off—and it’s up to me to keep him from going too far. From getting himself killed.”

Regis smiled sadly. “You think you’re helping him. But in actuality, you are enabling him. I don’t blame you, however; it’s often difficult to tell the difference.”

“So what’re you gonna do with ‘em, uncle?” Angouleme piped up, eyes wide with admiration for the vampire. “Wish you could teach me how to hypnotize people… seems like it’d come in handy,” she added, kicking at a loose stone.

“Hmm… well, I’ll actually leave that to you, Angouleme. You know them better than I do. Do you have a solution? We can’t just leave them to their own devices.”

At this, Angouleme paused, brows furrowing. She deliberated for a few moments, tilting her head from side to side until she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Keep ‘em still for a second, uncle.”

Regis nodded, focusing on keeping the two teens in place.

Swiftly, and without any preamble, Angouleme landed a solid kick to Vinny’s right arm, relishing in the loud crack that followed. The teen howled then, the pain freeing him from Regis’ influence.

“Fuck!” He cursed, falling to his knees to curl up into a ball. His outcry was jarring enough to snap Boris from his own trance, panic flooding the teen’s face at the sight of his friend curled on the ground.

“Hey, Boris,” Angouleme drawled casually, smile curling even wider at the way the larger teen steps back instinctively in fear.“ Do me a favor, will ya? Take Vinny and get out of here. Help him heal and teach him how to control his anger. Not everyone in the world is out to get ya; you don’t need to take a swing at every person you come across. So if I hear about you two causing any sort of ruckus I’ll make sure to break more than an arm. Got it?”

With a shaky nod, Boris helped Vinny back to his feet. In mere moments the pair had disappeared, skittering out of the back alley as fast as they could.

“Thank you, Angouleme,” Regis said, smiling in his own gentle way, the tips of his fangs peaking out from beneath his lips. “You were able to defuse the situation rather brilliantly—with no bloodshed. Impressive.”

At the genuine praise, the flaxen-haired teen looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t want Regis to see how her cheeks had reddened at his words. Praise was rare; before joining Geralt’s hansa, she had only been praised for her prowess at killing and stealing. This was different. She wasn’t doing something because she wanted the praise or attention or the safety that came with being stronger and more dangerous than her peers—she was simply doing what she thought was right.

As they walked back to the castle, Angouleme gave a contented sigh, tilting her head up towards the full moon.

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?”

“It is, my dear Angouleme. It certainly is.”

Angouleme smiled, gaze softening. “Think we’ll get more nights like this?”

“I hope so,” Regis replied, voice thick with something akin to melancholy.

At that, Angouleme snickered, nudging the vampire’s shoulder playfully. “Heh, you sounded so sentimental there. Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss going on long walks with a brat like me. ”

“…I’m going to miss a lot of things about Beauclair. Mostly, though, I think I’m going to miss all these fragile moments of peace. I know even good times must end—we still have a quest to complete, after all. Geralt’s ward is still in danger. But being here was nice. And I especially enjoyed our walks, Angouleme.”

Together, they walked the winding road back to the castle. Home, Angouleme thought a moment later. They were going home. It was the first time that she had ever thought of a place as home. There had been houses, small huts and backwater inns that she had lived in, sure—but home implied belonging. She had a place where she belonged with the friends she now saw as family.

And if Regis noticed the few stray, happy tears that brimmed in her eyes, he politely didn’t mention it.

He too was busy reminiscing--his life had changed the moment he decided to follow Geralt, to join his company and work to save his ward. Even if it amounts to nothing but ash, Regis thought, I won’t regret my choice. Here, with everyone, is where I know I belong. I don’t know if this story will end like a fairytale or a nightmare, but at least I won’t be alone. Not anymore.

#emiel regis #angouleme #other hansa characters are mentioned but it's mostly these two #can't believe i wrote something that primarily ignores geralt lmaoo but here we are #this is kinda all over the place but i did try i promise ;v;

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battlestar-royco · 5 years

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let’s talk about tropes

here’s a little (little?!) post on tropes, as promised!

some tropes i hate and why i hate them

love triangles: this one’s pretty simple and obvious. love triangles are unrealistic and toxic. they romanticize emotional cheating, and they cause nasty ship wars in fandoms, especially when two of the points in the triangle are women. often, the “losing” point of the triangle is a one-dimensional throwaway character who either gets killed off or accepts their fate and steps back for the “winner” to take over. this dynamic can get especially problematic when the “loser” is a woc and the “winner” is white, when the “loser” is an lgbtq+ character, and/or when the “loser” has no purpose other than to create drama for two other fleshed out characters. the character often ends up being hated for bad writing and “getting in the way” of the endgame ship. yikes. the only valid resolution to love triangles, imo, is a polyamorous relationship!!!

girl hate: it’s rare to see nice friendships and romances between women, and often this trope is used to drive an unnecessary wedge between two female characters who would have otherwise been great friends. i don’t mind when two women/girls are in conflict with one another for an interesting reason, but i absolutely hate when the conflict is based on something stereotypical and boring. the “girl hate” conflict is always based on something misogynistic, unrealistic, and/or stupid--like a man, looks, sexual practices, or a contrived competition. this is especially gross when the men in the story act as the voices of reason in the conflict, patronizing the women and teaching them how to be nice and use logic.

“strong female characters”: many writers mistake “strong” characters for characters who employ violence, sassiness, and masculine attributes to get what they want. I’m so over it. all I want is nuanced representation of women that doesn’t reduce them to a love interest or a sex object who looks down on other women. strength comes in many forms, and everyone defines it and identifies with it differently.

miscommunication: this has to be one of the laziest forms of prolonging drama, when two characters are fighting because of something that could easily be solved if they were locked in a room together for five minutes.

incest/incest-adjacent romances: this should go without saying, but we’re for some god-awful reason going through a period where incestuous relationships/fake-outs (ie, you’re in love with him? too bad he’s your brother. oh wait, it’s revealed that he’s not!/you two are blood related but you either never met or you went through a period of separation, so that means you can fall in love) are heavily romanticized or used to create extra drama, and it’s just unnecessary and not cute. i think authors use this to add some sort of edge or uniqueness to their writing, but it’s just so toxic and a complete turn-off for me.

aesthetic oppression: (term inspired by and similar to “aesthetic conflict,” thanks kat) when an author throws in some sort of oppression that is experienced by people in real life, but they either don’t address the oppression thoroughly or they only use it to add some sort of edge to their story and further a character’s romance, death, redemption arc, etc. for example, the homophobia in GOT season 6, which reduced loras to a walking stereotype of a gay man before he was subjugated by the church sept and blown up, and the patriarchy in ACOTAR that only exists to show how feminist rhysand is.

boys/men fighting, having tantrums, or expressing themselves through violence: it’s fine for male characters to fight every once in a while, but i just hate that this seems to be exclusively employed with male characters and it is used as a solution or reaction to problems when realistically, men are much more nuanced. men cry. they might be alone or in front of others. they might cry into their pillow or on a friend’s shoulder. fictional men add violence and anger to their sadness because the authors don’t want to emasculate them, but that’s a stupid goal and crying doesn’t affect someone’s gender. smashing your belongings when you are upset is unhealthy and potentially dangerous, and so is physically fighting others over trivial or patriarchal issues (ie a woman) when conversation could be/is probably much more compelling and effective. it’s important to show men that anger isn’t always the first emotion to feel under duress and that they don’t have to express their feelings by punching walls or throwing their belongings across the room. (also?! practically? YOU’RE RUINING YOUR OWN FUCKING STUFF AND/OR YOUR ROOMMATE/FRIEND/PARTNER’S STUFF, YOU ASSHOLE.)

sexy immortals: immortality can be used in clever and entertaining ways, but i feel like a lot of the immortals i’ve been seeing lately run in the same vein as the twilight vampires, which is to say: unearthly beautiful (aka conventionally attractive), overly sexy (aka stalking a love interest for the sake of “attraction”), apparently 16-25 years old (aka accessible to grown women who read/write ya).

uninvolved parents or non-existent guardian figures: sometimes young characters don’t have parents and that’s fine; some of my favorite books are about characters with one parent or no parents. but i still feel like we’re coming out of a period where it was very popular to kill off the parents (especially moms) at the beginning or before the story starts. i really want to see more exploration of characters with parents, or at least see the characters without parents make significant relationships with adults or react appropriately to the loss of their parents.

one-off character deaths: when a character enters one chapter or episode of a book/show just to immediately die for cheap emotional manipulation. this character is also sooooo often a marginalized person, and it’s super predictable and tired. try harder, author/screenwriter!

some tropes i love and why i love them

special snowflake/chosen one: I can’t explain it. I know it’s so cliche and one of the most hated ones out there, but I love when this trope is done right. I’m not a big fan of the chosen ones who have a special destiny, especially if the mc is a white boy, because that’s been done a million times before. but I’m a sucker for that one character who comes upon an unexpected special ability/object/creature or connection to a force of good/evil/nature and has to contend with that. They’ve been Chosen and they’re completely unprepared, and it’s gonna change their life trajectory and relationships and maybe even political climate.

woobies!!!: I feel like this trope is so underrated and it’s one of my favorites of all time. I absolutely love rooting for that one character who’s too good for any of the shit they’ve been through and Deserves Better^TM, but they manage to survive and grow against all odds.

found family: i love that authors are expanding the concept of family and unconventional narratives about love. the found family trope is so charming and relatable to many readers, and it’s great to see seemingly contrary characters come together to find a loving home together that isn’t necessarily romantic.

soft characters: it’s rare (though increasingly less rare, fortunately) to find soft boys, aka male characters who are compassionate, funny, kind, pensive, and/or quiet instead of brash, loud, violent, and angry. i know so many boys and men who fall all along the spectrum of masculinity, and it would be great to see more characters who represent that, especially because male characters are typically forced to express their masculinity in one way. i also absolutely love seeing women being equally as soft and kind--with the exception of ASOIAF!sansa, i feel like this kind of character has been cast aside for the sassy, rebellious, empowered^TM female character who isn’t like other girls and wields a bunch of weapons. i’d really like to see more female characters whose strengths come from empathy, intelligence, and emotion.

unique relationships within a friend group/ensemble: this one is marginally related to my love of found families. not only do i really like tight, strong friend groups, but i also like when each of the friends within that group has a different and compelling dynamic (hostile, romantic, friendly, tragic, whatever may have you) that can carry a scene or an arc. unique relationships between all the characters in an ensemble adds so much dimensionality to a story.

complex guardian figures: this mostly applies to ya, but i think it can also be said for many adult books and tv shows. adult characters often get flattened or sidelined for romance or action plots when in reality almost everyone has parent/guardian relationships, and these relationships are the source of so much complexity. that complexity may mean love, found family, anger, patronization, manipulation, and more, and all these things will be expressed differently based on the characters in question. for example, look at the difference between eleven and hopper from stranger things and harry and dumbledore from harry potter. hopper and dumbledore are so different and each of them carry darkness and baggage that comes out on the kids for better and worse. bonus points if the guardian is a woman, because these types of relationships between girls and women are relatively rare to the ones between boys and men.

anti-heroes/anti-villains: i think this is another one that goes without explaining. we’re all the hero of our own story, after all. if an author can successfully convince me to root for a character who i know is wrong but believes they’re in the right, or for a character who does the wrong things for the right reasons, there’s a good chance that i think very highly of that author.

stoic, bitter, angry characters: if there’s one character in the ensemble who has any of these traits, there’s a good chance they’ll be my favorite, especially if that character is a woman. usually this character’s journey is about what makes them vulnerable and how they become close with the most unlikely companions or form a special relationship with a foil character. it makes the audience feel like we’re being let in on a secret, specifically about that character.

and that’s about it! my inbox is always open to talk more in depth about any of these and more, so let me know. thanks so much for 700, you all are great :D

#maxine talks tropes

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Can Tom Hardy Make a Venom 3 Spider-Man Showdown Happen?

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While sequel Venom: Let There Be Carnage approaches its arrival at theaters in September, star Tom Hardy is already envisioning designs for a prospective third film. Interestingly, for fans still unable to overlook the Spider-Man-less elephant in the franchise room, said designs are auspicious, since they involve a push to finally get the symbiote-joined Eddie Brock and Tom Holland’s Wall-Crawler together to potentially ignite a live-action version of their era-defining comic book rivalry. However, given the twisted web in which Sony’s Marvel movies are stuck, such a face-off would likely require major studio wrangling and multiverse magic.

Hardy is making a passionate push for a yet-to-be-greenlit Venom 3 to center around a battle between his title character and your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man; a notion that seems obvious, seeing as Venom was introduced in the pages of The Amazing Spider-Man back in 1988, sketched by Todd McFarlane as Spidey’s bulky, menacing doppelganger empowered by the Secret Wars Battleworld-found shapeshifting alien symbiote costume Spidey had abandoned. While still mockingly brandishing Spider-Man’s signature symbol on his chest, Venom quickly became an A-list villain and eventual anti-hero, and one of Marvel’s most popular characters, although always a Spider-Man character. Yet, by contrast, the Venom film franchise has been a curiosity, notably with the 2018 solo film’s status as a quasi-spinoff of Sony’s Marvel Cinematic Universe-adherent Spider-Man films that bore no apparent connection to the Wall Crawler, and even set itself away from Spidey’s New York City stomping ground to the other side of the contiguous U.S. in San Francisco. However, in an interview with Esquire, Hardy is unambiguously lobbying for the cinematic connectivity necessary for a Spider-Man showdown.

“I would be remiss if I wasn’t trying to steer any kind of connectivity,” answers Hardy when pressed on the Spider-Man question. “I wouldn’t be doing the job if I wasn’t awake and open to any opportunity or eventuality or be excited by that. Obviously, that’s a large canyon to leap, to be bridged by one person alone, and it would take a much higher level of diplomacy and intelligence, sitting down and talking, to take on an arena such as that.”

The task of bridging said canyon is daunting and complex on both a business level—pertaining to Sony’s long-held license for the Spider-Man film rights—and a narrative level—given the confusing, contradiction-filled continuity of the SPUMC (Sony Pictures Universe of Marvel Characters). One must first recall the contemporaneously historic nature of the studio deal between Sony Pictures and Disney’s Marvel Studios that facilitated the creation of Tom Holland’s Spider-Man and his quick introduction in 2016’s Captain America: Civil War. While, for Sony, it was a profitable move that pleased fans of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, it also stood as a monumental detour from the studio’s obstinate method of maintaining its own separate Spider-Man universe—perhaps fueled by the success of director Sam Raimi’s 2002-2007 Spider-Man Trilogy—which has been kept away from the MCU. Since the deal saw the quick, ignominious erasure of Sony’s Andrew Garfield-starring efforts, 2012’s The Amazing Spider-Man and its 2014 numerical sequel, it did seem that Sony had abandoned an increasingly unfeasible dream of Spider-Man autonomy to ride the MCU’s gravy train.

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That idea came to a halt when 2018’s Venom came out of the gate cold with an origin story that completely contradicted the classic Marvel Comics storyline, and proved that Sony’s pre-Civil War plans to maintain separate usage of the characters provided by the Spider-Man rights remained curiously prevalent. Yet, despite lukewarm reviews, the strategy paid off, with the film going on to gross $856 million worldwide. Thusly, even after the success of Holland’s MCU-adherent version of the Wall Crawler, rumblings still persist of plans even beyond the upcoming Jared Leto-headlined Morbius to build a series of Spidey-adjacent solo films—mooted features centered on characters such as Kraven the Hunter, Spider-Woman and even Madame Webb—toward an MCU-contradicting Avengers-type megamovie centered on Spidey-stalking villain contingent The Sinister Six. Mind you, these spinoffs, akin to Venom, would presumably arrive cold without an MCU-christening hand-off from Holland’s Spider-Man, who has famously swung opposite the MCU’s elite in films such as the box-office-breaking Avengers: Endgame, and prepares to debut a third solo film Spider-Man: No Way Home, which prospectively yields game-changing magic-based multiverse implications with the presence of Benedict Cumberbatch’s Doctor Strange.

Moreover, Venom: Let There Be Carnage director Andy Serkis recently threw down the gauntlet for anyone attempting to theorize about Spider-Man or MCU connections in his film, first by stating that “We’re treating this very much as his own world. Venom’s story is his own world.” Furthermore, its May-released teaser trailer doubled down on the separation with a quickly-flashed scene in which Stephen Graham’s Detective Mulligan is reading a copy of the Daily Bugle, the New York rag run by vindictive anti-Spidey editor J. Jonah Jameson, who unwittingly employs his quarry, as Peter Parker, for freelance photography. Ironically, while, at first glance, such an Easter egg would seemingly be the seed for Spider-Man appearances, it is, in fact, the opposite, since it contradicts Far from Home’s aforementioned post-credits scene, in which we learn that, in the MCU, the Daily Bugle is not a print newspaper, but a “controversial” conspiracy website run by J. Jonah Jameson, a new version played by the character’s classic portrayer, J.K. Simmons.

Sony Pictures

Consequently, with the Venom films presumed to not even take place in the same universe as Tom Hardy’s Wall-Crawler, much less the same geographic coastal location, the task of parting the proverbial seas to make a Venom and Spider-Man battle happen would likely require the former to somehow be brought into the universe of the latter. Indeed, Spidey, and the already-massive MCU legacy he brings, is unlikely to be grandfathered into the isolated Venom movie universe. After all, the two films seemingly bear no direct connection even to fellow SPUMC offering Morbius (more on that in a moment,) or, potentially, Sony’s constantly-evolving array of other planned projects. Nevertheless, the apparent loftiness of the would-be Spider-Man meeting has done nothing to diminish Hardy’s resolve.

“Should both sides be willing, and it be beneficial to both sides, I don’t see why it couldn’t be,” says Hardy. “I hope and strongly, with both hands, push, eagerly, towards that potential, and would do anything to make that happen, within what’s right in business. But it would be foolish not to head towards the Olympic Games if you were running 100 metres, so yeah! I want to play on that field.”

Sony Pictures

Interestingly, Morbius, rather than Venom, seems destined to become the exception to Sony’s Spidey-less spinoff strategy. The upcoming film will have Jared Leto star as the “Living Vampire” antagonist and subsequent antihero introduced back in 1971 in the pages of The Amazing Spider-Man. Yet, an intriguing trailer arrived for the pandemic-delayed film back in Jan. 2020, which showcased the clear MCU-connecting presence of Michael Keaton’s still-incarcerated Spider-Man: Homecoming villain Adrian Toomes/The Vulture, and further flew the flag of connectivity with a scene in which Leto’s Morbius walks by a poster of Spider-Man indicatively marred by a spray-painted message of “murderer,” likely referencing the post-credit events of 2019’s Spider-Man: Far from Home, in which a posthumously-dropped video from Mysterio framed an ousted Peter Parker/Spider-Man for his murder. Thus, Morbius might provide the template for how future SPUMC offerings—like, say, Venom 3—can exist on the periphery of the acknowledged MCU.

Hardy’s clearly expressed desire to tangle with Spider-Man on the big screen will first require a significant amount of cooperation from Marvel Studios—namely its hands-on head honcho, Kevin Feige—regarding the apparent universe-diverging developments potentially set to alter the trajectory of the MCU. With Disney+ television series Loki having recently introduced the presumably necessary multiverse element, early details from recently-revealed MCU movie merchandise indicate that it will be further explored in the December-17-scheduled Spider-Man: No Way Home and, subsequently, in the March-25-scheuled Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness.

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For now, though, Venom will have to relegate his consumption of bad guys’ brains to his own little cinematic corner, with Venom: Let There Be Carnage scheduled to hit theaters on Friday, Sept. 24.

The post Can Tom Hardy Make a Venom 3 Spider-Man Showdown Happen? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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