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dilly-oh · 3 years

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Trashy Romance Novel

“Naruto, you frigging idiot,” Iruka began hotly, barging into the hospital room, “of all the stupid, brainless things you could have done, this is by far the-”

He stopped.

The person lying in the small bed was definitely not Naruto. It was a grown-ass man with messy gray hair and a faded scar over one eye, the sterile white sheets pulled up over his nose, apparently sound asleep. Iruka stared at him for a long moment, dumbfounded, before it clicked.

Oh shit, he thought. This is the wrong room. I'm in the wrong room. I need to hurry up and leave before-

The stranger's eyes cracked open and he squinted up at Iruka in confusion.

“...Who're you?” he croaked out. Iruka managed a rather articulate gurgle of dismay, frozen in sheer mortification. He considered the distance between him and the IV drip, wondering if he could dose the man back to unconsciousness before he could scream or buzz for a nurse. “Are those for me?” the man asked, sitting up in bed to regard the bouquet of flowers in Iruka's arms. He opened his mouth to disagree, but then the sheet slipped off the man's face, and Iruka suddenly thought giving him the flowers might not be such a bad idea. He definitely deserved a thank you after gifting him with...that. He didn't even protest as the alarmingly handsome stranger reached out and took the bundle of flowers, opening the card on top.

“You're a dumbass. Love, Iruka.” he read aloud, then looked up at Iruka, batting his eyes. “Aww, babe, you shouldn't have.”

“Whoa whoa WHOA!” Iruka finally blurted out, his face burning half from embarrassment at the situation, half from the thinly-veiled flirting. “I'm sorry, sir, there's been a mistake. I'm in the wrong room and-”

“You mean you aren't my doting husband I tragically forgot about due to amnesia and now you have to win back my love by passionately recreating the story of our romantic union?”

“Excuse me, WHAT-”

“Sorry, I've been reading trashy romance novels. They're the only books this hospital has. Can't blame me for trying.” The man shrugged, then reluctantly handed back the bouquet. “Who's the lucky person they're actually for? Must be someone real special if you're calling them a dumbass to their face.”

“My kid brother,” Iruka explained with a sigh. “He's here with a head injury.”

“Ouch.” The man winced in sympathy. “Poor kid.”

“Not really. He head-butted a brick wall.”

“...May I ask why?”

“Because his stupid boyfriend walked into it and he had to, and I quote, 'defend his honor'.” Iruka paused, looking the man up and down. Despite being a bit on the pale side, he looked perfectly fine, pun very much intended. It was almost unfair how well he pulled off the hospital gown (although Iruka would much rather be the one pulling it off, wink wink, nudge nudge). “So...what're you in for?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Was...was it the crappy romance novels? Did they rot your brain?”

“I have an extremely rare, aggressive form of cancer with only two weeks left to live and the only cure is a kiss from my one true love...” The man swooned back onto the pillow and looked expectantly up at Iruka, who rolled his eyes.

“Yeah they definitely did-”

“Alright you got me. Broke my leg.” He pulled the sheet off his lower half, revealing his legs, one of which was wrapped in a cast, propped up on some pillows. Several encouraging words from friends were scrawled on the white surface in marker, one of them a jarring green highlighter. It almost hurt Iruka's eyes to look at it.

“...How did you break it?” he asked, unable to contain his curiosity.

“I heroically threw myself in front of a speeding car in order to save the life of my beloved-”

“Okay how did you really break it?”

“Tripped chasing after my pug at the park,” the man admitted with a weary sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“...Is the dog okay?” Iruka asked after a long pause.

The stranger burst out laughing. It was a nice laugh, warm and contagious enough to elicit a chuckle out of Iruka, who was growing more and more intrigued. He couldn't deny the spark of attraction he felt for the other man, spontaneous as it was, and it seemed to be reciprocated. He didn't even know his name, but something about the man made Iruka want to know more about him. Maybe this was like some trashy romance novel, where the two would-be lovers met under unusual circumstances and fell instantly in-

“Hey, Kakashi,” a man with short brown hair said, suddenly walking into the room, “I brought the next three volumes of your shitty porn series from the hospital library and a couple pairs of clean underwear, so you can stop fucking texting me the specific style and brand you want from home, you're so damn picky-” He stopped dead as he caught sight of Iruka, pausing for a beat, then glanced at the man in the bed, his eyes darting nervously between the two. “Umm...am I...interrupting something?”

A cold pit of ice yawned open in Iruka's stomach.

Oh my GOD. Here he was, borderline flirting with some stranger in a random hospital room, when obviously the man already had a boyfriend and Iruka was just making a complete ass of himself. The flirting had probably been misinterpretation on his part anyway, and if not, the guy was a total dick. Either way, enough was enough. His face aflame with rage and shame, Iruka spun towards the door.

“I need to go.”

“Hey, wait!” Kakashi or whatever his name was called after him.

Iruka was already out the door, ignoring the man's cries. Screw him, and screw Naruto, too. He was the cause of this whole mess. Iruka would just text him later. He was probably making out with Sasuke anyway and wouldn't even notice his brother hadn't popped in to visit. Iruka needed out of this hospital NOW. He turned towards the stairs, immediately got lost, and spent the next five minutes growing increasingly flustered as he stormed through the winding hallways, desperately searching for the exit. Why the fuck was the hospital so damn BIG-

“Hey! Iruka! Hold up!”

Iruka spun around to see Kakashi speeding towards him in a wheelchair, his boyfriend dutifully pushing him down the hallway at a dead run, IV dangling after him on its cord like a faithful dog. The wheelchair stopped with an audible squeal in front of him.

“What- where did- did you steal that?!” Iruka hissed in outrage.

“Of course not, don't be silly,” Kakashi protested, sounding offended. “The guy it belongs to was asleep in his bed. I'm just borrowing it. I'll return it later. Anyway, Iruka-”

“Were you flirting with me in there?” Iruka demanded, cutting him off. “Be honest.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Kakashi said without an ounce of remorse. “So can I have your number or what?” Iruka bristled.

“You're a piece of shit! I can't believe you, hitting on me like this right in front of your boyfriend! You have some nerve-”

“Wait...boyfriend?” Kakashi cocked his head in confusion. “You mean Yams?”

“The fuck do YAMS have to do with anything-”

“Hi, that's me,” the short-haired man said, raising a hand. “Yamato, actually. 'Yams' to my friends. Which is what we are. Just...friends.” Iruka scowled at him suspiciously.

“Friends? Don't fuck with me. You brought him underwear-”

“Really close friends,” Yamato reiterated. “Also, roommates. It's awful. I can't get away from him.” Iruka studied him for a moment, but couldn't spot any hint of deception. The man's almond-shaped eyes were surprisingly honest.

“So you two...aren't dating?” he asked hesitantly. Yamato gave him a horrified look.

“Dear God, NO. Kakashi is the WORST. He's lazy as hell, procrastinates til the last minute, is perpetually late to everything-”

“You are a shit wingman-” Kakashi began.

“He needs to know what he's getting into,” Yamato snapped at him, then turned back to Iruka. “Seriously, though. You should run while you still can. There's hope for you.”

“Don't listen to him,” Kakashi cut in. “I'm a fucking catch. Which is exactly why you should let your flaxen hair down, rip your shirt open to reveal your heaving bosom, and throw yourself into my arms-”

“Will you cut that out?!” Iruka burst out impatiently. “Life is not a trashy romance novel.”

“You sure about that?” Kakashi said, quirking an eyebrow. “Because I met you in a hospital through total coincidence. After really hitting it off, we had a misunderstanding brought on by miscommunication. Then I chased after you in a fucking wheelchair to declare my undying attraction to you. If that isn't a plot to a trashy romance novel, I don't know what the fuck is. At least it's not raining right now.”

“I dunno, it might be drizzling,” Yamato said, glancing at a window.

Iruka paused, considering.

“I guess it...would make a pretty good book,” he admitted quietly. “The only thing is...I'm not sure what happens next.”

“That part's for us to write,” Kakashi said, his tone eager. “Only we can complete the story.”

“Aaaaand I'm going to puke,” Yamato stated.

“Sorry, we crossed the line from 'trashy' into 'sappy'.” Kakashi shook his head. “Anyway. Iruka. Please, I'm begging you. Let me sweep you off your feet. Just...give me a chance.”

“I'll do you one better,” Iruka said after a pause. “I'll give you my number.” Stealing a marker from the nearby nurse's station, he bent and wrote his cell number on Kakashi's cast, then straightened and held out the bouquet. “Here, you can have these. The message works for you too, I guess.”

Kakashi accepted the flowers with a laugh, taking an appreciative sniff.

“And now, I shall ride dramatically off into the sunset,” he said with complete seriousness. “Come, my valiant steed. Awaaaay!”

“I will push you down the stairs,” Yamato grumbled as he spun the wheelchair around and started back down the hallway. Iruka watched them go with a fond smile on his face, giddy with anticipation.

He was eager to read the next few chapters in his life.

Including the steamy bits.

(Written for @kakairu-fest KakaIru Month 2021, Day Twelve Prompt: Hospitals)

#kakairu #KakaIru Month 2021 #hatake kakashi #umino iruka #naruto #hospital au #crappy romance novels #all the cliches

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egg-emperor · 3 years

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thank you so much to everyone out there that acknowledges, accepts, and embraces that classic/modern Eggman is an evil egotistical fucked up asshole that's just a complete selfish bastard (and god he's just so fucking sexy about it, I would snog this madman hard Idgaf lmfao I'm insane 💘💜💕💖)

it's Boom that's the much nicer, less threatening, and less dangerous one. like yeah he did some evil things but none of that compares to literally any of the extremely fucked up things that classic/modern has done and continues to do without a single ounce of shame. Boom is actually the one that's kind of "not all that bad" like some people desperately want to believe is the case for classic/modern when it's really not. Boom has a few moments to actually support the idea. he even wants to be friends with Sonic and the others.

meanwhile classic/modern continues being the most fucked up evil asshole he could be without ever feeling any shame. so many people have died, almost died, and suffered due to his actions and he clearly doesn't give a shit. he tries to straight up murder people, including Sonic, all his teen friends, and even the little kids like Tails. I don't think that can be defended, forgiven, and excused lol. and any time he's helped save the world is clearly for selfish reasons, for himself and the world he wants to conquer and nobody else.

and it's not a bad thing for either versions to be the way they are! I'm obviously not saying classic/modern should be less evil because I LOVE that, but I'm also not saying that Boom needs to be more evil (even though that is a part of why I like classic/modern over him). it's okay for them to be entirely separate entities as they're supposed to be. it's okay for one of them to truly be an irredeemable asshole that will never give up or change his ways. but maybe Boom could be the one to do that, I think it's more likely

I'm not gonna go around telling people what to do because that'd be awfully rude and I hope this post isn't misinterpreted for that. but Imho when I see people portraying classic/modern as nice and capable of changing I'm like "huh are we looking at the same guy here ???" but when it comes to Boom being portrayed that way, I don't bat an eye because I think it can actually work for him. the concept doesn't interest me much because redemption usually never does lol but I think it could be! and I'm just happy as long as I get to see classic/modern stay as his true evil bastard self 💜

so if you want nice Eggman, Boom is right there ya know. I will be smooching classic/modern because fucked up evil sexy asshole man is my type of villain but you do you *drops mic*

#dr eggman #eggman #dr robotnik #dr. eggman #opinion #my post

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everything-laito · 3 years

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About the theory that maybe Laito doesn't like to be touched as much as he says he does.

This was submitted by @grs-wonder320! I did not edit anything in their response (or the title), I just added paragraph breaks so it's easier to read. I'll put my response below as well!

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I am not the one who asked this question, but I would like to take this opportunity to express my personal opinion on this question. As it turns out, I have a completely different opinion than Corn. That is to say, I believe that there is a good chance that Laito does not like to be touched.

Rationale: I believe that there is a psychology of "excessive pandering to those things that are disgusting or painful to you," and I think that this psychology makes us appear to be happy on the surface, even though we actually dislike them. There are many exceptions to this rule. You may be thinking, "No, no, there are many exceptions to this rule. It is true that this rule does not apply in all situations. It mainly works when he is playing a pervert. So, why does he dare to act perverted in the first place? Most of the time, it's because he wants to be smoked out by the people around him. Why do you want to be smoked? ↓ I don't want to attract them to myself. ↓ Even though he doesn't want to be around other people, he is very sociable (compared to the people around him, that is). So it's hard to imagine why he is annoyed by human relationships like Subaru. ↓ Then there is a good chance that they want to hide something or smoke you out because there is something they don't want you to know. ↓ There is often a pattern of people who want to hide the fact that they are actually perverts, so they pretend to be sane on the surface.

In other words, the Laito that is ostensibly acting as a pervert is _____? Yes, that's what I mean. (What do you mean?) It's almost impossible to play a pervert to hide a pervert, isn't it? Most of the time, people play a false image to hide the opposite nature. In Laito's case, considering what happened in the past, it can be seen as "I'm acting perverted because I want to hide the fact that I'm hurt, and I don't want to be aware that I'm hurt, so I'm acting perverted as a self-suggestion.

There are not many people who can be sincerely friendly to the events that hurt them. In the first place, being "hurt" proves that there was something disgusting about you, so we can conclude that Laito is likely to have an aversion to sexual things. I think this explains the psychology that exists in Laito. Back to the topic at hand, I think it's hard to believe that Laito likes to be touched.

In Corn's answer, he used the example of "Laito trying to get me to touch him", which I think can also be explained by the aforementioned psychology. I, too, have a desire to challenge things I dislike (although this is due to overcoming my weaknesses and seeing things that scare me, and is not the same as Laito's), so I think it is entirely possible for someone to "dare to do something they dislike. Also, there is a high possibility that Laito is not aware of his own aversion to sexual matters, and if that is the case, everything is "true" in his mind, so naturally he would not be aware that he is doing something he dislikes. It could be called an unconscious act of self-harm. In the real world, you can only be aware of it when someone points it out to you, or you break your body by going over the limit. I think Laito has that kind of thing too. (Especially Laito in MB). This concludes the explanation. Thank you very much for reading this far!

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First of all, I'm unsure what you mean by "smoking out," If you could provide clarification on that, that would be great! I think I know what you mean by it, I'm just a lil confused and hope I didn't misinterpret it!

I do agree with you on your psychology on the excessive pandering part! That's exactly what Laito does most of the time, it's what fuels his facade! As for touching, I do think that speculating it could go either way. I do think Laito is touch starved though. Sure people who are touch starved might not want to be touched. I have thought about it since I made that post and honestly, he might want to be touched just like he wants to have genuine love, but he's insecure about it almost.

However, if he was excessively pandering about being touched, he might have done that more often. The only time where he asks Yui to touch him throughout the entire HDB game is only in that supposed mutual masturbation scene, and his heaven scenario. He is known to have a masochistic streak regardless. The other times its Yui either pushing him or slapping him etc. (I'm planning on going over his masochism on a later date)

Laito excessively panders when he says absolutely wild shit that makes others uncomfortable, or gets Yui to be unnerved.

In my previous post, I did say that he could be playing it up! But the fact that he doesn't have Yui touch him until late game does say something. It shows that he's opening up and being more vulnerable. Sure this is HDB Laito and we don't really get much of his facade cracking in that game compared to MB+. Late game HDB Laito is able to let down his guard slightly, since he knows he has Yui wrapped around his finger. The thing is, his excessive pandering to him being a pervert is typically used for manipulation. Your psychology checks out in everything else about him, I do agree with that. But as for touching, that doesn't really "prove" to Yui that Laito's a pervert.

If Laito wanted to utilize touch as a facade of control, he would have done it earlier. Instead, he used other methods to give Yui a false sense of security at times, which he used to break her down further. Could he be doing it in order to show Yui he doesn't have a weakness? He could, but once again when it comes to topics or situations where he doesn't want to be involved with, he acts aloof and avoids it at all costs while changing the conversation. That's my rationale on that. The fact that he has such a different reaction being touched vs his other activities that could be considered as "excessive pandering" is a lil ~sus~ as they say. Or inversely, maybe Laito doen't address the fact that he likes being touched because he might consider genuine thrill as a weakness but maybe he gets desperate. He's desperate for legitimate compassion, the mans needs it.

As for challenging things you dislike, that also checks out in general. However, when it comes to Laito, he likes a sense of control and security. Instructing Yui to touch him gives that sense of control, but also lets him be slightly vulnerable. It's not even that vulnerable because if she does anything that could potentially harm Laito, he would be able to stop it in an instant.

He doesn't like challenging himself, and we all know this. His facade was created so he doesn't have to challenge himself to get over his past trauma. It's to avoid it and not challenge it instead.

I do think that Laito is incredibly self aware and self unaware at the same time. It's a little paradoxical but I feel like he knows he has a facade, but again, he tries to avoid the fact that he does have one and that his facade is true. We do know he's self aware through drama cds and what he says about himself in the games. They're vague, but once you know his character, you know what he's talking about. The fact that he projects onto Yui also says a lot about that.

Also, a little side note as well, in MB he does have consensual sex with Yui. Before that scene happened, he was being extremely vulnerable and a good chunk of his facade broke down. There's a certain tone when you know Laito's being serious and taking down his mask, and that's exactly what he did in that MB scene. Here's a quote from it:

Laito: For some reason, I feel strangely refreshed. Don’t you think that’s weird? I couldn’t get your blood out of my head for the longest time, but it finally calmed down. Right now, it isn’t your blood, but instead I want to hold your warm body close like this… And kiss you…I want to indulge in your body until I’m sick and tired of it. Nfu~

In this scene, Laito was happy crying, which was something he was not familiar with but also hasn't experienced before. It's an involuntary bodily function, yet he was confused by it. This just shows he is genuinely happy, and the fact that he says that he genuinely is admitting to what he wants for once, I don't think it's excessive pandering in this scene, it's him developing. You could argue that he got over his aversion to being touched in this scene. There's a couple asks in my ask box that's related to him and sex, which I will also get to sometimes this week. But that's a different post.

Again I think it could be argued either way, but that's my thought process behind this aside from what I previously said! There's just a lot to think about when it comes to this, and we won't know unless if something is said in canon! But Laito's incredibly complex and there's several factors that explains his behavior.

Hope that makes sense! And once again, thanks so much for submitting! I love hearing people's opinions and their own thoughts that either confirm or challenge my own, so thank you for that! This one definitely got me thinking more. That's the beauty in analysis! Each person takes something different from the text!

And who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind in the future!

#submission #analysis #diabolik lovers analysis #dialovers analysis #dialover analysis #diabolik lovers #dialover #dialovers #laito sakamaki analysis #laito sakamaki #sakamaki laito #raito sakamaki #sakamaki raito

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shenanigans-and-imagines · 4 years

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Just One Night: Part 1/2

Commander Wolffe x Jedi!Reader, Angst, Longing, you read the title

Sequel to Promise You’ll Miss Me

Just One Night: Part 2 (18+)

Summary: Months after what you thought would be your final goodbye to Commander Wolffe, you find yourself in his presence once again. Old feelings come back and you begin to realize just how much you’ve missed him and how much he’s missed you.

A/N: Part two will be up tomorrow and will contain smut. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged. Please do not ask me to if you are a minor. And remember REBLOG AND COMMENT IF YOU LIKE THIS!!!

Word Count: 3.0K

You let out a huff of frustrated air as you stared up at the ceiling of your quarters.

Sleep still evaded you. When you had first come aboard the Triumphant, you blamed it on the adrenaline still pumping through your body. You were now well into the dead of night and still you lay awake, wide eyed and plagued with the same thoughts you had since coming back in contact with 104th; Commander Wolffe.

He hadn’t changed at all since you’d seen him. Of course he hadn’t. It was one of the qualities you liked in him so much; rough, blunt, and unmoving. With everything else going on in the galaxy his consistency was something you had learned to rely on as a padawan. Even as a general with your own men to lead, he was still the person you trusted most. The one who made you feel safe. The one who you were now starting to realize you loved.

You brushed a finger over your lips at the memory of the kiss he had given you before you left for the 309th.

You shook the thought away. There was a reason it had been a kiss and nothing more. You each had your duties. You were a Jedi. He was a clone trooper. There was a reason you didn’t try to contact each other in the months following. There was a reason why you thought you would never see each other again. Hell, the 104th wasn’t even assigned to your mission in the first place. You needed to let go.

But the memory still lingered and it was becoming clear that you wouldn’t let go. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to.

With a groan, you sat up and swung your legs onto the floor. Laying in bed was getting you nowhere. You needed to focus on something else. Anything else.

Without bothering to change out of your sleep shirt and pants, you grabbed your lightsaber and walked towards the training room. You didn’t have far to go. Your quarters were just off the elevator and only a level down from the barracks and all the other necessaties.

A part of you hoped you might run into Sinker or Boost. You’d even take your own Commander Saber, if only for conversation. But, you had no such luck, instead finding the barracks silent and the training room empty.

With a small sigh, you padded to the side of the room. A large trunk sat at the base of the wall. Opening it, you easily found the remote. While the device was usually reserved for younglings, it was simply nice to have on hand even as a Jedi Knight. It helped clear one’s mind and allowed one to be lost in the flow of the force if meditation didn’t do the trick. What you were surprised, and a little touched by, was finding your old helmet, blast shield and all. A part of you wondered if Master Plo foresaw you might need the distraction or if he just forgot it was there. Either way, you were grateful and slipped it on as you walked to the center of the room.

You placed the remote on the ground before taking a step back and sliding the blast shield down over your eyes. Darkness permeated your vision. Reaching out with the force, you turned on the remote and ignited your lightsaber.

You could feel it in the air. It hovered and twisted, hesitant and waiting.

Three shots. One at your knees. Two at your head.

You moved your blade into position, blocking all three blasts with ease.

Five shots. Torso, leg, leg, torso, head.

Five more absorbed into your saber.

With a small flick of the wrist, you adjusted it’s difficulty level.

The remote went higher, spinning until it was at your back.

You twisted just in time, blocking six more shots aimed at your back, head, and legs.

You continued the dance, allowing all your focus to go to the remote.

No ache came to your muscles. No exhaustion weighed on your eyelids. There was nothing except the force.

The force, and another presence wandering at the edge of your senses.

You focused on the force signature while still never fully taking your mind off the remote.

A clone, obviously. Familiar, certainly. Very familiar.

Your stomach flipped and your heart rate spiked as the face of Commander Wolffe came into your vision.

You spun around losing all focus except for the man currently walking towards the door.

“Commander Wolffe,” you called.

You could feel him stop mid stride, instantly filling you with relief. It didn’t last long, as a blast from the remote hit the back of your shoulder.

You let out a hiss of pain.

“General?” Wolffe asked, his tone clear in it’s concern.

You were suddenly very thankful for the blast shield; it at least particularly hid your embarrassment.

“I’m fine,” you assured, rolling your shoulder as you turned off the remote with a flick of your fingers. You always forgot how much those remotes could sting. “Just wasn’t paying attention.”

You slipped off your helmet, finally getting a clear view of him.

Wolffe was out of uniform, which shouldn’t have been a surprise given how late it was. But, a part of you couldn’t help but stare. You couldn’t remember if you’d ever seen him without his full armor.

He was wearing the standard issue grey sweatpants you knew most of the clones wore during training. What gave you trouble was keeping your eyes off his shirt. The fabric clung to his chest, leaving little to the imagination. The sleeves were also cut short giving an unimpeded view of his well defined muscles. Now you were certain the standard blacks came with no extra padding. It had been all him the entire time.

It was then you became very aware of your own state. You were still sweating and lightly panting from the exercise. Your sleep shirt only had the barest of straps and cut lower than anything you’d worn in front of him before. Hastily, you wiped the sweat from your brow in a vain attempt to look at least a little presentable.

“What are you doing here?”

Wolffe blinked as if coming out of his own trance. “I heard noise coming from this room and wanted to see what was happening.” He nodded toward the remote. “Some of the men like to come in here and try their luck.”

A small smile touched your lips. “How do they fair?”

“They get a chest full of lasers,” he answered drly. “The only question is how much.”

You let out a short laugh. You could only imagine Boost’s face at realizing just how tricky that pesky remote could be.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Wolffe said, once again turning toward the exit.

“No wait!”

The words came out fast and loud. Immediately your cheeks felt warm at just how desperate they must have sounded.

He stopped, looking at you with a confused expression.

All you could do was stare back. You hadn’t thought about what to say next. All you knew was you didn’t want him to leave. It has been so long since you’d been alone together. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it until that moment.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, more for your benefit than his own.

You smiled gratefully. “Yes. Please.”

He nodded and took a step back into the room.

Relief swept over you. Feeling as if you now had permission to move, you stepped to the side of the room putting the remote and helmet back in their place. You then closed the chest and took a seat on top of it. Looking back at Wolffe, you patted the spot beside you as an open invitation.

He looked hesitant, but after a moment’s contemplation strided across the room and took a place beside you.

An awkward silence followed.

You could feel the tension radiating off of Wolffe. He placed himself as far away from you as he could. His hands stayed in his lap to keep his shoulders from brushing against yours and his eye stayed straight ahead.

You had hoped to talk to him about the kiss, about how much you’d missed him, and to find out if he had missed you. But you were afraid to even come close to the subject now. Just the slightest brush of your skin was liable to scare him away.

Maybe you had misinterpreted his feelings. Perhaps he regretted the kiss and that was why he didn’t know how to act around you. In a military setting you could easily slip into the roles assigned to you. In private, it was hard to say what you were.

“Thank you for helping us,” you said, the pressure of silence becoming too much. “We wouldn’t have been able to handle it without you.”

Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Under normal circumstances you and the 309th were perfectly capable of handling a few squadrons of clankers on your own. The problem was, you had been sent to Lothal on a relief mission.

You were often sent on relief missions, partially because of your limited experience as a General and because of your healing abilities. You hadn’t expected the Separatist to come back for a second round. While their task force was small, it was enough to overwhelm your small company as you were mainly occupied with keeping the civilians out of danger. Rather than run the risk of even more death, you made a general call to all Republic ships asking for assistance. Luckily, the 104st was close by and had nothing else better to do.

“You called for aid, we answered. There’s nothing to thank,” Wolffe said, in his usual gruff tone.

“Well, I’m thanking you anyway. So, tough.”

That at least earned you half a smile. You’d take it.

“How have you been, I haven’t gotten the chance to ask,” you said, trying to keep up your momentum.

“Busy, so nothing unusual,” he answered. “It’s been different without you.”

“How so?”

He was silent a moment, his face drawing a perfect blank. It was unnerving how good a sabacc face the man had. Even with your abilities, you had trouble reading him at times.

“More paperwork. I think the men got used to having you patch them up. They’re starting to realize there are actual consequences to punching droids.”

You had a feeling that wasn’t all, but let out a short laugh anyway. “To be fair, the 212th does make it look easy.”

Another silence followed, this one less awkward than the last.

“You did well today,” he said.

There was an obvious effort to keep his tone neutral, but a subtle softness crept in anyway. A warmth bloomed in your chest at his words.

“You and Master Plo did most of the heavy lifting,” you said, shyly.

He shook his head. “You were able to recognize when you and your men needed help. You’ve seen the pride other Generals have, it gets good men killed. It gets themselves killed.”

His throat tightened a moment, his words coming out more forcibly than before. “You did your job; you protected your men and the civilians. Take the compliment.”

A sudden irk of frustration tugged at you. All you wanted to do in that moment was pull his face towards yours and make him look at you, just so you could have some clue what was going on inside his head. But, you kept your hands to yourself, crossing them over your chest for good measure.

“Okay, I will. Thank you, Commander,” you said, a little more shortly than you meant to.

He winced. “My apologies, General. Old habits.”

You tried to hold on to the irritation but it was no use. Anger wasn’t something you were accustomed to. “It’s alright,” you said, before softly adding, “you don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend like rank matters between us.”

Something in the air shifted. Rather than your words bringing the peace you hoped they would, you could feel the tension returning. Wolffe’s back stiffened once more and a small ripple of something touched you through the force; the need to run.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, solemnly. “Rank will always matter between us.”

He stood suddenly, not daring to look at you. “I should get back to my quarters.”

He only made it a few steps before you followed.

“Wolffe, wait!”

You grabbed his hand. It was so much bigger than you own, rough from battle, but utterly warm and inviting. It was then you realized, you had never touched his bare hand before. However, you weren’t given time to enjoy it as Wolffe yanked out of your grip.

“Don’t,” he whispered, letting out a shaky breath. “Please, just don’t.”

You stayed silent, holding perfectly still. You waited for Wolffe to say something, do something. But he stood there as well, frozen and unsure.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t…” You paused, trying to gather your thoughts but all that came from it was an even more tangled mess. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just...I’ve missed you.”

Another breath of silence and Wolffe’s shoulders finally loosened before turning to face you. There was a gentleness to his gaze, something you rarely saw from him. You wondered if he had shown it to anyone else but you.

“I’ve missed you, too.”

While the words themselves brought a relief, his tone held a sadness you couldn’t shake.

“Then why do I feel a “but” coming on?”

An ironic smile tugged at his lips. “Reading my mind again, jetii’ika?”

“Call it a feeling.”

He huffed out a laugh before nodding in defeat.

“But,” he began, “no matter how much I’ve missed you, this has to be the last time we see each other.”

A hand clenched around your heart, not in surprise or hurt at his words, but in recognition of their cold reality.

“Why?” you said, unwilling to accept it.

Another laugh came, mocking and harsh. “Really? You’re asking me that?”

You stayed silent.

He shook his head, looking away. “Y/N, it took everything in me, to watch you go the first time. I thought, if I gave it enough time, I could get you out of my system. Do my duty like I’m supposed to. For a while, I thought I had. I thought you could just be a memory. Someone I could forget.” A bitter smile pulled at his mouth. “And then I saw you again.”

He turned to you, resolve taking over his features. “I’ve got enough in me to let you walk away one more time. That’s it.”

You took a breath, letting his words sink in. Your heart hammered in your chest, knowing the risk that came with what you knew you had to say.

“Who says I want to walk away?”

Wolffe stared at you, before slowly shaking his head.

“Don’t talk like that.”

“Why not?” you challenged.

“Because you’re you!” he snapped.

You immediately stiffened. Wolffe raised his voice sure, but in the heat of battle or at his own men, never at you.

He seemed to realize his mistake. Tentatively, he took a step closer, finally closing the gap between you.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You wanted to try to hold onto this anger. If he was pushing you away, maybe that could make it easier. But, the moment he placed his hands on your shoulders, the thought faded away.

“Y/N, please look at me,” he said, titling his head down to catch your eyes. You let him, turning your gaze to meet his. His expression was a mix of admiration and melancholy. It was enough to make your chest ache.

“You’re so good, Y/N,” he whispered. “You’re wise and kind and everything a Jedi should be. You can’t be anything else, just like I can’t stop being a soldier.”

His hand moved to your cheek, his thumb caressing your skin.

“I won’t have you risking your future, not for me.”

You knew what he was saying. You heard the words and understood their intention. It was how you had justified leaving in the first place. But it wasn’t enough, not anymore.

“You talk as if I have no say in the matter.”

Wolffe paused, pulling his hand reluctantly away. “Neither of us have a say.”

“Yes we do.”

“No we don’t,” he repeated, trying his best to keep his tone calm. “Do you know what happens if we get caught?”

“I get kicked out of the order and you get sent back to Kamino,” you answered, sharply. “Don’t treat me like a child who doesn’t understand the consequences of their actions.”

Wolffe blinked, clearly taken aback by frustration and passion in your voice.

You took advantage of his shock, placing your hands on his chest and gripping the fabric of his shirt to keep him from pulling away.

“I’ve thought about this Wolffe,” you said, keeping your voice as clear as possible so there could be no doubt of the truth of your words. “I’ve thought about it practically since the moment I met you. I’ve thought about every possible way this could end and I still want you, can’t you understand that?”

Your hands slid further up his body until your arms were wrapped around his neck, bringing your forehead to his.

“I want you,” you repeated, softly. “Do you want me?

He let out a breath. “Yes.”

You leaned closer, your lips a hair away from his. “Then have me.”

Hands went to your waist, not to pull you closer, but to keep your body from completely pressing against his.

“I can’t.”

He didn’t let go of you, even has his words tried to push you away. There was only one thing left to do in your desperation. You could only hope you wouldn’t regret it.

“Just for one night, then.”

Wolffe didn’t say anything; a silent second that stretched on for a lifetime.

“One night,” he repeated, before sealing the deal with a desperate kiss.

If it would only be for one night, neither of you would forget it.

#commander wolffe #star wars #the clone wars #commander wolffe x reader #star wars imagine #the clone wars imagine

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koreanmadeingreece · 3 years

Text

Why, why, why (10)

University student!Yuta x reader

Genre: slight enemies to lovers au, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff, and several mixups

Summary: You just got into uni and decided to move in with your childhood friend!Taeyong at the city where you are going to study. As you’re about to start your new, adult life, you meet his friends, and you realize that not everyone likes you. Nakamoto Yuta in particular almost seems like he hates you.

A/N: In this fic, Jonghyun from NU’EST appears for a while (just to avoid confusion). Also we’re so close to the end guyyyyys!!!!

Warnings: Some making out hiiihihihiihihi (also I think some fu and shi words?)

Word count: 1.7K

Part 10/11 (I think) First / Previous / Next

Taglist: @melitadala @chxotickpoptrash @aiforyuu @fineapplehoe (let me know if you’d like to be tagged!) (also idk a friend informed me that my tags weren't working so I'm redoing all of them in all my posts sorry about thaaat)

During the next few days, you barely went to your classes. You didn’t want to see anyone. You didn’t even spend much time with Taeyong, as he reminded you of what had happened. You took a few days to yourself, just to let yourself calm down after the storm. After about a week, you were ready to come back in touch with the rest of the world.

On Monday, first thing in the morning, you stopped by the café where Jonghyun worked, and got your regular coffee. By some sort of miracle, there wasn’t much work, so he was able to steal a few minutes for you.

��Jonghyun,” you said.

“Yeah,” he replied, noticing how you got all serious.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For disappearing this week.”

“It’s okay. It happens. I just need you to be okay and to tell me if there’s anything I can do to help.” He was reassuring towards you, even though you had practically ghosted him all this time. Sure, you texted a few times, but you were never actually there.

“Can you be any more perfect than you already are?” you joked.

“Only when I’m with you.”

It was true that you were dating for almost three months and things had started to get more serious as time went by. For the next few weeks, you tried to spend more time with him, inviting him over to your house when you knew Taeyong wouldn’t be there. Thankfully for you, he had a busy schedule as a third year. Sometimes you knew he went out on purpose, just to leave the house for you. He was the perfect friend.

At the same time, you had started seeing Yuta less and less. You tried not to be home when you knew he’d be there but tried not to be entirely rude and saw him every now and then at uni or sometimes you stopped by when the guys were out. You kept your distance, to keep things from going the wrong way.

You knew that Yuta probably wondered why you stopped seeing him so suddenly. You trusted that it would be forgotten as time went by, and that you’d eventually find a way to casually coexist around each other without fighting or disrupting your well-being. Because that’s what it was, a disruption. Before you even came, he was fine, and you were too. Before you decided to get to know him, things were quiet. Sure, you fought sometimes, but nothing happened.

You had fucked up, and you knew it pretty well. Sometimes you’d see Yuta around uni, talking to his friends or heading to a class, and he’d steal glances from you. He’d slow down his walk to see if you’d talk to him, but you rarely did. You noticed how every time he waited for you, but you never gave him any attention. You hated to do this. You didn’t want to avoid him either. But, with the way things had turned out, you didn’t have any choice.

A few days later, you finished class earlier than usual and found Jonghyun at uni. His classes were over for the day, and you decided to spend some time together. You invited him over, as you knew Taeyong had at least one more class before he headed home. In that way, you’d spend about three hours alone and you’d have the house to yourselves. Both of you wanted some alone time, considering that your relationship was more stable than ever. Jonghyun was happy to follow you home. You opened the windows to get some light in and brought him a cup of his favorite tea. You sat for a while, discussing how your day was, when he decided to put some music on. It was a relaxing playlist with artists that both of you liked.

You sat next to each other on the couch, your legs on top of his lap. When his hands started caressing your legs, you knew it was time for more. In a quick movement, you climbed on top of him, spreading your legs on each of his sides. You placed your lips against his, slowly luring him into your mood.

“Wait, what about Taeyong?” he asked, as you were in the living room.

“His classes end at 8PM. Don’t worry about it.” You continued kissing him and started to grind on his crotch.

He was eager to respond, slowly starting to suck your neck. “I want you, Y/N.” You loved how his voice sounded when he whispered to you. You felt wanted, desired.

You didn’t waste any time and unbuttoned his shirt, seeing his bare body underneath you. You loved the sight of him desperately wanting you, panting from the excitement. You let him take off your shirt as well, and briefly got up to take off your pants as well, staying in your underwear. You sat on top of him again, somehow embarrassed by the way he was looking at you. He glided his hand from your chest to your stomach, admiring how you looked, then went lower, getting it inside your panties. You wanted him, and moaned his name as his body touched yours, his fingers inside you. His lips went from your neck to your chest, sucking your skin. You were ready, and you wanted him. For the next few seconds, all you wanted was him.

~ ☼ ~

Taeyong decided to skip his last class and head home early to rest. “Yuta, are you coming?”

“Sure.” And so, the guys headed home in Yuta’s car, since Taeyong asked him to help with some stuff he needed to carry. Yuta parked in front of the house and got out of the house to help Taeyong.

“I’ll bring the stuff. Can you go unlock the door for me?” Taeyong asked, giving Yuta the keys.

Yuta went ahead and unlocked the entrance door, then went up to your apartment. When he realized what was going on in the living room, it was too late.

~ ☼ ~

You moaned Jonghyun’s name, as his fingers worked magic inside you.

“Y/N are those-” Jonghyun had heard the keys on the door, but the damage was already done. Yuta had walked in, seeing you on top of Jonghyun, him sucking your breasts. He froze. He looked you dead in the eye for a second that seemed like eternity, and walked out of the door, closing it behind him. You immediately got up and put your clothes back on, leaving Jonghyun alone to get dressed too. You stormed out of your apartment, only taking your keys with you.

“Taeyong,” you said as you saw him at the entrance, “where’s Yuta?”

“Y/N what happened? I sent him to help me, and he came back running. He didn’t take his car. I think he left.”

“Fuck, Taeyong.” You went towards the street to find him, but he had already disappeared.

“Y/N, tell me.” Taeyong approached you.

“I screwed up. He saw us, Taeyong.”

“You mean, like, walked in on you?” he asked.

“Yeah. I thought you’d finish at 8. Fuck. I should have asked.”

“Whatever’s done is done now. Go to Jonghyun and I’ll find him, don’t worry,” Taeyong said, giving you his stuff. At that moment, you knew you’d have to give Jonghyun an explanation. You didn’t know what to say though. Why did you storm out? Why did Yuta run off and why did you chase him? Suddenly, it hit you. You were wrong all this time. Jonghyun wasn’t the one who you wanted to spend more time with. Jonghyun wasn’t the man you actually wanted.

You went back inside, determined to clear it all up. It was your fault for not seeing this earlier anyway. “Jonghyun, I need to talk to you.”

“I was wondering how long it’d take you. Apparently around three months.”

“What?” you asked, surprised.

“At first I didn’t know, I noticed it at the movie night, but I wasn’t sure.” He paused. “I brushed it off. I thought I was just misreading things. When you stormed out right now, that couldn’t be my misinterpretation.” He grabbed his jacket and headed to the door.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“It was amazing while it lasted.”

“Yes, it was. You are perfect, Jonghyun, but I’m not the one you should be with.”

He smiled at you. “I know. I just would have appreciated it if you had told me sooner.” He was right, and he had every reason to hate you.

“I didn’t know myself.”

“More like you didn’t want to admit it.”

“Yeah, that too.” You paused. “I’m sorry. Again.”

“Yeah.” With that word, he left you alone in the living room. You hoped he’d called you names, cursed at you, but he didn’t. That was partly the reason you were more certain than ever about your choices. You weren’t madly in love with each other, and no matter how perfect your relationship was, you couldn’t have stayed together for much longer.

You grabbed your phone. You called him, but he wasn’t answering. You called Taeyong. “Where are you?”

“I went over to Yuta’s. He’s not here.”

“Fuck. I called him and he’s not answering either.”

“I know. I called him too. Don’t call him for a while, and maybe he’ll reach out to me. I’m coming back in a few minutes.”

Taeyong opened the door and found you crying on the couch, waiting for him. “I fucked up, Taeyong.”

“No, don’t cry. We’ll find him and we’ll settle it, okay?” he wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m a horrible person. And stupid. It was him I liked all along and I blew my chance.” You leaned on his shoulder and stayed like this until you calmed down.

The next morning found both of you sleeping together on your bed, just so you had company to get through the night. You opened your eyes, your head hurt from all the tears you shed the previous day, and you knew that Yuta would be in a similar state if not worse. You were determined to end this once and for all.

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dappersheep · 3 years

Text

Food Fantasy: An Analysis on what killed a Golden Goose (3/3)

Ladies and gentlemen, we've arrived at our final destination.

Again before we start, we have our obligatory disclaimers. I do not own the game or its characters, nor do I claim to know the true history and likely fate of this game. I am entitled to the thoughts and opinions written within this post. Feel free to agree or disagree with the points being made.

This post also remains untagged from the main foofan tag. Only my followers will see this.

We are in the third and final stretch, and the checkpoint is past the cut.

Community

So... here we are, fellow Master Attendants.

As consumers of this piece of entertainment media, we are free to enjoy it however we wish. Appreciating what is there, creating something new from what exists, playing the game by the meta or however you want to play it (within your means and at your own risk of course). There's no one true and absolute way to experience the game.

However, just as you can enjoy something, doesn't mean you can't also point out flaws or shortcomings of the media in question. As an active veteran player, I've already pointed out the many gameplay design flaws already. And I'd be pretty dumb to say that Food Fantasy's writing is perfect. Hell, it has a lot of holes from a worldbuilding consistency standpoint.

And what of things from the community side? Yes, there will be times you'd see content you consider cringe, or something in fanon you don't agree with. Or there happens to be fan theories and fangirling posts you don't like the take of because of X or Y.

And that's fine. If we all happen to play the same way, like the same thing, agree on the same thing and produce the same thing, well, this would be one helluva boring community, wouldn't it?

But what if someone decides the way you're playing the game is wrong and harasses you over it? What happens if someone decides that their interpretation of the game's flavor text and lore is more important than what anyone else thought about it? What happens if someone decides that they're absolutely right, and you and everyone else who disagrees deserves to be bullied out of the fandom?

As much as I want to say we aren't part of the problem why the game is deteriorating, we are unfortunately, part of the reason why the game is as such even if most of the blame is directed towards Funtoy and Elex themselves.

⦁ Whale Authority. Whales will always be part of a gacha game's ecosystem. Without them, the game won't be able to maintain its upkeep costs, moreso for one that services global regions instead of just one. But when a game decides to cater its decisions of what features should be prioritized and when it should be launched around only its most elite paying players' voices -even if that influence has since tapered off-, you know there is something wrong with the publisher's management team and priorities.

⦁ Interguild drama. While I did not personally follow any of this, this has certainly been the peak of in-game tension back in the day. Poaching good players from both competitive and smaller guilds, guild mergers that often ended up making the annexed guild/s the equivalent of UK colonized India or Australia, suck-ups chummying up to guild leaders to keep a spot in an active, high ranking guild (for bragging rights!) despite never contributing much to overall damage, and just general dislike of certain players' attitudes. Actions like this have disillusioned many players about their playing experience and the reason why many eventually just lost the motivation to log into FooFan.

⦁ Cheaters. You know very well about the Hacker-teme I've mentioned before, but that was in context of Elex being incompetent with dealing with them. Here, I would like to point out the players who are desperate to dominate the playing field for whatever reason to the point that they would resort to cheating the ranks with forceful modifications of the APK. Whether it is to rank high in catacombs weekly, get a top spot in daily disaster damage, or weasel their way into the competitive whale ranks of a major ranking event, these are the people who have no qualms messing with the code to give themselves an easier time with the game. And if they're caught? Some pretend that they've made a mistake, some quickly sell the account to escape the blame, some others just scamper away into the dark and hide in the lower ranks where they can't be found. Others simply don't care and keep cheating until Elex decides to finally ban them... if Elex ever decides their rebates score isn't worth saving the account.

⦁ Ship wars. Ah yes, a staple of drama in any fandom. There doesn't need much explanation to this as we've all had our fair share of running into a battleground in whatever fandom we visit. Someone ships BB52 wholeheartedly? Nope, problematic 'age gaps'. Someone likes Napoleon with Pastel? Someone's bound to misinterpret their bios in order to justify that Napoleon was being abusive. Spaghetti and Borscht? Borscht is minor coded, ship her with Vodka instead. Whiskey and Pizza or Cassata? Cancelled! And I've never heard of the Foe Yay trope or pretend I don't know about it! Rarepairs? Disgusting! No fanon in my canon playground! Turkey and Eggnog? Gasp! How dare you, you pedo-shipper-even-though-you-never-said-you-shipped-them-romantically-but-that-isn't-my-point!

⦁ Character Obsession: Bias. On one hand, you love a character so much. Relate to a character so much. You have thus pulled this character into the folds of your bosom and coo at them like a mother dove and get so minutely triggered if someone so much as makes one disagreeable or joking comment about the character that you fly into an overreactive ballistic rage that would make a Canadian goose honk in fear. You don't care what they are in canon. You don't care about the possibility of mistranslation. What matters is the fanon space you carved out for them to exist in and that's all that matters. The problem with this is when this obsession takes over common sense and social etiquette and it steps into harassment territory. You begin to think: I'm the only one who 'understands' the character. I'm the only one who wishes better for the character, everyone else is out to defame them! Oh wait, you like them too? Do you like them the way *I* like them? No? Maybe if you're my 'friend', I'd let it slide. But to everyone else? No one else has the right to like them as much as I do. No one! Never mind that they're completely fictional- No one hurts my bias because in turn, they're hurting *me*!

⦁ Character Obsession: Anti. On the other hand, you hate a character so much. This character just makes you see so much red. Their smug little smirk just makes your blood boil. Their fictional backstory makes you recoil in disgust. You hate that someone else loves a character you hate so much. You cannot *believe* that someone could be so daringly stupid to like a problematic character. They must be problematic too then. They must be hiding real life secrets that are problematic! Yes, yes. That's right. That person's a supporter of abuse. That person's into pedophilia. That person is into military lolita fashion that Japan started the trend of but clearly Japan was part of the Axis Powers! And that... that person... that person... is a roleplayer and a yaoi fangirl properly interacting with minors and adults. How dare they...!

⦁ Fan Translations. Normally it wouldn't be a problem that a group or two or several are translating pieces of the game's lore ahead of the official. But with Elex's very delayed translations and extreme allergic reactions to translating Food Soul bios, people have become dependent on fan-translation groups to get their fix. The problem herein lies... is when the translators get drunk off the power that they are one of a handful in a small community who can magically transcribe the oriental moonrunes into English. The problem starts when the translator starts to have an inclination. The problem starts when the translator loses their professional detachment and start adding in details here and there into the fan translated product that ultimately changes the meaning and direction of the entire story. The problem is also escalated when that translator's embellished product is touted as the truth by their followers. If there was an upcoming character whose backstory is connected to a character they hated (either because of someone or they just don't like the character) and you were hoping to read the fan translation? How would you know that what you get isn't something doctored to the point it's basically fanfiction?

⦁ Social Justice Vigilantism. Sometimes someone does not have a character obsession or need it to be annoying. Sometimes, someone just wants to ring the alarm over something they find 'problematic' in order to police and sanitize the enjoyment of the media for 'everyone'. They no longer really take enjoyment out of a new Food Soul design being leaked, they no longer read the lore just to enjoy what it has to offer. Instead, they nitpick bits and pieces of the design and point it out repeatedly as a reason why the whole thing is bad. They point out bits of the story and inject their interpretations of it without really comprehending what they've read in full and react badly to it. What's worse is that they have no qualms publicly posting their reactions and eagerly and hungrily await those likes and echoes of agreement that they were right.

⦁ Circles of Influence. Everyone has a group they eventually gravitate to in a fandom. It comes with its own pros and cons. Sometimes you join a group because someone you admire is in there, sometimes you join a group because you just want to mingle and see more content. All valid reasons. Arguments can't be avoided in a group, it has to happen... But you have to take care. You have to take care to feel the change in the air of the group. When someone starts pushing people to agree with them. When your most admired people start to feel overly sensitive about certain characters or issues. When you start to feel obligated to spy on other groups outside of this one for 'nonbelievers', 'traitors' and 'heretics' who do not think the way this group does, and that bringing back bits and pieces of gossip as offerings would somehow make you more favored in the eyes of the inner clique or remain inside it. There is a gripping sense of annoyance when that person comes in to complain but you can't do anything about it but nod and agree. There is a pervading sense of fear and apprehension of overstepping an invisible boundary. There is fear that you might be next on the chopping block, after witnessing one of the others being ganged up on and thrown out without a second thought, their name spat upon like they're worth less than dirt. And so reluctant you are to give up what you have with them that when they push you to do something you are reluctant to do, all in the name of 'harmony and justice'... You do it. Even though it would mean offering yourself up to the mob with no salvation, and the stark realization that... [they] never cared about you as a friend.

And we've come to the end of this analysis trilogy. The writing got a little bit strange in this post, but honestly this is the best way I could put it. I'm aware things can and will be more complicated than the bullet points I've written but I'm just one person and I tried very hard to keep details of all the drama that happened in this fandom as vague as possible. Of course, that wouldn't work if you know what I am talking about.

The community is quiet now for the most part, the game is somewhere between limbo and the living plane. Things could be better for us, but I don't really count on it.

I wish I could leave a bit of a moral warning or something. But rather than do that, I just hope this was an entertaining read into one individual's eyes into Food Fantasy and everything that makes it up.

#ravings of a madman #food fantasy but not tagged right

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twdbegins · 3 years

Text

A Friendly Feud

Simon x Fem. Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,759

“Is that really what you want?”

He infuriated you. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, and push your buttons he certainly did. It was almost like he went out of his way to mess with you. As if he had nothing else on his schedule except pestering you. He was extremely persistent, you’d give him that.

It seemed like you saw him more than anybody else at the Sanctuary. You didn’t even see Negan as much as you saw Simon. Maybe it was because the Sanctuary wasn’t THAT big or because Simon often sought you out. Either way, you had your fair share of encounters with him.

You fought all the time. Like, literally all the time. If you were in a room together, everyone would be sure to get a good view. Odd were, the two of you would start going at it at some point or another. The anger was always one sided. Simon never lost his patience with you, because he knew he was almost always the instigator of your fights. His amusement just made you angrier, and he fed off of it.

It had gotten so bad that Negan refused to allow the two of you to do anything together if there wasn’t a third party involved. That didn’t stop Simon from going out of his way to hassle you.

You grimaced at the sound of whistling and heavy footsteps coming from down the hall. Oh, great. The man of the hour. You prepared yourself for his usual shenanigans, offering a very brief glance when he poked his head into the supply closet you were currently in.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” He grinned proudly.

Did he really have to call you that? How aggravating.

“Hey, Simon.” You returned a rather unenthusiastic greeting.

His eyes were fixed on you as your attention remained on counting the unloaded boxes in front of you. Negan had put you on inventory duty for the day, meaning you’d be bopping around the Sanctuary’s supply closets counting resources from the run from the previous day. You could feel his gaze on you, the wheels in his head were evidently turning. He was probably figuring out a new way to get on your nerves.

“Do you need something?” You asked, tone full of irritation.

You still weren’t looking at him, trying to keep your cool. A smile was still smacked on his face, his expression not changing.

“Is it such a crime just to pop in and say hi to my favorite savior?” He asked, pretending to be offended.

You scoffed at that. His “favorite savior? Oh, please. What a charmer he thought he was.

“It is when I’m clearly busy.” You said, referring to the mounds of stuff you had yet to count.

“I’d hardly call counting boxes as busy.” He countered back.

You sighed heavily in annoyance. He just wanted attention. Your attention. That’s all he ever wanted was for you to acknowledge him whenever he was in your presence. Even if it could be rather annoying, you were the tiniest bit flattered. No one had ever gone after your validation as much as he did. You didn’t want him to feel like he had something to prove to you, because he didn’t. No one did. You just wished he’d pick a more pleasant approach.

“Well, I just do as I’m told and this is what I was told to do,” You smarted off, finally turning to look at him; “Do you have a problem with that?”

He took a step into the small closet. His smirk was gone, but his tone was just as playful as ever.

“Woah, darlin’. Why the bad attitude?” He asked, obviously knowing he was bugging you.

You tossed your head back in exasperation. It was evident that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. You turned completely to face him, not realizing that he had been standing right behind you. You abruptly collided into him, your chest firm against him. You looked up into his eyes, your face growing hot. Had he always been that handsome? Your hard pause and stare told him everything he needed to know. You had a thing for him.

He knew it was mutual.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, but made no effort to back away from him. You meant for your words to come out as demanding, but instead they escaped as a desperate whisper.

“If you want to stick around, then make yourself useful and start counting.”

He beamed at the invitation. You hadn’t actually ever offered your time to him. This was a step in the right direction in his eyes. Taking a leap of faith, his hands rested on your sides and gripped to keep you close.

“You sure that’s all you wanna do?” He asked lowly.

Before you knew it, and before you could say anything else, he kissed you. It wasn’t a gentle, experimental kiss. It was a deep, calculated, and passionate kiss that you could tell had been long awaited. The man that you thought you hated so much had you weak in the knees and barely processing any of the thoughts crossing your mind. Had you really been misinterpreting your feelings all along?

You pulled away first, heart suddenly caught in your throat as you felt yourself begin to panic. You unattached yourself from him and made a rash decision to get out before you had time to do anything else.

“I, uh...I’ve got to go.” You said at a more normal volume.

You dashed out of the closet and back to the other side of the Sanctuary. You left him behind, feeling disappointed that his pledge for how he felt about you didn't go as he had hoped. For the first time, he felt afraid that maybe he had scared you off.

That was the last thing he wanted to do.

The days following the fateful make out session in the supply closet were tense and weird. You refused to look at him when you passed him in the hall and he didn’t speak to you for fear of freaking you out. Everyone around seemed to notice too. Suddenly, Simon wasn’t trying to get you riled up and you weren’t yelling at him to give it a rest. Your interactions were now stoic and silent. You were beginning to prefer the way it was before. At least then he was actually talking to you.

Oddly enough, the person who felt they were most affected was Negan. Negan despised silence, unless it meant everyone was listening to him. Even he would admit that the arguments the two of you had often gave him a headache, but he realized that he would rather down a couple aspirin after every meeting than have to stew in the tension that radiated off of the both of you now.

It took about an hour or so, but Negan was able to squeeze it out of Simon as to what exactly went down to where things had changed so drastically. Negan was pleased that Simon had gotten his act together and made a move, but he needed this to be resolved now. Because he just couldn’t take it anymore.

So that’s how you and Simon ended up in a room together. Alone. To most people, this was a disaster waiting to happen. Either he’d sweep you off your feet or you’d finally kill him.

You sat at the table and he leaned against the wall, neither of you were brave enough to speak first. The silence was painfully loud, it was like a ringing in your ears. It was just a matter of who would crack under pressure first. It sure wasn’t going to be you. So he caved.

“Listen, [Y/N], about the other day...” He spoke gravelly; “I didn’t mean to cross any lines or freak you out.”

Your cheeks burned, your glance was committed to one area of the table. You weren’t looking at him yet.

“I just don’t think we could go back to the way we were after that.” You admitted.

Simon shrugged, beginning to warm up to this conversation that needed to be had.

“Is that really what you want?” He questioned.

“Yes.” You lied, but thought you were being truthful.

He felt gutted. Ouch. That was a blow to the chest. He could tell that you weren’t confident in your answer, though. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he was sure that you knew what you wanted. He took the seat next to you.

“So you’re telling me that the way you looked at me that day meant nothing? The way you kissed back just as much as I did wasn’t important?” He interrogated.

He had worked hard to build a connection before he made a move on you. He wanted to be absolutely sure that you didn’t want this. It would hurt him if you didn’t, but at least he would know it was honest.

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I'm saying.” You said in an overly defensive growl.

You still hadn't looked at him, and he wasn’t convinced. There was something you weren’t saying.

“Look at me then. Look at me and tell me you don't want this,” He said more sternly than you’d ever heard him; “If you don't want me then say the word. I’ll walk away and never bring it up again.”

You looked at him immediately, ready to deny him once more, but couldn’t. The words didn’t come. Why was it so hard to say no to this? He bothered you something awful. He annoyed you and he drove you absolutely crazy to a point of madness. And you loved it.

“I can’t say it,” You spoke gently; “I can’t say it, because...I know it wouldn’t be true.”

And there it was. The real confession. He knew you hadn't admitted it to yourself. It was strange how we deny things to ourselves.

“It’s pretty obvious that we have something going. I’m crazy about you and I don’t want us to miss this chance,” He continued; “We don't have to jump right into it. I mean we could-”

In a shocking turn of events, you kissed him. Just as you had kissed a few short days ago. He smirked underneath your lips. Hook, line, and sinker. Turns out his inkling was right. And boy did he love it when he was right.

“I think we can jump right into it. We’re past the introduction stage.” You grinned.

He smiled back, throwing a wink before kissing you again.

“No complaints here.”

#simon #simon x reader #simon vibes #the walking dead simon #The Walking Dead #simon the walking dead #simon twd #simon twd x reader #simon twd fanfic #simon twd imagines #twd simon #twdbegins

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nokomiss · 3 years

Text

@wardinpanties requested stephcass on patrol, and this is what happened. Set in an ideal continuity where Steph’s Batgirl run continued while Cass came back to Gotham.

Patrol was going well. Smoothly, even, considering Steph had stopped three separate crimes (a mugging, a liquor store robbery, and had taken out a dealer trying to hook little kids) and was now sitting on a rooftop looking out over Gotham itself, trying to decide which direction to head next.

She heard the slightest scuff of a boot against the rough surface of the roof, and turned, expecting to see-- well, she wasn’t sure. She mostly patrolled alone, these days. Batgirl didn’t precisely have a partner, and everyone else was pretty wrapped up in their own deals.

It was Cass.

Steph beamed, and threw herself at Cass the same way she always did. Having her back in Gotham was a continual gift -- Steph hadn’t quite adjusted to it as normal, not yet, not after missing her for so long. Cass laughed and squeezed her back, face tucked into Steph’s neck, her breath a sigh.

“Patrol?” Cass said, and Steph nodded. Cass was her favorite person to patrol with -- always had, from the first realization that Cass respected her determination. Them running across the rooftops as Batgirl and Robin were some of Steph’s most cherished from that brief, bright stint of her life.

Steph filled the silence with chatter as they traversed the rooftops-- telling Cass about the successes of the night, commentary about the relative merits of each restaurant and kiosk they passed, about her frustrations and pride in college. Cass listened and laughed and shared a few scant, precious details about her life in Hong Kong, and Steph hoarded those details close, trying to create a picture of what her best friend’s life had been like.

It was wrong to feel joy when finding a crime in progress, but it meant they got to fight together, and Steph pushed away the vague sense of guilt and instead threw herself into the fight full-force. It was a skirmish between two groups of goons -- Steph thought they were associated with the same gang, but apparently a splintering had happened she wasn’t aware of -- and for a time the world narrowed down to just action. Kicks, punches, spinning out of the way, the bark of gunfire and the groan of pain after a wrist was broken. Cass was a marvel to watch, as always, effortlessly dancing between goons, leaving mayhem in her wake.

Steph gave as good as she got, and before she knew it, all the goons were incapacitated. Steph called it in, and they fled the scene, swinging through the city.

Breathless, they landed on a rooftop that had an overgrown garden. It was private and lovely, and felt strange, standing amongst plants instead of the cold expanse of concrete she was used to. Cass was looking at her in that strange way she had since her return to the city, and all Steph could think about was how strange it would be to see someone else wearing your uniform. How she would feel if she saw a Spoiler swinging between buildings, at that faint, regretful stab of emotion she’d felt seeing Tim back in the uniform, at seeing Damian in it.

Cass had to feel the same, seeing Stephanie as Batgirl while she forged ahead anew as Black Bat.

Steph wished, quiet and desperately, for a fraction of Cass’s ability to read people. To be able to be sure of what she was interpreting. “You know I’d give Batgirl back to you in a heartbeat,” she said, because while her own heart might break at giving it up, she knew that she couldn’t step into the costume every night knowing it upset Cass.

Cass paused, just for a second, then shook her head, her hair fluttering around her face. Steph loved that she could see Cass now, that the quirk of her lips was visible, even though a part of her felt like it made them both more vulnerable. When they’d started -- both of them had kept every bit of skin hidden, had shielded themselves from the night and all its terrors, and she wondered if maybe they’d been smarter. They’d definitely been happier. More innocent.

At least, she had.

“I mean it,” she insisted, not sure why she was choosing now to push this, but knowing it was a conversation they needed to have. And a conversation they had to have alone, without anyone else, not even Babs, weighing in.

Cass reached out and traced the Bat on Steph’s chest. Steph felt her breath stutter, even though Cass’s touch was delicate and there were enough layers of the suit that she couldn’t actually feel the touch. Then Cass touched the Bat on her own chest. “The symbol is… what’s important.”

Steph could take her at face value. “Yeah, but Batgirl is... You made it yours. It’s who you were. It’s who you are.”

“So have you,” Cass said. “You’re… different. Not as scary.” Steph huffed out a tiny laugh; it was too true to argue, and she could tell that Cass meant something else by it. “Batgirl isn’t a… weapon. When it’s you.”

“Cass--” Steph said, choosing to totally disregard the no names in the field rule. “It wasn’t when it was you, either. Watching you as Batgirl was like…” She reached out and took Cass’s hand, palm-to-palm. “I never thought of you as a weapon. Watching you fight is like seeing… seeing poetry in motion. Like you’ve achieved the potential that we all have, and you’re allowing us to see what we could be capable of.”

She pulled their joined hands closer and pressed a soft kiss against Cass’s knuckles. “We aren’t who our fathers made us to be, Cass. We aren’t even what Batman wants us to be. We’re more than that.”

Cass breathed out slowly. Her body language was guarded; tense shoulders, jaw tight. Stephanie desperately wished that she could see her actual eyes, but then the tension just… eased out of Cass. “We are,” she said. “More.”

“So much more,” Steph agreed. She was still clutching Cass’s hand like a lifeline.

“I like seeing you as Batgirl,” Cass said. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but in their joined hands, her thumb traced a slow circle against the side of Steph’s. “I like us… being Bats. Together.”

“Together,” Steph repeated.

Cass nodded once, assuredly. Like she’d made an important decision that Steph hadn’t quite caught on to. She hated that Cass could clearly see her own uncertainty about what was happening, but Cass didn’t seem upset. She seemed almost amused, like she was waiting on Steph to catch up. Like rooftop tag; her expression was like the one she wore when she would look back at Steph in pursuit, knowing that she would escape, but taking a moment to share her joy.

Steph absurdly wanted to break the moment and suggest rooftop tag, to settle back into territory where she was confident.

Maybe she could read Cass better than she thought, if a single nod could launch Steph into a crisis.

Steph licked her lips nervously, and Cass’s eyes tracked the movement, obvious even through the domino, and… oh.

Oh.

Maybe she was in territory where she was confident after all.

“Cass,” she said. “I missed you so much when you were gone. When I was gone.”

They didn’t talk much about that time, about how Steph had been ripped from her life and set adrift, and how she’d let it go on for longer than she needed to, once she’d regained herself. They didn’t talk about what it had done to Cass. They didn’t talk about what it had done to Steph.

But with Cass, sometimes words were the least important part.

“Me too,” Cass said. “I… understand. Better, now.” Now that she’d left Gotham behind, too. It did something to you, escaping from this city. Leaving it behind and being someone new. It cast into stark light just who you were, and since they were both here, standing on a rooftop with Gotham’s lights twinkling behind them, beautiful through the fog that was settling into the city, she knew that they’d come to the same conclusion.

This was their home. This life was what they were meant for. And happiness wasn’t something to squander.

Steph didn’t hesitate a moment longer. She flung herself towards Cass, like she had when she’d appeared behind her earlier that night, only this time with different intent.

She’d kissed Cass dozens of times before -- soft forehead kisses, happy kisses on the cheek, gentle make-it-better kisses against sore muscles, even a few delighted smacks on the mouth -- but never like this. Never with this thrumming confidence that this was what Cass wanted, that this was what they truly meant to each other. Never with such hope.

This kiss was a thousand emotions twined together into a singular action. Cass’s eyes were shut, her ability to read body language unnecessary. It was perfect and it was messy and it was graceless, bumped noses and a soft giggle into another mouth, and Steph never, ever wanted it to end.

Their clasped hands were trapped between their bodies, a Bat pressed against them on either side, and Steph tangled her free hand in Cass’s loose hair. Cass’s hand scrabbled at her side, like she was trying to pull her closer, but unsure how, given that they were pressed as tightly together as humanly possible.

Steph understood the urge; it felt like madness that they’d never done this, that they had reigned in all this want and all this love for so long.

It came to her, suddenly, that she might have misinterpreted Cass earlier. That her tension had been unrelated to Batgirl, and instead related to something more visceral.

When they finally broke apart, breath coming fast and desperate, like they’d just single-handedly reigned in an Arkham breakout, Cass laughed, that bright, bell-like sound that Steph loved so much. She reached over, a mischievous grin on her face, and pressed two fingers against Steph’s shoulder. Pushed hard enough to knock Steph even more off-balance, then she said, “Tag.”

She took off, launching off the rooftop, her silhouette against the night a thing of beauty. Steph laughed herself, taking in one more deep breath of Gotham air, and raced off after her.

She thought that tonight, she just might catch Cass.

#my fic #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #stephcass

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leia-organa-fics · 3 years

Text

aftermath (part I)

Set after a reason to stay.

***

Shortly after, when Yavin base had to be evacuated, Han somehow ended up with the task of bringing the princess to Kowak, the Alliance´s new rendezvous point. Why High Command trusted him with her, he had no idea. It wasn´t as if he would do anything to her – for once, he wasn´t that kind of man and second, even if he was, she probably would be able to defend herself just fine even in her injured state. He would have thought though that they´d allocate some nicer quarters to a princess.

That should have been the first clue that maybe his perception of princesses wasn´t close to reality. No, actually, it should have been the third clue after the way she had rescued herself and hid her injuries all through the battle of Yavin. As it was, he just shrugged it all off, telling himself that not even a princess could be picky in the face of the Alliance´s lifestyle and scarce resources.

Therefore, he was completely surprised when he finally realized that during their trip, Her Worship had taken it upon herself to quietly ‘fix’ things on the Falcon that hadn´t even been all that broken and ‘optimize’ things that in his opinion, thank you, had worked just fine before.

It took three days and Chewie pointing it out for him to realize that somehow a full inventory of the Falcon´s supplies had appeared out of thin air, the dishes were cleaner than they´d ever been, and there was absolutely nothing lying around untidily on any surface. When he finally caught on what must have been happening during his shifts in the cockpit for the last three days, he felt anger rise in his chest. Who did she think she was to mess with his ship?

Chewie roared something to stop him, but he was already out of the door of the cockpit to give Leia a piece of his mind. He found her in the lounge, bend over the Darjik table doing force-knows-what. “What do you think you´re doing?” he demanded.

She didn´t even look up while replying, “There´s a stain.”

“Oh, I´m sorry my humble ship is not enough for your privileged tastes.”

“That´s not what I meant, and you know it.” Why was her voice so calm? And why was she still not looking at him?

‘Stop messing with my ship,’ was what he meant to say. What came out was, “Stop that right now. You´re still injured.” And where had that last part come from?

At that reply, she finally looked up. With her jaw set and brows furled, she looked the definition of stubborn. “I´m fine,” she gritted, and it was the first time she sounded like a petulant princess.

“You´re not. I know what the Empire does to its prisoners.”

Her stance softened. “Which end of the cell door were you?”

“Outside,” he admitted. “I was at the Academy … ´til I figured out that torture and genocide weren´t exactly my kind of fun.”

She nodded. “You´re a lot better than you try making people believe.”

“Sweetheart, hate to break it to you, but I´m not good. I´m not here for your pesky, little Rebellion.” He wasn´t, he really wasn´t. In fact, he didn´t know why he was still here … okay, that wasn´t true either. He was still here because of her and the kid, and it was ridiculous. He barely knew them! But somehow Leia´s fire and Luke´s fundamental goodness had drawn him in. He needed to free himself, as soon as possible. He´d have to wait until they reached the rendezvous point though. There, he´d make sure they were safe and then he´d leave.

“You´re doing it again,” she interrupted his thoughts.

“If that´s what you want to believe, suit yourself.”

“I requested the Falcon as my transport, you know.”

That took him by surprise. Again. She really needed to stop doing that. “Why?” he asked.

She just shrugged non-committedly and resumed scrubbing the table.

“Stop that,” he repeated. “It´s already clean.”

The princess, Leia, froze for a moment. “The bench isn´t,” she finally said and turned her attention there. Han watched as she put soap on the cloth in her hand and started scrubbing at a stain that might or might have been there.

Watching her work was fascinating. Her hands were soft. Just one look at them was enough to know that she hadn´t done much manual labour ever in her life. In stark contrast to that, her movements were steady and brimmed with efficiency. They betrayed the accuracy of someone who had learned how to move not gracefully but appropriately. They were the movements of a diplomat. Han wouldn’t be surprised if she had actually calculated the exact speed that she needed to move at to give the illusion of the golden mean between urgency and idleness.

She blended in with what seemed to be perfect ease, and still, everything about her screamed absolute control to Han. Leia Organa was a paradox. Strong but vulnerable. Seemingly invincible but oh so hurt inside. The embodiment of compassion and goodness, but at the same time her fury over Alderaan´s fate burned hotter than a supernova just underneath her skin. She was prickly, difficult and overall insufferable, but nonetheless, people gravitated to her.

After some minutes, it became clear to Han, that she wasn´t going to stop her needless task, until he had left. A part of him wanted to just do so, to leave her and the sadness that clung to her like a second skin behind, to vanish to the cockpit and plan his and Chewie´s next destination after dropping her off with the Alliance. The rest of him though – a far bigger part – couldn´t bring himself to do it. If he didn´t check on her, who would? She didn´t understand Shyriiwook, Luke wasn´t here and as far as he knew, everyone she had been close to had been killed together with Alderaan. Han was many things. Heartless wasn´t one of them. He couldn´t just leave her here alone. She was Leia.

He battered his brain for something meaningful to say, but came up blank, so he fell back on what he knew. “If you keep on doing that, you´ll scrub a hole into my bench.”

She stopped. “I suppose it is clean now.”

“Definitely cleaner than ever before.”

“That´s not hard, is it?” The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, as she finally turned to face him.

“This is a smuggler´s ship and not the royal fleet, Your Worship.”

A frown crossed her face. “Don´t call me that.”

“Don´t worry,” he retorted. “I´ve got many more. How about ‘Your Highnessness’, princess?”

“Don´t.” Her voice turned icy. “I´m not. Not anymore.”

She looked away and he wanted to kick himself. So much for not being heartless. “I´m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Leia.”

It was the first time her actual name had crossed his lips. She seemed to realize it, too, because she faced him again and the anger was replaced by something else that he couldn´t place. They looked at each other for one sheer endless moment, studying each other. When the silence started to become awkward, Han desperately searched for something to busy himself with. In the end, it was her who ended it by putting away the cloth and the soap where she had taken it from.

“Where are we at the moment?”, she asked.

“Near Kashyyk. It will probably be around six more days, before we make it to Kowak.”

“Kashyyk.” She seemed to be lost in thought for some moments before a dangerous glint entered her eyes. “That´s the Mid Rim, isn´t it?”

“Yes,” Han answered warily.

“So, we´re not too far from the Core … “

“Yes, we are damn far away from the Core and it´s gonna stay that way.”

“I need to go there.”

“Where?” he asked, even though he thought he knew the answer. Knew and dreaded it.

“Alderaan.”

Just like he had feared. “It´s gone,” he exclaimed forcefully. “There´s nothing left.”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. I´ve seen it. You´re not going to find what you´re looking for.”

She closed her eyes. “I know.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “But I need to see it for myself.”

“No.” Han shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Leia raised her chin and shot him a determined look. “The Royal House of Alderaan had funds stored on Coruscant. It will take some time, but I can pay you.”

“You think this is about money?”

“You made it very clear that that´s everything you care about.”

Stung, Han took a step back. She wasn´t entirely wrong: He had declared very loudly that money was the only reason why he had helped them … but surely his actions spoke louder than those words. He had returned for the kid – without hoping for any reward. He had comforted her. And now she was throwing it back in his face. “You´re right,” he finally said angrily, “but the money won´t do me any good if I´m dead.”

“You escaped the Death Star, but you´re scared of a simple trip?”

“Simple trip? After our escape from the Death Star, the Imperials will be looking for the Falcon. Flying to the Core would be suicide.”

Her anger seemed to deflate as quickly as it had flared up and a defeated look crossed her face. “I need to go there,” she whispered. “Please.”

Han was still hurt, but Leia´s sad eyes bored holes into his resolve. After Yavin, the Imperials probably had bigger concerns than catching one single freighter … and after all, he wasn´t exactly keen on getting back to the Rebellion. Kriff, he was going to regret it. Still. He sighed. “We can´t stay long and at the first sign of Imperial presence, we´ll leave.”

“Thank you,” she said gravely.

Han acknowledged her thanks with a curt nod. “You better get a hold on those funds of yours soon,” he said bitterly.

“I will.” Was that disappointment in her voice? And why did that hurt even more than her earlier words?

Han decidedly did not think about that as he made his way back to the cockpit to change their course to Alderaan. Chewie noticed his gloomy mood and tried to get him to talk about it, but Han rebuked all of his efforts.

The next day was spent in stony silence. Leia seemed to sense his mood and kept away from him. Without Han to talk to, she and Chewie turned to each other instead. What ensued was a series of conversations that consisted of Leia completely misinterpreting Shyriiwook and a lot of pantomime. Unfortunately, conventions for the meaning of certain gestures were different on each planet, so that they didn´t particularly make their endeavour easier. The result would have been hilarious if Han hadn´t been so angry and hurt. In his current mood, it was only annoying. Why did Chewie get along with the princess?

***

You can now find part II here.

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deviantofthemind · 3 years

Text

Sanders Sides Ficmas 2020

↪ 𝔉𝔦𝔠𝔪𝔞𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱 🎁

Dec 1: Snowed in Rating: T

Logan accompanied Roman on a Dragonwitch coven stalk out. They end up trapped in an old hunting cabin by a snowstorm in the middle of the imagination with nothing to entertain them for the next 24 hours. Roman grows very interested in Logan's recent reading material.

Roman sighed dramatically looking out of a small, almost completely blind window. “I apologize, I did not anticipate snowfall this heavy and sudden.”

Logan was not fazed or mad in the slightest, he would still get the required data when the snow storm was over and they could continue their stalk out. He was very pleased that Roman had been amenable to taking him to the Imagination with him.

Since they had become aware that there were other sides that they still didn’t know about, Logan was relentlessly researching in all possible directions. Villains that could have been built up in the Imagination itself or true Sides that had grown unnoticed by them and fueled by outside influence.

“We should probably make a fire if we are going to be stuck here for a while.” he knelt down by the small fireplace to stack some of the thankfully dry wood.

Roman was igniting the fire with a small flick of his wrist. The hut was now lit in a soft, orange glow and no more of the dark blue night was creeping in. Enough light to read for Logan, perfect. No time would be wasted. He hung up their wet coats to dry while the other man rummaged through the cabinets likely in search of food.

“At least we won’t be going hungry waiting the worst out here.” Roman said, “And it’s good to have you with me this time.”

“Is this happening regularly? I mean, that you get stuck in the imagination due to weather conditions?” Logan specified his question, “We always assumed that you just get caught up in certain adventures.”

“No, usually I have pretty good control over the..uh, conditions? It’s just gotten a little unpredictable a short while ago.”

Logan hummed thoughtfully, while opening a large trunk next to the door. “Considering the Imagination is directly tied to your state of mind, wouldn’t it be logical to assume that some personal or emotional turmoil is responsible for the recent anomalies?”

Roman hesitated to answer. Of course Logan was already connecting dots, clever as always. “Uh...I guess?” he said as noncommittally as possible, busying himself with the search for a bucket to fetch some snow for water from outside.

When he stepped out into the cold night, the snow was already piling high and the wind was lashing into his face. He quickly filled the bucket and closed the shutters around the hut.

Logan found some huge, scratchy wool blanket and a huge linen shirt amongst other things going through the chest. He was very curious about what could have the potential to confuse his friend enough that it influenced the Imagination in such a way. But he had learned the hard way that his blunt way of causal investigation was not always appreciated. Was almost never appreciated in fact. Roman had not volunteered any further insight, so it could either be that he thought it was none of Logan's business or that he didn’t trust him enough yet. He could at least work on the second option and not be immediately intrusive and annoying he guessed.

Roman pressed the door close again with quite a bit of force against the wind and bolted it shut. The fire had already warmed the tiny room considerably compared to outside.

“Okay. Looks like we are going to be reasonably safe here.” he announced, bringing his findings over to the cot by the fire, “You can even change into that dry shirt I’ve found so you won’t catch a cold.”

Roman set the snow down by the fire to be melted soon. Turning slowly he fidgeted a bit. He was cold and his shirt was soaked where he had slipped into a snowdrift earlier in an effort to save Logan from exactly that. Stripping was not something he hadn’t anticipated for their trip. And he couldn’t say that he was very eager to get naked in front of his crush either. But well, cold. And also the other man looked at him expectantly.

He hurried, trying to make it as quick and ordinary as possible. Of course he got stuck in his sleeves and had difficulty getting the wet garments of his skin. He was flushed, embarrassed and shivering by the time he managed.

Meanwhile Logan observed. It was a well-known fact that Roman was the tallest, and broadest out of the Sides but he hadn’t anticipated him to look this, what was the vocab again…, shredded? His skin looked very soft and tanned even in Winter and Logan was surprised by the impulsive want to touch. Usually one wasn’t projecting such things onto one's friends. He had to monitor and manage this better. “You are very attractive.”

Romans head whipped around so fast his neck cracked. He hoped desperately that it was too dark and his former flush was too distracting to see the immediate blush Logan's compliment had brought to his cheeks. “Th-thanks?” He felt like a blubbering idiot, but in all honesty he felt more often than not like a blubbering idiot when the other man was involved. So that’s that.

“I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I- uhm..yeah.” Logan handed over the shirt quickly and turned away. Roman could be mistaken but he thought he’d seen a slight shimmer of red in his face too. Maybe? It was unrealistic of course but may? If there was a possibility?

“Do you maybe want some tea? I think we could use something to warm us up?” he asked, deciding for the distraction and also because he was a little concerned. He had towed Logan along, hiking through the rough landscape all day after all, he was likely cold and exhausted.

“Yes, please, I would appreciate it.” Logan said, back to his sober self after a short-moment of fluster he had experienced when being confronted with Roman’s physique.

He settled in front of the fireplace as Roman filled a pot with snow, searched for mugs and dug out a small tin of herbs from his satchel. Groaning softly, he kicked off his shoes and socks, to stretch out and warm his aching feet. Conjuring his recent reading material to keep busy was the logical next step.

Soon after Roman plopped down next to him, sans his usual elegance. He put the steaming mugs down in front of them carefully.

“Thank you. It smells very pleasant.” Logan sighed, breathing in the tea.

Again Roman could feel the warmth in his cheeks, damn his greedy idea to spend time alone with Logan. He rolled his sore shoulders, mumbling a ‘welcome’ before also getting rid of his shoes.

It was strangely nice to sit together in front of the fire and just relax a bit after their day. But Roman still felt a little guilty for the weather trapping them in the Imagination longer as both of them had planned. Still, Roman relished the moment. Sitting close to an unusual relaxed Logan, being able to provide for him even a teeny tiny bit, no one interrupting. He even dared to watch Logan. The other had ditched his usual attire for something more practical and warm and he looked very cosy and warm and cuddly and touchable and...Roman was getting carried away and needed to hide his face behind his mug again.

“So uhm, what are you reading?” he asked softly, as not to disturb the calm atmosphere. And Logan looked up at him and smiled and Roman had to take another sip to hide for a second.

Setting his book aside momentarily and also cradling the tea, Logan turned to Roman. “I’ve been researching about other possible sides,” he said excitedly, “So far I could only rule out possible manifestations though. And unfortunately I think this also is the case with Lust or respectively Desire, which this book is about.”

Roman cursed as he accidentally took a too large sip of the scalding tea. “L-lust?” he sputtered, blinking at Logan confused and suspicious. Could it be that? No. Just, no.

“Yes… I mean, it seemed like a viable theory?” Logan confirmed a little insecure, shrugging.

Roman didn’t dare check but he was pretty sure he was blushed down to his navel by now. “But you did rule that out now? Why?” he asked instead, as steady as he could manage (He was quite proud of himself) and nervously tugged the revealing shirt close.

Logans took a long time to formulate a response he deemed honest but not too blunt. He was trying to win Romans friendship, not alienate him. “Well, usually when we do something, the one at the core of this function, erhm, pops up?” he adjusted his glasses, “Like Janus comes out when one of us is intentionally lying?” He waited for Roman to nod and allowed himself to just relish being so attentively listened to for a moment. “But, from what I read, we’ve been dealing with Desire but an appearance was never made.” Logan could have hit himself, again. Because that had obviously been the most stupid way to word that particular fact.

His mind was reeling, because holy shit, was Logan saying what Roman thought he was saying? “I’m- I’m not sure I can follow you?” he leaned a bit closer, as if guarding the words between them, “So you say Desire is not a full Side because...well because we’ve been experiencing it?” Swallowing heavily, a little choked with his own bravery, he looked back into Logan's eyes.

There was a hot little pit in his stomach because it seemed he might have been misinterpreting quite a lot of information regarding Romans and his friendship and it seemed the other man had now decided for both of them that it was time for a leap of faith instead of further analysis.

“According to the book I certainly have.” he said, “And I think I misjudged the ability for Desire and friendship to coexist or I maybe would have come to this conclusion sooner.”

Romans breath shuddered out of him, a heady mix of joy and relief and Desire. Logan looked awfully insecure and Roman gave him all the time to pull back before he finally received a tiny nod and allowed himself to press his lips to Logan's cheekbone.

They both laughed a little breathless. Yeah. Desire was definitely not a Side.

There were few more words exchanged as they prepared something to eat together, just slow, tentative smiles and the freedom of deliberately brushing against the others body.

Later they dared to slip under the blanket together and Logan couldn’t have named the sort of feeling that was compelling him, begging him to press his whole body against Roman as the man curled his body around him.

Roman tentatively nuzzled into Logan's shoulder, relaxing and rubbing his nose along his neck, pressing a soft kiss there too when the other man sighed softly.

“You know...I never would have thought-..” he interrupted himself, unsure of what he actually wanted to say.

“Yeah, me neither, “ Logan answered into the soft peaceful darkness, “Sometimes, I think, I may be thinking too much…”

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suf-lives-rent-free · 3 years

Text

Fragments

Everything below is just my opinion; I am in no way trying to say that how I feel about this is the one correct take or whatever.

I know a lot of people like this episode and what happens in it, but I don’t. I totally understand that some people just don’t want to see any negativity, period, but negativity is not inherently bad or wrong.

Negative opinions, even about something you enjoy, can be valid too - regardless of whether you happen to agree with them or not.

Also I get very salty near the end of this, and that might be entertaining to people who stan this episode?

I am aware that a lot of people – the majority, I’m pretty sure – think that the episode is a masterpiece. And on some level, I see where they’re coming from with that assessment.

The episode is boarded beautifully, the backgrounds – especially during the training montage – are stunning as always. The music is fantastic, and the performances are great too. In these respects, Fragments is a stand-out episode; I agree.

(Like look at this. Gorgeous.)

However, something that’s bothered me since I saw the episode is the writers’ decision to write it into the story that Steven shatters Jasper.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: I just don’t get it. I’m purposefully misinterpreting the story to say it’s bad. Steven brings her back to life; and it’s not like he meant to do it in the first place. I just don’t have the capacity to understand the sublime nature of the show’s storytelling. I’m an SU crit and all I want to do is make the real fans feel about themselves for liking it.

Uhhhh... no. Nah. That ain’t it chief.

It’s true; I am not a writer. I’m just a passive consumer of media. However, I do not agree with the viewpoint that in order to properly understand or critique a thing you need to have the expertise and/or experience in order to make something similar.

For example, if I were to put something I drew when I was 10 years old next to something I drew yesterday, it shouldn’t take a person who has had an education in fine art to tell you that the latter drawing is better-looking than the former.

That’s how I approach media consumption and criticism; when I criticise a writing decision, I am doing so as a consumer. I’m not saying I could write it better, or even that my opinion is objectively correct and the writer is wrong or bad. I’m just saying that I didn’t like a thing. Which, I would hope, is allowed?

Okay, defensive hedging over, back to the point; I don’t like that they had Steven shatter Jasper.

[I get markedly saltier from this point on, fyi]

Full admission of bias here: one of the things I really cherish about the original show is how they wrote Steven’s character; he’s a boy with interests that don’t rigidly conform to gender stereotypes. He likes ‘boyish’ things and ‘girly’ things, and that’s okay; thats just him. In cartoons when I was growing up, characters like Steven would be the butt of jokes about being ‘girly’ or thinly-veiled homophobia. I find him very relatable, and I want to acknowledge that yes, that is probably a significant part of why I have such an issue with this episode’s twist.

I am not trying to say that he’s a perfect baby angel or whatever; Steven regularly gets frustrated and angry. He does some pretty manipulative and dickish things to people around him (stop trying to make Larsadie happen, Steven. It’s not going to happen). He is a flawed character who fucks up sometimes. And he’s not 100% peaceful either; he acts violently when he defends himself against corrupted Gems and Homeworld Gems (and Crystal Gems on occasion *cough*Bismuth*cough*).

However, he has a pacifistic temperament; whenever it’s possible, he prefers that problems be solved without needless violence or hurt. And I like that; in most media, it’s rare to have a male protagonist who wants to solve their problems without jumping straight to punching things.

When he accidentally frees Centipeedle, he convinces the Gems to step off and allow him to try and rehabilitate her peacefully; he even notices that the Gems’ weapons are a trigger for her, and make them put them away. He frees Lapis against the Gems’ wishes because he recognizes that keeping her prisoner is wrong, and when she steals the ocean, he talks it out and heals her so she can leave Earth peacefully.

He tries to aid Jasper when she starts corrupting, fixes Eyeball’s gemstone when she’s cracked and tries talking Bismuth down when she attacks him with the breaking point. In all of these situations, his words and help are ignored or rejected; he’s forced to resort to violence. And it traumatises him.

We get an entire episode dedicated to the fact that he’s been struggling with processing these awful things that happened.

Even in Future, Steven shows hesitation about engaging in unncecessary violence; he gives into Jasper’s goading for a fight after what’s implied to be dozens of failed tries at making her come to Little Homeschool, and he spends an entire episode trying to keep Lapis from squashing the two rogue Lapis Lazulis.

The only time he hops into a fight willingly is after Eyeball and Aquamarine hold Greg hostage, and even then they pose a clear threat to his and Greg’s safety and have made it clear that they want to hurt him emotionally and physically. Even at that, he stops and switches tactics to talking them down as soon as they lose their focus and start bickering with each other.

(I mean, he fails. But it’s the thought that counts.)

I personally find it really jarring that the writers found it appropriate to write it into the series that this same character – over the course of three (3) days – goes from disliking mindless violence for mindless violence’s sake to happily engaging in the destruction of plants and animals* and has done a total 180 on his willingness to spar with Jasper, to the point that he instigates their rematch.

*(You best believe plenty of small mammals and birds – y’know, like the nest Steven saved in the first episode – died as he and Jasper felled tree after tree, not to mention all of those displaced by the destruction of their habitats, and the potential loss of food sources from some of those trees.)

You’re telling me that it’s a reasonable character beat for this boy to gleefully laugh like an anime supervillain at his sudden new-found joy in fighting, then pin Jasper in place, taunt her for helping him get so strong, and hit her so hard that she breaks into pieces and dies?

You’re telling me that that’s an in-character thing for Steven Quartz Diamond Cutie-Pie DeMayo Universe do to another character?

(And yes I am purposefully dancing around talking about the mental health stuff because if I did that I’d have to go on a whole other tangent about Growing Pains and fuck I just don’t feel like it right now lmao)

Going back to Mindful Education, another big thing we see Steven struggle with is the idea that his mother shattered Pink Diamond. This knowledge sits heavily with him; it makes him sympathetic to the Diamonds, even under the circumstances in which he sees them (escaping from the Human Zoo, and being on trial for said murder).

He sees their grief, and he feels awful. He questions who Rose Quartz even was. He knows, based on what Garnet said, that Rose had to do it; there was no other way to free Earth. But he still feels awful seeing the pain that Pink’s loss has caused Blue and Yellow Diamond.

In Steven Universe, shattering is clearly equated with execution/death multiple times. When Pearl and Garnet fret over the crack in Amethyst’s gemstone worsening. When Blue Diamond threatens to break Ruby. When Bismuth introduces the breaking point, and Steven recoils at the sight of what it does. If you want to take the fact that Gem shards are sentient and desperate to become whole again into account, you could even argue that it’s a fate worse than death. This particular act of violence is treated very, very seriously.

When we find out that Rose shattered Pink Diamond, there is a season and a half long arc unpacking the implications and consequences of this one action, and how this knowledge forever alters Steven’s mental image of his mother. And she didn’t even kill anyone. It was a lie!

In Steven Universe Future, Steven shatters Jasper 4 episodes before the end of the series. And it’s only brought up twice; once for a big *gasp* moment during his breakdown in Everything’s Fine, and in I Am My Monster by Pearl, when she has to fill-in Bismuth, Lapis and Peridot. Notably, it is never discussed around or by Jasper. Y’know. The person who actually died.

No indication of how (or even if) what Steven did is affecting his own self-image after his initial breakdown, how Jasper feels about what she went through beyond falling back into the Era 1 and 2 mindset. No inkling of how the knowledge that Steven killed somebody has affected how anyone in his life thinks or feels about him; when Pearl brings it up in I Am My Monster, she seems to not even really believe it’s true.

If there are any consequences or talks about this incident, they’re skipped over between I Am My Monster and The Future, and we’re expected to assume that Steven and his therapist are dealing with it, I guess?

And yes. It was an accident. He did bring her back to life. But it still happened. If you hit someone over the head and they stop breathing, just because the paramedics are able to resusitate and stabilize them afterwards doesn’t mean you never hit them.

But here, it’s shoved aside because dwelling on it would take far too much time, and risks framing Steven in an unsympathetic way when he’s meant to be on the cusp of a breakdown.

It just feels like careless writing to me. They really, really wanted their big action scene with Steven and Jasper, but didn’t think (or maybe weren’t interested in thinking) about the seriousness or consequences of what Steven shattering someone would entail.

In my opinion, Steven shattering Jasper is one of the cheapest, laziest things they could have ever done with his character (and hers, for that matter). To me, the entire thing feels entirely out of character. It’s pure shock value; nothing more.

So yeah. That particular writing decision just does not work for me. And if you disagree... well that’s fine? It’s fine. We can agree to disagree? I’ve read a lot of defense/praise for this episode, and honestly even after processing all of those opinions and all the time my thoughts about this plotline have been stewing in my brain, I still feel the same way.

#steven universe #steven universe future #negativity #cw death

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subtlereferencetomyinterests · 4 years

Text

Communication Issues (Alternative Title: Three Touch-Starved, Insecure, Metaphysical Beings Constantly Misinterpreting Each Other and Yet Somehow Falling in Love)- Chapter One

Ao3, MasterPost, Chap.2, Chap.3

Relationships: Eventual Analogince, implied Moceit

I usually have new stuff up on Wednesdays, Sorry this is late. I hope the length and angst will make up for this slight :) Also, because of how long this fucker is, I did not go in and manually add italics, so you can just. Imagine them there when you need them.

Warnings: Panic attack (?), overworking oneself, self-hatred and insecurity, Excessive Amounts of Hurt/comfort, eventual friends-to-lovers, slow burn, arguing, crying, angst w/ a happy ending, swearing, creative blocks, mentions of isolating oneself, excessive hugging.

Word Count: 6,396

What do you do when you find someone crying, and it’s all your fault? What do you say when you hear the muffled sobs and frantic words behind the blood-red door? When you know that, no matter how much you never wanted to hurt him- never wanted to hurt anyone- you still did. Is there anything you can do to fix it, when you’ve spent so long pretending that nothing was broken? When you’ve spent so long pretending that you didn’t care if things were broken or not?

Well, if you're Logan Sanders, a metaphysical representation of the logical thinking of one Thomas Sanders (and you are, for the purposes of this story), then you book it down the hall in a desperate effort to find someone more emotionally competent to solve the problem.

The search is short, lasting just to the bottom of the stairs. As soon as your feet touch down on the living room carpet, your haste brings you slamming into just the side you were looking for. Hands wrap around your middle, narrowly stopping you from stumbling over.

“Geez, L, what’s the-” Virgil doesn’t finish his sentence, his expression wrinkling in concern when he sees your face. He leans down to your level, his gaze flickering over you to search for injuries.

You take a step back and shake your head, struggling to explain.

“Roman- I- He-” you’re supposed to be articulate, intelligent, eloquent- but when it comes to feelings, you never are. You never have been. You try so hard nowadays, but God, do you still need help sometimes. Like these times. These confusing, awful times when you hear dear sweet Creativity sobbing self-deprications loud enough to be heard from well outside of his room, many of which are dramatized repetitions of things that you have said to him.

“Is he okay?!” Virgil, bless him, snaps you out of the oncoming mental panic before it renders you any more useless.

“Physically, yes- as far as I know- but emotionally, well-” you cut off, terrified of choking up. He seems to catch your meaning, though.

Virgil doesn’t ask any follow up questions. He grabs your arm and the room blurs. Static hisses against your ears and pricks at your skin, this form of transportation being mostly foreign to you. You don’t even rise up, merely popping into existence right in front of Roman’s door. Virgil throws it open before you have the chance to react.

Roman doesn’t notice the increased population of his room, which is concerning. His back is to the door as he works fervently at his desk, but evidently not making progress, shaking as he is. He’s muttering under his breath, much quieter than what you’d overheard before, but you can hear distinct utterances like ‘unrealistic… overused… disappointment…’ et cetera, et fucking cetera.

“Roman, what happened?” Virgil’s voice is distorted, loud and quiet all at once. You barely keep yourself from covering your ears.

Roman clamps his mouth shut mid-wail, his hands spasming in surprise against his desk. His quill drops to the paper with a soft clatter, a sound that echoes about the walls. Then, the only noise left is his staggering breathing.

Slowly, Roman peers over his shoulder at you, eyes puffy and red with mascara practically dripping down his chin.

A gasp draws from you, against your will, at the sight.

Roman makes some strangled throat-clearing sounds before trying to speak.

“Oh, hey-”

“Nope, none of that,” Virgil is across the room in two strides, effortlessly taking the lead in this situation. You can’t push yourself any further into the room, but you do shut the door behind you. Probably best not to involve any of the more unpredictable sides in what was sure to be an… emotionally charged discussion.

Roman looks absolutely mortified, jolting up from his chair and backing into the wall like a cornered animal. With distance between himself and Virgil reestablished, he then buries his face in his hands. He trembles like a leaf caught in the wind of fall, and he’d probably crumble just as easily.

Many times in your life, you’ve wished that you couldn’t feel. You even had yourself convinced that you couldn’t, for a while there. Now, all you wish is to know how to feel correctly. You’re meant to know things, Logan, aren’t you?

“Alright, so I’ve been having a bit of a rough time,” Roman’s voice cracks and wavers when he speaks, “It’s just writer’s block. Sure, I got a tad bit frustrated- but I’ll be back on track in no time, I promise! You needn’t concern yourself with my momentary lapse, I’ll have a new story for you by Saturday at the latest!”

He’s looking at you. Virgil is standing right next to him, but he’s looking at you, all the way across the room. He’s trying to… appease you? Reason with you? Give you what he thinks you want?

Say something, Logan.

“You need to take a break, Ro,” Virgil’s voice slips back to normal, “C’mon, you’re overworking yourself,” he tries to be nonchalant, but it’s obvious just how concerned he is. You can hardly blame him. When he reaches his hand out, Roman recoils, showing his face enough to see the guilt written across it.

You need to say something, goddammit.

“I can’t just ‘take a break’,” he spits, “I can’t stop now. I need to get this done first- I’ll stop when I finally do this properly. So, maybe never, right?” He laughs, horrible and twisted, and he looks at you because he’s really, truly asking you. Is he really expecting you to agree? Is that the impression you’ve left him with?

You say something.

“This is all my fault.”

Clearly, neither of them expected that. You press on.

“Your worth as a side-” no, not quite right, “-Your worth as a person is not measured solely by your productivity. I know we’ve talked before about the damages of excessive perfectionism, but I know I may not have been effective in ‘showing not telling’ that your ideas don’t need to be flawless. My harshness. My Coldness. I thought I was doing better, but obviously... I was wrong.” Again.

Virgil looks half-way to anger, but it’s unclear what he’s directing it towards. You aren’t sure of anything right now, really, except for the general upset tugging at your stomach.

“L, no, if this is anybody’s fault- it’s mine,” he turns to Roman, and what. “I didn’t know how hard you were taking all this. Dude, I had no idea. But I owe you an apology, I have for a while, for making fun of you about your insecurity. Like, kind of a lot. Long after you stopped doing it to me. Honestly, I can’t believe that I didn’t realize how much it was actually getting to you.”

“What? Virgil, I truly appreciate what you are trying to do, but I was clearly the one who pushed Roman too far,” you find the courage to step a little closer as you argue Virgil’s point, spurred on by how ridiculous you find this exchange.

“Well, I mocked his sensitivities. This is my responsibility!”

“But you didn’t know you were doing that- I acted like I didn’t care for him, and now he thinks I don’t! I am doubtlessly the one to blame.”

Virgil looks ready to snap back, and you’d be just as ready to retort, but a quiet sniffle alerts both of your attention to the matter still at hand. Roman, standing back against the wall, growing increasingly bewildered. He’s still crying, a surprisingly open display for a prideful trait such as himself, but you get the impression that he simply can’t hold it back anymore. You can see him squirm under Virgil’s and your gazes.

“It- It’s nice, that you both are attempting to take the blame for my failings, but you don’t have to. I can figure this out for myself. Then, I’ll finally prove myself to you, and no one will need to worry about anything. Which is why I need to keep working.”

“You have proven yourself to me,” Virgil darts from the desk to Roman. He grabs the trait’s ink-stained arm, gaze fierce and unyielding.

“Why, then,” Roman mutters, eyes downcast, “doesn’t it feel like I have?”

“I never tried to do right by you. Like you did for me.”

You watch them sway, awkward, and finally, finally push movement into your legs. You step to Roman’s other side, much slower. It probably appears to be deliberate, but in truth you just feel unsure. You place your hand on his shoulder in a way that is hopefully comforting.

“The same, in a different sense, is true for myself. But if you would allow us to make it up to you…?” you aren’t sure where to go from there. Virgil nods, though, granting you a hint of pride. You don’t quite buy it when he says he’s part of the problem, but you’d rather not start any arguments at this particular moment.

Roman won’t look at either of you for longer than a second, like he’s not sure if you’re serious. Just so he knows that you are, you gesture to your necktie, giving him the tiniest smile.

He buckles to the ground immediately, a mess of sobs, the both of you letting yourself be dragged along. He clings to Virgil, and you try to keep an arm around him as well. He needs all the support he can get, really.

“I-I’m so so-rry, I don’t- I-”

Virgil shushes him and shoots you a deeply concerned look: This is really bad. I’m not letting him go. You rub Roman’s back as he shakes and return your friend’s gaze with a nod: I’m not either. We’re going to help him. Don’t worry.

The three of you sit there for what feels like hours as he cries, and cries, and cries. None of you say a word, letting him get it all out. You let him hold onto you- you hold him as well, because you’re nearly as dismayed and unsure as he is.

But eventually, you need to talk. Once he finally settles, his head resting against your collar and his legs splayed across Virgil’s lap, it’s you who gets the proverbial ball rolling.

“You already know that overworking yourself leads to exhaustion, which in turn leads to an overall drop in productivity and quality of work,” Roman’s eyes fill with guilt, but you’re quick to elaborate, “but that isn’t at all my primary concern. I won’t carry on acting like it is for a moment longer, now that I see how it’s hurting you. Hurting you is something I would never intend. You mean so much to me. There are so many arguments I could use to convince you why you need to give yourself a break, but I’ll settle with this: a hypothetical ‘perfect story’ is not worth your suffering, and it never will be.”

Roman looks up at you, once more crying, so that was probably a very unhelpful thing to say. But he leans into you and hugs you close, recontextualizing his emotional display. Relief washes over you.

“Thank you, Logan.”

Virgil clears his throat.

“I know I’m not as, um, articulate as Lo is, but- for what it’s worth- I care about you, too, and all.”

You stretch out the arm that you had around Roman’s back, pulling Virgil into the hug. Roman lets out a shuddering breath from where he’s cradled between the both of you. It’s the deep, relieved breath that means the sobbing is through with, leaving only tired eyes and silence.

It is at this point of alleviated tension that the uncomfortable nature of the floor begins irking you. Like hell you and Virgil would live Creativity alone like this, so after brief deliberation you stand to move as a unit. An amoeba of facets making their way down the hall, in a manner likely comical (though thankfully no one is around to see). Your room is the optimal place to rest, as it eases emotions and calms overthinking minds, even if it is a little chilly.

You let your fellow traits drop down onto the couch, passing Roman the TV remote. Yes, whatever you like to watch, you inform him. Yes, really, anything, you confirm, waving your hand to conjure some blankets for them. The smile he gives you, though small, is enough to boost your hopes considerably.

You really can’t fix everything- at least not immediately. But perhaps, with Virgil to fill in your gaps, you’ll be able to make things right for the Prince.

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

So looking after this insecure dumbass is totally your job now. Said dumbass, of course, disagrees strongly; he tells you he’s doing better, and thanks so much for the one afternoon of help, Virgil, but he can totally take it from here. You do not give a single shit about what Roman claims, because he is very obviously lying, because he doesn’t want to be a burden. Yeah, as if.

You’re taking care of that idiot if it kills you.

Thankfully, Logan is on the same page as you (proverbial page, as he would specify). It almost surprised you that he didn’t make himself scarce as soon as he told you about the situation, but it’s certainly a pleasant surprise to have him by your side in this. Roman needs all the help he can get, and you can’t think of anyone better.

The pair of you only begrudgingly leave him alone after a sufficient several hours of Comfort Time, retreating to the hall so he can rest. He looked so fuckin’ tired, face a dull red and eyes puffy, but he was smiling. You count it as a temporary win.

The first thing that you do, naturally, is slam your back against the wall and let yourself slide down to the floor out of sheer emotional exhaustion.

Logan sits next to you, much less aggressively. It’s a nice gesture, considering how he absolutely despises sitting on the ground and this is the second time he’s had to do it in one day. You glance at him from the corner of your eye. He keeps trying to say something, before clamping back down on it. You bump your shoulder against his, telling him that whatever it is, you’re listening.

“I feel-” which is already a testament to how serious he’s taking the situation- “horrible.”

“Yeah, same- I mean, big mood- no, that’s worse, fuck-” you take a deep breath, hitting your head back against the wall, “I mean, me too. So, at least there’s that, right?”

Logan shoots you one of his patented Microscopic Smiles.

“I suppose that counts for something, yes.”

You manage a laugh, leaning even more against your friend. You’ve got a whole contradictory bundle of feelings coiled up in your chest, and it sucks, but also it’s a relief, but also it’s the worst thing ever. You exhale slowly, your eyes falling shut.

“I don’t wanna leave him alone, ya know?”

“I know. We’ve done all we can do for now, though.”

“I guess.”

“I’m just glad he let us help at all.”

“Well, assuming we did help. Who knows, we could’ve made him feel a million times worse by confronting him, and now-”

He cuts off your spiraling immediately.

“But we didn’t. He clearly needed intervention by that point. Besides, If we’d been making it worse, it’s unlikely he would’ve let us stay for so long. Nor would he have accepted your plan of ‘helping him deal with all this shit from now on, no matter what he says.’”

“Right,” you take another deep breath, “You’re right.”

“I usually am.”

You elbow Logan in the side, playfully. He smiles again, wider and brighter in a way that most others probably wouldn’t notice. It could, from some angles, in the right lighting, possibly maybe be considered a little bit pretty. Not that you think about things like that, of course, that would just be weird.

You stop leaning so heavily against Logan, only to find how much your back hurts from sitting in the hall. Come to think of it, the hall might not be the best place to calm down from emotionally charged interactions. The only issue is that your room is literally the exact opposite of a good place to chill out right now, and you’re reluctant to move.

“Hey, uh, would it be okay if I- like, my room isn’t the best for times like this, and I-”

Logan’s already standing, taking your arm to help you up.

“Come on. I’ll set up the Planetarium for us.”

“Thanks,” God, you’re thankful for somebody like him. Such a simple word, when you aren’t crazy about spelling out all of the gratitude and nervous tension that lays behind it, and he picks up on the layers perfectly. He gets it- he gets you.

Things will be okay.

<<<???>>><<<???>>><<<???>>>

Once upon a time (ha), you felt appreciated. Of course you did, else how would you remember it so vividly? How would you long for it so desperately? Yes, you can safely say that you, Roman Sanders, had once been cared for. But that was countless screw-ups ago, before hundreds of your careless insults, your many vicious words followed by weak apologies and unchanging ways. The distant past of a disgraced royal- one far too imperfect, far too cruel to be forgiven without first proving himself time and time again.

That’s what you’d thought, anyway. When you expressed such beliefs to other sides for the first time, just a few mornings after said sides comforted you in the midst of a breakdown, they told you it was the stupidest thing they’d ever heard. Direct quote from Virgil.

It was stupid, apparently, because you were forgiven so very long ago, and you are actually considered to be better now than you were then. It shakes you up inside to think about. In a good way, for once.

They hover around you almost always, offering you plenty more of those somewhat aggressive reassurances whenever you give the vaguest hint of self-deprecation. You were sure they’d brush it under the rug after those first few days, perhaps even tease you about it, but it seemed that was completely false. It’s been a good week.

They’re with you this very morning, chatting idly while you wait for the kettle to shriek. You let the drone of Logan’s voice wash over you as you finish fixing your tea. You don’t believe all of their reassurances just yet, but God are you trying. You want it to be true- more than you’ve ever wanted anything- when Logan says their care is unconditional, or Virgil says that he likes spending so much time with you.

You turn around, the mug in your hands warm against your chest, and stare at the sides on the couch. The three of you are in your corner of the Mindscape; they had already invited themselves in when you awoke. You quite like that they do that- you still aren’t sure how to express that you want to be with them, without prompting. You would feel clingy. Greedy.

“Thank you,” you settle down Virgil, smiling groggily. He waves his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it, man. What’s on the agenda for today?”

That’s another thing. It’s not all crying and hugging, Lord knows how old that would get- but they just end up hanging out with you. Sometimes it’s just Logan, if Virgil’s having an off day, or sometimes it’s the opposite, when Logan’s particularly busy, but you really like it best when it’s the three of you.

That didn’t used to be unusual; you used to spend all of your time surrounded by all of your family (or most, in light of recent acceptances), laughing and joking and working all together. Then, slowly, you stopped, just as things became more complicated for everyone. Camaraderie was a waste of valuable time, time that could be used coming up with ideas that would finally be good enough. They got the hint easily enough, allowing you to isolate yourself until you were perfect for them.

No, you aren’t thinking about that right now! It isn’t the time to worry about how this will all have to end eventually. You’ll have to think about it soon, but not now, dammit!

You swing back a sip of scalding cinnamon tea, letting it clear both your throat and your mind.

“I have a wonderful idea for today!” You puff your chest out and straighten your back. In actuality, you haven’t had a ‘wonderful’ idea in ages, but you hope the confident stance will give you one.

It doesn’t. Logan notices this.

“I sincerely hope that this is not yet another attempt to ‘cure’ your writer’s block and attempt to get ‘back on task’?” he chides you. You falter, letting the regal pose fall away. Logan tells you that what you need is rest. You do not want to rest. But you don’t want to get lectured, either.

“I do not have any ideas for today. Or in general,” you grind out, the second part tacked on bitterly. You don’t look at them, even as Virgil knocks your elbow with his.

“Good, that means you can come play Scrabble with us.”

The hesitance must show on your face, because Logan sighs and adds:

“I will allow you to use your original- completely nonsense, meaningless, irrational- words, if butchering the English language makes the game more fun for you.”

Now that. That is a tempting offer. You really would be a fool to pass it up.

You might as well indulge yourself this much, for however longer they’re willing to let you. It’ll be a nice memory to draw from when you do get back to work.

Good God, your ribs hurt. You can’t breathe.

“I’m just saying, you can’t prove that the earth is round,” Virgil claims, staring mischievously across the table at Logan. Logan fumes. It is fucking hysterical.

“That’s ridiculous! Putting aside the overwhelming scientific evidence to the contrary for a moment, you can literally see the curve of the earth on the horizon!”

“Uhh, it looks pretty flat to me. I’m not buying your government propaganda, Lo,” Virgil’s very clearly trying not to chuckle, and his resolve is impressive. You’ve already been reduced to unintelligible cackling at their interaction. This exchange has brought the progress on the jigsaw puzzle you’d been solving together to a screeching halt, but you couldn’t care less.

“What do you mean ‘propaganda’?! This is common knowledge!”

Virgil cracks, bursting into raucous laughter. He grabs onto your arm as gravelly chuckles escape him, the both of you scrambling to keep upright. Logan narrows his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Unbelievable. Infuriating. Intolerable, the both of you.”

You compose yourself just enough to stick your tongue out at him teasingly, before hunching right back over into your giggle fit.

Then, you notice it as it happens. The aggravated expression etched across Logan’s face shifts, but he keeps staring at you. It’s inscrutable, and also weird.

“What’re you looking at?” you challenge, voice broken up by subsiding laughter. You turn your head to Virgil, as if to say wow, what a nerd, huh?, only to find him staring at you with much the same expression.

“Guys? Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing,” Anxiety amends.

“I’m sure we were both just caught off guard, is all,” Logic adds, his attention redirected from you to the carpet hastily.

“In a good way, though. It’s nice to see you smile- ugh, that sounds so weird, I just meant- it’s been a long time since you’ve. Done that.”

You blink, taken aback, only to feel the dull ache in your face. You reach a hand up, pressing a finger to the corner of your upturned lips. It really has been a while since you’ve laughed like this, hasn’t it?

A selfish, malicious creature that stalks around in your chest tells you to stop smiling. If you’re happy it means that their job is done, then you’ll be all alone again. Is that what you want, Roman?

You almost listen to it. Before-

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten what you said just because Roman laughed, V.”

“Nah, you never forget anything, O keeper of memories,” Virgil flicks a puzzle piece at Logan, smirking just enough to show off his sharp teeth.

“Stop.”

“Stop what?” he flicks another puzzle piece. Logan’s face twitches in what is either a barely suppressed smile or a grimace, but likely a combination of the two. When Virgil finally aims a piece to hit his face, he snaps, throwing little bits of the jigsaw back at the anxious trait.

“Wow, L, you’re really just throwing away all our progress like that? Tsk, tsk.”

“I will end you,” he lands one smack on Virgil’s nose, earning a hiss. The puzzle continues to be destroyed by their squabble.

You don’t think you could stop yourself from beaming at them, even if you wanted to. Toothy, confident, amused- oh, how you’ve missed this.

How you’ve all missed this.

It hits you with the swiftness of a bullet, right when you least expect it. You’re just sitting in the living room, idly sketching as you half-watch TV with Patton beside you on the couch. You offer a laugh when he pipes up with a pun based on whatever’s on screen, but your mind is far elsewhere.

You’ve got an idea. A really good one.

You’ve filled up a page with mindless doodling while the thought was still forming, for fear of jumping on it too suddenly and losing the inspiration, but you find it solid as you continue to mentally examine it. Perhaps a bit overeager, you flip the page, scrawling excited concept sketches across the thick, rough paper. The details flow and evolve in your mind’s eye, and it becomes something of a struggle to hold back your creative aura from infecting the common area.

That confident smile, one you’ve been wearing more and more often these past few weeks, graces your face once more. The semi-subconscious expression brings a memory from just nights ago: Logan told you that your face was built to wear such a grin (‘Speaking architecturally, of course,’ he cleared his throat awkwardly, ‘The form that you’ve chosen for yourself is suited to it. Objectively.’).

You find your smiling widening, just as it had when he first told you.

So caught up in your art, half-listening to Patton, and also vaguely following along with the show he’s watching- you don’t even glance up when Virgil rises up and seats himself at the arm of the couch. It’s the way he huffs a laugh at something Morality says that first catches your attention, and suddenly he’s got all of it.

“Virgil!”

He grimaces at the volume, tilting his head to look at you.

“Something got you excited, Ro?”

“I’ve got a story! That is to say, I’ve got a premise, but also characters! Look- it’s- come here, let me show you what I’m drawing, it’s easier than explaining,” you chatter happily, shuffling your way to Virgil’s perch. You hold your sketchbook out to him and jump into explanations.

The drawing is messy, and not nearly finished, but it’s you and it’s good and it’s new. It’s a scene- heavily annotated to explain some of the more abstract concepts in the image- depicting an ent-like creature towering over a young woman, who holds a flower crown up to him. You tell Virgil about the story based around the two, some of the major plot points already planting themselves in your brain. You inform him that it just came to you, and you’ve got so many different ideas for what these two will do, what will happen to them, and how they’ll get out of it all. When you look up from your rambling, all the excitement slips off your face. It’s replaced by awe.

Virgil is grinning, showing a good deal more of his fangs than he usually likes to, enthusiasm dancing in his eyes. You’ve never seen him emote that much ever, not for any purpose. You would be lying if you said that those huge chompers weren’t at least a little hot.

“Okay, I totally wanna hear more, but pause for a sec. I gotta get Lo, ’kay?” And with that, he’s gone as quickly as he arrived, pausing only to toss the sketchbook back to you. You twist around, eyes wide with shock, to find Patton smiling softly at you.

“You saw that, too, right? Or have I gone mad?” you ask him, earning a chuckle.

“I think Virge is proud of you,” he shuts the TV off as he talks, moving to stand, “I am, too! It sounds really cute!”

“Thank you,” Patton arches up to stretch, tossing the remote down on the couch. “-Er, where are you off to?”

“I think I’ll let you three have the living room, to talk all about your story.”

“I’d hardly mind if you wanted to hear about it!”

His eyes dart to the side, an awkward smile stretching across his face. His noticeably pink face.

“Oh, I- I was planning on spending some time with Jan today. I was about to take off, anyhow.”

“Aah,” you start sketching again, if only to spare Patton your wolfish grin, “Well, if you’ve already got plans.”

He gives you a tiny wave, sinking out immediately. Thus leaving you alone with your thoughts. Fuck.

It crosses your mind that- now you have an idea to work on, an idea you’re proud of- your slump is over. The creative block has been cured. Logan and Virgil won’t need to coddle you anymore.

Your hand ghosts over the paper, and for a second you consider tearing it up. Pretending you lost the spark, pretending you need more time and help and companionship. Guilt rises in you at even the thought of being so selfish, the doubts and worries overpowering your former giddiness completely.

You can’t imagine anything worse than that brilliant smile Virgil gave you turning to disappointment, if you pretended to lose your inspiration. Or the disdain that would surely flash in Logan’s eyes at having his work interrupted for absolutely nothing. Plus, if you did so, what’s to stop them deeming you a lost cause and abandoning you anyway?

If you’re being honest, you need approval more than anything. And dear God, it is so close. You have to tell them, and hold on to whatever scraps of praise it earns you before the three of you revert back to normal. You’ll fall back into seclusion, as that seems to be one of the few things you’re good at, and they can actually get back to their own existences.

There’s a whoosh behind you. You spin around, forcing the tension out of your shoulders.

“Well hello there!”

“I want to hear about your story,” Logan cuts straight to the point. You couldn’t care less about his bland bluntness because he is watching at you in a way so unbearably fond. They both are. You push your reservations down and present him with your sketches, diving into what you’ve come up with so far (plus a few extra points off the top of your head, which isn’t an uncommon method for how you develop plotlines).

When you’ve finished, not quite as exuberantly as earlier, Logan continues with the theme of surprising the fuck out of you that this day has established.

He settles a hand on your upper arm, but really he might as well have swept you up in a hug. You blanch, the touch fuzzing up your brain, just like it has been doing so often now and God you don’t want to lose this.

“I told you so,” he sounds playful.

“What?” you question, vaguely dazed.

“I think that L’s saying we were right about you just needing a break. Seems like the rest cleared up your burnout pretty well,” Virgil loops around to your other side, patting your shoulder awkwardly.

The euphoria from being touched is broken once you actually manage to process the words.

“Oh! Right, yeah, I'm- I'm so excited to get back to work!”

Logan removes his hand and you burn cold.

“No, you aren't,” you hear his confusion, like he's trying to unravel why that could possibly be and wow you are not as good an actor as you’d hoped. “What's upsetting you?”

You try to say that it's nothing, but your voice pitches up embarrassingly. You clear your throat, but you can't make yourself maintain eye-contact anymore.

“Dude, you can tell us what's up. Are you just overwhelmed?” Anxiety is worried and caring in a way you didn't know he was capable of and it hurts worse because you don't know how to tell him that you're just selfish. But you knew this was coming- and you aren't going to make these two waste their concerns on you any longer. The problem has been solved, Roman, get that through your skull!

“I- I suppose I'm just- I’m lamenting the end of this. It’s unimportant.”

“You are upset about the end of your writer's block?” Logan tips his head to the side and gives you a bemused look. Frustration stabs at your skin.

“No! That's a good thing, obviously it's a good thing- I'm saying that I'm going to miss… I mean, I'd gotten used to spending time with you. The both of you,” Virgil's eyebrows shoot up, Logan squints at you, so you backpedal like there's no damn tomorrow.

“See? It was stupid, I know I can't always have all the attention, any-”

“You're right, that is stupid,” Virgil cuts you off with a grumble. You must deflate visibly, though, because his voice softens, “That you think we aren't gonna hang out with you, I mean.”

You feel something. You think it’s hope. It almost feels foreign- unbelievable, even.

“What?” a murmur, too small and doubting for you to associate with it, though it must be yours. Pathetic.

Logan leans forward, as though he's studying you. Good God, who let him be so tall?

“Were you under the impression that we were going to cease contact with you once you resumed productivity?”

“Wha- I mean- when you say it like that it sounds… bad.”

“It would be bad. It would also be incredibly manipulative; being kind to you only so as to get you back in working order, rather than being kind to you to provide genuine help.”

Virgil nods his agreement.

“Yeah, you aren't getting rid of us that easy, Romano.”

You recall the first Big Conversation you had with the two left-brained sides. They'd insisted to help you, despite your lack of understanding in the beginning why they'd do so. Similarly to that talk, this is filling you with an almost painful fondness, almost too much to bear.

“But, you already helped me, just like you said you would!”

“Why did we help you, Roman?” Logan inquires, in a way that makes you feel like you should know the answer. You do not.

“Because you were worried about me?”

“Why would we be worried?”

“Because you… felt bad for me?”

He groans, tapping Virgil on the shoulder. The anxious facet rolls his eyes.

“You're our friend and we care about you, stupid.”

You clear your throat, attempting to say that you knew that (even if that isn’t entirely true), but Logan interrupts you.

“In case it wasn’t clear why, allow us to explain: one, as I’ve stated before and will likely state again, we don’t value you for your ability to create alone.”

“Two,” Virgil cuts in, “You’re, like, fun to be around. Way less stiff than us, and honestly we probably need that.”

“Three, we were never opposed to being around you even before the- this. You claimed to like being alone. And I’ll admit I’m not the best with subtext.”

Virgil looks ready to add a fourth. You don’t let him, waving your hands wildly. If you verbalized what you meant to convey, you’d definitely start sobbing, and that’s just embarrassing. Thankfully, Anxiety seems to pick up what you’re laying down, giving you a moment to collect yourself. You take a few breaths and try to pretend that you aren’t being watched like a hawk.

Aaaand you’re already crying. That’s probably the point of no return, isn’t it?

“Ha, and I thought that you two weren’t the sentimental ones,” the effect of your teasing is ruined by how much your voice wavers, “You’re just big softies, aren’t you?”

Logan’s expression is caught somewhere between concern and confusion.

“You are quite literally sobbing? How are we-”

“Shut up,” you retort. The effect is once again ruined when he comfortingly pats your back and you absolutely fall against him.

“Wow, again? You’re really set on making a habit out of this,” Virgil hovers uncomfortably apart from the set of you, eventually landing on wrapping an arm around you. And it’s so him, that you can’t help the little chuckle that breaks through your crying. You really have been doing this a lot more than you’d like lately.

“I- I’m okay,” you stammer, “I’m good- this is- just- I’m relieved. Why am I crying? I’m happy!”

“It’s alright, man.”

“Yes, take as long as you need.”

You tear yourself away from them, scrubbing at your eyes, but grinning all the same. Your skin burns, you’re shivering, but you’re sick of clinging to them and crying and the desperation that tugs at you. You feel so many things, but there’s one that’s overpowering, one thing that’s so familiar and has been so distant. It’s a blur, a mash, but it goes something like this:

The people you care about, that you work so hard for- they aren’t going anywhere. No conditions. Logan repeats it plenty, Virgil shows it to you quietly, but only now-

Now you believe them. You feel looked after. Cared for. If you’re being bold, you could even say loved.

You feel secure.

“Thank you,” for being there, staying there, helping you, everything. You can’t thank them enough for everything.

Virgil shrugs.

“You’re worth it.”

#sanders sides #ts #fanfiction #fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #analogince #analogical #logince #prinxiety #panic attacks tw #cursing tw #logan #roman #virgil #patton #implied moceit #my writing

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 3 years

Text

Give them what they want ch. 3

Dina and her's relationship ended just as she had predicted. There was screaming, there was crying, she was a "selfish, lying, heartless bitch" blah blah blah nothing new.

So to end up in bed with a new girl a week later was just as sign of how "heartbroken" Dina was, Jordan was glad that she turned the limo she gave her into a python.

"I loved you for you looks and for you, yeah right." Jordan snorted

"What?" Calix mumbled next to her. His bare chest warmly pressing into her side.

Oh yes, Calix who was in bed next to her. There was an explanation from that. This wasn't some petty, "If that's how she wants to play it. Here is a quick rebound thing." She and Circe's son, Calix were just friends.

Friends with major benefits.

"Nothing, go to sleep." Jordan murmured, brushing her hands through his hair.

She figured that since any romantic relationships were going to go down to hell, she might as well give up. But her few friendships that did survive, the terms of friendship could change.

Calix and her had been friends since they were 4 and 5 respectively when their parents were going around Auradon singing and performing. He was one of the few people she trusted who wasn't "family." They fought, they had adventures, and they kissed more times either could count. Sure, some of them was for acting, but some was just for fun, in the moment type. He even lost his virginity to her. Even better, he had no interests in her wishes. He knew well enough by now, that she would send a sandstorm at him and use all manners of misinterpretations. Most ending badly.

Aziz and others had teased that they should just get married already because of the "clear, sexual tension" but that would be a disaster. No matter how much sexual tension, they couldn't see each other beyond a friendly fling and even then, they would try to kill each other for being so annoying.

Calix was many things. Charming, chivalrous, hot bare chested, bare back, clever, witty but also equally arrogant, annoying sense of humor, impulsive pervert who's quarter siren powers made him think he was hot stuff. Which was true...but still.

So because and in spite of all those traits, he was a perfect candidate for being a friend wth benefits. They sorta already did that but randomly. They never made it official or had a talk. But now they were.

It was actually fun. Since it was winter break, Circe allowed Calix to guest room at Agrabah so she could see him all the time. They, plus Aziz and other local teens would hang around for the day at the beach or bazaar. During the night, she would be with Calix. They would talk before, and after and during about all manner of subjects. Simply as friends. Like they hadn't slept with each other just hours before. She almost wished she did this earlier. Being with him was so comfortable and easy and she didn't worry about him trying to use her.

He would insult her first. He was always making comments about her and her ego. No need to try to impress her. And she would do likewise. It was a friendship, what else was there to do but snipe at each other?

It had all been fun and games until lart week.

She almost didn't noticed, but as she was choosing her outfit for the day she was starting to wonder what she should wear to impress Calix. Moreover what Calix was wearing right now. She hoped it was something cute for their date at the beach.

Full stop.

Date at the beach! She couldn't believe she thought that. They were just hanging out at the beach. They always hung out at the beach, it wasn't a date.

From then on she noticed how her thoughts started to get more preoccupied with Calix and how amazing he was, how funny he was, how utterly adorable is dimples were whenever he smirked.

Yes, she was falling in love. Dammit! She had a freakin friend with benefits who had no interests in her wishes, and their relationship was going perfectly well because of the vital FRIENDS part and she was falling in love with him!

"Stop being such a girl, Jordan" she thought to herself, "You do not love him. You just lust for him. Yes, it's just lust. All the sex and lack of romance is confusing you."

After all, he was still Calix. If she loved him, she should have realized ages ago. They've been friends with benefits before and these feelings never came up. She had to review everything she had said to Aziz on why it was bad to have a relationship with him.

1. They would kill each other.

Well she could kill him which gave her such an advantage. And end in jail for the next 20 odd years.

He was still arrogant, and teased her and flirted with every other girl in the world because they were just friends. They didn't think each other that way. She had even encouraged him a few times.

"But he is also sweet when he wants to be. And you know him so well. Isn't knowing each other the first step." A tiny teasing pro-Calix voice told her.

No. She was not going to ruin a perfectly good friendship. She could see all his good points for now. But once she went back to Auradon she would realize how incredible stupid it was and laugh.

Thr following days had been a combination of fun and torture. Fun at their usual inside jokes and antics and clubbing. Torture that her pro-Calix voice kept interpreting things as a romantic act and her need to blurt out that she wanted to date him and be next to him and cuddle with him and be loved.

One perfect Wednesday afternoon before dinner, Calix met her at the bathhouse.

"Jordan can we talk?" He asked

Jordan perked and almost sighed with relief. Maybe..just maybe he realized it too. Maybe he was having lust/love confusions and they could talk. Or maybe he actually did love her and she could go do it and have dates and be with someone who totally cared for he and knew all her habits...

"I have a date." Calix said

A date. The doom of friends with benefits. A date signaled the end of the benefits until single because they seriously wanted to pursue someone else.

"Who's the lady?" Jordan plastered a fake smile.

"Morrían, Morgaine Le Fey's daughter." Calix beamed

"Oooo so ultimate sourcer couple." Jordan replied. She ignored the rest of what he was saying. He found a date. She would be all alone tonight. Once again.

During dinner she tried to stay in the conversation but all she had to listen was to Aziz and Calix converse about Morrían's hotness and cleverness and how lucky he was that Calix's got a date with her.

She should have expected it. They were friends with benefits. She had been telling herself that he would never see her beyond a friend. She had been telling herself that she just was being desperate and needy.

Once she got to her lap, she flung herself on her bed.

Why wasn't Calix satisfied with their arrangement? If she could see how great he was beyond the sex, couldn't he?

What did Morrían have that she didn't? She was hot. She thought she was witty.

Or maybe...A familiar thought came up. There was nothing great about her beyond wishes, and apparently sex.

There was some great character flaw that everyone could see but her. Something so fundamentally unlovable and horrible that even her friend wouldn't fall mistakenly in love with her like she had for him?

What was wrong with her?

#disney descendants #jordan #calix #aziz #my fanfic #my fanfiction #give them what they want #chapter three

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frostiifae · 4 years

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I remember - recently enough to be a vivid memory but much longer than I’d think - I remember a time when the Internet was a place where we all collectively laughed at “those assholes who get mad over nothing”. You know, the self-centered pricks with no perspective, whether it was about politics, friendships, fandom, you name it; the people that had some kind of Problem and just wouldn’t shut up about it until you made them.

I was never one to go after people, to seek out insecure folks on the internet for thrills - doing that just makes you the asshole, after all! - but seeing those people throw a fit only to get mocked into obscurity always came with a sense of morbid satisfaction. It was cathartic to encounter a bad actor, someone whose only motivation was to control or overpower others, and to collectively disarm them and put them to the side.

As you get older, you get better at spotting these people. You start to learn their playbooks, the tactics they’ll use, the words they’ll hide behind, desperate to get you to take them seriously. And you learn how to twist these deceptions inside-out and to reveal their true natures. This was, I feel, the true artform of trolling - a sort of emotional judo, taking someone’s incoming self-righteous ego and deftly flipping it on them, demonstrating the futility of that ego, forcing them to choose between embarrassing themselves further or publicly admitting defeat. Some tried to use this power only in self-defense; others, blinded to its true potential and its dangers, used it to entertain themselves, and gave the rest of us a bad name. But that was fine. That was the way of things, sometimes; it didn’t need to bother us.

But it’s been a good few years since the golden age. Things have changed. On the one hand, “trolls” have regressed. What was once an elegant, if also crude, form of verbal combat has now just turned into outright violence. Social media has turned small communities into huge shouting matches, and it’s become so incredibly easy to just ignore voices that don’t agree with you... which is sometimes good, and often very bad. The old ways have lost refinement; there’s rarely any need for a one-to-one argument, so trolling has lost its purpose, and the cultural identity of the internet has been reduced to its hateful vocal few and a bunch of people who either don’t know better, or are too desperate to belong, or both.

On the other, though, trolling served a very important purpose online: it was a social trial by fire. If you wanted to make friends on the internet, you needed to learn how to engage with other people, and if you didn’t learn quickly, you’d be ripped apart - forced to find a new community, or at the very least, to start over with a new name (and hope you aren’t seen through). With the old arts being lost to the sands of time, it’s become easier and easier to simply assert your presence online, refuse to acknowledge your own interpersonal flaws, and to just... be here, because no one can tell you no.

There are so many people I’ve encountered on tumblr that would be bullied out of their communities entirely about a decade or so ago - not because they’re weak, not because their communities are cruel, but because they themselves are assholes. Because we had quickly realized that the only sure way to deal with an idiot is to openly humiliate them, no tip-toeing, no sugarcoating. Because you were entitled to no one’s attention - no one was obligated to host you or to tolerate your bad manners. You could do anything you wanted on the internet... but so could everyone else. If you weren’t the sort of person other people liked having around, then you would find yourself alone, and you would either learn... or you wouldn’t.

Things are different now, but I don’t think it’s as different as it seems. Culturally, sure, we’re a bit different. A lot of us, even the younger ones, are more responsible. We’ve learned a lot as an online culture, and grown more tolerant. And a lot of us want to put the warring behind us; it was petty and childish and we’d like to be remembered as better than that, or at the very least just to be left alone. And I think that’s all well and good. But I don’t think these people by themselves have dissolved the Internet-as-a-crucible. I think it’s largely the way sites are designed now. Online communities used to be user-driven, which meant that even large sites were run by people whose primary focus was building and serving that community; it was in their best interests, as hosts, to enforce a certain amount of order, and to curate people who weren’t willing to play by the rules, for one reason or another.

But then Web 2.0 happened, and now all that really matters is that people are talking. It doesn’t matter what they’re talking about, or whether two people in a conversation are even talking about the same thing, or why those two people are talking to each other in the first place; all that matters is getting as many people talking as possible, as often as possible, and it turns out that contriving conflict and making resolution difficult makes conversation happen a lot.

We - or at least I - like to call the old days of the internet the “Wild West”, in that we were self-governing, that there was no sense of law and order except the rules we agreed to abide by on our own. But the Internet back then was so civil by comparison. Nowadays it really is “everyone for themselves”. If some asshole comes into your tag and starts spreading hate, what options do you even have? There’s no moderators or administrators to turn to, to say “hey, this person’s making our experience miserable, please remove them”; god forbid you try to actually report them to Tumblr, as if Tumblr gives a shit. Your only form of collective action is having everybody block that person, and that’s the best you’ve got - hoping that they can’t find anybody else to harass, and feeling powerless to actually... y’know... stop them from being an asshole. Maybe, just maybe, if you’re brave, you can try to help other people understand what’s going on...

...But it’s so easy to misunderstand or misinterpret a wayward message, especially on Web 2.0 sites that are designed to remove you from context as much as possible. Even this post, as I read it with older and wiser eyes, has its flaws. What’s the difference between “trolling” and “hazing”? Where’s the line supposed to be drawn? Ironically, because we have to fend for ourselves so openly now, we’re so acutely aware of how the vulnerable can be affected when people aren’t careful. Depending on how old a person is, a scolding and mocking tone may be exactly appropriate, or completely uncalled for; depending on their background it maybe proper to rip into them for a misleading or unrealistic portrayal of a group’s struggle, or it might turn out you’re the asshole for policing someone’s way of coping. And even if you are in the right, what happens when the other person cries foul, finds or fabricates some kind of offense you’ve made, and passes it around to bystanders with no other stakes in the conversation? Now what? Do you just decide you don’t care what the general public thinks? It’s much harder than it used to be to just ignore people, after all. The only way you can protect yourself is not to play, but you can’t call it a winning move. There are no winning moves anymore.

It’s just so funny to me to look at all of the snobbish, entitled white adults in American society - and worldwide, I’m sure - and to draw connections between them, and the bratty upstart children on the internet that, anymore, we’re powerless to do anything about and just have to ignore and hope they grow up. Because they probably won’t. They will probably grow up to be the assholes we’re seeing on TV, protesting masks during a pandemic, demanding other people take them seriously, without a trace of self-awareness. Just a good few years ago, just for a little while, we as an online society were empowered to deal with those people; we couldn’t fix them, but we could prevent them from harming us, and a lot of the time we could even reform them and help them grow.

And then the big money came along and Capitalized the internet, and wouldn’t you know it, those people have gone back to being protected and enabled by the system.

#long post #feyranting #mid-witch anon #good news: MWA has not sent me any new asks since the last one lmao

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madlymiho · 5 years

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Hey Miho. I request the following hcs. The ASL Bros are worried about their friend, who has been acting strange lately. When confronted, friend says they fell in love with the boy but they don't want to act on it. Friend knows, he's a good guy, but they are scared that in the end it will break and says:" Nothing gold can stay. And I wouldn't be good enough anyway. " The point is, they are afraid of messing it up because they don't know how to trust people. Thank you so much!

Heh there! That's a cute topic and I really love it ~ thanks for your request, and I hope this will suit you! ❤️

Ace :

• Ace doesn't like you ; Ace adores you. He spends his entire time around you, either in an active way by highly teasing you, or by going on adventures with you. Either on a more passive way when he's just simply on the deck, watching you from a safe distance

• He has always been a teaser with you, but lately, he notices that you're not entirely answering anymore. You seem a bit sad, avoiding his stare, and when he wants to share a hug with you, you politely decline it and pretend that you are busy

• Ace feels that there's something wrong, and he's clearly the kind of person not to be patient on this matter. So of course, in a few days, he asks you what's wrong and doesn't anticipate at all your answer, almost sure that perhaps he did something which hurt you and you didn't forgive him yet

• Ace has been completely blind. He didn't know you fell in love with him, and as soon as he imagines a relationship with you, he discovers that his own heart is racing hard as well. So he grabs your hand and tells you that you need to stop talking now, his legs almost shaking

• It hits his feelings hard when he understands you're afraid not be enough, and that your lack of trust is the main reason why you don't want to try. He argues that, no, you have to trust him on this matter, and he wouldn't ever hurt you since... yes... he feels the same about you

• You don't really believe him at first. You know he loves to tease, so you simply roll your eyes and say that it's not funny at all, but Ace holds your hand tightly and doesn't let you go this time

• Clingy as always, you can't escape his grip right now. Ace whispers that he wants to be with you in the way you want it to, and before you can even protest, he kisses you tenderly, his hand fondling your jawline, the other one pressing your body against his

• See, Ace wasn't your dear friend for no reason. He's also terrified to do something wrong and to lose you, and somehow, your confession is the perfect ice breaker he needed to state and recognize his feelings but also give you enough strength to take the plunge

Sabo :

• Sabo isn't often here, and he always misses you a lot. As soon as he comes back from a mission, he immediately finds you, rolling his arms around your shoulders to share a hug, a big smile on his lips. Surely, he wanted to see you!

• Yet this time, he feels that you're a bit different than before, eyes shifty, mumbling that you have things to do to avoid him. He doesn't really understand why? Perhaps did he hurt you in any way? He should have maybe called more...

• Even if he doesn't know, Sabo wants to make amend. He manages to find you wherever you are, sitting next to you. He softly brushes your cheek and asks you what's the matter, his encouraging eyes always tender and patient as he waits for you to be ready to speak

• He's a bit shocked to hear your confession, caught off guard, your words hurting him deeply because he didn't see that coming. He nods and grabs your hands, somehow feeling a bit the same, but since you seem so sure that it's wrong, he simply answers that at least, you can always be friends

• He leaves the room before you can add anything, and somehow, even if it breaks your heart entirely, at least Sabo didn't try to make you believe in an impossible love story. So you sigh and accept it, even if his reaction is odd and off character

• His answer haunts him for days. It doesn't feel the right one, and he's obsessed by the conversation you had. Why did he say that? Why didn't he man up and kiss you? He wanted to kiss you! He wants to be with you! He said you could be friends but you're so distant now... he craves your presence, and he has to make things right

• He immediately rushes out of his room, calling your name until he finds you. He doesn't want to make you sad anymore ; so he confesses. He says how much he wants to share something more than a friendship with you, and after his statement, he crosses the distance between your two bodies and kisses you for the very first time

• He apologizes, dozens of times, telling you he shouldn't have leave this room the other day, and that he acted cowardly. He tells you how much he wishes to share something more than a relationship with you and that you need to trust him, he wouldn't ever hurt you... and you know how true it is...

Luffy :

• Despite what the others see when they are looking at the two of you, Luffy is desperately blind to your feelings. He has never been really in love before, so he just thinks you just have some deep connection and he enjoys it

• The distances you're trying to take are more reasons for him to be clingy, and when he's not busy doing some mischief on his own boat, Luffy wants to spend some time with you, whatever you're doing at the moment ; he really don't get what "privacy" means anyway

• He clearly doesn't notice there's something wrong coming from you, and one day, he gets an intervention from Nami, Robin, Usopp, Chopper and Sanji about the way he's treating you, and your everlasting desperate stares whenever he claims that he wants kisses and hugs! They also tell him that there's probably a certain reciprocity because of the way he's acting with you in general...

• So full of doubts and questions, Luffy confronts you, beginning his statement by : "The others say you are in love with me, but I don't get it. I said we were friends." Confessing after that is the hardest thing you have ever done, but you need to make him understand that he's wrong about you

• He frowns, hums, pats his head because it seems so strange. It's true, the two of you are really close, but perhaps you misinterpreting all of this with being best friends like the others did too? But as soon as you state that you are not enough anyway, Luffy suddenly freezes

• He extends his arms and rolls them all around your waist, pulling you against his torso as you gasp and ask him to stop doing this! You're alright and he doesn't need to do anything, you understand and you don't want to talk about it anymore, there's nothing to add, it's not a game...

• Yet, Luffy seems more serious than usual. He looks at you with severity and answers that he's going to show you how much you count for him, and that you'd be always enough because he's certain to be in love with you too, since Chopper described him the symptoms and that it seems you are more than just friends

• You chuckle, and it reassures Luffy a lot. He pulls his arms away, only keeping his hands on your shoulders. He sighs and presses a kiss at the corner of your lips, and states that from now, you share the same illness and that it's too late, you need to be together to fight it because apparently, you need to be two to be strong enough when you "fall in love"

#one piece headers #one piece headcanons #one piece imagine #portgas d. ace #portgas d ace #sabo one piece #monkey d. luffy #monkey d luffy #sabo #one piece hc #one piece #one piece hcs #fluffy headcanon #fluffy hcs

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