#and it won't be just because i'm trying to get you to stop enabling the cult and hurting me it's also because i'm hurt by the cult
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slimyenemy · 2 days ago
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it's also stupid because like i just straight up don't know how to talk about it i don't know what you want me to want! tend to think you just want me to "get over" the horrors your cultist friends keep inflicting on me which is not happening y'all are just evil af and because it's you when i personally want to know things about you want ten million other things want to be friends with you want to just straight up marry you forever and wouldn't hesitate even for a second all of these things badly and i have no idea which one is appropriate but doing all that for any cultist is like insane regardless of which one it is but they're all important ✨to me✨ at least but if you really just want to be evil so bad because it feels more normal to you for some reason there's barely even any point in talking about it but it's about you as hell it's also about the cult being fucked up and hurting freaking everyone and ruining everything and me just having to look at it for years now and for some reason it's always like as if i say something it just cancels out everything else i said but it literally doesn't it's really just EVERYTHING
#so you're either being any of these really cool things with me and stop downplaying his behavior#or he's getting cursed#and it won't be just because i'm trying to get you to stop enabling the cult and hurting me it's also because i'm hurt by the cult#i just can't really imagine myself having enough space for all that trauma bullshit in my head if i'm with you#but also it would only work like that with you because you're from the cult yourself and you're amazing and epic#and that last part is important i would just be angry otherwise though still caring because i'm stupid or something#depending on how you would be acting about it exactly i guess but not the point#he's also absolutely getting cursed if he tries anything weird on you or anyone else like 10000000% cursed#need to practice my curses anyway for other things too and everything#like damn the only reason for me *not* to worry about you is just some weird hierarchy bullshit#where hurting some people like that is just always okay regardless#when i literally just didn't do anything except had emotions about things that happened to me#talking about robotic :\#and you didn't do anything except having emotions about me and me having emotions so it's really just such bullshit#like sure there could be other things you can be a bit hard to read sometimes and impulsive and stuff but he also hates all these things >>#about me so much to the point of just wanting them erased completely along with my entire self of course it was that too#and it's fundamentally messed up it's literally torture we're talking about after all#miss you basically idk❤️#dammit i'm not talking like that to people to whom me talking just means they're still in control and can keep me trapped and tortured#i'm talking like that to them because they're worth it to me even if they become 100% a cultist#and i don't want to hurt them just because i'm extremely hurt#nvm just saw something these god damn freaking cultists god🙄#skip up a little now⬆️
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simonsoys · 4 months ago
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Hello I’m here again with another question lol, I’ve just noticed an interesting contradiction in flowey’s statements that I hoped to know your perspective on since they always made sense
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I think this made me a bit taken back since (back than) he had the ability to save and load and memorise attack patterns or even the element of surprise, but this made me pause since now I’m questioning who “everyone” is.. (sorry if this has been asked before.)
I think I always read this as Flowey being unable to kill Asgore while the Human Souls were exposed for the taking, enabling him to become Omega Flowey. But there's definitely room for me to be wrong.
I'm with you, that I think it seems unlikely Flowey *couldn't* have killed Asgore if he tried long enough. Similarly, I think the line Flowey has about Sans causing him his share of resets doesn't mean he was never able to beat him in the end.
There's two possibilities here:
1. Flowey *could* beat strong characters, but maybe if they're too tough he just gets bored and moves on. He doesn't have Frisk's determination to see it through.
Considering he's really NOT a bad person and is just trying to make sense of his trauma and current situation, it's possible he's not actually curious or sadistic enough to keep working at it. If he were getting frustrated, he'd convince himself that it wouldn't be any different than Papyrus or Toriel or Undyne-- as novel as it might be for a few minutes, he still won't feel anything.
He also seems like the type of kid to rage-quit easily lol
So even if he says he "never" could've beaten him, he definitely could have, if he had just cared a little more.
There's also the fact he's trying to rub it in your face that you're an idiot who sucks, so he could just be embellishing your necessity.
2. He *did* beat the strong characters, but without the human souls as a reward (they remain locked away/unobtainable until you come along), there's not much reason to continue the timeline.
He sees the characters die, but then nothing changes for him. He's still bored and feels empty. The timeline is just a little worse, and he still doesn't have "the answer" to his pain.
Regardless of which one is the real case, eventually he "gives up" anyway. After messing with the timelines long enough and getting bored, he seems to have just stopped. In his final timeline, he's just hanging around as a nobody in the background (except, apparently, to encourage Papyrus), not hurting anyone, until you show up.
Personally, I could go either way because it doesn't change his characterization significantly to me.
If anything, the distinction would just make Asgore seem more powerful. Perhaps against you, a human, he feels more guilt and is more vulnerable than he might've been against Flowey. I don't think we get to see enough from Asgore for me to make that analysis though.
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galactic-rhea · 3 months ago
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I love your empress padme au, they should be evil and unhinged. I'm misly curious as to what the kiddos are up to, (and some of the other characters, I imagen they're mostly side eyeing anidalla like "wtf is happining over there???") Anyways I kind of love the consept of "evil chaos family fun"
Neither of them are stay at home parents but the imagen of vaderkin in a frilly apron trying SO hard to cook for his family has popped into my head and will not leave
Vader should get a cloak wich has "property of Padme" embrodered on the back
dfkjgnkjngfdjk thank you, Padmé would ask him to cook with an appron and nothing else
About the question, well! Just yesterday someone asked in the comments about the twins too! And well, you see, I'm undecided! This will get long!
See, when I originally envisioned the empress Padmé AU, what I had on mind is that Padmé spent about 5-6-7 years with the rebels, and that's why we have Vader as...as we known him, you know, almost-classic Vader. Unknown to the rebeels that Padmé's goal was sliiiiiightly different as theirs. She would have the twins (or at least, known where they're being hidden, and visint them and everything) and her goal would be to reunite her family, she's a bit obssesed with having her family fully and complete.
But! The idea that, for example, after having the twins she was unconscious for several days or something, and it was decided that hidding the twins was the better choice and told her they died it's so very tasty and angsty! Vader and Padmé would be EVEN MORE codependant and messed up out of the grief (also THE GUILT Vader feels about thinking he caused their kids death as he sees Padmé so distraguth?!!!! He wants to constantly kill himself, he probably wants Padmé to kill him, tasty angst) If she believes her twins to be dead, then she believes she only has her husband, and she's very overprotective of him (and possesive, a lot).
And then you would have the plot following slightly similar to the movies, but now the twins have to redeem BOTH of their parents who are kinda enabling each other so hjhbdgdfsf
(Either Leia wasn't given to Bail and Breha because...come on, or I'll have to invent a super duper and convenient explanation)
Also @squad-724 suggested the idea of Padmé and Vader somehow sort of bringing Ahsoka (inquisitor ahsoka, wahoo!) into this and now I won't stop thinking about it (unconsciously) having Ahsoka as their stand-in-daugther because they lost their twins. Messed up, messed up and all these conflicting feelings guys!!!!
BUT! On the other hand, Imperial twins raised by both EVIL PARENTS is super fun, like, this poor galaxy can't catch a breath. Because my Vader raises the twins AU have them being double agents with Vader trying hard to cover them up so the emperor won't kill them. But here it probably makes them less likely to turn against their parents! However, 5-6 years being raised among rebels, and then being raised in the imperial palace and becoming prince and princess and at the very least knowing your mom kinda betrayed the rebels is probably enough to give you suspicion and "huh,,,this is kinda bad? Maybe"
For Padmé and Vader though, I think it would bring a very devoted and angry protectiveness for both Padmé and Vader; they aren't that invested in the empire and power tbh, they just want to have their Little House On The Prairie fantasy with a family fully complete and safe, at all costs. It would make them even more of a team and less weaknesses. Though, I once kinda as a joke just imagined Padmé getting tired of all of it and going "ah whatevery, let the galaxy burn by itself while we ran a way somewhere" and that's it because seriously Padmé wanted to actually give up on all the work, no big redemption or big epic dramatic moment, the imperial family just disappeared one night and no one knows what happened (surely they were murdered?) when they're just chilling in some super random and secret corner of the galaxy doing, idk, the most boring thing ever, farming. Luke and Leia get bored and become spice smugglers . The end.
For the last question, though, I think half of the people think Padmé is a victim of this terrible situation somehow (oh noooo, she was kidnapped by that monster, who knows what she's enduring, or she's being mind-controlled :( ), that she's some sort of puppet empress while Vader actually makes all the choices because,,,come on, that was the emperor's second hand right there. The other half of the people remember Padmé was a bit of a political apprentice for Palpatine, and they're also both from Naboo, and it was also thanks to her Palpatine became the Chancellor, maybe she did want power from the start, maybe Naboo is fucked up, never let politicans from Naboo have power again.
And then there's the third secret thing, which is only a very limited number of people like Obi-Wan and Bail (and Padmé and Vader's palace staff lol), that are fully side-eyeing her.
There's also the problem that since she actually worked with the rebels, she,,,knows a lot, she probably knows almost all the names of the rebels' leaders, she probably knows there's a underground society helping jedi run and to which planets. She knows so much, and yet she doesn't actively chase them (or more like, she doesn't actively send Vader to chase them), and if she does send her husband, which is rarely since she wants him to stay where she can see him (remember when I said obssesive and possesive and overprotective?), she's probably doesn't tell him that much info because it's entertaining, giant galactic chess game, lmao.
Also, her empire isn't half as awful as Palpatine's, like, it's still very bad but it's leagues better and she does probably finally forces the good charity projects she never could as a senator, and well, complacency it's extremelly dangerous for freedom. So there's that.
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adventuringblind · 2 years ago
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Hi I saw your requests are open you don’t have to write anything if you don’t want to but I had this idea and I wanted to share
I was thinking of meting Charles on Monaco maybe during Sumer break or something, and being a little homesick so he decides to take us to a bookstore (sorry I just like to rad a lot you can change the place) and just talking about like a book he likes and just sitting on the floor with him looking for something to read and getting romantic
Idk if it makes sense but thank you and have a nice day/night
Home is Where You Are
Charles leclerc x reader
Genre: fluff
Request: Yes! I hope you enjoy it, I thought the idea was super cute! I'm open for Max, Charles, Lando, Oscar, George, and Daniel. Also, up for poly fics if anyone is interested. (If you have too much love to go around, clap your hands)
Summary: living with Charles is a dream come true. Longing for home, though, can strike anyone. Good thing he's there to help you through it until you can find time to go visit.
Warnings: home sickness, straight fluff
Notes: written in second person. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!
Also, I've sent up my account to let tips be enabled. I was debating whether or not to say this because i dont want to sound like im begging, but frankly, people opinions do not matter me me. If you like my writing and want to support me, please consider tipping my posts or my blog. I put a lot of effort into my writing, and it would mean the world to me. Obviously, I won't have my feelings hurt if you ignor this, but I wanted to put it out there.
Masterlist
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You and Charles had been together for a while now. Managing to do some long distance when you couldn't travel with him.
Now you were engaged, and you said yes. Knowing you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.
You traveled more now. Finding yourself in different countries for the majority of the year. But you always went back home when you could. The family and familiarity bringing you comfort.
When Charles asked you to move in with him, you'd been happy. The two of you now completely together. Ready to share your lives with each other.
You were lucky you could take your job anywhere. The traveling often helping provide inspiration for your novel.
Charles made sure you felt comfortable in his, now yours as well, apartment. Making sure you had your favorite foods. He purchased an entire bookshelf just for you. He even stockpiled the apartment with soft blanket.
It was a dream come true for you.
You loved it. Waking up with Charles. Eating breakfast with him. Not having to FaceTime him to say goodnight for half the year.
When the summer break for formula 1 came around, you found yourself wanting to go back to your home country. You'd been back in Monaco for less than a week, but the days had you missing things you didn't realize you would.
You liked it in Monaco. It's your home now. But it didn't stop your mind from wandering back to the streets you grew up on. To your friends and family. The shops you frequented.
That's how Charles found you. Sitting at the table, staring into your cup of tea. Lost in the world of your subconscious.
"Mon Amour? Are you alright?"
His voice dragged out out of your thoughts. Your eyes dragging themselves to his face as he found a spot next to you.
He knew something was wrong. There was really no point in trying to lie when it was written all over your body.
You run your finger around the rim of your glass. Taking comfort in Charles nimble fingers running up and down your arm.
"Just a bit homesick, I guess." You confessed. Sighing at your relentless thoughts. Pulling your heart deeper into its sad state.
Charles hums in response. Considering what you'd said to him. "I think I know how to cheer you up." He smirks.
Charles couldn't take you back to your home country currently. You'd been working ridiculously hard, and he'd been busy doing sim work. He'd get you there soon, but for now, he'd settle for trying to get your mind off things.
An hour later, you were dressed and walking down the streets of Monaco. Nonclue where Charles was taking you. Just giggling as he held your hand and pulled you along with him. The two of you are making conversation about anything that pops into your heads.
Charles was basking in the warmth of your smile. So much so that he almost missed his intended destination. A little corner store with a vintage looking sign reading 'Nook's Books'.
"Here we are." He smiled and opened the door for you. A little bell rang to alert the owner that someone had entered.
Charles watched as your mouth opened in awe. Taking in the shelves lined top to bottom with books new and old. "I thought you might like it."
"Why did I never know about this?"
"It's hidden away, so those who don't know the city will have a harder time finding it. It's our own little corner of peace." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was going to surprise you right before the wedding."
It didn't take long for you to grab Charles' hand and lead him down the rows of books.
You'd found many books that you liked and had picked a spot on the floor to look through them.
Charles couldn't help but admire you. On the floor surrounded by books. You looked adorable in his eyes.
He plopped down next to you and spread out his arms and legs. Inviting you without words to come rest your body against his. You happy oblige. Crawling into the safety of his arms.
You spent hours in the small store. Charles listening intently as you either talked about a book or read chapters from one.
The twobof you finally left when the store was about to close. Having spent so much time there that it was now dark outside. The streets illuminated with the orangey hue of lampposts.
Charles spun you around as you walked, Making you giggle. Completely unbothered by the nightlife of Monaco.
When you two made it to the outside of the apartment building, Charles pulled you into him.
"I know I can't get you back to your family right now, but are you feeling a bit better?"
"Yes, thank you, for everything." Your eyes met his soft gaze.
"No thanks needed. I was simply doing my job." He chuckled. Leaning in closer to you.
Finally, his lips landed on yours. A loving kiss shared between you two. But this time, when he kissed you, you knew Charles was your home.
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lowkeyrobin · 11 months ago
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Hellooo, I was wondering if you could do MCYT with an S/O who has ADHD? (Mostly hyperfixates on horror games, etc.) I personally have a bad habit of walking around till my legs are sore (my leg has been sore for the past three days please help I can't get rid of this energy ahh-) and how MCYT would react to that/stop Y/N from. Doing that lol
HELP THIS IS SO REAL BAHAHHAHABA ; thank you for the request 🫶🫶 ; sorry if anything seems a little wrong, I'm kinda looking into if I have adhd but obv idk and I'm not diagnosing myself, but I obviously am not diagnosed so I don't know the full ins and outs and I know it's a spectrum, so uh yeah 👍 hopefully I did good lol
MCYT ; ADHD shenanigans
includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu & quackity
warnings ; language
masterlist
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TOMMYINNIT
he'll walk into your stream, sit down, look at your screen, then blankly stare at you when he realizes what you're playing
"Dude. are you streaming FNAF again?"
you nod with a smile "yupppp"
he spends the rest of your stream talking to chat and trying to scare you more
you're just talking about the lore and shit and he's loosely hanging onto it LMAO
if you're just like pacing around the house he'll look up at you like "bro you okay?"
will genuinely join in as well, he's always got the energy
he doesn't mean to enable like hurting yourself to a point, but once he realizes he is kind of enabling it he'll immediately stop
"sit down, here, skip leg day for once, focus on those noodle arms of yours"
"says you! the fuck?"
RANBOO
let's you rant about your fixations and the lore and whatnot
I mean they won't deny that the Blair Witch Project video game is really good
they even buy you posters of the Blair Witch Project movie and video game (we don't talk about the movies after the first...)
even gets you merch off the official game site too (if that exists? I'm not sure istg there was merch tho)
they start to get a little fixated on it too considering they love hearing about the lore and theories from you and stuff
they even play it on stream and dedicate it to you
"thanks for the content y/n"
when you're running through the house, he'll race with you for a while before finding some other ways for you to release energy without making yourself sore
at one point he just gives you coffee that way you'll crash and burn after a few hours
I mean at least you don't feel like your legs are about to pop off your body
FREDDIE BADLINU
invested in the resident evil lore because of you
"I saw this and thought of you" AND ITS A LEON KENNEDY EDIT LMFAOOO
I mean yeah
loves hearing you rant about the games and everything, he could listen to you talk for hours
when you're all strung up on energy he also enables it without realizing at first
when he can tell it's more than just being energetic he'll help you find ways to calm down
if need be, he'll read to you, instant sleep I swear
or when he starts talking you'll be fully invested in his words
"yknow, Google listed among us as a horror game and I really cannot-"
NIKI NIHACHU
the amount of dead by daylight merch and the amount of money that you've spent on it is kinda concerning
but she loves listening to you rant about how the kill animations are so awesome and about new maps and characters and dlcs
I mean it's your current fixation, of course she'd listen to every single word you'd have to say
she even plays with you on stream a lot as well
when you're strung up on energy, she'll take you out for a run, you're like a dog on a leash though because she's not trying to lose you
"niki, come on! I wanna see the water snakes!"
"I'm coming, I can't sprint like you do, darling!"
QUACKITY
"of all the games, why is five nights at freddy's the one you're fixated on?"
he loves hearing you rant and explain lore and theories to him tho
genuine love language
he'll even play it on stream with you
"and the purple guy basically killed all the kids, and the kids basically scared him into the springlock suit and it literally killed him so he possesses that suit now-"
he'll just joke about the amount of energy you have
like Ranboo, will serve you coffee so you can crash and burn considering you end up begging him to help you
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marysunshine23 · 2 months ago
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Why is Souichi Tsujii considered Scary?
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No, I mean, I'm actually asking.
He's not scary. He's just mentally ill. And he's not being treated for his illness. Like, seriously.
All that needs to be done for him is to drag his ass in to see a doctor, get him on meds, get him a therapist, and if he rebels send him to an in-patient program. (That actually might be a better pace to start him).
Granted, I've only seen what's on Netflix. But from those two episodes, his parents are basically just enabling his behavior and not doing anything about it. Annoying Koichi while he's studying? Why aren't his parents doing more to enforce boundaries between Souichi and the other members of the family? Why are they just sitting back while Souichi is clearly misbehaving? He's 11-years-old, why aren't his parents sitting on his ass about studying like how they are with Koichi? And why isn't Koichi studying at the library if he knows this is a problem that his parents won't confront? Why do his parents jump to hiring a carpenter to completely rebuild a room of the house when it'd be so much less expensive to just discipline their child?
And don't even get me started when it comes to Coron, the cat/kitten. If you know your son/brother has a tendency to hurt animals, why the fuck are you letting him anywhere near the cat? If you're aware that he's manipulative, why aren't you keeping the cat somewhere he can't get to it? Don't let him near the cat until he goes to therapy consistently!
Like, the wiki describes him as an "eccentric oddball", but that's not accurate. I get he's anemic, but don't let an 11-year-old run around with nails in his mouth. Give the kid a steak and some spinach, hell throw in some iron supplements if that's what it takes, and call that shit a day. There is absolutely no reason for him to behave the way he is and get away with it. His parents need to ride his ass about his behavior and get him to see a doctor, both for his physical and mental health. He's not about to be a functioning member of society with how he's acting.
. . .
As someone who has been battling my mental illness for the majority of my life, I'm really tired of people using mentally ill people as a horror trope. The book he first appeared in was published in 2006. I understand using this trope as a cautionary tale for why you need to be treated for mental illness, but it's not. It's just using the bias we have against mental health as a means of scaring people. Are people with untreated mental illness scary to experience? Yeah, they are. And honestly, I do think you're crazy if you know you're mentally ill and refuse treatment. I think you're crazy if you think you can pray it away. I think being willfully ignorant is being crazy.
This would be totally different if Souichi was a full-ass-grown adult or even just living by himself. The problem I have is that he is in a household with people who are allowing him to behave this way and are doing nothing about it. No one is holding him accountable, everyone is just letting him do whatever because they "can't stop him". But I don't actually see any of them making an effort. Koichi and Sayuri ask their parents to do something, anything, to make their brother stop. But their parents throw up their hands and say "he doesn't listen to us". He's mentally ill, you can't treat him how you treated his siblings. He takes extra work.
I guess the real reason I'm writing this is because, as someone with mental illness, I look at a character like him and I feel angry about what everyone else is doing. At 11-years-old, there isn't a lot he can do to get himself treated. In fact, I seriously doubt he even wants to think about being treated. To him, there's nothing wrong with his actions or what he's doing. But the people who know better, the ones who recognize that his behavior is inappropriate, they aren't doing anything to help him. They aren't trying to find a solution to help him. They're being willfully ignorant to their child's behavior; only complaining when he's being disruptive. They're literally ignoring him and hoping his behavior goes away.
But then he goes to the attic and stomps around over his brother's room, or hammers nails into the wall in a way that it could catch and hurt someone, or manipulates the cat to be aggressive to everyone but him. He wants attention. He wants affection. But he's being ignored. So he acts out more.
I know he's just a fictional character, and I know that his surroundings are set up so that way he can be as "scary" as he needs to be for the story. But for me, at the very least, it feels like a slap in the face. It feels like people who enjoy this see me the same way they see Souichi. And it makes me angry, because all the work I put into my health is being disregarded. That all the work everyone put into fighting their mental illness is being disregarded. And it hurts.
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bonefall · 1 year ago
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This is kinda a funny comment but @ Brambleclaw telling Hollypaw how smart she is, i remember reading an article about how corporate spies (YES THIS IS RELATED) got information. The article was mostly one person's retelling about how it was entirely though phone calls where they just ask for information, and whenever the person on the other side started questioning them for why they needed the information, they were told to switch to praising the person on the other side for sticking to the rules and 'authenticating/checking' everything. That they'd 'put in a good word for how dedicated they were', basically buttering them up and making them feel good about catching what they were doing specifically to nudge them away from actually catching on.
I find it WILDLY interesting how the Erins just ACCIDENTALLY put actual manipulation tactics in their books when trying to make a male figure seem like a good person, almost like they're writing from experience in some kind of elaborate essay to themselves about how that behavior is okay and justifiable. They write in another character, Crowfeather, who abuses in a different, more noticable way just to compare and go "At least it's not this bad!" (the scene where Crowfeather chews out Breezepaw and one of them goes 'id rather Brambleclaw any day of the week!'), and then have Ashfur butter up Brambleclaw so that him excusing Ashfur's abuse can be claimed as Ashfur manipulating him.
ANYWAYS a question so you can properly add to the ask: How DOES the Ashfur buttering up Brambleclaw thing go down? Does Ashfur even NEED to butter him up? I think it'd be a little interesting if Hollypaw telling Brambleclaw was the first time he's actually heard of it happening, but he either confronts Ashfur and THEN gets buttered up, or he heards, thinks about it, and goes "nah its good actually I'd do the same".
There's actually a name for the tactic Ashfur uses that you saw in that spy article. It's called Ingratiation.
It's the act of making someone have a higher opinion of you, therefore putting more trust in you, by simply getting them to like you. Flattery, posing yourself as an in-group, and even using humor can all be part of ingratiation.
Now-- Ingratiation isn't ALWAYS nefarious. It's normal to try and make a good impression, or want to be liked by a possible friend or coworker. We try to influence other people all the time, we're social animals. It's just good to know that it CAN be used maliciously.
So I'm not too surprised to see a manipulation tactic in the book. I was using "buttering up" exactly because most people know WHAT it is, and that it IS a way to get people to do stuff, but don't connect that to its academic name. Like you said though what's so BIZARRE about it is how they really DO sometimes seem to be writing this looooong essay to themselves about how that was all Fine, Actually.
ESPECIALLY the way Bramble and Crow were contrasted in the Dog Scolding Scene. I left most of Bramble out because I was trying to focus on proving that Breeze was abused, but Nonny... the way the Three get chewed the fuck out by Bramble, as he insults them, assures Crow he won't be stopping for their exhausted sakes, and doesn't indicate that his anger is coming from concern...
It massively reminded me of when one neglected kid sees another kid get abused too. "Oh, well, what I'm going through isn't so bad, because it's not like THAT."
THEYRE SO CLOSE. ALL THE TIME. Like an INCH away from the point and it's AGONIZING.
Anyway... in BB, Bramble's enabling of Lionpaw's abuse is a WATERSHED moment for a bunch of the character arcs, especially Hollypaw.
I plan to keep it very similar to canon actually, I think it's stainless steel the way it is.
Ashfur KNOWS what he is doing.
He wasn't rolling for a save. It was calculated. Brambleclaw is someone who could have stopped his abuse, so he sought him out.
Can you see how inescapable that makes it, for Holly and Lion?
Holly finally worked up the courage to say something and stand up for her brother, only for her father to coo like she's a kitten who doesn't understand the world.
Even Lionpaw's father believes it's good and right to BLEED for your Clan. That this is normal... that this is even what love can look like.
BB!Lionblaze is the adopted father of his bio-nespring, Ivypool and Dovewing. What he internalizes here as a child is going to hurt BOTH of his daughters down the road, as he shoves them into the Dark Forest and a Prophecy, respectively.
Even after Brambleclaw disowns him and Lionblaze rejects him in response, adamantly saying he has ONLY a mother, he won't reject this lesson until it's TOO LATE.
And Hollypaw is so damaged by this scene that it's going to be the first domino towards her murderous break in Cruel Season.
"I need you to keep your brothers in line, Hollypaw" is soup stock, and then add obsession with the Code, constant betrayal from the relationships she forges in other Clans, her near-murder at the claws of Ashfur when he finds out the Power of Three + Fire and Tiger prophecies, and the murder of her mentor and grandfather.
And then she finds out her HalfClan brother, a Cleric, angel-punching blasphemous wretch he is, has gotten Poppyfrost pregnant. Just like Leafpool before him.
What else IS "keeping them in line" supposed to be, when he's gone this far? He's had enough chances. She will do what she's meant for. Jayfeather must DIE.
Bramblestar himself is notorious in BB for being incredibly controversial as a leader, taking power in Cruel Season just after Firestar is killed by the Dark Forest assassins.
This is part of his personality. He is easily blinded by his own feelings, and it makes him a good target for manipulation.
His first deputy, Thornclaw, exploits many of the same weaknesses Ashfur did. All part of the Dark Forest's plan.
And even Ashfur. Up in StarClan, he continues to plot, eventually leading to the events of TBC and his time as the Impostor.
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gabrielsbubblegumbitch · 8 months ago
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Charlie's corruption arc ✨😈
aka Broken Crown AU inspired by this post because I’ve been thinking about it intensively. So, I believe Charlie's villain arc would start with a great feeling of relief. Imagine: it's been a week since the final battle; it's been a week when Charlie hasn't been able to sleep at night. Others think she's still grieving, but the truth is different. Every night, Charlie cannot fall asleep because she's trying to cope with the relief she felt the second Adam died. She was the one who at first stopped Lucifer from finishing him, just because killing Adam didn't seem right. But when Niffty actually did it, despite everything, it felt right. It felt good.
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After weeks (months?) of looking for a way to stop Adam from committing genocide against her people, after being bullied and humiliated by him, after witnessing how an unjust system enabled his despicable actions while ruthlessly punishing others for far lesser crimes, she finally, for the first time, felt like she had any agency. Just like that, her loved ones were finally safe. They could all breathe again, and all it took was a small act of violence against the person who fully deserved it. This realization changes her. While she doesn't intend to do such things in the future, she can no longer deny that exercising brutal power can be the best solution when dealing with certain kinds of people. This is the very first thing she hides from Vaggie. Not because she's scared of her judgment but because these ideas are so against her own moral values it is simply scary to put them into words.
Maybe I would be capable of killing someone in cold blood. Maybe I'll have to do it one day.
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But Adam's dead, so they are safe, right? And she won't ever have to make a choice like that again. That's some reassurance.
And then, Niffty is killed by Lute. Just like that—Lute teleports to Hell by night and slaughters her in revenge because why wouldn't she? Who would have stopped her?
It obviously hits everyone hard—they just lost another friend. But Alastor? Alastor loses his fucking mind. He goes completely feral, yelling at Charlie and blaming her for everything.
What kind of incompetent fool shows their enemy mercy and lets them live long enough to get vengeance? I cannot believe I thought you could be a competent leader. You are just a fucking child. You are all a bunch of idiots.
Charlie goes through a complete meltdown because she knows he's right. If she had the guts to finish Lute or at least asked Vaggie or Lucifer to do so, Niffty would be alive. She's crying, choking on tears; she feels like a hopeless failure, but Alastor does not give her a break. He seems so infuriated she thinks he would kill her. Fortunately, Lucifer and Vaggie intervene. Lucifer puts Alastor back in his place by essentially beating the shit out of him. Vaggie takes Charlie out to calm her down. She insists that if it's anyone's fault, it's hers because she was the one who spared Lute, but Charlie knows that it's a lie. Vaggie would have killed Lute if not for Charlie's convictions. She fails, and she fails all over again, and it seems like she can't escape the evil. It's her responsibility to face it on equal terms. Otherwise, she won't be able to protect her loved ones.
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After this incident, both Lucifer and Vaggie insist on kicking Alastor out of the hotel. He's too dangerous, too unpredictable. We can't allow him to treat you like this. We don't even need him anymore; there's nothing an Overlord can do that the King of Hell can't.
But that's not the truth. There's something Alastor can do that Lucifer can't: play the game. And now, grieving another of her friends, Charlie realizes she needs a teacher if she wants to stop pieces.
I have like 0 time to write the proper fic but I had to get these out of my system because holy shit I love coming up with elaborate plots I'm not able to execute. Maybe talking about it will somehow scratch the itch.
Also tagging @purrpleowl because she expresses her interest in this idea.
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foxufortunes · 8 months ago
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So like I was actually having this discussion in the comments of one of my fics at stupid in the morning, but like having thought it through for the day I'm here to messily rant my thoughts on the complicated relationship between the upperclassmen, mainly Dan, and the monsters, mainly Andrew, and Wymack. How Dan is terribly self righteous and hypocritical and lets her emotions get in the way of her captaincy at times. How Andrew doesn't care for the discomfort and fear he causes others and even revels in it, even without provocation. And how Wymack, for better or for worse, is a hands off coach who can't/won't inflict meaningful punishments on his team, even enabling their worst qualities and habits, as part of his ideal of giving people more chances and how that can create a hostile team environment.
Aka, I'm about to throw slander in every direction, because these are flawed, messy characters and trying to make any of them perfectly innocent or always right does a disservice to the well sketched, messy, imperfect, flawed characters Nora created. Blame goes everywhere and no one is innocent. Trauma is a reason, not an excuse.
Buckle up, guys, this is about to get long and messy.
So, let's start with Wymack, who's a bit trickier to explain than Dan and Andrew, but is also the reason they've been brought togethers. Wymack, as we see him on page, is a massively hands off coach, especially when you compare him to Coach Rhemann. Now, it's very possible that this is actually because Nora either wasn't confident/good enough to write him coaching vs where she is now ten years later, or because she didn't want to focus there (although logically for exy junkie Neil's pov that would be weird, but whatever, that's not what we're talking about) but whatever the reason out of universe, it leaves us with Wymack as hands off as possible in universe. (Also, sidebar, some people in this fandom need to learn that out of universe reasons still need to have an in universe reason, "it needed to happen for the plot" is an out of universe reason, but I still need to know why the characters did it beyond "for the plot" or it's bad writing, stop using that for an answer about "why did character X do Y?")
Anyway, Wymack lets the team basically run amuck and sort themselves out, and even enables their worst habits. I think its canon that Abby gets a tip when "random" drug tests are happening, and they certainly don't do anything to enforce the no drugs policies the school and NCAA and probably ERC would have. Wymack brought a bunch of troubled kids together and seems to have no plan beyond letting themselves work it out and Betsy's here if there's trouble. This is why the Matt situation happens. You let a struggling to stay sober drug addict be around other not even trying drug addicts, of course Matt was going to get worse. This is actively bad for him. And in turn then actively bad for Aaron.
His relationship with Andrew is a bit more complicated. Now, I need you to forget everything you know about Andrew through Neil and his backstory for a moment, and just look at Andrew through Wymack's eyes as he first met him. Andrew has been to juvie, and is currently on parole for another violent crime that Wymack may or may not know the actual details about and on medication that Wymack may or may not know what they actually are and do. Andrew asks to come off of them. Wymack says yes. Now, even putting aside the legality of this, Wymack took the unilateral decision that Andrew knows best about his meds and can come off of them. Now, we can talk plenty about how Andrew's medication is portrayed in canon, but plenty of people don't like meds that are actually good for them and try/do stop taking them, often without telling a doctor they're doing so. There's also the fact that, again irrelevant of what we know as the story goes, Andrew regularly drinks, smokes and misses doses, things that can all make medication not work as it should. Wymack is not a doctor, for all he knows he could actively making Andrew worse by allowing this, but does anyway, for a good defence line.
(Also another side note, where does canon get off calling the Foxes a laughing stock? They're five years old. Seth was part of the first batch, right? So they're five years old and made the championships in their fourth year of existing as a team, fuck off are they dead last laughing stocks.)
And this is part of what I don't get about Wymack. He both wants to win above what's good for his team and doesn't at the same time. For example, he's so hands off and enables their bad habits, things that could kill them and actively harm them. He puts Andrew on the bench because he doesn't need a third goalie despite him being better and seemingly rolls with the hierarchy of age over skill, which implies team feel goods over victory but is so invested in staying Class I he semi-regularly lets (and yeah, it's lets not makes but still) Andrew harm himself playing full games on withdrawals (again, as far as he knows potentially stopping his meds working right). And while it could be argued his situation with Andrew is more not wanting to give up on Andrew, that is an the expense of his other players. Anyone who's ever been in a situation where one or two people are hostile/seemingly unpunishable knows how bad that makes everyone else feel.
Because, let's be real, Andrew is unpunishable and they all know it. Cardio is one thing, but he doesn't go through with marathons and nothing else will work. Andrew doesn't care for his own contract, and even if we actually believed Wymack would go through with any threat again Kevin, Nicky or Aaron's contracts (and we all know he wouldn't) Andrew would probably sabotage the game in protest or just outright quit. Andrew gets away with everything and everyone knows it and that can quickly see your team stop respecting/trusting you or feeling safe when you say they are. It's a very dangerous line.
And this is where we finally get to Dan. Because yes, Dan hates Andrew, and is unprofessional in her bias against him. But I think we often forget where this comes from. You often see people talk about Columbia, and Andrew drugging Neil, and should Neil have been angrier, how his trauma impacted him moving on so quickly and whether Andrew's reasons were valid or not because he thought Neil was a threat. And sometimes you see people talk about what he did "to" Matt. Which, yes, wasn't great, and yes, Matt took the drugs himself, but really it wasn't a great move from Andrew. But how often do you see people talk about what he did to Dan?
I mean, let's get some context here. Andrew and Dan barely knew each other. Dan is already getting shit from every angle for daring to be a woman playing and captaining an exy team (and if you hc her as a woman of colour, double this) in a period of time where colleges did (and still do) have a terrible reputation for covering up the horrific assaults committed by their best NCAA athletes. And Andrew, with no provocation, or reason, invites her out, to his home turf, with his family, to a bar he worked out, without anyone to support her and look after her, and drugged her. To find out if she was a women worth following. Not because she was a threat. Because he wanted to find out what type of person she was. He wanted her tragic backstory and he wanted it now (something people criticise Dan for demanding a lot, by the way). Andrew and his group show no remorse and face no real repercussions and then go on to enable Matt getting falling off the wagon and taking potentially lethal mix of drugs, because his mom said it was fine so it's ok and it all worked out, ends justify the means, and is allowed to just carry on with again, no meaningful punishment. Because no harm, no foul, right? (funny how you'll apply that to Andrew but hate when Thea said it, huh?)
Is it any wonder Dan doesn't like or trust Andrew?
And lets be clear, Andrew does nothing to discourage this. Andrew doesn't want to be understood, he doesn't want to share. Andrew is not here angsting because no one understands his attempts to making friends (except maybe, big maybe, Aaron not understanding his attempts at brothering). Andrew is fine if the team doesn't trust him. He encourages it, because trust means friends means feelings means weakness and that's ew. It's not hard to see how, from Dan's pov, Wymack can't/won't punish Andrew and is more interested in winning so won't kick him off the team.
At the same time, Dan is just as complicit in Andrew's breaking the law and hurting himself by missing meds as Wymack. Again, for all she knows, his meds help him, and skipping could actively harm the help they're giving him. Again, she's putting winning, because they have this amazing goalkeeper, above both Andrew and the team's health, and then complains when he lashes out. Some meds need a consistent balance to work, and maybe if he wasn't skipping every Friday to help you win he'd be more stable (we know this isn't the case, but they don't). There's barely any resistance put up to the idea that Andrew plays entire games, because she also wants to win more than she cares about Andrew's health, while at the same time not caring about winning more than her pride, like the rest of the team who are more interested in fighting than winning.
Now, of course, Andrew doesn't care. I think Nicky has it right early on when he says Andrew doesn't care about your boundaries, just his. Andrew is here mostly because he wants to keep Nicky and Aaron close and sees providing value for them (protection, scholarships, controlling protection ect) as the only way to really do it. Andrew sees life as exchanges. But, for all we act like Andrew lives on fair exchanges, he doesn't. As I said, he drugged Dan because he wanted to know about her, what did he give her in return? Nothing. He violated her autonomy and gave her nothing in return. Not even his own backstory. Arguably not even respect. (please, take a minute to imagine how pissed you would be if someone in fanfic wrote Andrew being drugged just to get him to spill his trauma without him even being a threat to anything, or look at how people react to Neil's Columbia scene).
The upperclassmen constantly ignore and violate Andrew's boundaries in very clear ways, and any normal team would have backed off ages ago (or called the cops the first time he pulled a knife) but because they're Foxes they keep pushing. (Also, for all fandom likes to make him a knife nut, look at how often he actually pulls a knife vs punches, it's either rape jokes, or him/someone under his protection being cornered, day to day he goes without). Now, of course, Andrew is a lot of the problem of keeping the team in two halves (again, something any decent coach shouldn't allow to get that extreme) as we see with how well the team works when Andrew is at Easthaven, but we don't know how much effort the upperclassmen actually make (excluding Renee of course).
The upperclassmen are often the first to lash out, and Andrew is often only retaliating, and then the monsters will be blamed. And yes, this is complete hypocrisy. But from the more general day to day treatment, not in the moment when a punch is thrown but attitudes in general, Andrew has proven himself a threat over and over, without provocation. If you can excuse Andrew drugging Neil because he's a potential threat, then why is Dan being hostile to Andrew because he's proven himself a threat different? Is it professional? Probably not, but what else can Dan do? She can't punish Andrew and Wymack seemingly can't/won't either. In Dan's mind, she is being hypervigilant and watching Andrew and taking his actions for the worst possible scenario, because Andrew has given her reason to. A simple drink to get to know each other turned into drugging her and Matt being in awful condition. Why should she give him the benefit of the doubt? Andrew wouldn't return the favour.
In many ways, Andrew and Dan are mirrors of each other. The leaders of their respective groups, both constantly trying to watch out for threats, but while Dan sees the threat she's already experienced with Andrew, Andrew considers her nothing. He's already got all her secrets and cast her aside, not caring for the damage he's done, because she and her friends are nothing to, and he doesn't feel a hint of remorse. He did what he had to, the ends justify the means, and Wymack's gone through too much to get him to risk losing him. He's on a team that doesn't care about his boundaries any more than he cares about theirs and is more than happy to play the monster if it gets the job done.
This came off a little harsh on Andrew, despite that I love him and Dan actually grates on me, but honestly the start of the series he is kind of awful and Dan I can see where she's coming from. Like, I think sometimes we also forget even Neil hates Andrew at the start of the series. Everything he did with Neil, he did with the others, it's just that Neil had the persistence, and the trauma related need to compartmentalise and move on quickly rather than hold a grudge, and a usefulness to Andrew (and yeah, let's not forget the breakthrough is Kathy's show and Andrew realising Neil is useful to him) to let him get in with Andrew so he can start to see the real him, while Andrew keeps the upperclassmen at arm's length.
And wow, congrats and thanks to anyone who read all the way through this monster ramble.
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boothillssugarmomma · 8 months ago
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🫡Lists, Asks, Mutuals, etc 🫡
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My name is Amber, I'm 18, and my pronouns are she/her!
Other platforms I write on: Wattpad (boothillssugarmomma)
I love to write, draw, and play video games mostly! Genshin and Honkai Star Rail are my favorite games right now!
Minors may interact! But NOT on 18+ posts! I cannot STOP you from reading it but I will not ENABLE it and ENCOURAGE it
Lists:
Taglist
Anon List
HSR Master List
Genshin Master List
Fandom List
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Asks:
I LOVE ASKS AND THEY WILL ALWAYS BE OPEN AND I WILL ALWAYS ALWAYS TRY TO GET TO THEM 🙏, nothing is too big of an imagination within bounds ofc we don't wanna do anything ILLEGAL 🫠 OH AND IF YOU WANT TO BE A REGULAR ANON GIMME AN EMOJI AND I'LL MAKE YOU THAT ANON, I've seen so many ppl do that and it seems like fun!
🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀
Things I'll gladly write:
~Smut
~Fluff
~Gore
~Platonic
~Angst
~Genderbends
Things I WON'T write:
~Pedophila (like cmon don't ask me to write about someone like BAILU or KLEE in a romantic way, cuz even aging them up is pretty fuckin weird)
~Incest
~Non con (Unless it's like "oh couple decided ahead of time it's ok for free use or in their sleep etc etc)
~I'm probably forgetting others but for now this is good enough
Honestly just ask and if I don't accept it I'll let you know and let you know specifically why!
(I do write for women characters. I just haven't been asked yet, I don't usually do it unless I'm asked because: 1. I'm straight and wouldn't go out of my way to write it 2. I don't know what I'd come up with!)
Mutuals:
Mutuals are always invited! I need friends who actually have my interests and don't make fun of me for simping for fictional ppl 🫡
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Signing off: Your new mother ❤️
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the-way-astray · 4 months ago
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It's the Never Change Anon again! Enjoy!
—————
Title: Never Change chapter 2
Pairing: Stria x Keefe
—————
"I'm still waiting for you to tell me who Shannon is."
"Your mind might explode."
Keefe raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely insulted. "I think you'd be surprised what I can handle."
Well, insulting him was the goal, so Stria felt no remorse. "Trust me, you can't handle this. I'm really just protecting you." Stria smiled warmly and sweetly, her face the perfect picture of someone looking out for a friend. Keefe rolled his eyes, and Stria laughed internally. Maybe she should call him sweetie next time. His eyes might pop out of his head.
"Well, most of this is just you being upset about my sense of humor," Keefe said, a very true statement. Stria nodded. "I am quite funny, if I do say so myself."
"Stop saying so yourself. Please. That's, like, half the problem with your humor. Not only are you not funny, but you're vocal about how funny you think you are. It's unbearable."
"That's an opinion," Keefe defended. Somehow, he'd been miffed enough by most of the essay that she hadn't had to endure his ridiculous smirk even once since they'd gotten their smoothies. "One most people disagree with."
"Yeah, because Shannon decided to write that for some reason."
"What the hell does this Shannon person have to do with anything?!"
Stria smiled sweetly again, tilting her head. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it."
"Excuse me?"
Stria was internally cackling. He looked so frustrated. This was amazing. "You heard me."
"You're a very unpleasant person," Keefe said, crossing his arms.
"I'm not trying to make this date pleasant."
Oh no. Now she was having to deal with the smirk again. Dang it. Could they go back to her needling him? That was fun! "Thought you said it wasn't a date."
"It isn't."
"But you just said it was."
"This date, as in, a day on the calendar," Stria said. Truthfully, it had been a slip of the tongue, and she wasn't sure where it came from. She just hadn't known how else to refer to what they were doing, though she could think of a few better options than date now that she was actually considering it. "It's always a date. You can wipe that smirk off your face."
"I don't think I will." His smirk grew. Ugh. He was the worst.
Well. She'd just have to wipe it off for him, then. "Fine. Guess it's time for us to get back to the things I hate about you. Where were we again? Oh, yes! The way you always push until you get what you want. I'm even enabling you by being here right now, but it's worth it, because I get to rant to you. Why do you not take no for an answer? You help Sophie, not by choice. She thinks it's easier to just tell you what you want to hear than argue with you. There's citations on the sheet!"
"What are you citing?!"
Stria brought back the sweet smile. "None of your concern."
"Will you cut that out?!"
"I don't plan to."
Keefe groaned. "You can at least explain this to me." He was pointing to something on the sheet, and Stria leaned in to see what it said.
“‘Is it okay if I enter your mind?’ Fitz asked. ‘Dude, do you realize how creepy that sounds?’ Keefe interrupted. ‘It’s less creepy than reading her feelings all the time without telling her,’ Fitz argued. ‘Hey, it’s not like I try to do that! You’re just mad that Foster can’t hide things from me.’” (144) Keefe gets bored, so he interrupts Sophie and Fitz’s cognate training for no reason. You know, because he’s incapable of keeping his nose out of others’ business for two seconds. And not only that, he has the audacity to say he doesn’t try to read Sophie’s emotions. Sure, he’s not doing it all the time, every time, but he does it when he feels she’s hiding something.
"I think I explained it pretty well on the paper," Stria said simply, internally cackling at the way he looked genuinely offended.
"Aside from the fact that I have no clue how you're quoting conversations you were not there for and still won't explain what those numbers mean, I don't try to read Sophie's emotions! They're just loud!"
Stria pointed to the last sentence of the section he'd indicated, not about to waste her breath repeating something she'd already said.
"Uh, I feel that she's hiding something the same way I feel all the rest of her feelings: by accident!"
"Sure."
"It's like you're deliberately trying to misunderstand me!" Keefe exclaimed.
"On the contrary. I think I understand you quite well." Stria crossed her arms. "As you can see, I know far more about you than you might anticipate, and suffice to say, I don't like what I know."
"Okay, no. You don't get to just pretend you know me because you've seem some weird written account of all my conversations!" Keefe snapped. "You don't like my personality? Fine! My friends do. Friends being Fitz, Dex, Sophie... yes, they roll their eyes and tease me about it, because we are friends. If they didn't like me, they wouldn't hang out with me!"
"Wow, you really need to believe that, don't you?" Stria remarked.
Keefe grit his teeth. "I don't know how you know these things. I don't know why you're so sure you understand me, when none of these weird quotes are in my perspective."
"Your perspective is worse, trust me."
"My point is, you think you have me all figured out, and you're wrong."
Stria shrugged. "If you're so sure, why should you care?"
"Because you think the worst of everything I do! It isn't fair!"
"I only do that because everyone else thinks the best of everything you do!"
"That isn't even true!" Keefe exclaimed, exasperated. "Look, I'm not about to get into details about my personal relationships to some girl I barely know, but there's a lot more than what you've got written down on this paper. And if you think everyone just loves me and everything I do all the time, you're wrong."
Stria almost retorted, but something about this particular brand of exasperation that he was showing made her stop. There was something oddly vulnerable about it, and she was surprised Keefe wasn't covering it up with atrocious jokes. Or maybe they were past that stage, since he had some idea that she'd a good deal of his life. "Of course your friends love you," she admitted instead. The shock on his face when she admitted it was almost as good as his earlier fury. Not quite. But almost. "That's not what I'm saying."
"Then what are you saying?'
"There's people... it doesn't really matter to you, actually." She didn't need to explain to him about the Pinterest KOTLC fandom. Especially since she wasn't telling him who Shannon Messenger was.
"I think it matters a lot, actually."
"Yeah, well, I'm the one who knows it, and you don't, so it's up to me whether or not it matters to you, actually."
"It's my life, you know," Keefe snapped. "If you know all this random stuff about it that I don't, you should probably tell me."
"Trust me—"
"I don't. You sound like the Fork man when he's trying to convince Sophie she doesn't need to know who her parents are."
Stria blinked.
Really? He was going to make that comparison?
"Want to know who your parents are?" Stria offered, deliberately misinterpreting the quesiton. "Their names are—"
"I'm good, thanks."
And... now he really didn't look like himself. Maybe bringing up his parents was a bad idea. Stria didn't like him very much, but she took that particular sore spot of his very seriously. "Sorry."
"For what?"
Nope. He wasn't getting any more of an apology out of her than that. He was really good at getting people to feel bad for him, wasn't he? "We should probably get going," Stria said curtly. "I'm out of smoothie."
Keefe sighed, standing up. "Okay. Want to do this again sometime?"
Stria blinked slowly.
Then again.
Then again.
Then, "I'm sorry, did you just say you want to do this again?"
"Yep."
Okay, Stria was at a complete loss. "Why?!"
"I don't know. I hate talking to you. I hate the way this stupid essay trivializes things I genuinely struggle with." He absentmindedly traced his hand over one of the passages still on the table, and Stria glanced at it, wondering what he was talking about.
“‘And Fitz isn’t perfect, by the way.’ ‘He’s close enough.’” (238) No??? Nobody is. And here’s a fine example of another forced consolation scene. Keefe lathers it up with the self-pity and feeling sorry for himself, and later on down the road, Shannon realizes that and her solution to that particular problem is hilariously atrocious. I’m writing this quote in blue so that it’s easy to come back to later, because I’m going to talk about it once we get there. But for now: Keefe’s personal pity party is clearly only there to make the audience pity him. All he’s doing right now is acting weirdly whiny and jealous of Fitz for . . . being “perfect”? Which again, jealousy is natural. But Keefe has never in his life tried to achieve perfection, and has in fact always tried to do the exact opposite, so why would he be jealous of Fitz for being perfect all of a sudden? It’s completely out of character for him. Shannon. You can’t just make Keefe jealous of Fitz for the sake of being jealous of Fitz because you want a forced consolation scene. It has to make sense. Keefe would never be jealous of Fitz for this particular reason. Keefe doesn’t try to be perfect at all. Why would he care that Fitz is “perfect”?
"I think I make a good point in that passage."
Keefe laughed mirthlessly, shaking his head. "Like I said, you don't know me half as well as you think you do."
Whatever. They didn't need to keep arguing over this. "Okay then. Let's say I don't know you at all and nothing in this essay matters."
"Which is true," Keefe agreed.
"Why on Earth would you want to do this again?"
"You're just..." Keefe pressed his lips together, studying her for a moment. "You're so... different."
Stria barked out a laugh. "Oh. Oh, you did not just say that. You did not just say I'm not like other girls. I can't do this."
"Why do you have a problem with everything I say?"
"Shannon really made you like this, huh? She did. She literally did. I mean, I'm actually not that surprised, but wow. Wow."
Keefe rolled his eyes. "Oh no, me having my own personality. I can practically feel you burning with hatred."
"I am," Stria agreed.
"So are we on for next weekend?"
And for the same inexplicable reason Keefe wanted to see her again despite his fury, Stria agreed. "Fine. But we're getting milkshakes next time."
—————
I'd love to see people's guesses on who I am.
Yours are fascinating. I see an anon is fully convinced that I am Katie. I will admit, I have read fanfiction by Katie before, and Katie's writing style for KOTLC is similar to Shannon's in a lot of ways, so I've consumed a lot of KOTLC in the style in which I write it.
Perhaps I am Katie. Aren't we all Katie?
Sorry for quoting your essay twice, but it seemed like the best way to get into your head for this. I look forward to your response!
not breaking this down like i did with part one, that would simply take far too long. the people have spoken! they want more never change. anon, you're popular lmfao.
and it seems there are some people that are super invested in this, so i can create a taglist, if anyone wants to be added.
you get notes instead of a breakdown this time:
""I'm still waiting for you to tell me who Shannon is." "Your mind might explode."" it's hilarious that i refuse to tell him who shannon is . . . you should make me tell him in a future chapter. that would be so funny
not the condescending sweetie/sweet smiling/"don't worry your pretty little head over it" . . . lmfaooooo i don't do that on principle but it seems like something keefe would do. so i understand where the sentiment comes from
"Stria was internally cackling." WRONG! i was externally cackling. it was a bit concerning if i'm being honest
""I'm not trying to make this date pleasant."" did i just slip . . . i don't slip . . . not like this . . .
"You help Sophie, not by choice. She thinks it's easier to just tell you what you want to hear than argue with you. There's citations on the sheet!" there is in fact citations on the sheet. many, many citations on the sheet. anon, you're doing a fantastic job of reminding me why i hate canon keefe. also sophie exists in this strieefe fic???? where my rant where i criticize sokeefe exists? how does that work? what does she think of me?
ooooooh, you really should've had me bring up the keefe grabbing people's hands to read their emotions, including sophie herself
""It's like you're deliberately trying to misunderstand me!" Keefe exclaimed." you're making me mad at a version of keefe that isn't even technically canon anon you're working magic here
""Wow, you really need to believe that, don't you?" Stria remarked." truly i do believe keefe's friends like him. i just think that was a poor writing choice on shannon's part
""Your perspective is worse, trust me."" very much agreed. the way he thinks of sophie in his head disturbs me a bit. also fitz. but sadly i haven't gotten there yet. anon, does the physical copy i handed keefe contain the part two excerpt i released?
""Because you think the worst of everything I do! It isn't fair!"" that's not true, not that keefe would know that . . .
""Look, I'm not about to get into details about my personal relationships to some girl I barely know, but there's a lot more than what you've got written down on this paper. And if you think everyone just loves me and everything I do all the time, you're wrong."" sir . . . who initiated this again . . . anon, fantastic job making him as annoying as possible. also did keefe read my disclaimers. i specifically stated that i was only listing the bad things about him. tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk keefe. i expect better next time
"Stria almost retorted, but something about this particular brand of exasperation that he was showing made her stop. There was something oddly vulnerable about it [ . . . ]" yeah i would not care. tear the man to shreds. only time i care is when his abusive parents are brought up. i have some decency, i suppose
""Of course your friends love you [ . . . ]"" wait did i contradict myself. didn't i say that keefe needed to believe that before? was i trying to be purposefully mean? doing character analysis on myself like hmmmmm
"She didn't need to explain to him about the Pinterest KOTLC fandom. Especially since she wasn't telling him who Shannon Messenger was." NOT THE KOTLC PINTEREST FANDOM GOODBYE. ANON I'M WHEEZING. also i should tell him who shannon messenger is. i think it would be so funny
""It's my life, you know," Keefe snapped. "If you know all this random stuff about it that I don't, you should probably tell me."" actually it's sophie's life . . . why didn't i tell him that . . . and it's not his entire life it's just the things i hate with a passion :) hope this helps :)
"You sound like the Fork man when he's trying to convince Sophie she doesn't need to know who her parents are."" honestly? fair. i should tell him who shannon messenger is and watch his head explode. it would be funny
"Stria didn't like him very much, but she took that particular sore spot of his very seriously." well, clearly anon knows me decently well. this isn't helping the katie allegations
keefe: want to do this again sometime? also keefe, when he's forced to justify: ""I don't know. I hate talking to you. I hate the way this stupid essay trivializes things I genuinely struggle with."" like, sir???? that's not helping my confusion here. for what and why
wondering how you chose those two passages in particular right now. was there a reason or did you just decide to pick two at random?
""Okay then. Let's say I don't know you at all and nothing in this essay matters."" and then i walked out. the end. just kidding
NOT LIKE THE OTHER GIRLS I'M SCREAMING
""Why do you have a problem with everything I say?"" i don't, but i appreciate the unreliable narration. there are points (in everblaze, mostly) where keefe is genuinely funny
WAIT I JUST REALIZED. my rant is categorized by book. so keefe would be confused about seeing the titles, too, right? unless this canon has the rant not having the titles or something somehow
""Shannon really made you like this, huh? She did. She literally did. I mean, I'm actually not that surprised, but wow. Wow."" me when shannon writes keefe for real
""Oh no, me having my own personality. I can practically feel you burning with hatred."" not the problem. the problem is that his personality is a cringy dumpster fire :) hope this helps, keefe :)
"And for the same inexplicable reason Keefe wanted to see her again despite his fury, Stria agreed." hello i don't like how this is ending in a very unreliable narration implication way again, anon
MILKSHAKES!!!! WOO HOO!!!!
i'm hesitant to say katie is my top suspect anymore, but clearly whoever wrote this knows my brand of keefe haterism pretty well. but also isa, who's katie's best fandom friend, and at least one, possibly two, other anons think it's her. hmm. hmmmmmmm. i honestly have no idea who you could possibly be at this point, but. i guess we'll see . . . assuming you're planning on spilling the beans at some point
@myfairkatiecat tagging you again so you can either defend or implicate yourself, whichever one
the essay quoting was good :) you should keep doing it :)
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pancakepieman25 · 2 months ago
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Dear Pancakepieman45.
Please stop trying to be both of my child's father and mother figure. She already has two parents, and I'm sure we don't need a third one.
To what you were saying earlier, we are neither enabling her nor digging a grave for her. What she chooses to do is not our decision, as she is a well-over adult.
Best regards,
Anastasia.
Dear Art's moth- You know what. I'm getting sick of this.
Writing me a letter everytime that news goes out of something I did trying to help your daughter and undoing you and the sad excuse of a father hands off her, won't scare me away. I am a determine soul that will do anything to stop harm to a family member, and as I see it, you aren't family to her anymore. You use her as power, showing her off to your friends like a trophy. Her power is not yours for the taking, I won't stop until you let go of everything she has. You say she's an adult, but you watch over her like a sick child, and her mental state might as well be one. If she's a adult, why not leave her alone, but you can't suck every ounce of blood out of her if that happens. This is your only warning I will give you, after that. You better be skipping town and traveling far, far away from where you sit.
I am not afraid of you or your husband, I'm even less scared that you're a "god." Because I know deep down that you are just weak mortals that just stole and stole.
Every flame or spark you see will be a reminder of me.
From,
Pancake PieMan Snyder
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cy-cyborg · 1 year ago
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I'm seeing a lot of people here and on other platforms getting angry at people who have come from Tik Tok (and youtube to a lesser extent) who refuse to say words like death, racism and anything relating to heavy topics. Sometimes they won't even say the names of minorities either.
Any I get why this is frustrating and just not a good practice. The people criticising these folks are absolutely right, we need to get comfortable saying these words and discussing these topics. Not to mention the fact that self-censorship can cause issues for people who are legitimatly triggered by those topics (e.g. due to trauma), But as someone who spent a lot of time on Tik Tok and youtube before coming here, I think there's some vital context missing here.
I'd say a good 75% of the people on tik tok, and by extention, people who have moved elsewhere from Tik Tok, using words like "unalive," "r#pe," "sewerslide" or whatever else aren't using it because they're uncomfortable with the topic. In fact, it's quite the opposite. They want to talk about it, but Tik Tok's content moderation is so wildly strict that they can't. Even saying the words would get you flagged by the algorithm, ESPECIALLY if you had captions enabled or the actual word written in text from the in-app editor. This was especially true for people from minorities trying to talk about issues affecting their community or even just themselves (hence the hesitation to even say the minorities name sometimes).
This isn't just some conspiracy theory either. Tik Tok staff admitted to doing this intentionally on several occasions as a way to "keep the peace". I remeber when I first joined, it came out that they intentionally limited views on videos of visibly disabled people, both to prevent bullying but also because "some users find that content disturbung." I couldn't even show my stumps in videos without my videos getting stuck on 0 views at best or account warnings for "inappropriate content" at worst. I got DMs from several people after my video about disability pride month in July asking why their comments wishing me a happy disability pride month got removed, when I went into check the filtered comments, they'd all been hidden for "bullying". The same thing was happening with people commenting and saying the word "autism." And that's just the disabled community. I know similar stuff was happening in other communities too.
Most of the time, you had to speak in coded language to get your point out there. It's not that they're uncomfortable with it, it's because the videos would be dead in the water if they didn't. Getting the message out using these "toned down" replacements was better than not getting it out at all.
"OK, but this isnt tik tok, they shouldn't do that here" yeah, I agree, but for a lot of kids, Tik Tok was their first real experiance with social media, it makes sense that they're going to assume other platforms will be the same. YouTube is just as bad, if not worse, in some respects. Tumblr even has its fair share of censorship issues, too (e.g. queer people's posts being flagged as mature for seemingly no reason). It's not a stretch to make the assumption they'd need to continue the practice of self-censorship here, too.
This isn't to say that NO ONE is using the censored words to avoid hard topics/because it makes them uncomfy, but in my experiance, those people assume this is the best thing to do because everyone else was using it. They don't stop to ask why. They just repeat it, which in turn contributes to making them umcomfey with the real word.
I'm not saying don't pick people up on this stuff. We NEED those words, and we need to be more comfortable with them so stuff like the above situation doesn't happen and become a self-perpetuating cycle. But it started from a real, genuine need to censor ourselves to even get the message out, and I think it's important to keep that in mind. It's not just kids being "too sensitive."
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the-s1lly-corner · 1 year ago
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Attention TADC fans!
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I'm officially opening requests for characters! Below the cut will be my base list of rules in regards to requesting and that sort of thing!
To everyone who followed me for creepypasta, do not fret! Creepypasta is still this blogs default and I'm not going to stop writing it for the forseeable future, I will still be responding to creepypasta based asked in the meantime
oh also, im adding this right before i post this but i do have fluff alphabet requests open for creepypasta, but to my TADC fans, how do you guys feel about the possibility of me reposting that list and letting you guys ask for it? im still kinda itching to do alphabet stuff... let me know ! ill probably do it anyways but i want yalls input!
without further delay:
RULES:
please do not spam requests, i know it will be hard to enforce this on my end since i want to keep anon enabled since i know it can be intimidating to ask for stuff non-anonymously
since the main cast + caine only totals to 7 characters i will allow people to request the entire cast in any given request, WITH THE KNOWLEDGE that the more characters the shorter their list of hcs will be
please do not pester me to answer your request, i will very likely answer your initial ask. consistent breaking of this boundary will result in warning, and if further boundary breaking takes place, the request will be terminated
^SHOULD NOTE! sometimes tumblr eats the requests you guys send in so simply asking if your request made it through is 100% totally fine!! I'm specifically talking about people who try to pressure me to answer sooner, I want to make that clear because I do not want to discourage anyone from reaching out about that sort of thing
Reader is GN by default, you can request a specific gender but know it likely wont be important due to my writing style
WILL WRITE:
SFW, angst, comfort, hcs, short imagines and scenarios!
As mentioned I will do all characters, asides Bubble since I don't think there's much that can be done for them
Poly, LGBT, readers with disabilities and/or disorders (will let it be known here that i am in no way well versed in every disability/disorder, however i will attempt to do basic research for the request)
I am also comfortable with writing platonic requests and found family dynamics! I am not limiting myself and you guys to romantic stuff!
reader abstracting, while this may seem contradictory to some of the things in my will not write segment I have written about grief and loss before and I don't think it fully fits the category of what I won't write + death in general, so it shall get a pass
really there isnt much i will turn down that comes to mind, if something is breaching a line or making me uncomfortable i will let you know
reader inserts, ocs, and the like are all welcome here! im not too confident with oc x character stuff due to the simple fact that i fear i may interpret your oc wrong but i am still willing to try!
WILL NOT WRITE:
general problematic stuff is an immediate no
^so like, straight up abuse and abuse adjacent topics since as far as Im aware all the characters in TADC are adults (if I have that wrong please please correct me!!)
i am also iffy on yandere requests, this one is more on a case by case basis so please be sure to specify the intensity of it, since that will really be a make or break for whether or not if the request is accepted
NSFW, this blog is for the most part SFW. I occasionally vague certain aspects, however nothing is ever explicit. That's how far I'm willing to go with these things and I want to keep it that way
Full fledged fanfics; a lot of my scenarios/imagines tend to border on that just on a much shorter scale and in a slightly different format, but I am not totally confident in my ability to write proper fics :(
no graphic depictions of gore or self harm, and i ask that you keep that out of my inbox in general. topics like SH are allowed, however covering requests for the act of it as its happening is an automatic no (IE if you ask me to walk in on a character walking in during an act of self harm), the same applies to suicide
ADDITIONAL NOTES:
i have a nasty habit of not proofreading my stuff, so grammar and spelling mistakes are bound to happen unfortunately. this tends to be a worse issue when im posting on mobile (which i am doing less and less since i like typing on a keyboard more)
^ on top of that i struggle with writing, english is my first language but i have a hard time getting stuff out right on top of having dyslexia so please be patient
i typically tend to respond to requests fairly fast, typically within a day or two, though i do have some periods where it may take longer. (possible) same day delivery YAHOO!!
back to a forewarning, i have a habit of rambling and adding additional ideas and concepts into a request though for the most part i think i remain on topic (that just means you get a little extra content for your request ueueue)
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wordsandrobots · 4 months ago
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I also REALLY like how you had the Ariadne networks go down, it really fit in well with the whole “the world (as we know it)” schtick, and it’s such a cool concept to explore besides!
A lot of interesting things can come of devising a way to keep people from talking to each other at plot-important moments.
In general, I spent longer than was necessary obsessing over the various means of communication shown in IBO. I didn't stress much about the Ariadne Network appearing to enable FTL messaging, but things like whether civilian wireless communication is a thing in the setting (we see people physically plugging their handheld devices in on the Dorts, but is that just a space-colony necessity?), how big a problem Ahab wave disruption is (ships function fine, as do mobile suits, we know it's possible to shield against the radiation, what does that say about colony infrastructure?), and just how laser communication works in the middle of battles (. . . is everyone constantly broadcasting in every direction at close range?) all gave me considerable pause for thought.
But the Network represents a major backbone of how the setting functions. It's another lynchpin of Gjallarhorn's power, allowing them to channel space traffic through predetermined, heavily surveilled paths and make everyone pay for the privilege. Just as importantly, setting up for it going wrong at the climax of the series allowed me to drop my darling manga spin-off characters into the mix. The Moon Steel manga provides more context and information about how Gjallarhorn exploits the network as a means of control, so it only felt right to have a full-blown crossover to lay the groundwork.
As I noted elsewhere, my original plan was to have Ride's group muck about with the beacons and that later lead into the Network being accidentally rendered inoperable at a crucial moment. I do think dropping this angle was ultimately the correct choice, even if it left me with a bit of a vestigial plot thread. It's certainly more thematically neat to have Gjallarhorn screw things up for themselves by trying to reinforce their position in the wake of the whole 'McGillis Fareed Incident' wobble. I love a good self-sabotaging antagonist and while it's possible to overdo that as a resolution, I harbour a lot of disdain for military R&D and its long string of unnecessary failures, so I figured one more wouldn't hurt. Glad you enjoyed the end result!
Now, I hope you won't mind if I respond to your second ask under a cut, on account of the major spoilers for WoSH it involves.
OH and while I’m sending asks! I LOVE how and that you killed Rustal Elion! I loved seeing how Julieta adjusted to him being gone, I’m so glad you made her figure out how to be her own person rather than just an attack dog!
I spent *ages* working out Elion's death. Seriously, I think that's the part I over-thought the most.
As a narrative beat, it's a fairly simple proposition. Elion is a point of stability, an untouchable, antagonist force that is nevertheless ordered and predictable. He has set lines along which he runs and he's not unreasonable. This is one of the things I hold to quite strongly about him as a character in the show: what he is doing is entirely sensible for a man in his position and while it's undoubtedly callous, it's not actively cruel. He gets what he wants in terms of the public, propaganda victory and then stops, seemingly going on to relinquish Gjallarhorn's hold over Mars with good grace. While he'll never be a 'good' person, he's a part of the system someone like Kudelia can work with, to make important gains.
Thus, from the point of view of creating Conflict, he had to go.
(I'm stressing that as the reason because if I'd thought it was more interesting for him to survive, he would've done. But while I had a fair few things to say about him, his removal generated more drama than keeping him around.)
However, the question of how to do it was a vexed one. Being the head of a miliary organisation with its own fortress island meant 'just shoot him' was out and in any case, I wanted something in line with Almiria's slightly macabre and detached way of thinking. The idea of using nanomachines was a good one, if I do say so myself, as it meant she could do something absolutely appalling for the sake of killing one man. It was suitably impersonal, too -- I don't think Almiria ever really saw Rustal Elion as a person. Just an object of her hate and another piece to remove from the Jenga tower. I'm unsure if they ever directly met, prior to him expiring on the floor of that corridor. He definitely dies without knowing who's responsible.
Having hit on the overall method, I had to justify it. And that's where the overthinking came in because I was going 'well, surely someone's considered poison, so what defences does this plan have to break through?' The obstacles in stories are always as problematic as they need to be for the plot to work, but you do still need to pitch things towards being satisfying. So I went round and round tweaking the idea until I had something that felt like just the right amount of overcomplicated to work in context. Nice to hear that it did work, honestly!
And all of it in service of forcing Julieta out of her comfort zone for good this time.
She's such an interesting character. A hollow, cracked-mirror version of Mikazuki. I approach things in full belief there is reciprocated respect and affection between her and Rustal. I think he genuinely admires her and cares about what happens to her. But she is his tool and their relationship is built on that. For Mika, the devotion precedes Orga using him as a weapon. For Julieta, being Rustal's weapon comes first. It shapes her and prevents her growing to be her own person. She bends herself in knots to square her instincts with the greater good he defines for her. Even Gaelio, the closest thing to a positive influence in her life, was never going to be able to break through her choice not to have an existence apart from the one Elion chooses for her.
So the issue needed to be forced and the results were as messy and self-destructive as they were always going to be. Obviously I gave her a second chance, though I can't really say it was her own choice, in the end, so much of a series of people throwing buckets of cold water in her face. Sometimes that's the only way.
I have a few vague notions about what comes next for her. I don't think she'll be able to hold Gjallarhorn together. But I do think she'd begin to focus more on looking after the people caught in the storm, so that when things inevitably collapse, she might be able to save something of the ideal from the wreckage. I suspect she has a better chance at that than most anyone else.
Perhaps she'll wind up on the doorstep of her former enemies and find refuge in the once-Dort Colonies. The idea has a pleasing irony to it.
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intheorangebedroom · 2 years ago
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Pleased to meet you, chapter 15
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Summary: You eventually made up your mind, but acting on it is a whole different story. Time is ticking on you. An afternoon at the museum with Will precipitates everything.
Pairing: Frankie Morales x French fem!Reader.
Rating: Explicit 🔞
A/N: So yeah, Plainsong became Flaming June... Don't ask! You'll see. If you'd like a song to go with this one, may I suggest Maps, by Yeah Yeah Yeahs? And if ever you're interested, @deadmantis (my favourite enabler) sent me an ask (thank you 🧡) that has allowed me to ramble discuss Reader & Benny's relationship further.
A million thank you Fanna my darling for making this gorgeous gif of those two kings. I am still giggly from it and I promise next time I won't ask on such short notice 🧡
@meandorla I don't know where I'd be without you... Thank you for your time, your help, your enthusiasm, your sharp understanding of them and their story. For bearing with me, and helping me find my way as I'm approaching the end of this story 🧡 Ily 🧡
Word count: 5.7k
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Chapter 15: Flaming June
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Time is such an odd thing. A social construct, as they say. 
And you have spent so much of it reading on the subject, from nebulous scientific essays in specialised publications that left you questioning your intellectual abilities, to popular articles in mainstream media, trying to understand how two days and three nights in an orange bedroom could have contained all of your past and your entire future. 
How the fifteen years that followed could have lasted longer than ten life sentences.
How it violently collapsed in on itself as you walked into a dingy New Jersey bar, only to be propelled into an ascending spiral, gathering speed and momentum, yet still endlessly stretching on. 
Monday morning finds you rested. With the heavy curtains blocking the early morning sun, for the first time in months, you’ve slept soundly until your alarm rung.
Benny snoring lightly next to you. 
Rested but restless, hating yourself because you couldn’t find it in you to say “no” when he asked if he could stay the night at your place. It took his massive presence in your small apartment for you to realise you own only one pillow. 
But he didn’t mind, of course he didn’t. In appearance unfazed, undeterred, cheerful and patient as always, even when you pushed away his hands under the sheets with a bullshit excuse. 
How you’d wanted him to call you out on the obvious lies, confront you about your distance, the fact that you hardly ever let him fuck you anymore when you two used to get down to it in his brother’s pick-up parked on the side of the road.
Are your lies so expertly hidden, or is Benny so well-trained to your recurrent distance? The persistence of his affection just another blemish on your conscience, another blame for you to carry on your own. Besides, you have no right to wish for him to make this any easier for you, anyway. 
When you set off for work, he left with you, to swing by his house before his morning run and when he pulled you in for one last hug, holding you flush against his firm, wide chest, you let him. You strengthened your hold, threading your fingers through his thick blond hair, incapable of holding back your words, laced with guilt and regret. “You’re so good, Benjamin.”
Time is ticking on you. As loud as the clock back in Rosie’s kitchen when you got up to leave. Relentless, no matter how hard you dig in your heels, how desperately you try to stall for more. One more day. One more night. One last kiss, one last fuck. 
And now it’s 10am again. Forty-eight hours since you’d sat in Frankie’s truck with the unreasoned, remorseless desire to let him know that you’ve never stopped waiting, that you have always cared. That to you, he’s still the same. You could swear it’s been forty-eight years. 
Twenty-four hours since you opened your door and let him in. Twenty-two since you’ve felt his lips on your neck, his skin etching your skin. 
And how long exactly until you can’t pretend any longer that it never happened? That your thoughts are only of him; your sole concern the fate that awaits him when he goes back to work today? 
Tomorrow, you reprise like a chorus. Tomorrow, you’ll act. Tomorrow every week. 
And in the meantime, you hide in the cracks, seeking physical discomfort to lull your sadness to sleep. 
The noise of the bookstore metallic shutters winding up that fills your brain like boulders made of lead tumbling down a cliff.
The sweltering atmosphere in the small, quaint shop when you get inside. The drop of sweat that rolls down your spine with every ample movement, until Suzanne walks in after lunch and turns on the antique AC unit that has only two positions: cold and freezing. 
The rasp in your throat from the frigid, artificial air. 
The unpleasant customers, the chatty ones and the obnoxious, the ones you hope will never visit again. 
The burn in your lungs when you draw another drag, Fayçal’s words adding a guilty flavour to the tar aroma of the nicotine. “Tu fumes trop, cousine.”
The proximity of hot and smelly strangers' bodies on the 7pm bus.
And when you finally make it home, well, another day has passed. Time your unlikely ally. Monday an unexpected truce. 
Tomorrow. Tomorrow you’ll act. 
The plastic handles of your heavy grocery bag is cutting off the blood circulation in your fingers and your key jams in the front door when you try to unlock it, winded from the four floor climb. 
The muffled ringtone of your phone has you cursing loudly at first, before your body stiffens at a sudden thought. 
Rosie. Could it be Rosie? Tomorrow is Tuesday. Could she be reaching out to you? Hope rattles your heart in your chest, the grocery bag dropping to the floor when you grab your phone from the back pocket of your short denim overalls, your other hand frantically jiggling the key. 
The lock gives as you read the caller ID on the screen. 
Ironhead
Will doesn’t text. He calls. You hate it, speaking on the phone makes you uncomfortable, you need time to think over your words. But where Benny can be flexible, Will never caves. You text, he calls. And that’s the end of it. 
However, you don’t hesitate before picking up, kicking the bag inside your apartment, groceries scattered and rolling on the carpeted floor. 
“Allô?” you answer in French, locking the door behind you.
“I thought you were going to send me to voicemail there for a second,” he taunts. “How are you?”
“No, no, I’m only just getting home. What’s up?”
Will marks a pause, and you grimace at your poorly performed deflection.
“Right,” he answers in his measured drawl. “Calling about tomorrow. Shall we meet over there, or should I come to pick you up? Did you finally buy that car?”
Tomorrow.
Fuck.
The GPS promises an hour’s drive from your place to 1 East 70th Street, but you’ve lived here long enough to know that the constant traffic will nearly double that, even on an early Tuesday afternoon. Reaching the destination is only the first part of the adventure; finding a parking spot there is always the real challenge. 
You’d be fine riding the subway but Will systematically insists that it’s faster this way. Deep down, you don’t really mind the drive. The New York City skyline appearing on the horizon of the New Jersey Turnpike is a spectacle you have yet to tire of. Growing up in Paris meant learning early on to make the best out of the busy, stressful capital, in particular by preserving your ability to marvel at its postcard landmarks. 
Despite the increasing tension running through you since early April winding you up like a power line, you welcome this opportunity to spend the afternoon with Will, certain that his self-possessed, even demeanour will soothe and balance your own. 
As the car takes the last U-turn before entering the Lincoln Tunnel, where more traffic awaits, you offer to give him cash for the toll, knowing full well he will turn it down.
“I choose the route, I pay the toll,” he tells you with a half smile. “You can pay for the first round.”
The midnight blue, tight polo he’s wearing darkens his eyes. Your gaze lingers affectionately on the large tattoos adorning his brawny forearms, before you become aware that you are trying to memorise them, and you push back the nagging thought that this might be the last time the two of you hang out together.
The tickets have been booked months in advance, Will sharing your excitement, with only slightly less exuberance, at the prospect of seeing Flaming June, on loan from the Museo de Arte de Ponce and presented at the Frick Collection. One of your favourite pieces by Frederic Leighton, whose work you’ve only seen printed in books or badly reproduced on postcards, save for a painting in Orsay and one in the Tate Gallery in London.
Booked before your world was tipped off its axis, and you completely forgot about the exhibition. 
Now, there’s a spring in your step when you get out of the car. You got dolled up, and enjoyed doing so, for the first time in what feels like a long while. Red lipstick and loose hair, you even put on a dress, sleeveless with a deep V-cut in the front and in the back, pretty knots tied over your shoulders. If this is a funeral, let it be one worth remembering.
You can barely pace yourself as you make your way through the mixed crowd of tourists and art enthusiasts across the Garden Court of the Frick. Will’s heavy boots resound on the marble flooring as he lengthens his strides to catch up with you. You step into the Oval Room like others walk into churches for mass, with reverent apprehension, devotion, and respect.
And then, it’s there.
Leighton’s masterpiece punches the air out of your lungs. You stare at it in stricken silence, mouth agape, Will standing behind you to your right, arms folded on his chest. 
There’s a small, wistful smile on his lips, as he lets the painting bring him back to his college years and resurfacing lessons on academic style, Victorian era, aesthetic considerations and concepts. Seemingly unproductive yet essential hours spent debating perspectives and artists’ intents, the reminiscence an indulgence only you and your friendship can provide. A futile and necessary contentment only you can share with him. 
You two have discussed it in the past, early in your relationship, when you had asked him if he had any regrets. He had none, he claimed with dignified resignation, save perhaps for the lack of recognition for what he had sacrificed to accomplish his duty. 
After a moment spent in silent contemplation, he takes a step closer to you, and he’s about to share his thoughts when your absent expression stops him in his tracks. You’re standing a few inches from him, yet you are miles, or rather years away from the Oval Room. 
Time has recoiled and wound back like a reversed mechanism. The woman at the centre of the painting, sleeping languidly and with a trustful, serene abandon, is draped in a sheer orange gown, her long, luxuriant hair parted on both sides of her body like a cascading, lush blanket. Above her, the sun sets on a placid sea, under a pastel pink summer sky. 
The gown leaps out of its frame to grip at your throat, its colour louder than any copy you’ve ever seen in art catalogues, Wikipedia page or websites, and you recognise it instantly. This particular shade has been seared into your flesh and your soul. It’s your past and a lost promise. It is love and safety. It is desire and trust. It’s two worlds colliding on a sunny and warm Sunday morning in July. 
There’s a prickling sensation at the corner of your eyes. Will sucks his teeth in and his stare sharpens. Propping his hands on his hips, he takes another step closer to you, and whispers, “You alright, there?”
You run your hands over your arms to hide the shivers that won’t leave your skin. When you speak, it’s in a distant voice, your eyes locked on the rumpled gown hugging the model’s figure.
“You know, my grandparents had curtains just like that in their living-room,” you start. “My grandma was a seamstress. She had made them herself.”
Will nods in silence. 
“Why couldn’t you stay with your grandfather, after she died?” he asks bluntly, albeit in a soft tone. 
You love his forthrightness and have always appreciated his lack of pretence. It puts you at ease, and grants you the freedom to provide him, or not, with an answer.
“I did, for a couple of months, but he was too overwhelmed with grief. It was as though he couldn’t function anymore, without her. He got very depressed, very quickly, and, well, you know what happened next.” 
Will knows, if not in the darkest details, about your difficult relationship with your mother, and your grandfather’s passing within two years of your grandmother’s death.
“What about your father? You never talk about him.”
“Ah yes,” you can’t keep the bitterness out of your scoff, “him. Said he wasn’t ready to be a father. Then went on and married another woman, who got pregnant, like, fifteen minutes later.”
You keep facing the painting, your spine a rigid metal rod, because you don’t think yourself capable of withholding his astonishment and the question you know he’ll ask next. 
“You mean you have siblings?”
“No,” you reply a little too fiercely. “As far as I’m concerned I’m an only child. These people are not my family. I found out about my father’s death two weeks after they’d buried him.”
Behind you, Will exhales slowly, deeply, and you realise he’s standing closer to you than you thought.
“My father loved art,” he says, eventually. “His parents wanted him to learn what they called a ‘real trade’, but he never stopped reading and learning about it. Pretty sure I got it from him. And he certainly never objected when I said I wanted to study it.”
In turn, you sigh and let your hands fall to your sides. 
You stand in silence side by side for a while longer, before he asks again. “So? Is it everything you hoped it would be?”
“It’s more,” you murmur.
“McSorley’s?”
“McSorley’s,” you reply with a nod, drawing away from Flaming June. 
Ever since you had landed in Newark, you’d been more than conflicted regarding the transient nature of your stay here. The part of you that hated to be away from Paris for longer than a summer vacation considered the move transitory. An internal countdown was permanently ticking in the back of your head towards the end of your three-year sabbatical, and you had failed - if not refused - to adjust to your new home in more ways than one. Your stubborn use of the metric system being just the comedic tip of the iceberg. 
Yet you had had all your books and belongings shipped to your new address the very day you got the keys to your apartment. You had never even raised the subject with Rosie, let alone with Will or Benny, instead slipping deliberately into a comfortable routine to neutralise your homesickness.  
Will had first taken you to the historical ale house, an East Village institution, after you had confided in him that you missed Europe as a whole. “It’s not that I feel French when I’m here,” you’d said, “I feel European. I can’t explain.” The Irish pub had been his answer, his own vision of good ol’ Europe, and the bar had quickly become a mandatory stop whenever you visited the city together.
It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the pub when you follow him in, but the wood chips on the floor, catching on the leather sole of your huaraches sandals, feel comfortingly familiar. 
Will places the order at the bar while you take a sit at one of the round tables, glancing at the hanging wishbones covered in a hundred years worth of greasy dust, wondering, as always, if any of them belonged to a pilot, only this time you know yours has returned from his wars, if not entirely sound and safe. 
Once the waiter has brought in four half pints of McSorley’s ale, you start sharing your impressions on the exhibition, digressing to the importance of the pre-Raphaelites avant-garde in the Victorian Era before the conversation naturally dies. 
The strong ale has given you a pleasant buzz, you’re light-headed, but nicely so, and you prop your elbow on the thick wooden table to rest your face in your hand. Staring emptily at the floor, you’re unaware of Will’s gaze fixed on you. The man is twice your mass and it takes more than a pint of beer to get him remotely tipsy. His next question falls on your neck like a guillotine. 
“So, where do you know Frankie from?”
Your cheek glued to your palm, you pivot your head on your arm to face him, eyes as wide as saucers giving away your alarm.
He leans back against the back of his chair, his forearms on his thighs, impassive, his steely blue eyes plunged into yours, and you feel like a field mouse that fell prey to a hawk.
You want to answer, you really do, but your teeth are stuck together and all you can do is frown, conceal the panic beneath pretend outrage, knowing all too well he will not let go. Sure enough, he seems to rethink and tilts his head to the side, sits up and leans forward over the table. 
“Wait… maybe the better question is, when do you know Frankie from?”
Would it be so bad if it ended here? With Will? The man already knows more about you than his brother does, would the damage be greater if he knew it all? Panic turns to capitulation, and capitulation reshapes into relief. 
The dead weight of weeks of dissimulation slowly slides off your shoulders. You straighten up, eventually, and look your friend in the eyes when you answer, in a flat tone, “1999.”
Whether he didn’t expect such an easy win or didn’t suspect such a long time, Will is visibly taken aback, and you ponder if you should speak first or wait for him to question you further. The man has been trained in interrogation techniques, you might want to take the lead in that conversation. Is he still your friend? 
Your voice is hoarse, and the prickling sensation is swelling again under your eyelids, but your mind is clear. Deep inside your chest, a foreign feeling flares up, one that you fail to identity at first.
“We met at a party I went to with Rosie. It was in July. Just before he joined the Army. We-” your words get stuck in your dry throat, your eyes flicking down to your empty glasses, fuck this is harder than anything, “we spent the weekend together.”
A single tear rolls down your cheek, that you only register when it reaches your jaw and hangs there before it falls on your forearm. Anger. What you feel is anger. 
“So it was just a one-off thing?” he prods.
More tears threaten to spill and you look upward to try to hold them back, breathing in through your nose and exhaling shakily through parted lips. When you look at him again, your face conveys so much pain and disillusion, he falls back against his chair, as if to avoid the ripples of your sadness. 
“What do you think, William? Would you be here, asking me those questions, if it was just a one-off thing?”
You take in the embarrassment on his face when he hangs his head, running his tongue other his teeth. 
“Yes,” he concedes. “So what happened?”
“We got separated by dumb fucking bad luck, is what happened. I lost his number, that’s the short version.” You let the implications sink in. “Does Benny… suspect anything?” you add in a small voice, hoping you don’t sound as despicable as you feel. 
“No. No, he doesn’t,” Will answers slowly. “But he’s worried. Said you were growing distant.”
Tears are freely rolling down your cheeks, now, but your brow remains knitted in anger. You can’t shake that off, nor do you want to, because it might be the last thing keeping you upright. 
Will’s voice is considerably softer when he asks, “What are you going to do, then?”
“I don’t want to hurt him, you know,” you reply aggressively, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.
“Oh you’re gonna hurt him,” he shoots back matter-of-factly, “I know you don’t want to, I believe you. But you will. I don’t know what you…” he trails off and reaches across the table to cover your hand with his, encircling your wrist with his strong fingers, giving it a hard squeeze as he continues in a tone of confidence. 
“Look. I’ve known Frankie for a little over 10 years. To me, he’s always been like- like a puzzle with a missing piece. And then- then I see you together, in the same room… you’re not even talking… and I see the missing piece.”
A repressed sob shakes your chest and you pull your arm back to free your hand from his grip, so you can blow your nose, dry your cheeks, anything to give the illusion of composure, but he doesn’t let you.
“I don’t know what you’re gonna do, but I can’t imagine you staying with my brother, now. So whether you leave him for his best friend, or you just leave him, he’s gonna hurt.”
Letting go of your hand, he leans back again, shrugging his bulky shoulders, “It’s gonna be rough, probably on all of us but, I mean, that’s life. It’s not on you. This clown is lucky he didn’t get his heart broken earlier.” 
It’s not on you.  
A couple of days ago, his words would have triggered the imperious need to go home and give up, once more take it out on yourself, smoke a pack of lung cancer sticks, get shitfaced and blackout. 
So that you can keep soldiering on and show the world that you haven’t let your traumas and your losses define you. 
Will moves to stop you from digging your nails in your forearm, but you recoil from his touch, angry tears spilling out. 
“Hey,” he calls, his palm extended toward you, his brow knitted in concern, “hey, I mean it. It’s not your fault. It’s a shitty situation. You haven’t done anything wrong.”
The image of Frankie’s cap on your countertop flashes through your mind, the ghost sensation of his hand spanning your body raising a new trail of goosebumps on your skin. 
“I’m gonna need you to tell me that you’re hearing this,” he tries again. “It is not your fault.” 
Slowly, his right hand reaches your forearm, grabbing it and pulling it gently away from your other arm. His grip on you is almost tender, and after a few seconds, you register the little circles his thumb is tracing on your skin. 
“I hear you,” you articulate, eyes closed, before swallowing thickly, “I hear you,” you repeat, giving him the reassurance of eye contact.  
“Do you have any idea of what you’re gonna do?”
The depth of his insightfulness causes your head to spin a little. Around you, the bar has filled up, people stepping in for drinks after a day of work, tourists with thick annotated guides on their tables, happy chatter and laughter bouncing off the walls covered with framed pictures of patrons from yesteryears, their solemn faces looking down on you. 
“Yes,” you start, aware that speaking your plan out loud will give it substance and compel you to put it into motion, “I’m going to leave Benny.”
He gives you an encouraging nod, but his expression remains neutral, enabling you to continue, “I’ll speak to him tomorrow. I have to see Frankie, first, make sure he doesn’t tell him anything. I’ll tell Benny I met someone else, or that I’m not in love and things are getting too serious, I don’t know, he can hate me, it’s probably better, as long as he doesn’t lose his best friend.”
Will folds his arms on his chest and remains silent for an excruciatingly long moment, visibly weighing his next words. You know him well enough to understand that your willingness to shoulder the blame on your own forces his admiration. You’re not being entirely honest, however. Benny’s not really the one you want to protect. So when he speaks next, his words shoot through your body like a stray bullet. 
“And where does that leave us?” 
“I’m sorry,” you whisper inaudibly under the cacophony of the pub, your throat closing up, and you clench your eyes shut to hold back a new wave of tears, hiding your face in your hand. 
His heavy sigh sounds like defeat. He leans forward, hesitant, reaching for your hand once more, before changing his mind and sliding his napkin towards you across the table. 
“Ok, let’s go, I’ll drive you home,” he offers, standing up and placing his hand on your shoulder. 
“I need you to give me Frankie’s address, Will,” you say, dabbing the corner of your eyes with the tissue, removing small flakes of black mascara from your eyelids. 
His grasp on your shoulder tightens.
“He’s up north. Come on, it’s late, I’ll drive you.”
Six months of probation, with weekly drug tests. Any refusal to comply and he’s welcome to seek employment elsewhere.
Frankie slams the front door of his house behind him and throws the keys onto the console table next to it. It’ll be six months until he can fly again, working as a mechanic under tech support supervision, with this asshole Giovanni who ratted him out bossing him around. Back to square one, and for what. A stupid, minor coke bust.
Storming into the open kitchen, he gets a bottle of beer out of the fridge, uncaps it and tosses the cap on the table, where it ricochets and falls on the tiled floor. The cold glass pressed against his right cheek does little to temper his mood, but he leaves it there for a minute, until the condensation runs down his hand and into his beard. 
They had him drive over first thing Monday morning only to keep him waiting around all day, and have him come back again today to inform him of the conditions of his reinstatement, adding humiliation to injury. Well played.
He falls heavily on a kitchen chair, his blood boiling over the fast downward spin his life has recently taken, and the six months freshly added to his sixteen years of penance. 
“You gotta get back on your game, pendejo. It stops now,” he mutters to the bottle in his hand.
Just because you’re not his doesn’t alter the fact that he doesn’t want you to bear witness to his fuck-ups. You’re here. You’re real. 
Two days later, he has barely come down from the intoxicating sensation that came with the smoothness of your skin under his fingers, the weight of your breast in his hand, your scent between his lips, he could almost taste you as he ran his tongue over them, rushing back down the stairs. 
And the elation, the vengeful rightfulness he felt, taking the passenger seat of the Mustang next to Benny. The thought ugly and rampant, stifling his lungs, envy, near hostility, as he glanced in his direction from under the brim of his hat with ill-concealed fury. Resentment over his happiness, simmering and threatening to choke him until he had to remind himself that he would never have found you again if it wasn’t for him. Wouldn’t even be alive, for that matter. 
But fuck. You are his. 
You chased his mouth with yours. He didn’t imagine that. Reached out for his skin, moved by the same frantic need that made him seek yours. Dug your nails in his arms and your scent on that pillow…
“FUCK!”
The chair crashes with a clatter onto the floor when he stands up.
The last time he experienced this level of irritation was on the field, calling out Pope for challenging Redfly’s orders while they were under enemy fire, and his fingers flex around nothing, around the ghost presence of a gun. 
His doorbell jolts him out of the traumatic memory, his dark eyes flicking up to the front door. He’s in no mood to entertain visitors. He’ll sit this one out, he decides, falling still and silent, until your muffled voice comes in from outside, hesitant and apologetic. 
“Frankie?”
He’s at the door in two steps and swings it open so forcefully your hair flies with the pull of air. 
The first thing he sees is your dress, long, black and with a deep cleavage plunging down to your midriff, dragging his thoughts along the way, but when his eyes flicker back up to your face, dread flares up in his gut.
Small red spots linger tellingly around your swollen eyes, and there’s a shadow of wiped lipstick on your lips. 
“What happened? Are you ok?” he rasps before noticing Will’s pickup doubled parked in the street behind you. 
His frown deepens when his friend nods in his direction, starting the engine, and his puzzled gaze follows the vehicle until it turns right and disappears around the block.
You’re left standing here, on his doorstep, silently looking up at him, and he doesn’t know what to do with you. 
“Come in,” he mumbles, stepping to the side to let you pass, but not enough that you won’t brush his arm with yours. 
Seeing you in his home is disorienting, and guilt makes him wince, thinking about what he put you through two days ago. 
You seem lost in the large open space, trying to decide between the living-room and the kitchen, so you turn around and face him, a few feet away from his standing, rigid figure. For a brief moment, he thinks you’ll ask him for help, but instead you take your purse and position it in front of you, so he takes a step back away from you. 
“I have to talk to you,” you start in a breathy voice. 
“What happened?” he asks again. 
“Nothing happened, not like that,” you add. “Last Saturday I told Rosie I saw you again. And she won’t talk to me anymore,” you explain shakily. “And Will knows. We went to the city together today, and he asked… Well, anyway. He knows.“
“Surprised he didn’t find out before,” he grumbles. 
“I think he’s suspected for a while.” 
“Yea, sounds like him,” he agrees.
His understanding stands between you, an overwhelming reminder of their enduring friendship, of their history and their bond. You deflate, suddenly, fiddling nervously with the strap of your bag, averting your eyes when Frankie lifts off his cap and combs his fingers through his dark curls.
“Do you have any alcohol?” you ask. 
He sighs heavily before asking, “What do you want?” 
“Something strong. Whiskey. Do you have whiskey?”
“I’m not giving you alcohol. What do you want?”
His voice is loud and clear. It travels around every surface of the room until it comes crashing into your ears. It’s not a question, not really, it’s an injunction to decide, a desperate demand to set him on his next course, whatever it may be, and as your silence stretches between you, time slowly swirls into a million eternities. 
“I want you,” you answer soberly, your shoulders sagging with the confession, and the sadness he had vowed to chase away forever ago in the orange bedroom dims your wide eyes. “I never taught myself to want anything else but you, Frankie. But that’s not possible. You will lose too much. I’ve seen you together. He trusts you. And you love him. I can’t destroy that.”
His frustration is palpable, it makes the air thrum around him. Everything in his body, in his posture, betrays his state of mind, from the nervous grind of his teeth to the hard grip of his fingers on his hip, from his corded neck to his glaring eyes. 
He wants to tell you that it’s too late. That his fondness for Benny was irredeemably tarnished the minute you stepped into that bar with your hand wrapped in his, probably longer before that, at the very second Benny deluded himself into thinking he could ever give you what you needed. 
That you are not to blame for his resentment. That your self-hatred and your culpability make him want to scream until his vocal cords snap. That he can shield you from it, if you only let him, please, let him protect you from it, and from the rest, from anything and everything.  
“I wish you would let me decide,” he says as gently as he possibly can, but the restraint in his voice remains audible, and threatening. 
And through it, you hear everything he cannot tell you. And you believe him, believe he would keep you safe, from the world and from yourself, that he holds that much power. But how can you possibly choose your own happiness over his? 
Defeated, you let go of your bag, let it sway over your hip before it stills and hangs by your side. 
“I am going to leave him. Tomorrow. I mean tonight,” you state. “And then I’ll go home.”
Frankie straightens up, raising to his full height, lips parted, hardly breathing, for the word has hit him in the chest. 
“Home,” he repeats huskily. 
“Home. Paris.” The familiar name catches in your throat like a large bone, and you clench your teeth with all of your strength, giving yourself the illusion of a will power you fear you don’t possess.  
“No.”
You’ve never heard him speak this loud, and the determination in his voice makes you flinch, your bag falling on the tiles. What happens next unfolds so fast you don’t even think to recoil, your feet are riveted to the floor and all you do is watch, watch Frankie grab his cap and throw it in the room at random, watch him march towards you with heavy footsteps and stop abruptly, an inch short from your trembling body. 
His right hand curls at his side, once, twice, before he reaches up and places it at the base of your neck, large and firm and burning. His thumb is on your pulse point, where your heart is leaping in a frantic, erratic thrum, the exposed expanse of your skin a siren song to his lips. 
He stands so tall and solid, you have to tilt your head up to look at him, and times stills, at last, your whole world contained in the dark pools of his eyes. You feel so tiny under his palm, once again the urge to fit you inside him overthrows everything he has ever stood for. 
“I’m so tired, Frankie,” you implore. 
He lowers his face over yours, his lips brushing against your lips. 
“Stay,” he says, and his entire life vacillates on the tip of his plea. 
****
Bonus: Flaming June, Frederic, Lord Leighton (British, Scarborough 1830–1896 London), 1895. Oil on canvas, 119.1 × 119.1 cm. Museo de Arte de Ponce.
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