#kind of unsympathetic light sides?

[malliluvs]

begging for attention

♡ ellie williams x f! bratty reader

♡ ellie has been ignoring you all week, and you're needy. after watching her lay down for a nap after an intense workout, you see it as your time to strike

18+!!

warnings!

teasing, edging, cursing, smoking, ellie being really rough and mean :( , oral r!receiving / giving, light spanking? , hair pulling, after care, mostly smut, kind of hardcore

word count: 1.7k

you watched from the side of the small at home gym ellie had created for herself in the garage. you fidgeted in your seat as you watched ellie workout. her breasts straining against the her shirt, and her ass looked so good in those tights.

you tried to distract yourself from the ever growing aching from your core. ellie hadn't touched you in almost a week now, and she refused to tell you why. you could always pleasure yourself, but her fingers were bigger than yours, and she knew all the right ways to make you crumble.

ellie's muscles stretched against the fabric of her compression shirt. with every bench press she did, she gritted her teeth. a low growl emanated from the depths of her throat, a bead of sweat ran down her chin.

you were so used to ellie spoiling you, getting you whatever you wanted and touching you whenever you asked. it was frustrated for her to suddenly rip it all away and give you the bare minimum.

you felt hurt, but when you yelled at her for it, a smirk adorned her face. that's when you knew...

... this was her game.

she wanted you to beg for her attention, but you wouldn't do that. no. you'd take it.

-

ellie laid down on your shared bed, laying in a bra and some jeans. after her workout, she just wanted to relax and get high. her arm rested on her inner thigh, her legs spread open on the bed. she took a drag from her blunt, blowing out the smoke, her head leaning against the headboard

you snuck up between her open legs, leaning against her inner thigh. ellie felt a smirk pull at her lips, but she held it in and continued to ignore you.

this pissed you off.

you gave her the best puppy dog eyes you could muster up, but ellie wouldn't even spare a glance at you. instead of saying anything, you started to unzip her pants. ellie raised an eyebrow, but instead of interfering she wanted to see where this was gonna go.

ellie grabbed her phone, taking another drag of her blunt before unlocking her phone, scrolling on it aimlessly.

you swallowed an annoyed growl, but you couldn't help the ache in your core that you had been shoving down since this morning. you pulled her pants down just enough, and pulled her panties to the side, kissing her clit.

ellie gritted her teeth a took a deep breath, intent on ignoring you.

you sucked on her clit gently, looking up at her facial expressions.

ellie let out a guttural growl, closing her eyes, she moved her hips against your mouth, trying to fight that feeling. you continued to tease her, she had to break soon.

eventually ellie let out a loud groan as she sat up, gripping you hair and pulling your face up to her level. you smirked.

you got your way.

"you're a fucking brat, a slutty one at that." she growled, before suddenly shoving your face into the mattress.

"put your ass up, bitch." she said in your ear, her voice guttural and filled with irritation. before you could even move she placed her large, calloused hand on your stomach, pushing it up, forcing you on your knees.

you let out a loud yelp when she smacked your ass.

"you wanted my fucking attention right? now you're gonna get it." she said, smacking your ass again. she roughly pulled down your bottoms and panties, leaving your soaking cunt on full display.

you felt a shiver run down your back, the cool air hitting your wet core.

"god... you've been begging for me to touch you all week." ellie laughed, her voice harsh and unsympathetic. "you're such a slut for me... i can't stand it." she said, holding your legs down as her tongue ran up and down your lips, collecting the slick you've accumulated.

you let out a desperate moan, your hands gripping the sheets under you as her tongue abused your desperate cunt, her tongue moving expertly, licking you in all the right spots to make you fall apart.

"els... fuck!" you moaned, your eyes rolling back in your head.

ellie smirked, lightly sucking on your clit. "shut up and take it." use growled, the vibrations from her throaty voice sending your mind into overdrive. you could already felt your knees getting week, but ellies strong arms wrapped around your legs, spreading them so she could hit the deepest parts of you.

she stuck her tongue in your gaping hole, filling it with her longue, needy tongue, rubbing against the places you needed her the most. she rubbed your clit roughly with her hand, not interested in your own comfort.

you began to babble nonsense as your climax was approaching. ellie felt you tighten around her tongue, she knew you were close.

she pulled away, before grabbing you by your hair and pulling you up to her chest. you let out a whine.

"els pl-"

"shut the fuck up." she cut you off, her voice harsh and demanding.

she wrapped her hand around your neck, gripping it, making breathing uncomfortable, but you felt your mind go dizzy from her touch.

"you wanna cum? hm?" ellie asked, a smirk playing at her lips.

you nodded frantically. "ellie please... need.. I need... to cum... els..." you begged, you felt your slick running down your inner thigh, you couldn't do it anymore. you needed her and you needed her now.

"should I let my princess cum? hm? you think you deserve?" she said, patronizingly. you felt like you wanted to cry, you needed her so bad but she was denying you.

"yes yes yes." you repeated. "i'll be good... i'll be so good." you promised, your eyes glossed over.

ellie chuckled, before her hand slid down to your needy core, sticking three fingers in without warning. you threw your head back, letting out a loud gasp. she thrusted her fingers in rapidly, barely giving you time to breath.

"yeah... you like that don't you? oh I bet you do you little slut. you want me to fuck you senseless huh? look at you, losing your pretty little mind already."

your head rested against her shoulder, your loud moans filling the room. her words just added to your pleasure. ellie looked into your eyes, watching them roll back in your head with satisfaction. when you finally came undone, she brought her soaked fingers and pressed then against your red, pouty lips.

you were too exhausted to care, she slide her fingers in, making you clean her fingers clean.

once you had finished, she pushed you onto the bed. your head hit the pillow under you, as you looked up at ellie. she grabbed a small box from under your bed, taking out her strap. she put it on, not losing eye contact with you

she positioned herself over you. she held your leg over your shoulder. she pushed it in, she didn't even let you have time to adjust to the new length, never mind recover from your previous orgasm before she started recklessly pounding into you.

you let out a choked sob.

"els!" you moaned, your mind going blank as she hit your sweet spot over and over again, your already overstimulated core ached in a painful pleasure. you begged for her to stop, but you begged for her to keep going.

you felt those familiar butterflies in your stomach as your second orgasm of the night arrived.

"ellie... im coming..." you cried. ellie put a hand over your mouth. "shut up, you come when I tell you to." she growled.

you nodded, you already felt the tears pricking at your eyes. the sound of skin clapping and your desperate whines for release were like music to ellies ears.

"beg for it."

your eyes widened, you opened your mouth, but you barely understood what she said, your mind went blank as you focused on not letting yourself cum just yet.

"aww... is my pretty girl being fucked too dumb to understand?" she gripped your hair. "beg. for. it. you wanna come? beg for it. before I fuck those pretty lips like the slut you are."

your vision blurred as you tried to listen to ellie. you couldn't take it anymore, as you felt yourself coming on her strap. your back arched and you threw your head back.

ellie looked at you, her eyes filled with rage. she pulled out, her strap soaked with your juices.

as your mind cleared up, you realized what you did.

"did you just fucking cum?" ellie said, her tone strict and demanding. she gripped your hair, pulling you up and sitting you down in front of her strap, the tip teasing your bottom lip.

"look up at me." ellie demanded.

you looked up at her. "im sorry ellie... I... I couldn't handle it-" suddenly you were cut off by her forcing you down on her strap.

the taste of your juices mixed with the plastic you so desperately missed the taste of entered your mouth as she roughly fucked your mouth.

"I can't fucking stand sluts like you." ellie said, biting her lip at the sight. "you're not even trying to deny me. you want me to fuck you like this, this is why you've been such a fucking bratty bitch all week."

with every thrust of her hips the tip of the strap hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag. spit dribbled down your chin, the tears that threatened to fall before were on full display.

"oh... is my bitch crying?" ellie said, wiping your tears.

"maybe you'll think before fucking with me again." she said, before pulling out.

you gasped for air, clinging onto her thigh. she sat down next to you, wiping the spit off your abused lips before kissing you.

"Shh... it's okay baby." she said comfortingly, rubbing your back. "you okay?" she said, smiling at you.

you nodded, as she wiped away your tears, she brought you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up.

when she laid you back down on the bed, you ran her hands through your hair comfortingly, whispering praises in your ear.

"you did so well for me."

"god... you looked so pretty." she said, while peppering your face with kisses.

she wrapped her arms around you, as you two fell asleep.

one thing you knew.

you'd be doing this again.

-

(idk if this is good but I started laughing while making this bc imagine if you had a wig and ellie pulled your hair and it just came off)

[pricegouge]

I got thinking of all the other fun ways you could sensually burn someone that doesn't involve the possibility of giving your partner a third degree burn, so here's John refusing to put his cigar out on you.

John Price x gn!reader. Could be a soldier or a civilian, doesn't really matter

cw for drinking. burning, obviously. including 'light' branding. mouth as ashtray. unsafe + under negotiated kink practices. use of 'sir'. spit kink (why am I writing this so much lately?) brief mentions of sex, but nothing explicit here. mostly just weird ass fun. super abrupt ending/no aftercare because i had chores to do and wanted to wrap this up. not edited either, sorry. 

The first time you'd asked, John had looked considerate for all of two seconds before hitting you with the 'not tonight, love,' and distracting any follow up requests you might have had by fucking you so good and deep you were fairly certain you'd been bruised with the shape of him. He never brings it up again, so you do, weeks later, when he has you on your knees between his own, head tilted onto his thick thigh while he simply enjoys the taste of his cigar. He doesn't even bother touching you, one hand cradling a glass of scotch on the arm of his chair, the other rotating the smoking object of your attention.

"I want to try something," you mumble, voice low. Embarrassed. You hate asking for things twice, afraid to seem needy. But John had never given you a reason as to why he wouldn't do it last time, so you bite back your shame and hide yourself away amongst the folds of his thick cargos when he looks down at you. They've been softened over the years by wear and sweat, the weave buffed so thin it pills in the places his holster would rub against it. You rub your lips over them. Distracting yourself, maybe. Desperate for his softness, more like. Still, that's not what you ask for when he prompts you to continue. 

"Want you to put that out on me."

You don't bother clarifying what you're referring to. John knows. 

He places it in the ashtray now, leaning forward to run his hand over your scalp, calluses catching. There's still some smoke stuck between his teeth. It spills out across your face when he speaks, cedar and tea. "Not sure that's a good idea, pet."

You want to tell him of course it isn't, that you want his indifference. To bear the brunt of his recklessness. But John has always kept that side of himself carefully sequestered away from you, and admitting what you want in this case will only draw it further away. So when he looks down at you, eyes kind but confused, you can only whisper a soft, "Please."

John sighs, chest swelling and falling as he slumps back into his seat. He's not unsympathetic as his thick knuckles brush your temple, stroke the crest of your ear. "We can find something else for you," he hedges.

"But I want -."

"Is it the cigar itself? The smoking?" He sounds doubtful, knows the only time you smoke is when he breathes it into your lungs himself. Knows you don't plan on changing that any time soon.

But he's wrong because it is the cigar, and the smoking, and it's John most importantly. His scent, the authority he carries so effortlessly, so intricately tied to the hyper macho habit that shouldn't work but does because he can't help being himself. You don't know how to articulate that though, let alone explain why you want it seared into your flesh. Instead, you simply say, "Yes."

"Right," John grunts. "I thought about it, after you asked." He pulls a face, distasteful, continues, "Don't relish the idea of giving you such a nasty scar, pet."

"I'd take care of it," you gripe, pouty. John gives you a look that dares you to interrupt him again.

"I know you would. Always do such a good job taking care of me," he winks. "But there are tars and such in cigars that hinder the healing. Not to mention the ash that winds up in the wound," he grimaces.

For a moment, you allow yourself to fantasize; imagine that the oils would be trapped in your skin forever, that the burn would be left smelling earthy and dense instead of barbeque and antiseptic. But you know he's right, and acquiesce with a nod.

Thoughtful, John's hand leaves your face to take another drag. "C'mere," smoke leaks from his lips like a faucet as he says it and you know he'll offer you a drink in consolation for the request he's denied you. You're not disappointed when he guides you closer to him with a heavy palm on the nape of your neck, the warm butt of the cigar just slightly damp where it presses into your skin there. You take John's offering happily enough, take his cock even more enthusiastically after that.

No, the disappointment doesn't set in until the weeks that follow come and go, and the only indication you receive that John's even thought about your request comes in the form of a box of strike anywhere matches on his office desk one morning, a bic the next.

***

He waits until he returns from leave, ensuring you've been good in his absence before giving you your reward.

"Kneel, pet." He nods at the pillow set to the right of his office sofa, minimal and threadbare, cozy enough to pad your achy joints just fine. He uses it to soften his desk chair when you're not using it, you know. He would never make you use something he hadn't properly vetted first, after all.

You pout, having expected to be sat on his lap for your reward like you always are, but John just tuts, eyes warm.

"You'll like it, I promise."

He waits until you've settled to start setting up. He brings a decanter of scotch over with two glasses, pours you both one. He places his own on the side board and yours upon the coffee table. You don't reach for it, too busy watching his movements. Choosing a cigar is a long, drawn out affair involving much sniffing. Occasionally, he'll offer one to you to sample, taking into consideration whether the leathery notes make you crinkle your nose, or if the floral scents make you tilt in consideration. Whatever he settles on, he does not offer you a chance to veto.

You expect him to sit down after that, but he pats his pockets down theatrically, moving to his desk one last time when he finds them empty of whatever it is he's looking for. You don't bother hiding your interest as he shuffles through his drawers, but before you can catch a glimpse of whatever he's after, he turns his mischievous eyes on you.

"Eyes forward. Keep your mouth open and your teeth bared."

A gag? Some reward. It's a struggle not to roll your eyes, but you know John hates a brat, and you don't want to ruin whatever fun he's got planned for you tonight, so you do as you're told, staring up at the collection of framed medals hanging above the couch while he rumages about for a moment longer. When he comes into your peripheral, you hear him carefully lining some objects along the coffee table, but you don't dare look.

John notices, humming appreciatively as he finally takes a seat at the end of the sofa. "Being so good for me already, pet." His knuckles are heavy and rough where he strokes your temple, down to your jaw. You watch his eyes, note the way they cloud darker as his fingertips find your teeth. Along your bottom incisors, up to push against a canine. He calls you a good pet when the pads of his fingers stick to your dry enamel, and you cock your head in confusion. 

Smiling, John pinches your front teeth between thumb and forefinger, rubbing back and forth as is memorizing all the dips and edges. A small sound escapes your throat, unsure if you should be worried he's going to try pulling one. But John's eyes are far from cruel when his fingers abandon your teeth in favor of bringing his free hand to your face. You feel something coarse brush your bottom lip briefly, and then gasp and reel back in surprise when a soft pop is the only warning you get before a match ignites in your face.

John pays you no mind, twirling the end of his cigar over the match while you struggle to figure out why you taste sulfur. Your fingers find your teeth as if checking they are still there, relief flooding into understanding as you feel a foreign, chalky powder on the tip of your dry tongue. He'd struck the match off your teeth, the cocky bastard.

When the match goes out, John's cigar is only half lit. Reaching for another match, he tuts at you until you get your hands out of his way, offer up your fucking teeth for his use again. This time, you're expecting the strike and you don't flinch away when it ignites, heat spilling across your cheeks while he lets it burn for a moment just inches away. 

This time, when he lights his cigar, he puffs on it like one would light a cigarette, thick clouds of smoke building around him. "Close your mouth, pet. Get it nice and wet," he mumbles between deep drags.

It would be embarrassing, the speed at which you obey, if not for how sure you are that you will like your reward. Sure enough, by the time John's cigar is lit, the match has burnt down to his fingers, and he leans over you expectantly, spitting on your tongue when you open your mouth for his inspection. His eyes lock on your when he lowers the burning match stick to your tongue, but if he expected to find protest, he doesn't get any. 

The match tastes like ash, but it doesn't feel like anything as it sizzles against the wad of spit on your tongue.

"Good?" John asks as he tosses the used match to the side. It's perhaps a bit late, but appreciated all the same. You nod, emphatic, and John smiles down at you, perhaps a touch regretfully. Still, he's calm and confident when he pries your mouth open again, dangling another thick line of spit into your mouth. Honestly, it tastes worse than the match did, tar-soaked and heavy with nicotine.

That doesn't stop you from vibrating in excitement when he holds his cigar over your mouth carefully. There's a moment of intense eye contact, John trying to ascertain for certain that you can handle this. You don't dare move your mouth, but you pour every ounce of acceptance and eagerness into your gaze. John accepts with a soft huff through his nose. "Your reward," he informs you, tapping the shaft of his cigar heavily.

The shower of ash is minimal, but enough to make you flinch when one tiny fleck lands on your sensitive lips. John notices, holds his cigar off to the side in favor of leaning close and licking across your mouth. You meet him for as long as he allows, reveling in the oaky taste that coats his tongue. 

When he sits back, he's donned that serious expression he adopts whenever he's indulging you. You want to ask if he's sure he's good, but the words stick in your throat - congealed. John rolls up his left sleeve, displaying a series of four pink, inflamed marks on the inside of his forearm for your inspection. Ranging from the size of a pencil eraser up to half dollar, the smallest of the marks look the angriest: red and nobby in some places, they look like they will heel badly; whereas the largest of the lot looks hardly noticeable, a flat dark spot at worst. 

John takes another deep drag from his cigar, lets the rich smoke fall across your face as he talks through his exhale. "Are there any of these you don't think you can handle?"

You shake your head excitedly and John brushes his free hand over your throat, calming. Grounding. "'Course you can handle them, eh? Always so good for me." He squeezes your throat once, just because he knows you'll follow as he pulls away. You do, and he spreads his knees wider to accommodate you. 

"It's important you remember this is a reward, yeah? So you don't need to push yourself, or anything like that. If at any point you want to stop, you just need to say. Got ice packs in the freezer for you already," John nods at the minifridge in the corner. 

When he asks if you understand, you just nod, correcting yourself when he gives you an expectant look. "Yes, sir."

"Good pet. If you sit well for me - that means no flinching, no crying, and no whining if I take too long, you'll be rewarded after each one," he flicks his cigar illustratively, sending a small storm of ash falling into the tray on the table next to you. "Now, we're going to start with this one," John points at the second largest mark on his arm, a dense patch of three distinct burns no more than a half inch across. "This one shouldn't scar, but it is fairly recognizable if one knew what they were looking for. Where do you want this one?"

He's not wrong about it being recognizable. It takes you a minute but you remember being a pesky teen, pushing the tops of heated bic lighters against the faux leather of school bus seats, the distinctive pattern in which they'd melt. You know what it'll look like, to be spotted sporting something like that. 

"My thigh," you declare without really thinking, but you grow more confident when you think of the tender flesh, the way the relatively minor mark will feel there as compared to the angrier ones.

"Pants off then, pet."

You scramble to obey while John flicks the lighter. He tilts it so the open flame coats the metal, keeping his thumb safe on the butane pedal. He's still heating it when you come to stand between his knees. Distractedly, he asks where you'd like it, and then peers up at you from under dense brows when you point to a spot high on your thigh.

"Alright, sweetheart." John lets the lighter gutter out, then blows on it a moment. He presses it lightly against the pad of his other hand, testing. He doesn't even flinch, and part of you wants to tell him not to take it easy on you. But then he's asking if you're ready, and you're nodding, biting back a squeal as the hot metal is pressed into the meat of your thigh.

You don't flinch, but it's hard fought. It's more shocking than painful, but easy enough to ease into when John's right there, solid and warm. He coos at you, soft words you barely bother to discern. You lean against him because he didn't say you couldn't, and the movement presses the lighter into you more. It's cooling, technically, though it still feels hot as sin against the sensitive flesh.

John waits until your breaths come in huffs to relent, still murmuring sweetly. He tells you how good you are, how pretty you're gonna look covered in his marks. 

"I hope they scare," you admit, stupidly. John doesn't respond, but his eyes are intense when he guides you back down to your knees.

"Get your mouth good and wet, pet. Open when you're ready."

You watch him puff away at his cigar while you work to coat your mouth in saliva. You can tell he knows he looks good by the way he settles into the couch, legs spread like a whore. You want to be in his lap for this, consider asking for it before your next reward. For now, you settle for opening your mouth, preening when he inspects your tongue and finds it properly coated. 

"Ready?" he asks, and you nod, opening wider in excitement just to drink down the burnt taste when he drops it into your mouth, whining at the dissatisfaction of having no real substance to swallow around. 

"Fuck," John groans, "you love this, don't you, pet?"

You nod, hands coming up to his thighs. You walk yourself closer, unsure what you want but knowing you need to be closer. 

He obliges, tucking his cigar between his teeth so he can cup your face with both hands. "So good for me. Knew you'd like it." He grabs one of your wrists, mustache tickling the sensitive skin there as he licks a hot stripe over you. "Ready?" he asks, and you barely have time to register what he means before he's dropping more ash onto you.

There's not enough spit - not enough time has passed for ash to properly build up. You can't help the yelp you emit when a tiny ember smolders against your flesh. John shushes you, the little thing having already burned itself out. "You're okay," he says, and you are - just a pin prick pink mark left. "You need a minute?"

You take a moment to consider, but shake your head. 

"Use your words, pet," he warns.

"I'm ready to continue."

He hums. "Good job." Turning his forearm so you can see the marks there again, John points to the second smallest. Taller than the last, but thinner, the skin here looks blistered and angry, but the shape is indiscernible to you - just a thin, ovular line. 

"This next. Might scar, but pretty unidentifiable. Where we putting this one?"

Holding out the palm of your non-dominant hand, you point at the pad of your palm, wanting something highly visible and fleshy. 

"You sure," he asks, already reaching across you to pick something up off the coffee table. For the first time it occurs to you that you can look, and you go to follow his movements but John stops you with a hand on your jaw. "Eyes on me," he growls. It's the closest thing you've had to a real order all evening.

It's a zippo lighter this time, the click of it low and satisfying as he lights it. You don't have anything to occupy yourself with this time, so you're forced to sit patiently while he heats the lip of the cage around the flame. When he'd said earlier that you wouldn't get your reward if you were too impatient, you hadn't thought much of it. But now, twiddling your thumbs as you watch him concentrate, counting silently to a set number you do not know, the whine you promised not to make builds silently in your throat. 

You can tell by the set of his mouth that he doesn't stop counting, but his eyes find yours, challenging. You settle yourself more firmly on your cushion, determined.

The zippo is less pleasant. You groan when the thin, hot knife of it presses into your skin, but you don't look away from John, and you certainly don't flinch. He doesn't hold it in place as long this time, throwing it back onto the table behind you after only a few seconds as he presses kisses against your palm. 

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says as he eventually pulls away. "We can be done."

"No!" you cry, pain in your palm already forgotten. "No, sir, please, wanna finish."

"Next one's going to hurt worse," he warns, but you shake your head. 

"I don't mind. This one wasn't even that bad, it just -. It was different. Surprised me."

He frowns down at you suspiciously, but you're not lying and you let him look. John nods his acceptance after a moment, perhaps a bit too relieved. "You want your reward still, pet?"

"Yes," you enthuse, "only -." John cocks his head expectantly and you bite your lip. "Can I sit in your lap this time?"

"Oh, sweetheart," he grins, "of course." It takes him a moment to re-settle everything, bringing his supplies up to the side table which he turns you away from. But then you're comfortably tucked against his chest, mouth open expectantly for the reward which shouldn't be a reward, but very much is. Especially when he holds you tight after, licks into your mouth to share the dry remnants. 

"This next one's the worst one. Do you want to skip it? The last one is the easiest."

You hesitate. "Can I ask what it is?"

"You may ask what the next one is, but not the last one."

"What's the next one?"

John reaches behind you, produces a singular match. "This one smarts, I won't lie. And it will definitely scar."

Part of you wants to rise to the challenge - wants to prove to him you can weather anything he can. You're about to accept it when he reminds you, voice low, "This is supposed to be a reward, pet."

You deflate before you even realize you'd gotten all worked up. "Can we skip it?"

"Of course we can, sweetheart. Thank you for asking." He presses whiskery kisses to your temple, keeps his lips pressed there when he asks if you still want to do the last one.

"That's the big, pink mark, eh?" you hold his forearm up for your inspection, studying the only remaining mark it could be.

"Yes," he confirms.

"And you said it didn't hurt?"

"Barely even felt it."

You know you can be done, that John will fuck you just as well tonight as he always does on his first night back after a mission. You can say you've had enough, probably even ask for one last reward because you'd done so well explaining what you wanted.

But it would be a lie, if you did, because you know John's saved the best for last, and you do want it.

When you tell him as much, John grins happily and kisses you deeply. 

"This one won't hurt. Won't scar, either, but it'll be pretty obvious what's done it to the boys around base while it heals."

You know what he means when you hear the jangle of his dog tags behind you. "Here," you breathe, pointing to your chest before he can even ask where you want it.

"You sure, pet? The boys'll know what it was if -."

"Don't care," you insist, already taking your top off. You point to the flat of your sternum, drum your fingers there excitedly. "Here, please, sir."

"Alright," he chuckles, placing his cigar back in the ashtray. "Give me a minute."

As it turns out, you do have to give him a full minute while he heats the metal over the open flame of the zippo. You nearly break your promise to yourself not to whine, especially when your eager rocking has you pressing up against his hard cock. John only spares you a dark look when you discover his state, rocking his hips up only once - and there more as a threat to dislodge you than to actually provide either of you friction. 

But then he's deemed the tag hot enough, and he's urging you to lay back over the arm of the sofa. He doesn't ask if you're ready this time, simply presses the metal against you with his own bare palm. You writhe under him, jittery and unmoored. He doesn't help when he takes a nipple into his mouth, breaths heavy and hot against your skin.

John doesn't pull the tag away until it's gone skin-warm, heat transferred to both of you fairly quickly. He brushes his whiskers over the inflamed skin after, just to watch you twitch and hiss, and then presses one last kiss there before sitting up. 

"One last reward, pet?" 

You nod, sliding to your knees between his unthinkingly. He doesn't ask why, just guides your head back by the grip he gets on the cradle of your skull. You know the drill by now, but you open your mouth far too soon, groan happily when he tuts and coats your mouth with his own spit. 

"Should withhold this just for that," he growls, but he's far too eager when he pulls deeply from his cigar, inspects the end to be sure there's adequate ash. "Ready?" he asks, and you simply stick your tongue out further in answer.

Sequel >>

[msfbgraves]

Did you read the article about how the creators of CK are goi by to tarnish Mr. Miyagi’s memory and have Daniel face the mirror in season 6? When will they just come out and say they hate Daniel and Miyagi? When will fucking Johnny Lawrence face the mirror and grow the fuck up, be a dad to his biological kid, and apologize to Daniel? Fuck this show, I’m so SICK of this shit. I grew up watching KK in the 80s, and clearly the writers favor the deadbeat loser that is Johnny and despise Daniel. I’m not watching this show anymore, I’m only here for the fanfic. Fuck this show!!

Ralph said that he agreed to Cobra Kai for a big part because of Creed. Seeing that you can continue something from the perspective of the opponent. But Creed has never been on a mission to show us that everything Rocky ever did was secretly misguided and borderline evil. It was about finding mutual respect. Cobra Kai was set up as the same thing, or so they said, but from the first episode onwards it was on a systematic mission to show Daniel in the most unsympathetic light possible. To prove him wrong, to show his kindness as nothing more than weakness and hypocrisy because, apparently, the message of the film was is painful to confront that the creators of the show need to undo it. Expose it. Defend their egos from the statement: bullying is wrong and hurts people. There has to be 'another side', a side in which the bullies are actually in the right. Because Daniel, by being kind and a little annoying, must be wrong. Must deserve it. These writers are not kind, it seems, and so kindness must be bad. Hardness, revenge, and an absence of mercy most win out. Because we must be taught that this is the nature of humanity and therefore, this hardness must be celebrated. Kindness must not exist in such a worldview, and therefore any kindness must be exposed as deception. As hidden cruelty. If cruelty is the nature of man, then surely it is better to be upfront and cruel than deceptive and cruel. This is how Johnny can win. If kindness doesn't exist, surely the honest man must trump the liar. And therefore the honest cruel man is good, and the dishonest cruel man is bad. But again this only works if innate kindness is a lie. Because if it's not, the kind man is better than the hard man, of course! And they can't deal with that. They don't feel kindness, apparently, and in order to prove themselves and their claimed avatar Johnny as still being good, kindness must be exposed.

Except there is nothing to expose in Daniel and Mr. Miyagi. They're not perfect, even in the first film. Miyagi had faults! He'd turned away from the world. Daniel had faults. Kind as he was, he was rather insensitive towards his Ma at times, because he felt Lucille had been insensitive to his needs. Also, you have to rebel somehow. But it doesn't go much further than that. He still comes to see her at work. He lets her teach him to dance. He tells her about his girlfriends. And yes, Daniel can be a little vindictive to those who have wronged him, spraying Johnny with water and exposing Chozen's scheme. What a monster! Do we remember the time he punched Chozen in the dick? Literally below the belt, what a sneaky thing to do at his own mugging!

As for Miyagi, he could be insensitive to Daniel's needs, too! Daniel lashed out at him and lied to him. They were never perfect. But they were always kind and that is something CK cannot stand. And since there is nothing in the films to indicate that they were being insincere, the writers decided to make something up. Ultra violent Miyagi secrets, I dunno. Maybe they retroactively are going to make Miyagi into a war criminal to uplift Kreese. And of course the only way to prepare for the Sekai Taikai is by bringing in Mike Barnes to be brutal. (It's not like they have a Japanese lifelong sensei on hand who has likely competed there himself and knows the culture inside out?)

Yet if kindness actually exists, even if they don't feel it, they can still sense this is wrong. And it must not be wrong! They cannot abide that cruelty is wrong!!!

Except....

They always excuse their heroes lashing out by them having been treated unkindly. Okay. So suffering unkindness is unjust, retaliating out of having suffered unkindness is just, but being unkind is strong? OK... So Cruelty = strength. Suffering cruelty = weak. Revenge = strong. Kindness = a lie. Loving=vulnerable and weak, but cruelty=strength, strength = deserving of love, therefore the cruel are entitled to love. People receiving love by being loving are the weak getting rewarded for weakness, which is wrong and must be punished, aka Daniel deserves to be beaten for being kind to Ali. Cruelty deserves love, but giving love is weak. Johnny is entitled to Daniel's friendship because Johnny is strong and cruel and Daniel is lying and weak, because kind. And this kindness (which is a lie???) is still something Johnny is entitled to by virtue of being openly crueler and therefore stronger, more upfront, and just, but he is not obligated to give it. Causing pain strong, retaliating by causing pain is also strong and nobody ever suffers any lasting consequences. Except when it's Robby but he deserved it for having been nicer than before, and being a constant reminder of Johnny's failure as a parent. Can't make our hero look bad by existing OK?

This is a: psychopathic thinking, and b: flies in the face of everything The Karate Kid stood for. Ralph is doing his utmost to minimise the character assassination of Daniel but Pat Morita is no longer alive to defend himself so fair game. I can't imagine what Kamen thinks of all this. And yeah, what they're doing to everyone who needed an uplifting story about imperfect but good people is painful. If you don't have the emotional maturity to see that violence leads to hurt, leads to more fighting, leads to hurt and death and disfigurement unless someone steps in and says: enough with the violence, you're basically a toddler. And a malicious one! But they've given the toddlers free rein at Netflix. I'm sure the next thing they write will be a series on why Rosa Parks is the epitome of evil.

I got sucked in because of the dedication of William Zabka and Ralph Macchio and now I feel betrayed. My one hope is that these actors always bring grace to this malicious writing and make something interesting out of something mean spirited. But if CK gets the GOT treatment in popular culture? Good.

[frickerdoodledoo]

Soooo... guess who got really nostolgic while having a cold and binge-watched all of Sanders Sides again after almost a year?

For the last few days I have been sucked down a rabbit-hole of Fandercontent, and let me just say... while this fandom is so creative, there are just a few things I wish people utilized more in fics, you know?

(Disclaimer, I live on angst and the Dark Sides are my three favourite characters, so most of these are about both of those subjects. Also not a huge fan of non-mindscape au's, so these are all about canon-adjacent fanfiction. My only AU is Sympathetic Dark Sides where they all coexist. Yes, even Remus.)

First and foremost, and this is what inspired this post until I found more things after, why do I see so few fics that include Virgil's Dark Side Voice™? It happens whenever he get's too stressed in canon, and from how he reacts whenever it happens, it seems to be a bit of an insecurity for him. Why aren't angst authors jumping on that?

Guys. We... we all saw the end-card of Flirt or Flight, right? How come so few do anything regarding Virgil's colour-changing eyeshadow? It's adorable, it's gorgeous, talk about it, please!

When Janus takes off the gloves in order to show himself to be truthful about his name... why??? He did that for a reason. If it was just about the typical "Cross my heart" pose, there was nothing stopping him from leaving on the gloves unless their was a reason to take them off! Theorize, go nuts! (I personally believe that his scales fluctuate in their coverage of his skin, and his hands being completely human shows that he's being honest. He wears gloves to make his lies less obvious.)

And on the subject of Janus' lies, has anybody else realized that for the embodiment of Thomas' Deceitfulness... he's actually kind of a terrible liar? While disguised as other sides, he always drops some pretty obvious hints that he's not the real Patton or Logan. And whenever he does his whole "speaking in lies" thing, he has this tone about him that makes it clear to... almost everyone, (Cough cough except Roman apparently), that he's lying, or atleast just being sarcastic?

In the Five Year Anniversary special, Virgil, Remus, and Janus refer to themselves as the Cousin, Uncle, and Aunt respectively. And I know that there actually is a fair amount of content about the Dark Sides being a seperate but related family, but I just feel like not many people talk about the low-key confirmation of that as a reality, ya know?

More.👏 Protective.👏 Dark Sides.👏 They've known eachother for so long, no matter how close the whole family is, Virgil, Remus and Janus would naturally know eachother better than any of the others.

If we are to assume that Janus even just unstably co-exists with the Light Sides, (like pre-redemption Virgil), post-Redux, but Remus doesn't... Well, that's the third person that Remus actually has a connection to that just... left him. First Roman, then Virgil, now Janus. (I personally believe that the Orange side will just be an Unsympathetic Dick, so he doesn't count, but that's just me.)

I am a "Former Paranoia Virgil" Truther, as are many others in the fandom. However, something I wish I saw more of is others not catching themselves when calling Virgil paranoid. Even better, the Dark Sides not realising how much thinking of that part of his past affects him, thinking nothing of it and then feeling really guilty.

And that's all the canon-supported stuff, but just... one last thing. Consider the following:

The Orange Side is a relatively new "Relevant" or "Consious" Side, his existance only needed when suddenly there were only two Dark Sides and still three Light Sides

Janus is Patton's foil because he represents an "immoral" side to Thomas, and Remus is Roman's foil as a flip-side to one, single concept. Virgil used to be Logan's foil before his redemption, because senseless overthinking and paranoia defies logic.

This need for a foil doesn't apply to Virgil, because he is no longer a Dark Side, but he isn't really a Light Side either. A Grey Side, if you will.

Virgil encompasses both the good and bad aspects of Anxiety, and is even capable of representing more of an excitement or sense of anticipation, hence the purple eyeshadow seen in Fight or Flirt. He is his own foil in the same way that Roman and Remus are eachother's. They're the good and bad of creativity, Virgil is the good and bad of anxiety.

I am most likely not the first person to come up with this, but this is just my specific take.

Anyway, I am probably going to go write atleast half of these prompts myself, so if any of these concepts interest you... maybe stick around?

[13eyond13]

What makes Death Note special to you? Like, why do you love it?

BOY, I don't know if I can think of everything to list everything all at once. But here are a few reasons off the top of my head:

• it's one of the funniest things I have ever read/watched while also being pretty thought-provoking and angsty/horror-ish too. It makes me laugh as well as be serious and sad and scared simultaneously all at once and nearly constantly, which is a fairly rare experience for me with anything I read or watch. And I can't stress enough how refreshing it is that DN is extremely far from pretentious or overly self-serious despite all its heavy subject matter and the big questions it explores! It's just as goofy as it is grim, and it pokes fun at itself and its own characters all the time, which I think adds to its longterm appeal and palatable-ness so much

• I love how lonely and kind of pathetic most of the characters are in certain ways while also just being very fun to look at and drawn so pretty and attractive and cool. Super relatable and endearing to me how awkward and lopsided most of their relationships with each other are, and how rarely any of them are ever actually having a good time or a successful social interaction or whatever lol

• I also love how much inner monologuing this series has, and how so much of the emotional stuff is always going on under the surface or secretly inside everybody's heads or left up to interpretation instead of just explicitly spelled out and said. It feels incredibly true to life for me, maybe because I'm a pretty quiet person with a moderate amount of social anxiety 😅

• the blend of realistic mundane real-world normie stuff like office drama and high school drama with the fantastical shinigami and notebook stuff is incredibly fun to me. I think it feels more dramatically impactful to have the supernatural things going on in a human world that feels very grounded and real (most of the time... at least in the Japanese world, I think it gets a little more cartoonish and unrealistic in the Wammy's/American settings haha)

•genuinely interesting and well-written cast of characters and a plot that gave me some iconic shocking-in-a-good-way twists. And I love that I didn't ever feel overly manipulated by the narrative into feeling one way or the other about most of the characters - like it never tried too hard to make me feel sorry for anybody who I might find really unsympathetic because of their behaviour or something, which would probably annoy me a lot

•Light is one of the most fun and dynamic protagonists I've ever come across in fiction thus far. He's definitely a love him or hate him kinda guy, but I fall pretty staunchly on the love him side (though no, I don't think that he was valid/right)

•it's just an unusually enjoyable series to be in a fandom for, I think? There's so much here for fans to work with and explore and experiment with and meme and elaborate upon, it's just endlessly reworkable for some reason. And all the funny and smart and kind and interesting people I've met through the fandom over the years are definitely the main reason I continue to stick around and find it a very homey place on the internet to be

[hug-your-face]

I Know What You Think of Me

By Tim Kreider (June 15, 2013)

1. The word "oof"

Recently I received an e-mail that wasn’t meant for me, but was about me. I’d been cc’d by accident. This is one of the darker hazards of electronic communication, Reason No. 697 Why the Internet Is Bad — the dreadful consequence of hitting “reply all” instead of “reply” or “forward.” The context is that I had rented a herd of goats for reasons that aren’t relevant here and had sent out a mass e-mail with photographs of the goats attached to illustrate that a) I had goats, and b) it was good. Most of the responses I received expressed appropriate admiration and envy of my goats, but the message in question was intended not as a response to me but as an aside to some of the recipient’s co-workers, sighing over the kinds of expenditures on which I was frittering away my uncomfortable income. The word “oof” was used.

I’ve often thought that the single most devastating cyberattack a diabolical and anarchic mind could design would not be on the military or financial sector but simply to simultaneously make every e-mail and text ever sent universally public. It would be like suddenly subtracting the strong nuclear force from the universe; the fabric of society would instantly evaporate, every marriage, friendship and business partnership dissolved. Civilization, which is held together by a fragile web of tactful phrasing, polite omissions and white lies, would collapse in an apocalypse of bitter recriminations and weeping, breakups and fistfights, divorces and bankruptcies, scandals and resignations, blood feuds, litigation, wholesale slaughter in the streets and lingering ill will.

This particular e-mail was, in itself, no big deal. Tone is notoriously easy to misinterpret over e-mail, and my friend’s message could have easily been read as affectionate head shaking rather than a contemptuous eye roll. It’s frankly hard to parse the word “oof” in this context. And let’s be honest — I am terrible with money, but I’ve always liked to think of this as an endearing foible. What was surprisingly wounding wasn’t that the e-mail was insulting but simply that it was unsympathetic. Hearing other people’s uncensored opinions of you is an unpleasant reminder that you’re just another person in the world, and everyone else does not always view you in the forgiving light that you hope they do, making all allowances, always on your side. There’s something existentially alarming about finding out how little room we occupy, and how little allegiance we command, in other people’s heads.

2. It is simply not pleasant to be objectively observed

This experience is not a novelty of the information age; it’s always been available to us by the accident of overhearing a conversation at the wrong moment. I’ve written essays about friends that I felt were generous and empathetic, which they experienced as devastating. I’ve also been written about, in ways I could find no fault with but that were nonetheless excruciating for me to read. It is simply not pleasant to be objectively observed — it’s like seeing a candid photo of yourself online, not smiling or posing, but simply looking the way you apparently always do, oblivious and mush-faced with your mouth open. It’s proof that we are visible to others, that we are seen, in all our naked silliness and stupidity.

Needless to say, this makes us embarrassed and angry and damn our betrayers as vicious two-faced hypocrites. Which, in fact, we all are. We all make fun of one another behind one another’s backs, even the people we love. Of course we do — they’re ridiculous. Anyone worth knowing is inevitably also going to be exasperating: making the same obvious mistakes over and over, dating imbeciles, endlessly relapsing into their dumb addictions and self-defeating habits, blind to their own hilarious flaws and blatant contradictions and fiercely devoted to whatever keeps them miserable. (And those few people about whom there is nothing ridiculous are by far the most preposterous of all.)

Just as teasing someone to his face is a way of letting him know that you know him better than he thinks, making fun of him behind his back is a way of bonding with your mutual friends, reassuring one another that you both know and love and are driven crazy by this same person.

Although sometimes, let’s just admit, we’re simply being mean. A friend of mine described the time in high school when someone walked up behind her while she was saying something clever at that person’s expense as the worst feeling she had ever had — and not just because of the hurt she’d inflicted on someone else but because of what it forced her to see about herself. That she made fun of people all the time, people who didn’t deserve it, who were beneath her in the social hierarchy, just to ingratiate herself or make herself seem funny or cool.

3. Do I want to be loved in spite of?

Another friend once shared with me one of the aphorisms of 12-step recovery programs: “What other people think of you is none of your business.” Like a lot of wisdom, this sounds at first suspiciously similar to idiotic nonsense; obviously what other people think of you is your business, it’s your main job in life to try to control it, to do tireless P.R. and spin control for yourself. Every woman who ever went out with you must pine for you forever. Those who rejected you must regret it. You must be loved, respected — above all, taken seriously! They who mocked you will rue the day! The problem is that this is insane — the psychology of dictators who regard all dissent as treason, and periodically order purges to ensure unquestioning loyalty. It’s no way to run a country.

The operative fallacy here is that we believe that unconditional love means not seeing anything negative about someone, when it really means pretty much the opposite: loving someone despite their infuriating flaws and essential absurdity. “Do I want to be loved in spite of?” Donald Barthelme writes in his story “Rebecca” about a woman with green skin. “Do you? Does anyone? But aren’t we all, to some degree?”

We don’t give other people credit for the same interior complexity we take for granted in ourselves, the same capacity for holding contradictory feelings in balance, for complexly alloyed affections, for bottomless generosity of heart and petty, capricious malice. We can’t believe that anyone could be unkind to us and still be genuinely fond of us, although we do it all the time.

4. The mortifying ordeal of being known

Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

[cadybear420]

Some people have different takes. Not on everything. But on some. So some of what you may deem as “problematic” may not be problematic to someone else. Or the way you interpret something may not have be the same experience for someone else. It’s like with QB: some people deemed Ian/Ina and MCs relationship problematic. Others didn’t. I played TCH and I in no way felt like Kieran “abused” MC at all and know others who don’t feel that way either. If people made certain choices that made their playthrough different, that was their experience. In my playthrough and experience, that didn’t happen. You can’t tell people they’re ignoring something problematic just because you feel that it is. And that’s where a lot of the issues arise here is when people try to force their opinion and line of thinking on others, and it happens on both sides. Again, everyone experiences and interprets things differently, especially when it comes to fictional stories and their characters.

Some people have different takes. Not on everything. But on some. So some of what you may deem as “problematic” may not be problematic to someone else. Or the way you interpret something may not have be the same experience for someone else.

True, but here's the thing. As I said in my previous post, people are entitled to their opinions. I am a firm believer in having different opinions and interpretations of media.

For example, some people see Ajay from HSS:CA as an irredeemable, rude, and unsympathetic character. Others (myself included) see him as a character who is fleshed out, has demonstrated character growth, and is kind of a victim of lazy writing. I don't agree at all with the people who see him in a negative light, but that's their opinion and experience. Even though I think he's "objectively" an okay person as a character, I can understand why many others would dislike him.

But there also comes a point where you go from just having a different opinion or experience to just straight up getting stuff wrong. For example...

It’s like with QB: some people deemed Ian/Ina and MCs relationship problematic. Others didn’t.

It's a student-teacher relationship. I'd say that still counts as objectively problematic. Even though there may not have been any outwardly predatory behaviors or abuse with it, it's still problematic to a degree because of the inherent status and power imbalance that comes with it.

If MC and Kingsley's relationship were a real life situation? If they were a real life student-professor relationship? It would be 100% problematic and would not fly at all. Anyone who tried defending it would get (rightfully) derided.

But as we all know, MC and Kingsley are fictional characters. We can enjoy such a relationship in fiction because, well, they're all clumps of pixels and no real people are directly getting harmed. It's a silly fictional fantasy.

But regardless of whether or not we enjoy the fantasy, we can understand that such a relationship would be completely inappropriate IRL.

I played TCH and I in no way felt like Kieran “abused” MC at all and know others who don’t feel that way either. If people made certain choices that made their playthrough different, that was their experience. In my playthrough and experience, that didn’t happen.

To be fair, the physical abuse scene is a determinant scene. It only happens in one premium scene in Chapter 2, and only if you choose an option that is marked as being more "kinky". In that scene, Kieran basically shoves MC's face onto the ground. I myself did not take that diamond scene, but I do know of its existence, so that's why I bring it up.

Needless to say, we all know it's not okay IRL. Physical abuse from a supposed love interest is objectively problematic. Some of us may not mind it so much in a fictional story, but we all know if it were an IRL relationship, it would be 100% not okay whatsoever.

And even if we pretend that the physical abuse aspect doesn't happen at all in the story no matter what (since it is a determinant scene)... Kieran still kidnaps and enslaves the MC- this is a set part of the story that is not determinant. And needless to say, this is also something that is an objectively abusive behavior that wouldn't be okay at all IRL.

Some may personally not have a problem with Kieran's behaviors themselves, or even personally enjoy it (fictional darkfic fantasy after all), and that's okay! That's their personal opinion and experience. But no one in their right mind would be saying that Kieran's behaviors are okay or unproblematic.

And that's not even getting into PB's piss-poor handling of how they incorporated these themes into the story, what with their poor content warnings. Stuff like kidnapping and physical abuse can be outright triggering for many players. I myself may not have felt uncomfortable with it, but many other players might. Usually because abuse and kidnapping are things that can happen in real life and would have real harmful consequences on those who experience it- hence why it's objectively problematic behavior.

And once again, keep in mind that I'm saying all of this as someone who did enjoy TCH. I liked the story, but I know that Kieran's behavior is objectively problematic and would not be okay IRL.

You can’t tell people they’re ignoring something problematic just because you feel that it is. And that’s where a lot of the issues arise here is when people try to force their opinion and line of thinking on others, and it happens on both sides. Again, everyone experiences and interprets things differently, especially when it comes to fictional stories and their characters.

Except this isn't a matter of "me" thinking the behaviors are problematic, or anyone "thinking" the behaviors are problematic. A lot of the behaviors portrayed from LIs like Kieran, Reagan, Bastien, etc. are objectively problematic.

Kieran did kidnap the MC. Bastien did kidnap the MC. Reagan did text MC BSDM-charged messages barely an hour after their first meeting. All of these are things that did happen and all of them are objectively problematic behaviors.

And if you still enjoy these LIs? If you enjoy reading about their toxic behaviors? Guess what? That's okay! And you shouldn't have to push these stories as unproblematic just to justify your enjoyment of them. Just go ahead and enjoy them. I don't care. It's your taste. As long as we understand that a lot of their behaviors are objectively problematic and that PB handles it horribly.

[prodigal-explorer]

evening star - sanders sides fanfiction - i

(let me know if you want to be on the tag list!)

next part

word count: 2.3k

(cw -> whump, unsympathetic!patton, implied abuse, implied codependent relationship, blood)

summary: a prologue. roman is acting strange, and janus doesn't know why. and when roman exposes certain ulterior motives that patton has in order to keep janus and remus on their toes, janus can't help but wonder what kind of situation he's in.

---

Despite all of the sides being the exact same age, Janus had always subconsciously seen Roman as young. 

It was in his personality, when he viewed the world with a child-like obliviousness, unwilling to let go of his play-pretend fantasies of good and bad, heroes and villains. Dark and light. He carried himself with an immature bravado, as if he didn’t know of all that was in the world that could burden him. It was likely that he truly didn’t. 

It was in his voice, and his speech. Roman’s voice was high-pitched, and he regularly spoke in a fake accent to try and sound different from the others. Roman loved to be different. He adored attention, and being the one in the center, or the spotlight. 

It was in his appearance, especially his eyes. They shined with innocence and unshakeable determination that one couldn’t help but admire when they witnessed it. Janus always found himself stuck looking into those eyes whenever he was engaged in an argument with Roman, and when he did, he felt like he was going back in time, looking at a child Creativity, announcing that he was the best, and that nobody and nothing could bring him down as his eyes glittered with hope and self-assurance. 

Which made it all the more haunting when Janus searched for any sign of that in Roman’s eyes now, and was met with a cloudy, resigned dullness. 

“Darling,” Janus said, the typical smooth drawl of his voice making way for something softer. “What’s happened to you?” 

He carefully brought a hand to Roman’s cheek, noticing that the creative side’s skin was glistening with sweat. Roman flinched away the second Janus’ finger made contact with his cheek, and Janus pulled his hand back immediately. 

Roman broke eye contact, staring down at the floor as if his life depended on it as he quickly held out a cube-shaped cardboard box. 

“Patton wanted me to give this to you,” he mumbled, his voice devoid of volume, and his accent. It didn’t even sound like Roman, and Janus wondered if Virgil was playing a trick on him, dressed up in Roman’s clothes to fool him. 

But that wasn’t possible. 

Roman’s skin was tanned by the sunny Imagination while Virgil was white as snow. Roman was also only an inch or two taller than Janus, while Virgil was over a head taller. 

Still, even that would make more sense than what was happening now. 

Roman seemed like a totally different person. 

“Please,” Roman whispered, cutting the silence, “Take it. He really wants you to have it.” 

Janus blinked and took the box with an increased urgency, worried by Roman’s tone. He stared down at the box and then back at Roman. 

“What’s inside?” he asked. 

Roman shook his head. It was highly probable that he didn’t know. Janus, overtaken by curiosity, opened the package nimbly and neatly. Inside was a small card, and a tin filled to the very top with cookies. Janus picked up the note, a little confused by the kind gesture. Patton regularly baked a lot of treats and shared them with the other sides, but this courtesy was not often extended to Janus or Remus. 

Janus started to read the note. 

“I hope you like the cookies! Puppy and I made these together, and we even added a special secret ingredient! Make sure to share with Remus, and don’t eat too many at once! Love, Happy Pappy Patton.” 

Janus stared back at the tin. Then, he looked at Roman. 

“Who’s Puppy?” he asked, “If this is his idea of a nickname, he needs to come to you for advice, because that’s just sad. Did Patton get a new pet or something?” 

Roman flinched and took a step back quite quickly. As if a word in one of Janus’ sentences had spurred him to action. He shook his head again. 

“Uh…Roman, what’s gotten into you?” Janus asked carefully, “You’re acting really weird. You can talk to me if you want. Is everything okay?” 

“Everything’s okay,” Roman said, looking back up towards Janus with the most obscenely fake smile the deceitful side had ever seen, “I mean- actually- can I give you a hug?” 

Well, that was weird. Roman loved physical contact, but it was rare that he initiated it with Janus. In this strange state, though, Janus couldn’t quite find it in him to decline. He nodded. Roman looked around the hallway, as if he was afraid someone might see, and then, he slowly and carefully hugged Janus, barely putting any pressure on him as he rested his head on Janus’ shoulder. It felt nice, a rather comforting position. Janus relaxed into the hug. 

“Janus,” Roman whispered, and his voice carried a strange desperation to it that made Janus’ heart rate pick up all over again. 

“What? What’s up, darling?” Janus whispered back, because that just felt like the right thing to do. 

“Please,” Roman’s voice was almost inaudible. “Don’t eat the cookies.” 

Roman pulled away the second he finished speaking, and he walked away briskly, so fast that Janus didn’t even have time to ask any questions. He just stared as Roman disappeared down the hallway, his shoulders tensed up in a way that made him look almost guilty. 

Then, Janus looked down at the cookies. One secret ingredient. 

He picked up a cookie and broke it in half, inspecting the inside to see if there was something like marshmallows or butterscotch chips mixed in. There was nothing like that. Only caramel brown cookie and dark brown milk chocolate chips. 

Janus had always been more of a white chocolate person. But cookies were cookies. 

He inspected it further, trying to figure out what had made Roman sound so afraid when he told him not to eat the cookies. It was strange to see Roman afraid of anything, as he fancied himself the bravest side. That certainly wasn’t far from the truth. Roman fought monsters and protected the people he loved without a second thought. 

Janus started squishing part of the cookie between his fingers. It was soft, contrasting the crunchy outside, and Janus wondered if Patton perhaps used softened butter instead of melted butter. Not that he was an expert on the science of baking. That was a question for Logan. 

Humming quietly in thought, Janus continued to knead the piece of cookie between his finger and his thumb, and that was when a sharp pain in his finger caused him to drop the piece onto the floor. He cried out and stared at his finger, bewildered as he started to see blood trickle down it. 

As he looked closer, Janus saw a small bit of something hard lodged into his fingertip. Gingerly, he pulled it out, not wanting to accidentally cause damage. And when he held it to the light, that was when Janus saw it. 

A shard of glass, that no doubt, had to have come from the cookie. 

A shard of glass that, had Janus consumed it, could have been painful, possibly even dangerous. 

A chill ran through Janus’ body as he put the shard into the box and shut it. So that was the secret ingredient. But that was only one question answered. At this moment in time, Janus had multiple. 

Why would Patton put glass in cookies? 

Why would Patton purposefully try to hurt Janus and Remus? 

How did Roman know about it? 

Did this have to do with how strange Roman was acting? 

Janus stewed in thought as he carried the box into the dark mindscape, throwing the entire thing into the trash can. Remus sauntered into the area only seconds later, catching a glimpse of what Janus was doing. He walked over and snatched the note from the box, reading it over. 

“Cookies?” Remus asked with a snort, “Does he think we’re stupid?” 

“I thought Patton was Morality,” Janus muttered through gritted teeth, “I can’t believe he would try something like this. He almost had us eating glass, Remus.” 

Remus shrugged, grinning maniacally. 

“I’ve eaten worse,” he pointed out, looking at the note. “Goddamn, he is obsessed with calling him that.” 

“Calling who what?” Janus asked, looking at the note over Remus’ shoulder. “Oh, yeah. Puppy. That is a weird nickname. Wait, do you know who it is?” 

“Yeah,” Remus said, “Every time I pop into the light mindscape to play around with Virgil or mess with Logan, Patton and Roman are always together, doing something. Patton keeps on calling Roman “Puppy”. I think it’s weird as hell, at least, for a light side. They don’t do weird things that often.” 

“So…Puppy is Roman,” Janus mumbled, “That would explain it. Roman was actually the one who brought the cookies. He told me not to eat them. I think if he hadn’t told me, I would have been none the wiser. He…basically saved us from a lot of pain. He was acting so strange too.” 

“So Roman tried to get us to eat glass too?” Remus guessed, “And then chickened out at the last second? Yeah. That sounds like Roman, alright. Why are you saying he was acting strange?” 

“No, I’m saying I…I don’t think he ever wanted us to eat it,” Janus tried to explain, “He was sweating like crazy, and he sounded terrified. I just don’t get what’s going on. He couldn’t even look at me for longer than a few seconds, and…at one point, when I was talking to him, he flinched. Like- I was going to hurt him.” 

Remus blinked and slowly nodded. 

“Okay, yeah, doesn’t sound like Roman. I’ve never seen him flinch at anything a day in his life,” Remus said, “What did you say?” 

“I don’t know, it was something about the nickname,” Janus said, “I think I asked him about if Patton had gotten a pet or something, it wasn’t anything threatening.” 

“Well, that’s confusing,” Remus muttered, rolling his eyes, “Roman’s always confusing, though. Maybe you should talk to him.” 

“Why me?” Janus asked, “Maybe you should talk to him.” 

Remus laughed. “He would never listen to me,” he scoffed, “Roman’s in his world and I’m in mine. Polar opposites, remember?” 

“I dunno, Remus,” Janus shrugged, “I think you two are more alike than you think. You’re both brave, and you’re both annoying as fuck.” 

“Ouch,” Remus drawled sarcastically, “Also, what are we gonna do about these cookies? Should we make poison scones in retaliation?” 

“Retaliation is a waste of time,” Janus said, “And I want to figure out what’s going on with Roman before moving on to anything else. If you won’t talk to him, then I will.” 

“Great,” Remus said, digging through the trash and picking up a cookie. “I’m gonna go feed this to a squirrel and watch it die.” 

“Have fun, be back before dinner,” Janus called out as Remus left, sighing to himself when he was alone. 

Being the side of deceit and self-preservation, Janus was usually great at confrontation. He was able to keep a level head in an argument, and he knew how to play dirty to get exactly what he wanted. But this felt different. He wasn’t confronting somebody as a means to an end. He wasn’t trying to get something out of anybody, not even simple satisfaction. 

And this was Roman. The side that Janus had a soft spot for. It didn’t stop him from manipulating Roman, the poor thing was just too easy. But Janus found himself thinking about Roman at night, when it was just him and the dark. Roman’s smile, his laugh. His grandiose gestures. 

The creative side was cute. And despite Janus’ love for drama and emotional turmoil, he didn’t want to see anything bad happening to the side, something that would hurt him physically, or stay with him forever. Roman was annoying, but he was a good guy. He didn’t deserve something like that. 

That thought was what spurred Janus to his feet, and he didn’t look back as he walked out of the dark mindscape and towards Roman’s room. He figured Roman would likely be here, showering for an obscenely long time or singing karaoke. 

But when he walked through the door, Janus noticed two things. 

Firstly, Roman’s room was completely trashed. 

There was a strange dimness to it that wasn’t typical. Roman’s room was the second brightest in the entire mindscape, the brightest being Patton’s. Roman insisted on specific lighting to take the perfect selfies. Usually, Roman’s things were lined up in a messy but specific pattern, a system that only he understood. But his trophies and trinkets were either knocked over to the floor, or tilted on their sides chaotically. The bed was messy, which wasn’t new. Roman wasn’t much of a rebel, but he despised the idea of making his bed when it would just be messed up the next night anyway. Janus was glad at least that that was normal. 

But there was one more detail about the room that made Janus’ stomach twist. A large bloodstain on the carpet in the middle of the floor. It had dried and crusted, and Janus assumed that it was at least a few days old, but the smell of oxidized blood took over the entire room, replacing its usual scent of pine wood and fancy perfume. It almost made Janus gag. 

He was almost sure that the blood was Roman’s. The blood of the creatures in the Imagination were different colors, usually blue and glittery. Roman was sensitive when it came to blood, and he got dizzy or fainted whenever he saw it. Changing the color and quality of the blood in the Imagination fixed the problem quickly. 

But this blood wasn’t blue or sparkly. It was hauntingly crimson, and real. Something very bad had happened in this room, and it wasn’t recently either. 

The second thing Janus noticed about the room was that Roman wasn’t anywhere in it. Not yet, at least. Janus tensed up as he heard footsteps come towards the room, and a chattering voice that was distinctly not Roman’s. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. All he could do now was hold his breath and wait.

[makiruz]

Woo! Acolyte Episode 3!

So the spoiler is really not that bad, but it did piss me off. When Aniseya says "we were given the Miracle of Life" I shouted "Fuck you" at the screen; because really fuck you, you're making the Twins an inferior version of Anakin? For Real? At least they have the decency of saying that Mother Aniseya made them deliberately instead of being created by the Will of the Force, they're me-proofing the episode because people like me are gonna complain that they're doing Anakin again, and really?

Actually, Anakin 2.0 is not the only thing that they're copying; the Evil Lesbian Cult are witches, like the witches of Dathomir, and the "it's about who is allowed to use Power" is straight up copied from Harry Potter, it's who Voldermort says (actually I think it was Quirrell, but whatever); like it doesn't have enough original ideas to make their own story.

That said this is the best episode so far, probably because it's not directed by Lesley Headland; the ceremony scene is fantastic, but dear god the cliche that the Good Twin didn't go through it!

Now politics, oh hey it's Philosophy Tube! Here to prove the Evil Lesbian Cult aren't TERFs because I called them TERFs from the beginning and they don't want feminist calling their Lesbian Cult transphobic; with that in mind I question why the Lesbian Witch Coven are a cult, the lesbians are a cult, it's a cult, and border on the Dark Side if they're not straight up Dark Siders, so the Lesbian witches are evil, and like, I know the Witches of Dathomir tend to be antagonistic but they're not uniformly evil, they can be allies friends and lovers, this is a cult; frankly I believe the Republic had good reasons to persecute them.

My brother thinks The Acolyte is trying to complicated the Dark Side, and I think he might be right; but no, shut up you're stupid, the Dark Sides does not exist, it's not the opposite of Light, it's the manifestation of entropy, destruction and decay; also Fascism, the Dark Side is fascism, there's no redeemable qualities to the Dark Side, if you imagine you see a positive, like rightful anger at injustice that's not the Dark Side, that's another expression of the Force that the Jedi do not practice because they're Buddhist monks

Also I'm told people are upset with the witches interpretation of the Force, but like that's nothing really different from what the Jedi believe, The Thread is just another way to explain what we already know about the Force; which is kind of why I got mad at them sneering that the Jedi when they're so similar, it's pedantic, and why oh why is this show made by a lesbian making the lesbians a cult and unsympathetic? Like I'm pretty sure the Jedi are responsible for the witches dead, but even if they did kill them I think the witches instigated them, Dear God this show is frustrating

But it's look pretty. Also I was right the black lady from the trailer looked more like a Jedi than the Jedi, because she's basically one; and meanwhile the Jedi look very stupid, why did they put clothes on a Wookie?

[karatam]

Read recently (April - Sept 2023)

A Restless Truth by Freya Marske. A sequel to A Marvellous Light, but can be read as a standalone. In a Victorian era world with magic, Maud is on a ship crossing the Atlantic when a fellow passenger is murdered. Maud will team up with a beautiful stranger that kind of turns her world upside down in order to solve the mystery. I loved this book and all the characters involved, and it was a great murder mystery too.

Upright Women Wanted by Sarah Bailey. In a wild west era where all reading material is closely controlled by those in power, Esther stows away with a troupe of travelling Librarians because she needs to escape a marriage to a man who killed the girl she was in love with. Very queer and with lots of gun-slinging and books. A fun quick read.

Godsgrave by Jay Kristoff. Sequel to Nevernight, picks up basically where the previous one ended but also jumps ahead in a parallel narrative. Now involving gladiatorial combat, the tangled politics of the world, and finding out more about the tragic Corvere family. Utterly ridiculous in a fun way, I like this book.

The Fiancée Farce by Alexandria Bellefleur. A queer romance with a fake dating trope. This was very cute, though the romance genre isn't usually my favourite. I wish it had been a liiiittle more slow burn, and they deserved more than just the one sex scene lmao

Station Eternity by Mur Lafferty. Mallory seems to just attract murders all her life (in that they just randomly happen near her) runs away to a remote alien space station to try and make it so humans stop dying in her immediate vicinity. But when she finds out that a whole bunch of humans are incoming to the station, she realizes what's going on it much larger than just her own weird proclivity for finding herself at the scene of the crime. Sci-fi and murder mystery combo that I quite liked, though I felt like her ally Xan was weirdly unsympathetic to like....Mallory's trauma from finding a dozen dead bodies or witnessing murders. A weird book, but I liked it.

Ink Blood Sister Scribe by Emma Torzs. Sisters Joanna and Esther were raised to protect their family's secret library of magical books, but Joanna is left alone to her duty when Esther runs away from home and doesn't return. Nick is the last known person who can write these magical books, and it might be killing him. They're all thrown together when a dangerous book nearly falls into the wrong hands. A standalone novel that creates a very interesting magic system and very likeable characters who all grow and a mystery that kept my attention. Will be looking forward to more from this author.

A Good Girl's Guide To Murder by Holly Jackson. This small town was rocked 5 years ago when the most popular girl at school was murdered by her boyfriend who then killed himself, and her body was never found. Now, Pip is fairly sure he was actually innocent and the real killer was never found. And she's going to prove it as part of her senior capstone project. This is a YA murder mystery done very well. Lots of twists and turns (and lots of me wishing Pip would practice better computer security, but whatever) and I'll be looking for the other books in this series.

Blood of the Chosen by Django Wexler. Picks up a few weeks after Ashes of the Sun, with siblings Maya and Gyre still on opposite sides of the fight. Gyre tries to help another rebellion while Maya is sent off to spy on a potentially traitorous rival of her mentor. Definitely a middle book in a trilogy, but a big big plus this book has over its predecessor is that the very annoying character suddenly became wayyy less annoying and in fact became quite funny. Had some twists I didn't see coming and had me reaching for the final book right away.

Emperor of Ruin by Django Wexler. Picks up right away once again, with Maya and Gyre, uh, running for their goddamn lives? This author writes fight and battle scenes very well and I also liked the amount of research the characters have to do. Love how plot points from the first book circled back to be relevant once again. And once again the queer romance in this series is very sweet, even as the characters are attempting to not die. I really liked this series overall.

Some Desperate Glory by Emily Tesh. How do I even describe this book without giving too much away? Kyr is a soldier in training, one of the last remnants of the human race in the galaxy, after humanity was basically wiped out during a war about 20 years ago. But when her twin brother is assigned a suicide mission and she's assigned to just have babies forever, she strikes out with a hostage alien and her brother's strange friend to try and help keep her brother alive. And along the way, must confront the truth of everything she's ever known. I LOVED this book. Kyr's upbringing has echoes of cults and something like north korea, and she struggles with that throughout the whole book, it's not something tossed away easily once she discovers what's going on. And in her flaws, there's such a humanity, and my heart hurt to see her in pain. Highly recommended.

Killers of the Flower Moon by David Grann. This is non-fiction, which is a bit unusual for me, but wow it's great. This tells the story of the Osage Murders, a series of killings during the 1920s where dozens of members of the Osage Nation were murdered due to their tribe's ownership of oil rights in the region, and then the investigation and cover-ups that went along with them. Leaves you feeling bereft by the sheer volume of injustices committed against the Osage nation (and still, no doubt, being committed to this day). But there are still feelings of hope and kindness and generosity and grace, as this community tries to both protect itself and heal, even as the writer discovers more and more crimes that aren't part of the official tally.

[oopsallfanfic]

Chapter 7: Crush

A/N: Despite a week of illness, graduations, and more I’ve finally been able to get to this chapter. I know it’s a little late but hey it’s here amiright? Because it’s summertime in the U.S. already I decided to move us forward in the story to summer time, where in Japan there are festivals in every ward celebrating their local shrine. There’s even a festival that promotes HIV and AIDS awareness where much of the proceeds go to research and cures. That’s not the one we’re going to by the way, if that wasn’t clear. 

High school is and always will be complicated, that’s just a known fact. TV made it seem dramatic and interesting but the truth is you spent three years keeping your grades up and just trying to be a good student and daughter. There was one thing you’ve always looked forward to in high school, and that was late-night summer festivals with friends. This year you were especially excited because you’d be back in the community you grew up in.

Your yukata was stored deep in your drawer and hadn’t seen the light of day in a year, so you had to let it hang up on your wall on a wooden hanger. The cotton cloth was a pale blue with tufts of Calla Lilies sprouting, the pink obi that hung underneath had flecks of white. You sat on the edge of your bed with your hands holding the side of the baseboard, your legs straight out in front of you scooching farther away to allow yourself to lower into a backward-facing reverse pushup. You breathed out slowly and dipped down until your butt was an inch from the ground, then pulled yourself back up.

You breathed steadily as you rose and fell with each push, the indie rock on the stereo keeping your heart thumping at a steady beat. At the end of your rep you plopped down on the rug beneath you and took a few deep breaths before standing up. As you took a swig of water from your bottle the familiar Tank! By Seatbelts ringtone played, Horita Hanai flashed on the screen. You picked up the phone and turned down your stereo.

“What uuuup?” You answered casually. Your heart stopped as you heard the sniffles on the line, Hanai’s breathing caught as she tried to speak. Your tone shifted as concern swept you up. “What happened?”

“H-he rejected me,” Hanai’s words barely audible through her tears. “I was trying to tell Izuku how I felt, but he ignored me and my feelings.”

“Was it like a ‘let’s stay friends though’ kind of reject or a ‘please go away’ reject.” You pressed for details.

“Like-” She fumbled over her words, barely making any audible noise, “He-mhm- It’s like he didn’t even understand what I was trying to tell him. I guess we’re still friends, but I don’t want that!”

Her wails became muffled as she must’ve stuffed her face into her pillow.

“Hey, don’t worry,” You cooed, your chest felt tight as you tried to navigate the situation. You weren’t always great when people cried around you, not that you were unsympathetic but you didn’t know how to comfort others than hold them close. As someone who didn’t grow up with the most physically affectionate parents, it was hard for you to approach others with platonic affection. “You’re going to be just fine okay? We can get you through this, you just have to breathe.”

“I won’t wanna wreathe anymore,” Hanai’s fuzzy voice cried from her pillow.

“Do you need me to come over?” You asked in a soothing voice, you could hear her sniffle and shuffle around on her bead to sit up.

“No, I-I think I’m going-” Just then a loud thud came over the phone, the sound made both you and Hanai yelp in surprise. A fushfush sound made you realize she had dropped the phone, you called out to her hoping she’d hear you. That’s when you heard her scream come back muffled and far, making your stomach leap to your throat. 

“Hanai!” You called again, “Are you okay? What’s happening? I’m coming over!”

You dropped the call and sprinted out of your room towards the genkan. As you passed your parents on their way upstairs your father chastised you.

“Hey, no running in the house, young lady.” He said as you quickly shoved your shoes on, not bothering to tie them.

“I gotta go save Hanai!” You blurted quickly as you slipped the back of the shoe on and pulled the door. “Call the police if I call!”

You sprinted out of the yard and down the block towards the train station. You glanced at your phone's clock and tried to time your train ride. It should land in a minute, meaning you’d have to book it or else you’d miss it. The next train heading Hanai’s way wouldn’t be there for another 6 minutes, who knows what could happen in those 6 minutes. Your lungs began to burn as you raced to the turnstiles, as soon as you saw them you pulled out your train card from your wallet and slowed down to scan it. The announcer over the intercom announced the arrival of your train, giving you the last bit of adrenaline needed to push past the doors and race up the stairs.

The nearest cart just finished boarding when you jumped to the last step. You bolted towards the doors and slipped in just as the doors hissed to close. You stood up straight with your hands on your head as you breathed slowly, trying to steady your heartbeat. You could feel the daggers being stared down at you, running into the train cart, making a scene, and probably just breathing loudly, you would be mad too if someone came into the train cart like that. You couldn’t think about that at the moment, you’d have to endure the hot glares from strangers because your friend was quite possibly in danger.

As the doors hissed to open, you were careful about exiting the cart and passed the line of travelers quickly. Once you were free of them you burst out into a sprint, towards the exit. You bounded down the stairs and continued running down the street, hoping and even praying to make it there on time. As you pulled around the corner of Hanai’s block and approached her home you didn’t notice anything different. You ring the doorbell and bounced on the balls of your feet as you waited, you could feel how sweaty your palms were as you nervously opened and closed your fists. You were mentally preparing to kick down the door if you had to, but just then the lock clicked. The door opened to reveal Mrs.Horita, an icy blonde version of Hanai, except she was seemingly more bubbly than her daughter. 

“Miss Hamamoto!” She said, “How lovely, we weren’t expecting you this evening.”

“I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this,” You bowed shortly and peeked over her head into her home, scanning for any signs of distress in the home and in her eyes. “I just got a distressing call from Hanai and I needed to run here to check on her. Is she okay? Where is she?”

“Distressing?” Mrs. Horita tapped her chin, “She seemed fine when she came down a minute ago.”

“Who is it, Mom?” You heard an unfamiliar voice call from inside.

“One of Hanai’s friends came to visit,” She said, she beckoned you in. “Come in, please. Hanai’s just in the kitchen making some tea right now, do you want some?”

“Um,” You felt like you slammed into an invisible wall, What’s going on? Hanai’s okay though. This is good. You stumbled as you crossed the threshold into their home. “Uh, yes, thank you.”

You slipped off your shoes and pushed the door closed as Mrs. Horita walked into the living room. You followed her as she showed you the way to the kitchen, flowing through the living room and the dining room like most modern Japanese homes. With their back turned to us was someone you hadn’t seen before, you’d guess Hanai’s dad since you hadn’t met him but this man in front of you was lean and looked strong. His hair was tousled and curled in the way Hanai’s was, but a lighter blonde than hers. You stopped just short of the kitchen when he turned to look at you. Mrs. Horita’s introduction came to you muffled as blood pumped in your ears.

He couldn’t have been more than a year older than you, but his facial structure made him seem much older and more mature. His cheekbones looked like they could cut diamonds, and his eyes sparkled in the same emerald green that Hanai had. You had no words as you looked at the handsome man in front of you. You watched as his head cocked with an eyebrow raised, looking between you and his mother, the way his face softened as he made the goofy look made your heart flutter. You watched as his lips moved softly to form words.

“Is she okay?” His voice rang in your head, alarming you to wake back up from your daydreams.

“She’s fine!” You said finally, and you licked your suddenly chapped lips. “Sorry I just ran all the way over here, so I’m still trying to catch my breath and all.”

“Do you need some water?” He asked, standing up to round the counter.

“Yes, please,” You said, bowing your head to him. “Thank you!”

“I was just telling Haru, about the summer festival you girls are going to this week.” Mrs. Horita said as she looked around the kitchen and back toward the living room, “Where is Hanai anyways? I thought she was here with you.”

“She was, but she’d gone back upstairs to get her phone.” Haru filled the cup of ice he had with water from the frigerated filter.

“I keep telling Haru he should go with you two,” Mrs. Horita’s voice shifted to concerned mother, “I just want to make sure you girls are safe out there, men are shifty creatures.”

“Mooom!” Haru whined as he set down the glass in front of you, “Are you calling your own son shifty?”

“Never, my dear,” She cooed as she made her way to him, she reached up and pinched his cheeks until he jerked his face away.

“In front of a guest, really mom?” Haru’s face flushed in embarrassment as he looked between you and his mother.

“Oh hardly a guest,” she waved him off and returned her hands to herself. “She may as well be my second daughter.”

“I haven’t been over that often have I?” Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I hope you’re not inconvenienced by me coming around a lot.”

“Don’t worry, Mom loves having our friends around,” Haru assured you, “She almost invited my whole volleyball team a handful of times.”

“It helps that they were all sweet boys,” She said.

“Ew are you talking about Haru’s friends?” Hanai entered the room, “They were all creepy, not sweet.”

“Hanai!” You jumped at the sound of her voice next to you, then wrapped your arms around her shoulders. You held her at arm's length, “I thought you were in trouble, what happened?”

“When I screamed?” Hanai asked, she thought for a moment and held up a finger as she recalled the moment. “You must’ve thought I was dying or something! I’m sorry, that was Haru’s fault entirely.”

“Hey,” He interjected, “What do you mean? It’s not my fault!”

“You almost gave [y/n] a heart attack,” Hanai said, “She must’ve ran all the way over here because she thought I was in trouble.” She turned to you now and wrapped her arms around your waist, you rested your hands on her shoulders. “Haru came home from school earlier than we expected and terrorized me in my own room while I was on the phone with you.”

“Terrorized is a bit dramatic isn’t it?” Haru crinkled his nose and pinched his thumb and index finger together. You chuckled at him and looked back down to see your friend shove you away from her.

“I am not dramatic,” Hanai crossed her arms across her chest.

“Mmhmm,” Haru gave a closed-mouth chuckle and raised his eyebrows at her. “Sure.”

“I think this,” You gave a gesture at her posture, “Shows that you might be a tad dramatic.”

Hanai looked down at her arms and unfolded them, slapping them on her side.

“I don’t think Haru should go with us anymore,” Hanai said matter of factly, “I think he should stay home cause he’s obviously too old for the festivals.”

“You just don’t want me to go 'cause I’ll make fun of you,” Haru pointed out.

“Yeah, so what?” Hanai stuck her tongue out at him and pulled her lower eyelid down.

“That’s enough you two,” Mrs. Horita stepped up, “Your brother is going to escort you two ladies, and that’s that. Okay?” She looked between the two siblings, Hanai nodded solemnly and crossed her arms, Haru bowed his head at his mother. “Good, now Haru, we need to go get your Yukata out of your old drawers.”

Haru and Mrs. Horita left the two of you in the kitchen, as they left the doorway Hanai tossed her arms back down and breathed out heavily. She stomped her way to the fridge to pull out a little yogurt drink.

“I can’t believe the gall of that guy,” Hanai groaned, “He came in after I got off the phone with you and tried to give me advice about boys. Like I’m going to believe him when he’s given me horrible advice before.”

“Horrible advice like what?” You sat down at the counter with your glass.

“Firstly, I’m not really out-out, especially not to my parents,” Hanai looked around the room as she whispered softly, “But when I got my first crush on a girl in middle school he tried to give me advice about asking girls out and whooing them and it failed horribly. She wasn’t even gay, so it was double bad.”

“That’s because he’s a boy though,” You pointed out, she rolled her eyes and shot back the rest of her drink, “He doesn’t know how women think, but as a boy getting his advice about them makes way more sense.”

“You would think having 12 girlfriends throughout middle school alone would be enough experience with girls that’d he know how to treat them.” You choked on your drink as she bent over to throw away her bottle.

“12?” You asked Hanai, she nodded.

“I don’t really get it,” Hanai shrugged, “Doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Well it helps your brothers hot,” You said nonchalantly. Hanai turned to face you directly, she reached her arms out to grab your shoulders but you backed up before she could grab you from across the counter.

“You did not just say that,” Hanai’s hushed tone gave you shivers down your back, “Take it back, right now.”

“Uh...” You slid off your stool as she rounded the countertop to face you directly. “I didn’t mean it, he’s not hot.”

“That’s what I thought,” She stopped in her tracks and patted you gently on the shoulder. “Very good, keep it to yourself next time.”

“You might take his advice about boys though, especially high school boys.” You tacked on, “He was once one of those, so he might know what Izuku means.”

Hanai grumbled as she walked out of the room, you followed her into her bedroom upstairs where she flopped down onto her bed. You stood in the doorway as she huffed into the sheets. The wood on the doorway clacked against the metal ring Haru wore on his hand. Haru stood behind you, his head leaning against his arm as he pressed against the opposite side of the doorway from you. You jumped at the sound of the impact and turned your head to see his face just inches away from you. You leaned away a bit as you watch his attention shift from his sister to you. You could feel your heart hammer at your chest and the sweat begin to form on your palms.

“She alright?” Haru whispered to you. You couldn’t feel the words I don’t know forming so you just shrugged. He nodded and looked back at Hanai. Haru was so close you could smell the sandalwood soap he had used and the soft floral scent of clothes detergent. You hoped that he couldn’t hear your heart beating from how close he was, you prayed that you didn’t smell of sweat after running so far. Fuck, you thought, This is so cliche, the best friend's brother?

“You should go, she might go off on you,” You whispered softly, tossing your head to the side. He nodded softly and made his way back to his room next door.

You closed Hanai’s door behind you and sat at the edge of the bed, patting her head and stroking the blonde locks.

“I just need to get over Izuku,” Hanai had turned her head to speak. “I can find a rebound right?”

“A rebound?” You questioned, “It’s not like he was your boyfriend.”

“He was in my mind,” She sighed and tucked her head back into her pillow.

You tapped the back of your phone impatiently as you kept an eye out for Hanai and her brother Haru. Through the crowds of people you spotted an unexpected family of Bakugos, Mrs. Mitsuki spotted you and tugged on her family's clothes to point you out. As the family approached you could see Masaru had his hair gelled back with a light brown bamboo printed yukata with a simple dark obi, and Mitsuki had a bright pink cherry blossom yukata with a purple obi and matching purple bag hanging from her wrist. Katsuki however wore his jeans and black t-shirt with a black button-up.

“Feeling rebellious this summer I see,” You clicked your tongue against your teeth as you shook your head.

“Feeling a little whorish this summer I see,” He retorted. You rocked your head back and glanced around you as you tried to find how he came to that conclusion. Mitsuki smacked the back of his head and chided him just as two arms found their way across your shoulders. You turned again to see Hanai on your left and Haru on your right, towering over the both of you. Hanai wore a lilac yukata with a white obi, while Haru wore a black spotted yukata with a tan pinstriped obi. The cruel contraption you called a heart leaped at the sight of him, his presence made you blush. Although hardly visible under the warm light of the lanterns and string lights around you, Katsuki could see the shift in your facial expression when you laid eyes on the stranger. He could feel the prick of pain in his chest as he looked between the two of you.

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me,” Katsuki turned to his mother, “I was right.”

His mother just shook her head in disappointment as he stormed off.

“We’ll see you around again,” Mitsuki waved at the three of you, “Maybe meet for fireworks?”

“Maybe, we’ll see!” You waved off the Bakugos.

“Ugh, was that little chihuahua giving you hell again?” Hanai pulled away from you, but Haru’s arm still remained heavy across your shoulders.

“Not really, more of the other way around,” You shrugged, prompting Haru to release himself from you. Deep down you were disappointed but knew that it was probably best he did, or else Hanai would feel uncomfortable. Hanai raised her eyebrows and nodded in surprise.

“I believe you’re the only person I’ve seen not take any shit from that little brat,” She patted your shoulder, “I knew making you my friend would be a good idea.”

“Well, we didn’t come here to stand around and chit-chat,” Haru interjected, “Let’s go play some games and gorge out on snacks!” You’d call the rest of the night magical and extraordinary in every way, the perfect last high school summer celebration. Except you didn’t have that special someone to hold and kiss, you may have had a crush but it’s not like he liked you back. Right?

A/N: You know in the first version I wrote of this story I went by the show almost word for word what happened. Now that I’ve decided to move forward in time to when the characters are older I’m remembering that relationships and feelings are more complicated at this age. Meaning writing for this age group is more complex, I’m simultaneously excited and dreading having to write this way mostly because I’m using the 2nd person perspective rather than a 1st person perspective which is infinitely easier. I hope you all are enjoying so far and continue to read despite my irregular updates.

[otnesse]

Honestly, Misty got redeemed overall with Aim to Be a Pokemon Master, and I'm glad about it. That said, like with the Unintentionally Unsympathetic entry for her and to a degree, Brock, I see a vocal minority of her haters have taken TV Tropes and basically pushed this shade on her:

"Back in the 90s and the 2000s, Misty was one of the most popular characters in the franchise for being a Fiery Redhead Action Girl and hilarious Deadpan Snarker who acted as the perfect foil to Ash Ketchum while also being a bit of a mentor to him, with legions of fans shipping the two of them together. Many were devastated and outraged over her getting Put on a Bus at the end of Johto, and you could see people demanding her return to the series as a main character as late as 2009, long after her replacement May had been retired and while May's own replacement Dawn was getting ready to leave as well. However, starting in the early 2010s those same fans would look back on Misty’s tenure and scrutinize it for a multitude of reasons. Unlike later female characters, she lacked any kind of Character Development beyond becoming less violent after getting Togepi (which some don't count as actual development, considering the show as a whole became less violent around this time), with said violent outbursts now being seen as more cruel than funny. These fans also point out that for all of Misty's bravado, she rarely battled against trainers aside from Team Rocket, which made her credentials seem like at best an Informed Attribute, and at worst made her many critiques of Ash seem hypocritical. The introduction of the infamously polarizing anime version of Iris was also a contributing factor; Iris was widely suspected to be an attempt at recapturing Misty's success, which caused many viewers to go back and re-evaluate Misty in a more critical light, with some pointing out that quite a few of Iris' most criticized qualities had earlier been displayed by Misty. While Misty still retains fans to this day, she's become far more divisive, with many fans arguing her initial popularity came mainly or even solely from being Ash's first female companion."

Oh, trust me, the scruitinization was going on during AG as well, and that was just showing how some people lacked loyalty to her to begin with. Scott85 was among the worst.

As far as the rest, seriously? Misty if anything was probably one of the better-developed members of the cast (if there was anything preventing her from being fully developed, it's that Masamitsu Hidaka forced her to be kicked off for "not being girl enough"). She actually had to develop from someone who had to present a tough exterior partly due to bullying from her elder sisters to being somewhat open about having a soft side by the end of Johto, while STILL keeping her temper intact. I'll admit she probably didn't get much battles in hindsight, but at least she still managed to GET battles in, and by Johto she was getting a good turnaround by giving SOME focus on her goal. And as far as the outbursts, seriously? Most of her outbursts in Kanto were outright TAME compared to some of her peers in other anime (for example, Bulma outright SHOT Goku a few times, and don't get me started on Naru Narusegawa in Love Hina, who treated Keitaru FAR worse. Heck, even IN-SERIES, Jessie treated her companions FAR worse than Misty EVER did). And as far as Iris, while I'll admit I don't have much to go by regarding Best Wishes due to being on boycott at the time (and I would have watched it on Pokemon TV alongside the other sagas barring OS, even that, if they didn't stupidly do "keep circulating the tapes" for everything barring the immediate beginning and ending of the series prior to shutdown), what little I heard about Iris if anything had me view her as a WORTHY successor to Misty, meaning I didn't even hate her at all. Even her infamous "Just a kid" catchphrase (what caused her to get a hatedom) was if anything more the fault of the writers making Ash regress in development than an ACTUAL issue with Iris herself. At most, I was neutral, even came close to liking her (far more than May and Dawn, those two I downright hated, and still DO hate ultimately, and believe it or not, my hatred of them had very little to do with Misty other than maybe characterizations). I fail to see how Dawn really developed other than MAYBE going from point A to point B, and May's development if anything was a complete mess (and considering she threw a tantrum after her loss to Solidad and even basically blamed Ash for the loss, I can hardly say she even developed from her insecure self at the beginning at all), with Lillie doing May's character development a LOT better (and if anything May was moreorless a standard Shoujo Protagonist). The only things they had over Misty was an (over)focus on their Coordinator goals (and let's be honest, had Misty actually been allowed to go to Hoenn instead of kicked off, her Water Pokemon Master goal most likely would have gotten a LOT more focus and thus actually ALLOWED her to be better developed goal-wise). Oh, and Misty was NEVER a hypocrite regarding her criticisms of Ash. At least Misty actually WON her battles when she had them, while Ash for half of Kanto literally got his badges via dubious methods that didn't even entail battling (especially when one remembers that the Pokemon League in the anime was a fighting tournament, meaning Ash needs to actually BEAT the Gym Leaders just to genuinely qualify), and even regarding the Cascade Badge, her SISTERS were the ones who awarded the badge to Ash that time, NOT Misty. She if anything protested that decision. Actually, the only one of the cast who actually WAS a hypocrite was Brock, since he derided Ash for so-called "pity badges" despite his WILLINGLY giving such earlier.

And at least for me, Misty's popularity had nothing to do with when she debuted. It was overall her actual character (and most of those "fans" seem to ignore the actual positive qualities she had on the show, including encouraging Ash [yes, she DID in fact do that, and also did a LOT to actually TRY to help him. In fact, there were more than a few times where if it weren't for her, Ash and co. would have been dead or otherwise unable to continue], also genuinely helping various COTDs like Joe when he was being bullied by Giselle. I can assure you if Misty debuted after May or Dawn or even Serena, I definitely would have genuinely liked her regardless.

The good news is, this is definitely a case of vocal minority, since the Movie 20 poll for various characters made it pretty clear that Misty was liked by fans of all ages enough to qualify in the Top 3 (only Brock and Serena beat her out).

[yihrae]

I know what you think of me

Below is an article I have straight up plagiarized from Tim Kreider of the New York Times! It is my favourite article of all time and I wish to post it here to immortalise it:

Recently I received an e-mail that wasn't meant for me, but was about me. I'd been cc'd by accident. This is one of the darker hazards of electronic communication, Reason No. 697 Why the Internet Is Bad — the dreadful consequence of hitting "reply all" instead of "reply" or "forward." The context is that I had rented a herd of goats for reasons that aren't relevant here and had sent out a mass e-mail with photographs of the goats attached to illustrate that a) I had goats, and b) it was good. Most of the responses I received expressed appropriate admiration and envy of my goats, but the message in question was intended not as a response to me but as an aside to some of the recipient's co-workers, sighing over the kinds of expenditures on which I was frittering away my uncomfortable income. The word "oof" was used.

I've often thought that the single most devastating cyberattack a diabolical and anarchic mind could design would not be on the military or financial sector but simply to simultaneously make every e-mail and text ever sent universally public. It would be like suddenly subtracting the strong nuclear force from the universe; the fabric of society would instantly evaporate, every marriage, friendship and business partnership dissolved. Civilization, which is held together by a fragile web of tactful phrasing, polite omissions and white lies, would collapse in an apocalypse of bitter recriminations and weeping, breakups and fistfights, divorces and bankruptcies, scandals and resignations, blood feuds, litigation, wholesale slaughter in the streets and lingering ill will.

This particular e-mail was, in itself, no big deal. Tone is notoriously easy to misinterpret over e-mail, and my friend's message could have easily been read as affectionate head shaking rather than a contemptuous eye roll. It's frankly hard to parse the word "oof" in this context. And let's be honest — I am terrible with money, but I've always liked to think of this as an endearing foible. What was surprisingly wounding wasn't that the e-mail was insulting but simply that it was unsympathetic. Hearing other people's uncensored opinions of you is an unpleasant reminder that you're just another person in the world, and everyone else does not always view you in the forgiving light that you hope they do, making all allowances, always on your side. There's something existentially alarming about finding out how little room we occupy, and how little allegiance we command, in other people's heads.

This experience is not a novelty of the information age; it's always been available to us by the accident of overhearing a conversation at the wrong moment. I've written essays about friends that I felt were generous and empathetic, which they experienced as devastating. I've also been written about, in ways I could find no fault with but that were nonetheless excruciating for me to read. It is simply not pleasant to be objectively observed — it's like seeing a candid photo of yourself online, not smiling or posing, but simply looking the way you apparently always do, oblivious and mush-faced with your mouth open. It's proof that we are visible to others, that we are seen, in all our naked silliness and stupidity.

Needless to say, this makes us embarrassed and angry and damn our betrayers as vicious two-faced hypocrites. Which, in fact, we all are. We all make fun of one another behind one another's backs, even the people we love. Of course we do — they're ridiculous. Anyone worth knowing is inevitably also going to be exasperating: making the same obvious mistakes over and over, dating imbeciles, endlessly relapsing into their dumb addictions and self-defeating habits, blind to their own hilarious flaws and blatant contradictions and fiercely devoted to whatever keeps them miserable. (And those few people about whom there is nothing ridiculous are by far the most preposterous of all.)

Although sometimes, let's just admit, we're simply being mean. A friend of mine described the time in high school when someone walked up behind her while she was saying something clever at that person's expense as the worst feeling she had ever had — and not just because of the hurt she'd inflicted on someone else but because of what it forced her to see about herself. That she made fun of people all the time, people who didn't deserve it, who were beneath her in the social hierarchy, just to ingratiate herself or make herself seem funny or cool.

Another friend once shared with me one of the aphorisms of 12-step recovery programs: "What other people think of you is none of your business." Like a lot of wisdom, this sounds at first suspiciously similar to idiotic nonsense; obviously what other people think of you is your business, it's your main job in life to try to control it, to do tireless P.R. and spin control for yourself. Every woman who ever went out with you must pine for you forever. Those who rejected you must regret it. You must be loved, respected — above all, taken seriously! They who mocked you will rue the day! The problem is that this is insane — the psychology of dictators who regard all dissent as treason, and periodically order purges to ensure unquestioning loyalty. It's no way to run a country.

THE operative fallacy here is that we believe that unconditional love means not seeing anything negative about someone, when it really means pretty much the opposite: loving someone despite their infuriating flaws and essential absurdity. "Do I want to be loved in spite of?" Donald Barthelme writes in his story "Rebecca" about a woman with green skin. "Do you? Does anyone? But aren't we all, to some degree?

We don't give other people credit for the same interior complexity we take for granted in ourselves, the same capacity for holding contradictory feelings in balance, for complexly alloyed affections, for bottomless generosity of heart and petty, capricious malice. We can't believe that anyone could be unkind to us and still be genuinely fond of us, although we do it all the time.

Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

[98prilla]

Loved

Follow up to Unwanted, because I love some soft Dark Sides

Next

AO3

...

“Are you sure? Like, really, really, really sure?” Remus asks. Logan squeezes his hand gently, smiling softly, because he understands Remus’s hesitance, he understands why he is afraid, because he is a bit afraid, too.

 “You’ve asked him ten times, Remus. If the answer didn’t change after the first five, why would it change now?” Deceit drawls, though his nervousness shows in his tense posture where he leans against the wall, pretending to examine his fingernails, though he is wearing his gloves.

 “I know! I just, I don’t… I don’t want him to regret it. I don’t want you to regret it and then hate us for making you change and then you’ll be miserable and we’ll be miserable and-“

 “Remus. You aren’t making me do anything. I want to do this. I promise.” He says softly, slipping his hand from Remus’s, approaching the new door in the hallway, hand hesitantly resting against the unblemished wood as he takes a deep breath.

 “Logan! I… be safe. Please.” He nods once at Deceit’s words. He takes a final breath, then opens the door, not hesitating as he steps inside.

 The door slams closed behind him, the echo loud as thunder in the dead silent hall, Deceit and Remus both unwilling to move from their posts, in case anything went wrong.  

…

 The slam of the door makes him jump. Everything is silent, so silent, and the room is pitch black. He squares his shoulders resolutely and walks to the center of the room.

 Then the world seems to spin. He can’t keep his balance, it’s like the explosion of a supernova, it’s silence so loud it’s deafening, it’s nothing and everything and hot and cold and it burns and it freezes and it’s too, too, too much!

 He feels his center shifting, changing, growing, shrinking, it hurts, it hurts, but it also feels so right as his being rearranges itself, adding to his purpose, tilting it on its axis until it is the same, but different, and he doesn’t know whether he wants to cry or laugh or scream as he feels everything settle into place with an ear shattering void of noise.

 He doesn’t know how long it is before he moves from where he fell, crumpled on the floor. He is sore, every part of him aching, as he forces himself to his feet, stumbling at the cresting wave of exhaustion washing over him.

 But he has to know, he has to see, before he can let himself rest, he has to see what he has become.

 He’s not afraid. He thought he would be, but he isn’t. It’s… anticipation. Relief, almost. Because whatever he is now, he knows Deceit and Remus will still want him. Will still care. It’s strange to think that his former family wouldn’t.

 He has changed. His hair is a deep, dark black, in the light it has an almost indigo sheen that he rather likes. His eyes as well, one is that deep indigo, the other a startling silver. His suit jacket is black, buttoned once halfway down, silver embroidery mapping out constellations, his shirt a deep blue. He has a bow tie now, as well, that matches his shirt.

 He reaches up, letting out a small laugh as he feels around the edges of each eye, soft, silver scales dotting up his cheekbones and half outlining his eyes. They sparkle like stars and he loves them immediately.

 He can see. He’s not wearing his glasses anymore, but he can still see perfectly fine, though his silver eye seems a bit sensitive to the light. He wonders if Deceit’s snake eye is also sensitive.

 Deceit. Remus. They’re probably worried. How long… how long has he been in here? He doesn’t quite know, but long enough he’s sure they’re a bit frantic. He stumbles to the door, fumbling with the handle before managing to open it, falling forwards into someone’s arms.

 “gan. Logan!” His ears are ringing, but his name manages to cut through the darkness threatening to overtake him. He manages to blink his vision clear, realizing he’s being supported by Remus, who’s looking at him with fear and wonder and worry.

 “Fine, I’m… I’m fine. Just took a lot… a lot out of me.” Remus’s face softens, some of the worry fading away, and he is pulled into a tight hug before he can say another word.

 “you scared me. You were gone forever!”

 “It was not forever, Remus. It was three hours. That felt like forever. I certainly wasn’t worried, or anything.” Logan chuckles at Deceit’s obvious lie, finding himself unwilling to move away from Remus’s steady warmth. Then Remus takes gentle hold of his shoulders, moving him back, so he can examine him.

 “Nice new look, by the by. Hair, cool, like the blue, new style, nice, very formal rebel chic. You look like a real bad boy, Logan.” He rolls his eyes, suppressing his light blush at the teasing.

 “Dee?” He asks, softly, turning to face Deceit, who hadn’t yet looked up from the ground, as if he were almost afraid to. Slowly, Deceit looks at Logan, examining him from the feet up, letting out a soft, small noise as he reaches Logan’s face.

 He is before Logan in two steps, hands shaking as he reaches out, hovering around Logan’s face, eyes filled with something almost unreadable.

 “may I?” He asks softly, and Logan responds with a smile just as soft.

 “of course, Dee.” He shivers slightly as Deceit’s palms rest on his cheeks, his thumbs carefully stroking his newly formed scales with a feather light touch that just barely tingles against his skin. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch. It feels so… nice.

 “Logan!” Deceit yelps, startling him awake. Awake? He hadn’t been sleeping, had he?

 “sorry. I... don’t know what came over me.” Deceit had caught him in his arms, holding him carefully.

 “It’s fine, sweetling. You just surprised me, is all. You need to sleep. Preferably in your new room.” He closes his eyes again, nuzzling against Deceit’s chest. One of his favorite things about the Dark Sides, he didn’t feel the need to be the grown up one, the serious one. He didn’t feel embarrassed about wanting or needing touch and affection. They never judged him for it, never made him feel less for it.  

 “What do we call you now, anyways?” Remus chimes in, “I mean, not Logic, anymore, right?”

 “Ambition. I am ambition.” He mumbles, eyes slipping shut once again. “stay? Please? Till I… till I wake up? Don’t wanna be alone.” He feels Deceit lift him up, into his arms, and his hands fist around the fabric of his shirt. “remus too.” He mumbles, and Deceit chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

 “of course, Ambition. Whatever you want, darling.” He feels Deceit kiss his scales, then he succumbs to darkness.

 “Ambition.” Deceit says softly, and Remus can see the gears turning inside his head, trying to process the implications, the meaning, the why and how. “ambition. I think it suits him. He always wanted so much more than they gave him. Still uses facts and figures, uses logic. Logic with emotion. Ambition.” Deceit muses approvingly.

 “God, you two are such nerds. Now, I’m not one to pry,” Deceit snorts, “buuuut since we are spending the night with him, let’s go scope out the new room, already!” Remus is bouncing on the balls of his feet as he skips over to the door, which is now a deep, midnight blue. “c’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” He whines.

 “Shush, you’ll wake him. I’m moving fast as I can. Just go in already!” Deceit laughs, and Remus giddily complies, taking one step inside before he freezes, jaw dropping, eyes wide as he stares up at the ceiling.

 “whoa.” Is the only word that escapes him, and Deceit hurries inside to see what the fuss is, because not much can stop Remus’s endless talking, much less awe him. His eyes widen as he looks around, a soft whistle escaping his lips, because wow.

 The ceiling is moving, swirling, space. It is pitch black, and as they watch, galaxies swirl past, comets shooting across the space, distant stars glittering as supernovas explode in the distance. It is an ever moving, ever shifting, ever changing view of the universe.

 And the floor is like that of an infinity room, mirrored so the ceiling is reflected over and over and over again, like you’re walking through the stars, like you could reach out and touch a sun, like the endless possibility of the universe is unravelling at your feet.

 The walls are dark marble, embedded with shimmering, small moonstones, which shift and glimmer with the light, going from pale, milky blue, to fiery, alit orange, like more endless stars, and gods, it is beautiful and amazing and incredible, and it mirrors Ambition perfectly.

 His bed is still simple, though the duvet is blue and silver, like his jacket. A desk is against one wall, bookshelves line the other, a closet with clothes sits yet untouched. Any personal items, Ambition will have to fetch from his old room. Deceit bites his cheek at that, because he doesn’t know if he can face the others, if he can face Virgil, after this. Because no matter what Ambition says, they will all blame him. They will all say he somehow coerced, tricked, stole, Logan, and forced him to turn dark. As if him and Remus and, once, Virgil, were evil beings sent to hurt them. They aren’t, the terms light and dark arbitrary, but good luck telling that to Thomas.

 It upsets him to be blamed, of course, just because of his role. But that’s not why he’s angry at the thought. It undermines Ambition’s choice. He chose this. The issue shouldn’t be that he changed, the issue should be all the reasons why he changed.

 “DeeDee. You’re overthinking again.” Remus’s soft voice cuts through his thoughts, and Deceit sighs, shaking his head.

 “Caught me red handed, my ever observant Duke. Let’s get settled, before my mind runs away once again.” He replies, rolling his eyes as Remus jumps onto the bed, instantly burrowing under the covers, patting the space beside him.

 “Coming, I’m coming.” He mutters, tucking Ambition under the blankets first, whom Remus quickly secures in his arms, cooing as Ambition tucks his head down against his chest, mumbling something incoherently happy. Deceit slips in next, sandwiching Ambition in warmth, wrapping his arms around both him and Remus, letting out a long breath as his body relaxes, all the tension seeping out of his muscles at the warmth, head resting against Ambition’s.

 “Dee?” Small, hesitant. He smiles, not cracking open his eyes.

 “Yes, Remus?”

 “love you.” Innocent, quiet, the Remus none of the others get to see, don’t give him a chance to show. The one who is sensitive and kind and caring, in his own way. Who is just as insecure as Roman, just as romantic, just as full of love and fierce protection for his family. The one who was the most broken when Virgil left. Because he had loved Virgil, like a brother.

 “I love you too, Remus. So does he.”

 …

 It’s… odd. Waking up, surrounded by warmth, surrounded by arms, gentle breathing near his ear, the rise and fall of a chest, being held like he is the most precious thing in the universe.

 He needs a new name. Logan… doesn’t feel right, anymore. It doesn’t feel like it… fits. Honestly, he’s not sure it ever did. Logan was a name chosen out of convenience. Logic, Logan, simple, clean, easy to remember. It hadn’t mattered much, what he was called.

 But now… now it felt important.

 Idly, he looks up, eyes widening as he sees the ceiling, watching the stars shimmer and spark, earth far away, a vague blue dot against the endless vastness. Space. He’d always loved space, the stars, the theories of the universe’s formation, the mechanics and unknows of it all, how it just… worked. By some miracle, it worked.

 As he watches, the sky changes, swirling, to show what the night sky looks like from earth, the constellations stretching out before him. Ursa major, minor. Big dipper, little dipper. Orion and his belt.

 “Cygnus.” He whispers, lips twitching upwards in a smile. Cygnus. The swan. In Greek myths, so many warriors, heroes, were transformed into swans to escape death, the constellation itself was said to be Orpheus, transformed into a swan and placed in the sky to forever sing his songs. The ugly duckling, finding his place among his species, turning something old and ugly into something new and beautiful.

 “ugh, morning.” Deceit mumbles, and he rolls over to meet Deceit’s eyes, which are still blurry from sleep, his curly hair adorably tousled. “how are we feeling this morning, Ambition?” He smiles at Deceit’s use of his new title.

 “good. Not about to pass out, anymore, at least. A bit sore, still. But better.”

 “Ambyyyy why are you talking? Go back to sleeeeeep.” Remus whines, hugging him tighter around his waist, face buried against his back. He chuckles, heart warming further at Remus’s nick name.

 “We should get up sooner rather than later. Even they won’t be able to ignore a shift this big in the mindscape. Sooner rather than later, we’re going to be summoned. I would prefer to look my best to deal with this occasion.” Deceit says dryly, and Remus groans, but relents, releasing him and sitting up. “go get dressed. I’ll start on breakfast. Everyone needs to eat something today.”

 He shivers as Deceit leaves the bed, wishing they could stay there all day, but he knows Dee is right. Remus plants a soft kiss on his head, before slipping out from behind him.

 “take your time starlight. Look around. It’s pretty amazing, what you made.” Remus slips out the door, Deceit following, shooting him a final, gentle smile as he lets the door close behind him.

 He sighs, letting out a huge, deep, shaking breath. He still couldn’t believe he’d done this. Had the courage, to do this. But honestly, he’s never been happier in his life.

 …

 When he does emerge from his room, his room, for breakfast and makes his way to the kitchen/dining room, much more informal than the light sides dining area, a small table, a counter island with three stools, a vase of flowers on the table.

 “Foxgloves. Pretty and deadly. Literally every part of the plant is poisonous. From your garden, Remus?” He asks, amused as he sits down at the island, where Remus is already leaning, watching Deceit cook, scrambling eggs, based on the smell. Remus’s eyes light up at his classification of the plant.

 “Uh huh. Oh! I should show you! It’s all filled with poisonous plants! I’ve even mixed and bred new breeds! I dunno if they’d actually survive in the real world, but it’s the imagination so, anything goes! If… if you wanna. I know… my part isn’t as pretty as roman’s.”

 “I find that hard to believe, Remus. You have the same level of passion and drive as Roman, and you don’t limit yourself half as much as he does, based on public perception. You don’t let public pressure alter your work. It’s true, unbiased, unfiltered art. I fail to see how that could ever be anything less than beautiful, regardless of how ‘perfect or ‘pretty’ it is or isn’t.” Remus is blushing furiously, and Deceit is staying facing the stove to hide the delighted, glowing grin on his face.

 “And yes, I would love to see your garden. I may be able to offer some advice, as well, if you’re looking to up the toxicity of your specimens. For purely scientific reasons, of course.”

 “Of course.” Deceit echoes, amused as he turns around, spooning eggs onto each of three plates, along with two slices of bacon and a piece of toast, sitting down on a stool on the other side of the counter, across from Remus. They eat in silence for a few moments, before Logan pushes his plate away, mostly finished. Turns out changing burns a lot of calories.

 “I… have something I wish to tell the two of you. In regards… to my name.” Deceit and Remus both freeze, locking eyes a bit frantically.

 “You don’t have to-“

 “It’s not necessary-“ they both blurt out at the same time, stumbling over each other in their rush to stop him from saying anything more. Then they both shut up again as Logan laughs.

 A real, honest, deep, full, laugh. Like church bells ringing, like distant thunder, like heady, summer nights. It’s beautiful, it’s stunning, it’s amazing. And it feels… good. When was the last time he laughed, more than an amused snort, at best? He was too serious, too focused, too adult, for laughing. Not anymore. His laugh finally dies down, leaving him smiling brightly, looking at the two stunned faces of Remus and Deceit.

 “I know I don’t. That’s why I want to. Because I trust you two and I… I want you, to know. I just… I don’t want it to sound… stupid.” It had felt so right, lying sleepily in bed, but he cringed in the cold light of the kitchen, because what if it isn’t? What if they laugh?

 “Ambition. We won’t laugh. We won’t judge. And if you aren’t ready, do not feel the need to say another word on the subject.” Deceit says softly, and he half smiles, taking a deep breath.

 “Cygnus. It’s a constellation. Of a swan.” His face is furiously red, but when he looks up, he sees nothing but warmth and softness and a bright, wondering kind of joy.

 “it’s perfect, Amby. You’re perfect.” Remus whispers, taking his hand and rubbing circles on his knuckles, easing some of his tension, evaporating his fear.

 “Don’t… don’t tell the others?”

 “Of course, sweetling. You tell them if or when you’re ready. We won’t tell them a thing, Cygnus.” He shivers a bit at the use of his name, the way it rolls off Deceit’s tongue, like music. He nods, biting the inside of his cheek.

 “I think… I think we should go to them. Before they summon us. I don’t want to wait around for them to notice something is different. If they haven’t noticed by now, I want to show them. I want to say my piece, before they have time to put words in my mouth.” He squeezes Remus’s hand tighter, determination and a hint of fear spiking through him, but Deceit is nodding.

 “Whatever you want, Cygnus. Everything is up to you. Everything is at your pace. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” And he’s flushing again, at the sincerity of Deceit, the promise in his words, and he knows Deceit means it. Knows he could ask Deceit to walk off the end of the earth, and he would.

 …

 Everyone is yelling. Roman is threatening Deceit, Patton is trying to calm him down but he is also afraid, unsure, and his frantic energy adds to Roman’s. Virgil is staring at him with wide eyed horror and disbelief, his face pale, eyes angry and hard as stone as he spits something cold and cruel at Remus, who flinches, backing behind him, almost as overwhelmed as he is at all the noise. Then Roman breaks free of Patton’s hold and actually swings at Deceit.

 He smoothly steps in front of the snake side and catches Roman’s arm, eyes cold as stars as he halts the swing, and the room goes silent as the sword clatters to the floor, all eyes on him.

 “You don’t want to do that, your majesty.” He hisses, and Roman stumbles back, the three light sides staring down the three dark sides, with Cygnus at their head.

 “Logan… you don’t have to do this. Whatever they told you… it isn’t true. We love you. Please.” Patton, open armed and teary eyed.

 But he knows. He knows Patton wants him back because he’s afraid he won’t be able to moderate Virgil and Roman without him there, that he doesn’t want things to change, that he wants everything to go back to the way it was. But he is not, for a single second, thinking of wanting ‘Logan’ to be happy.

 “You want to be the pinnacle of light, Patton. The perfect father, perfect leader, perfect person. You spend so much time worrying about appearances, Patton. If you looked a little deeper maybe you’d realize no coercion was necessary, nor attempted.” His words are cool, evenly spoken, but Patton still winces, mouth opening and closing several times before he simply looks away.

 “Why? Logan, why go… to them? After everything, after what they’ve done-“ He cuts Virgil off.

 “I don’t know what they’ve done, besides try and do their best for Thomas. Try and help him accomplish his goals. And why? Are you really asking me that? Do you not have a single idea of what could have led to this choice?” He asks incredulously, looking from face to face, seeing nothing but honest puzzlement and it almost makes him furious.

 “I have been gone. For five days.” Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, Roman’s eyes blaze as he glares at Remus, Virgil gasps softly. “I’m glad to see no one noticed my absence.” His lips twist in a grim smile, and he shakes his head, gathering his thoughts for a moment.

 “I have never felt listened to. I have never been valued. I do the work, I put in the time, I try my very hardest to get all of you, any of you, to listen to me, to see me, to care about me, and I am pushed aside again and again and again. It is only when something goes wrong, only when everything has fallen apart to the very extremes does anyone come looking for Logic. So clearly, it wasn’t needed. Logan… wasn’t needed.” They all have the grace to look ashamed at that, and he feels Remus slip his hand into his, before he continues.

 “I was ill. I thought it didn’t matter. I thought I didn’t matter. None of you cared to notice, cared to check on me, cared to ask where I was, while these two were taking care of me, fevered and unconscious for nearly two days. And no one even noticed I was gone. You can have that, as your answer to why.” There’s more, but those feelings are personal, and they have lost all right to his personal emotions, though they barely had it to begin with.

 “Logan-“

 “No. That is not my name anymore. I am Ambition. And that is what you may call me. You have not earned my name. I don’t think you ever truly did. You will leave Deceit and Remus alone. You will not punish them for this. You have only yourselves to blame. If you wanted me so badly, you should have fought for me a little sooner.” With that, he takes Deceit’s hand, and they disappear, back to the dark side, leaving the three lights in stunned, broken silence.

 …

He stumbles, nearly falling, Deceit catching his arm and steadying him.

 “Cyg? You okay?” Remus asks as he straightens, shooting Deceit a thankful glance.

 “Just not used to that popping in and out thing. A bit more dizzying, than sinking in and out.” He replies, sinking onto the couch in the common room, laughing as a blanket is tossed at his face from across the room, which he promptly pulls around himself.

 “You wanna watch anything, Amby?” Remus asks, hesitating by the T.V. Remus wants to play his game console, but only if he is ok with it. Remus, above everything, wants him to be comfortable and happy. He smiles, though he’s on the verge of tears again.

 “No. Go ahead, Ree. The new Resident Evil remake?” He asks, and Remus pauses in turning on the television.

 “How did you know?” His voice is pure curiosity, as he plops on the couch beside him, Cygnus leaning against him as the game loads.

 “New role, new abilities, I suppose. As Ambition, I can tell what people want. Both eventual goals and whatever the current top desire is.” Remus hums thoughtfully, as Deceit comes in from the kitchen, holding a bowl of popcorn. He sits on Cygnus’s other side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, resting the bowl between them.

 “So, then. What is my current desire, Ambition?” Deceit asks, and he swallows hard, because it is radiating off of both Remus and Deceit, and he has never felt like this before. Never felt this blooming warmth in his chest, never felt so wanted, needed, loved, and it burns in a pleasing, soft way.

 “to love me. To show me I am loved, to give me whatever I need, whenever I need it, no matter if it is space or touch, company or solitude. To… to be here, with me, right now. My happiness, is your ambition.” He whispers, conscious of the tears slipping down his face.

 Slowly, gently, Deceit reaches up and wipes away his tears, before pressing a kiss to each of his newly formed scales, nuzzling his head against Cygnus’s cheek before pulling away.  

 “yes. And it always will be.”

 “MOTHERFUCKER” They both jump at Remus’s screech, popcorn flying, looking up at the screen to see a giant monster chasing his character through zombie infested streets. He recovers from his shock first, and chuckles, getting caught up in the action as Remus dodges and shoots, all three of them letting out a cheer as a stranger appears, blasting the monster with a rocket.

 He can still feel the warmth and love radiating off the two of them as they are all sucked into the game, the plot, and he slowly finds himself relaxing against Remus, Deceit massaging his head, and it feels so good, for once everything feels so good, so right, so perfect.

 He is home.

[arri-aspects]

So this has been stuck in my head and I thought that I might as well get it out. I wanted ways/reasons/justifications for either Virgil returning to the dark sides or anxiety never getting accepted at all, but I didn’t want to make it abusive

So I know a lot of us use Unsympathetic Sides and Unsympathetic light sides have been popping up more often but the thing is that a lot of times is that they jump straight into physical and/or mental abuse, which is fine if that’s what you’re aiming for, but that’s an extreme end of the spectrum and I just wanted to offer some other ways that the sides can be Unsympathetic without being straight out evil and or harmful.

For simplicities sake, I’m going to word/phrase all of these as directed towards Virgil before Accepting Anxiety or as if Accepting Anxiety never happened

In general

Uncomfortable roommates: The sides live together, like it or not, however that doesn’t mean they have to like each other. The light sides see Virgil as a roommate that’s necessary to pay rent, and will sometimes pay a little extra, but still not liked/likable

Feared: They don’t understand him. They fear him (why do they fear me?), He’s the thing that goes bump in the night (I was just getting some water), He’s always around unpredictable Remus and manipulative deceit (Their not that bad, their my family), He’s always lurking in the shadows (it’s just where I feel comfortable)

Anxiety: As anxiety, Virgil needs people around him because it is incredibly difficult to ground yourself without help. But he doesn’t have help. Their all outside in the common room having a movie night, and can’t hear him trying to keep a breathing pattern but can’t 

Being alone: Really this ties into the last one but as anxiety, you need people to help take your mind off things, to comfort and care for you with gentle touches and calm words and maybe even a fidget cube or two, to keep you from spiraling, but you’re in your room and its dark and you cant spiral right now because then Thomas will start panicking too and there’s literally nothing to panic about but ohgodyou’respiralinganywayandyoucan’tstop-

They’re all just on edge when he’s around and they cant help the cautious or wary glance they send his way because what is he even doing in that room of his all day?

Now time for specifics!

Roman:

he just really doesn’t get anxiety, I mean really, what problem does he have with adventuring? He just doesn’t understand

creative insults and constant mocking

barely concealed distaste

he avoids anxiety when he can with trips to the imagination and such

“He’s always ruining everything!”

Logan:

He realizes that Anxiety is a large part of Thomas but his reasoning is so irrational 

the side is just full of emotions that he just doesn’t understand so he’d rather just stay away

he ends up ruining the schedule more often than appreciated

quick jabs and cautious looks

“It would probably best if you were not present for this particular engagement”

Patton:

I mean.... he tries his best, but his best just isn’t good enough

no one wants to deal with a ‘disappointed dad glare’ or ‘dad talk’ on a bad day, and Virgil has a lot of bad days

he’s.... wary of anxiety, that's for sure

Anxiety’s just always popping up and he makes these weird sounds and does these strange things and he’s just odd

“I just don’t think you should come down for dinner tonight, kiddo”

Whoops, this turned into angst... uh....  my hand slipped

(I'm just going to tag @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes because this kinda has to do with the story I’m writing and I thought they might like the angst I'm sorry if you don't want to be tagged)

[sparrow-flightninggale]

You know what I need more of? Unsympathetic Remus but Sympathetic Deceit.

Yes, I love sympathetic Remus, but I also live the idea that Deceit is not the leader of the dark sides, but the lowest member on the ladder. He tries so hard to get accepted into the light sides so he doesnt have to face them anymore, but they wont accept him no matter how hard he tries.

He's stuck between a rock and a hard place.

If he stays with the dark sides, he'll have to deal with Remus and his gorey ideas/experiments, (he still has scars on his stomach from when Remus wanted to see if he had a similar dietary track to snakes) or be ostracised and shunned by the light sides?

And so it comes down to: What's more important, his mental or physical health?

I guess that's up to which one becomes too painful.

Also @sometimesiwriteangst for really getting me into Deceit angst, this one's kind of inspired by you and my inner need to torture my favorite characters.