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borkthemork · 2 years

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Isn't it weird that in Commander Anne, Anne's capabilities for planning and leadership are just like toned down a bit too much? Because in one of your posts you have illustrated Anne's creativity and cleverness, that she can be a good leader when she is focused but in the episode, she has made mistakes that are sort of cartoonish and ridiculous as if she was getting out of character. I mean I can understand forgetting to take a picture of the map, but the rest was going overboard. It could be explained that her transition from Earth where she was relatively safe to Amphibia that has gotten much deadlier is the reason why she has gotten a bit rusty and she even told Sasha that she wasn't sure being commander after all the changes was a good idea, but she is pretty creative and adapts well so for her to fail this much in the job just to prove to Sasha that her insistence to Anne to take the lead was more harmful than a good execution despite her good intentions was a slipup in writing.

Okay, since it has been a few days since Commander Anne and Sprivy have been released, I think I can finally talk about some of my thoughts regarding this episode, because you're right I did notice it immediately during my watch.

However, I will put my thoughts within a Read More mainly just so people can choose to see my critique over this specific thing. Because I know people are emotionally invested with this show just like me, so I might as well give them a warning of the contents that I will be talking about, just in case.

So warning: this post will dive into the technicalities of writing, animation production (based on discussions I had with a friend who is doing professional storyboarding), and open-minded critique over Commander Anne and a portion of Anne’s character writing.

If that stuff isn’t your cup of tea, then feel free to just scroll past, there’s no hard feelings!

With that out of the way, let us begin.

So I talked about this before in a prior post about the two-way street of creators and the audience. It's one of the first things I was taught about during writing workshops, that when you create something there will be an inevitable set-up of expectations based on what you have curated and established throughout your canon.

Of course, the audience has to be critical and even acknowledgeable on when they have created a false narrative compared to the canon narrative, however, in this episode it's a really good example of when a creator messes up and contradicts their own canon.

Because for a lot of Amphibia, it had been established within the text that Anne is smart.

She's smart in delegation, interpersonal relationships, being able to see the strengths of other characters, and making active decisions on the battlefield.

It's not fictional or implied that Anne couldn't make hasty decisions when things have become tough, and by making this characteristic of her consistent it becomes an established part of the canon universe the creators had built.

Let us then cut over to Commander Anne, where Anne's ability to delegate becomes a focal point and even used as a branch of comedy within the episode itself.

You can then see the difference of Amphibia's characterized Anne and the episode's Anne pretty quickly.

You get a very competent girl who can quickly think on her feet, to someone who is then uncertain on where to go, what to do,

And doesn’t even know how to use a telescope correctly.

When I remark upon this, here's why it's a problem: It is a violation between the trust of the creator and audience.

There is a dissonance between what is established within the canon, and when a creator breaks that rule without a good solidified reason it becomes pretty noticeable within the story itself, and can pull the audience out completely rather than be enamored by the world.

The fact there are episodes where Anne is uncertain and harboring insecurity over her own capabilities and intelligence, makes the episode hit even harder that Commander Anne wrote Anne specifically to act less intelligent so that Sasha could show off her leadership skills as a whole.

And one of the biggest rules I’ve ever learned is that if you change a person’s characterization just to advance someone else’s characterization then the audience could definitely tell.

And the result is that the audience is gonna feel hurt that the creator didn’t trust them to actively think critically over this situation in general.

However, I will give the writer Todd McClintock the benefit of the doubt here, because we have to be honest for a second. Trying to make an eleven-minute episode establishing a new status quo and the current relationship of two pivotal characters is hard, and if I was a writer in this situation I would be having a heart attack, not gonna lie.

And within the text itself (alongside the revealed storyboards of Alex Swanson), there have been implications that something very important in the story itself became lost within the pipeline from script to animation — and I could describe it here.

Something that a friend had talked to me about was the episode’s establishment over the idea of pressure, responsibility, and an overall burden being placed on Anne’s shoulders as a result of being the chosen one to lead the Resistance.

Anne being resistant (Haha) to the idea of this burden on her throughout the episode and her panic over bad ideas implies that a lot of her insistence and fears of not being seen as the leader stems from that. Doesn’t excuse the comedy moments where she’s seen as dumb, but I do get where Todd was going with this when it came to the message.

When Alex Swanson revealed the original storyboards of two specific scenes, it surprised me that there is a lot of more emotion and stress found within Anne that the text somehow didn’t reflect in the finished product.

We get the absolute hope that the plan of using multiple people as a bridge could work. And let me be frank here, even if the “idea from a piece of media” gag was a bit overplayed, I can see Anne trying to use teamwork and neglecting the math of an entire canyon as an in-character moment.

However, what is crucial here is the emotion bit, because the pipeline from script to final product has lost the most important bit that makes the story within Commander Anne more understandable and heartfelt (and even excusable slightly as to why some scenes of Anne buffering in leadership are there in the first place).

The episode wasn’t able to emphasize how stressful and torn Anne was when it came to being burdened with the role of leader.

Look at this scene.

And then look at the original storyboards.

There were legitimate tears in Anne’s eyes over the idea of failing and drowning in leadership. The pressures of leading an entire Resistance and the battle against Andrias are there right on the storyboard’s expressions, but somewhere along the pipeline (either because of miscommunication or a mix in translation), this emotion wasn’t able to be portrayed in the final product.

Not only that, but the implication that Anne is about to breakdown from being indirectly hurt by Sasha can also be seen within this body language, and that would add a lot more intensity to this scene as a whole.

So the ability to find the pressures of specific uncertainties during battle had been removed, and what we have here is mainly Anne being concerned rather than just full-on panicked over a million burdens on her sleeves.

And it makes me sad too because changing the trope of the protag being assigned leader to actually the deuteragonist is honestly a fave of mind. It means that Anne doesn’t have to be burdened by the stress just because she is assigned in the narrative as the main character.

Somewhere along the way, the execution on this specific point in the conflict didn’t stick the landing.

It’s fascinating to me, really. I can’t really blame Todd McClintock for the writing and even the pipeline errors that had occurred, because as a writer myself, you can’t really control these kinds of circumstances from happening when you’re in a massive TV group project compared to something monitored independently like fanfiction or webcomics. And even with the eleven-minute time segment we’re given, it makes sense as to why Todd struggled real hard in making an episode’s pacing, characterization, and even coherency to Sasha’s arc without encountering these pitfalls.

Of course, there are different factors that affects an episode’s quality and Anne’s characterization is only one of them, but I do hope this post can help give a better understanding to why some specific details in the story could be botched or negatively executed in some way.

For stories, execution is everything, and when something like comedy writing or details gets mangled up within the process, then that can definitely affect the impact of an episode’s message and what it is attempting to portray.

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #critique #Blacklist critique if you don't want to see these takes on your dash #but yeah I have a lot of thoughts on Commander Anne so I'm always glad to lend some discussion over this whole thing #asks #nexstage

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isomorphismes · 3 years

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There are no theorems in category theory.

Emily Riehl, Category Theory In Context

Mathematicians often tell her this; hence the book.

If I had to summarise her views in one sentence, it would be:

Everything is an adjunction.

I also like the division these mathematicians are making to her: essentially, a theorem is anything that solves Feynman’s challenge: by a series of clear, unsurprising steps, one arrives at an unexpected conclusion.

Examples for me include:

17 possible tessellations

6 ways to foliate a surface

27 lines on a cubic

1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 28, 2, 8, 6, 992, 1, 3, 2, 16256, 2, 16, 16, 523264, 24, 8, 4 ways to link any-dimensional spheres.

the existence of sporadic groups

surprising rep-theory consequences of Young diagrams, Ferrers sequences, and so on (you could say the strangeness of integer partitions is really to blame here…)

59 icosahedra

8 geometric layouts

Books which are bristling with mathematical ideas of this kind include Montesinos on tessellations, Geometry and the Imagination (the original one), and Coxeter’s book on polyhedra (start with Baez on A-D-E if you want to follow my path). Moonshine and anything by Thurston or his students, I’ve found similarly flush with shockng content—quite different to what I thought mathematics would be like. (I had pictured something more like a formal logic book: row by row of symbols. But instead, the deeper I got into mathematics, the fewer the symbols and the more the surnames thanking the person who came up with some good idea.)

Note that a theorem is different here to some geometry — as in The Geometry of Schemes. The word geometry used in that sense, I feel, is to have a comprehensive enough vision of a subject to say how it “looks” — but the word theorem means the result is surprising or unintuitive.

This definition of a theorem, to me, presents a useful challenge to annoying pop-psychology that today lurks under the headings of Bayesianism, cognitive _______, behavioural econ/finance, and so on.

Following Buliga and Thurston to understand the nature of mathematical progress, within mathematics at least (where it’s clearer than elsewhere whether you understand something or not—compare to economic theory for example), there is a clear delination of what’s obvious and what’s not.

What is definitely not the case in mathematics, is that every logical or computable consequence of a set of definitions is computed and known immediately when the definitions are stated! You can look at a (particularly a good) mathematical exposition as walking you through the steps of which shifts in perspective you need to take to understand a conclusion. For example start with some group, then consider it as a topological object with a cohomology to get the centraliser. Or in Fourier analysis: re-present line-elements on a series of widening circles. Use hyperbolic geometry to learn about integers. Use stable commutator length (geometry) to learn about groups. Or read about Teichmüller stuff and mapping class groups because it’s the confluence of three rivers.

Sometimes mathematical explanations require fortitude (Gromov’s "energy") and sometimes a shift in perspective (Gromov’s (neg)"entropy").

This view of theorems should be contrasted to the disease of generalisation in mathematical culture. Citing two real-life grad students and a tenured professor in logic (one philosophical, one mathematical, the professor in computer science):

I like your distinction between hemi-toposes, demi-toposes, and semi-toposes

I care about hyper-reals, sur-reals, para-consistency, and so on

Abstract thought — like mathematicians do — is the best kind of thought.

(twitter.com/replicakill, the author of twitter.com/logicians, ragged on David Lewis by saying “What do mathematicians like?” “What do mathematicians think?” —— And Corey Mohler has done a wonderful job of mocking Platonism, which is how I guess the thirst for over-generalisation reaches non-mathematicians.)

Paul Halmos knew that cool examples beat generalisations for generalisation’s sake, as did V. I. Arnol’d. And it seems that the people a Harvard mathematician spends her time with make reasonable demands of a mathematical idea as well. It shouldn’t just contain previous theories; it should surprise. In Buliga’s Blake/Reynolds dispute, Blake wins hands down.

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galemalio · 4 years

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3 Examples of Racial Bias in Animation Storytelling

It’s not hard to grasp that a white person, while not explicitly or consciously racist in the sense we might usually imagine, is still inherently racially biased because they benefit from and grow up used to white supremacy.” - Scottishwobbly, Tumblr

This is nothing new. This is something POC (People of Color) have been talking about in separate fandoms. Nevertheless, it needs to be acknowledged by those unaware.

This article is not made to say that some of the animations that I will use as examples are bad. But in the hopes that we, as consumers and creators, will do better in the future in handling characters that are POC.

Most often, racial bias in storytelling is when the narrative treats white or light skin toned characters better than darker skin toned characters. The darker skin toned characters are often POC-coded or actual POC.

White creators often do not notice their racial bias in their storytelling as they benefit from and grow up with white privileges and white supremacy. This can also apply to light-skinned POC who have light skin priviliges.

Some of us don’t often see it but real people who relate to the characters of color do. Especially when it reflects from their experiences with racial bias, microaggressions, colorism and flat out racism.

So when they speak up, it’s important to listen to them to unlearn the racial bias we may have in ourselves.

I will be emphasizing “the narrative” for I am criticizing how the story treats its dark-skinned characters and not because I am criticizing the characters themselves.

This article is critiqued by @visibilityofcolor as a sensitivity reader once and then additions were made before publishing. If you’re looking for a Black sensitivity reader, you can contact her.

This article is a 14-minute read at average speed so buckle up. Unless you want to skip to your show mentioned below. External Tumblr Resources will be put in the reblog.

Here are three examples that I was made aware of.

Example #1: The Narrative Treats the Light-Skinned Character at the Expense of the Dark-Skinned Character

Steven Universe was one of the animations that pushed lgbt+ representation in cartoon media. However, there are narratives here and there that showed racial bias.

SU creator Rebecca Sugar was raised with "Jewish sensibilities" and both siblings observe the lighting of Hanukkah candles with their parents through Skype.[1] Rebecca Sugar also talked about being non-binary.[2]

But as a white person, she (and the rest of the SU crew) is not aware of the inherently biased values from growing up and benefiting from white privilege.

One example is the human zoo. There are people that have spoken up about this such as @jellyfax of Tumblr who pointed out that the Crewniverse mishandled a loaded topic and reinforced a white colonist propaganda where the captive humans of mostly black/brown people are naive, docile and childlike in order to subjugate the people that they colonized. .

What I’m here is how a character of color from the main cast is more obligated to the lighter-skinned character.

In the episode, Friend Ship, one fan had spoken out about how Garnet, who had been validly angry at Pearl, was compelled by a dangerous situation to forgive Pearl. Garnet is a Black-coded character. While Pearl is a light-skinned character.

Garnet was mad at Pearl for tricking her into always fusing with her. Then they were trapped in a chamber that was going to crush them. In this situation, they have to fuse in order to save themselves but Garnet refuses to because she was still angry at her.

In the end, they were forced to talk it out, for Garnet to understand Pearl’s reason for wanting to fuse with her and everything worked out well.

The narrative focused so much on Pearl’s self-worth issues at the expense of Garnet’s right to be angry.

Yes, it showed that Pearl is trying her best to make up for it but Garnet should have been allowed to work at her own anger at her own pace instead of being obligated to consider Pearl’s feelings over her own.

I wouldn’t have noticed it until someone had mentioned it. Because it was never my experience.

But it’s there, continuing the message that it’s okay to put the emotional labor on Black people and disregard their own feelings for the sake of the non-Black people who have hurt them -particularly light-skinned women.

White Fragility and Being Silenced White Woman Tears

Again, racial bias in animation storytelling is often not intentional because white creators do not experience it due to white privilege.

Without meaning to, that scene alone shows Garnet as the Angry Black woman trope that is ungrateful and rude to Pearl who then ends up in tears. Without meaning to, Pearl with her light skin, became the tearful white girl trope that had to be sympathized over.

The Angry Black Woman trope is a combination of the worst negative stereotypes of a Black woman: overly aggressive, domineering, emasculating, loud, disagreeable and uppity.[13]

The Tearful white girl trope comes from the combination of the stereotypes of white women being morally upstanding and delicate and therefore should be protected.[13]

Which, unfortunately, many white women have taken advantage of.

These two tropes are harmful to WOC (Women of Color) because they experience the "weary weaponizing of white women's tears". This tactic employed by many white women incites sympathy and avoids accountability for their actions, turning the tables to their accuser and forcing their accuser to understand them instead.

(Image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay)

In "Weapon of lass destruction: The tears of a white woman", Author Shay described that white tears turns a white woman into the priority of whatever space she's in. "It doesn't matter if you're right, once her tears are activated, you cease to exist." [11]

White woman tears have gotten Black people beaten and lynched such as Emmett Till. Carolyn Bryant who had accused 14 year old Emmett Till of sexually harassing her in 1955, admitted she lied about those claims years later in 2007.[15]

In Awesomely Luvvie's "About the Weary Weaponizing of White Women Tears", she states that the innocent white woman is a caricature many subconsciously embrace because it hides them from consequences. [10]

In The Guardian’s article, "How White Women Use Strategic Tears to Silence Women of Colour", Ruby Hamad shares her experience:

"Often, when I have attempted to speak to or confront a white woman about something she has said or done that has impacted me adversely, I am met with tearful denials and indignant accusations that I am hurting her. My confidence diminished and second-guessing myself, I either flare up in frustration at not being heard (which only seems to prove her point) or I back down immediately, apologising and consoling the very person causing me harm."[4]

This is not to say that all crying white women are insincere. But as activist Rachel Cargle said:

“I refuse to listen to white women cry about something. When women have come up to me crying, I say, ‘Let me know when you feel a little better, then maybe we can talk.’”[3]

One of the most quoted words in “White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism.” is this:

“It is white people’s responsibility to be less fragile; people of color don’t need to twist themselves into knots trying to navigate us as painlessly as possible.”[3]

When white women cry in defense, instead of taking accountability, People of Color are then gaslighted into thinking they’re the bad guy. This is emotional abuse and a manipulation tactic.

People of Color shouldn’t have to bend backwards to accommodate discomfited white or light-skinned people who have hurt them.

How She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (SPOP) Did It Right

Despite SPOP having good lgbtq+ representations, there are other biases in the show. Such as Mara, a WOC whose only purpose was to sacrifice herself for the white protagonist. There was also the insensitive joke in their stream regarding Bow’s sibling that perpetuated an Anti-Black stereotype which Noelle Stevenson has apologized for.[14]

But the scene I have encountered where the Black character was validly angry and his feelings were treated well by the narrative, came from SPOP.

Bow, a black character, was validly angry at Glimmer, a lighter skinned character. Glimmer made a lot of bad decisions, one of them was using Adora and their friends as bait, without their knowledge, to lure out and capture Catra.

Glimmer tearfully apologized in Season 5, Episode 4. Adora readily forgave her. But Bow didn't.

They faced dangers along the way but the story didn't put them in a dangerous situation where Bow has to forgive Glimmer in order to get out of it.

This was Glimmer's words of apology:

"Look, I know you're still mad at me. Maybe you'll be mad at me for a really long time. I deserved it. And maybe... maybe we'll never be friends like we used to be. But I'm not going to stop trying to make it better. I made a mistake with the heart of Etheria. I should've listened to you and I'm sorry. You get to be mad. For as long as you need to be. But I'm not going anywhere. And when you're ready, I'll be here."

In short, Bow was allowed to take the time to be mad and not just get over it for someone else’s sake. The story validates his feelings and he was allowed to take his own pace. That is emotional respect the story gave to him.

Example #2: The Narrative Gives Better Endings or Portrayals to Colonizers than Their Victims

Avatar: The Last Airbender has handled dark themes well such as genocide, war, PTSD, disability and redemption with great worldbuilding.

However, I never noticed the racial bias in ATLA until people spoke up of the double standards in ATLA’s treatment of light-skinned colonizers compared to their dark-skinned victims-turned-villains.

The characters in question -Iroh, Azula, Jet and Hama- are all flawed and well-rounded in a believable way. But how the narrative treats them is unequal.

General Iroh is an ex-colonizer who gets to redeem himself and not answer for his past war crimes, living a peaceful life as a tea shop owner. The only reason Iroh changed was when he was personally affected by the negativity of their military subjugation -his son’s death. It wasn’t the harm of the Fire nation ravaging Earth kingdom villages or cities and affecting millions of people that opened his eyes.

Azula, the tyrannical daughter, had closure of her mother's rejection when she was a child and was able to escape imprisonment.

Jet and Hama, victims of colonization who have done bad things, did not get similar conclusions to their stories OR compensation for what they have gone through from the Fire Nation's colonization.

Jet was given a second chance but was arrested for trying to expose Zuko and Iroh being firebenders -firebenders who were their enemies for conquering their villages. Then he died from the injuries of the person who had brainwashed and mind-controlled him.

Hama was imprisoned for life.

Compared to the sins of the light-skinned colonizers, the narrative didn’t give Jet and Hama the development where they could heal from their trauma, receive compensation for what happened to them and really have a chance in life.

The dark-skinned victims of colonization just became a lesson to the viewers how they shouldn’t hold grudges for being colonized. The end. They have received consequences for their actions but there is no continuation to their stories after that.

It almost seems like the narrative is saying that because they have harmed colonizers who have no part in their trauma (and in Jet’s case, some Earth kingdom villagers), they are therefore unworthy to be given an actual chance in life.

While Azula and Iroh, who have actively participated in conquering, colonizing and attacking the Earth Kingdom itself, were.

Someone once said that if indigenous people have control over Hama’s story, it would have been done differently. But the ATLA crew are white, non-indigenous people who prioritized redeeming colonizers instead.

The narrative has also affected how the ATLA fandom thinks. If most fans are asked who they would want to be redeemed, the popular option would be Azula over Jet or Hama.

Once again, I don’t think the ATLA crew noticed it due to their racial bias. But still, the harm is done and the racially biased message is continued:

The colonizers and their descendants don’t have to make amends for the colonizers’ crimes. Or if they do, only lightly since it’s in the past (no matter how recent that past is).

The colonized who rebel will tend to hurt innocent people and then get a grisly end for getting in way over their heads.

I would venture as far as to say that the narrative may have the added subconscious desire to quiet their white anxiety on the vengeance of the colonized. As I have learned when writing about Vodou stereotypes and how they have stemmed from the history of white anxiety of Black vengeance, of Black fetishization and of dissolution of the white race through intermarriages.

In @visibilityofcolor’s blog, someone asked:

“So I saw some of the really heated debates on here and on twitter about how if Iroh and Azula can be portrayed sympathetically despite their actions then characters like Jet and Hama should've been given a chance too. Do you think that the writers understood the implications of only redeeming characters from the colonizer/fascist nation but not giving the characters who suffered because of their fascism a second chance too?”

To which VisibilityOfColor replied:

“No, because at the end of the day, the writers are white. When it comes to stuff like this, it’s no surprise when we see white writers redeem problematic characters before they actually redeem victims of those racist problematic characters. For instance, Dave Filioni, who worked on both avatar and star wars rebels, did the same thing when redeeming agent kallus who was an soldiers in the imperial army and took credit for a genocide. where as victims of the empire were still painted in negative lights. i really don’t think they understand.

They have this ‘be the better person’ view on things, which is what a lot of white people tend to emulate when it comes to people of color standing up to their oppressors. and unfortunately, these are ideas passed on to children, esp minorities. that they should forgive people and communities who hurt them and ‘be the better person’. this is why white ppl don’t need to write narratives for people of color.”

Example #3: The Narrative Favors the Light Skinned Character Than Dark Skinned Character in Similar Situations

I would like to reiterate that racial bias in storytelling is often not intentional. I am not saying the creators and the people who support them are bad people. No.

However, I encourage that once a racial bias is made known in our work, it is our responsibility to change them to stop the perpetuation of its harmful message.

Hazbin Hotel is a popular cartoon with whimsical designs and its concept opens the conversation about redemption. The creator, Vivziepop may not have noticed the racial bias in her cartoon as a white Latina [5] that grew up with and benefits from white privileges, along with the Hazbin crew.

In the Youtbe video, "Hazbin Hotel - How Art took over Writing", Staxlotl states:

“I understand that there was a lot of time and effort put into this pilot, almost three years worth of effort. But I think most of that time was spent into the art and visuals when it should’ve gone into polishing the writing in the characters.”[6]

Once again, I’m not here to critique the characters but how the narrative treats its dark-skinned characters.

The story treats Charlie, the white-skinned, “Disney-esque” protagonist princess differently from how it treats Vaggie, the dark-skinned, more outspoken and protective Latina girlfriend of Charlie who supports the princess’ cause.

In its pilot episode, both girls experience humiliation. While Charlie is portrayed by the story as someone the viewers have to feel sorry for...

...Vaggie is portrayed in her humiliation as the butt of the joke for the viewers.

While they both didn’t like what Angel Dust did, Charlie was sympathized over in the narrative as a moment...

...while Vaggie’s angry but valid callouts were dismissed and ignored as part of the comedy.

While Charlie was someone that needs to be protected in the narrative...

...Vaggie is left to fend for herself.

Again, I don’t think the creators noticed the racial bias of their cartoon. However, this racial bias is reflected in the harmful perceptions that dark-skinned women, particularly Black women and Black girls, are more mature, tougher and need less protection at a young age.[7]

This adultification bias perceives them as challenging authority when they express strong or contrary views and are then given harsher discipline than white girls who misbehave.[8] And this continues when they grow up.

In a 2017 study, Black women and girls aged 12-60 years old confirmed they are treated harsher by their white peers and are accused of being aggressive when they would defend themselves or explain their point of view to authority figures.[8]

This bias also coincides with the Spicy Latina trope of a brown-skinned, hot-blooded, quick-tempered and passionate woman.

Everyday Feminism described this trope as "Although objects of desire for many, the spicy Latina may have too much personality to handle. So much so that she is often viewed as domineering or emasculating." [16]

Sounds familiar? (Look at Angry Black Woman trope above.)

Why is it that a light-skinned character, Charlie, is allowed to be vulnerable and be sympathized while the dark-skinned Latina character, Vaggie, is mocked, dismissed and expected to tough it out?

Severina Ware had to remind the world in her article that relates to the bias against dark skinned characters:

“Black women are not offered the protection and gentleness of our white counterparts. We are not given permission to be soft and delicate. We are required to exhibit strength and fortitude not only because our lives depend on it, but because so many others depend on us. Black women should not be charged with the responsibility of saving everyone when nobody is here to save us.”[12]

As @cullenvhenan of Tumblr has said in her post:

“if you're a white creator and your brown/black characters are always sassy, reckless, aggressive or cold and your white characters are always soft, demure, shy and introverted you should think about maybe why you did that”

(Image above from Iowa Law Reviews’ “Aggressive Encounters & White Fragility: Deconstructing the Trope of the Angry Black Woman”)

Detecting Your Own Racial Bias

It would be hard. No matter how much you edit and create, you may miss it because it was never your experience.

So how do we prevent our racial bias from creeping into our creations?

Listen to POC and their feedback.

As @charishjb from Instagram has shared, here is one of the things that we can do (tumblr link here) [9]:

Consider POC voices. Listen to their experiences. Hire sensitivity POC readers. Put multiple POC voices in positions of leadership in creative projects.

Then we can stop the racial bias that perpetuates again and again in the media. I hope for that future.

#racial bias #racism #colorism #animation #steven universe #su #pearl #garnet #atla #azula #general iroh #jet #hama #hazbin hotel #hazbin vaggie #lynching mention #lynching tw #writeblr #artblr

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the-black-birb · 4 years

Text

Bet? [Miya Atsumu x Reader]

Summary: Miya Atsumu never losses a bet. Or: At first he was in it for the sex until he found himself honestly falling for you.

Warnings: smut, virginity loss, plenty of plot to go along with it

A/N: since this is my first nsfw piece, I’m writing about times. Haha. Get it? Anyways. Here we go!

Miya Atsumu, with his suave smile and screaming fangirls, was the last person you’d think to be a college virgin.

His ego was large enough to make up for any of his other shortcomings, boasting the pride of prepping to be a professional athlete as well as a full-time college student. No one doubted that he’d snogged countless fans or taken especially eager girls to back closets for fun, but what seemed to have slipped past them was his dedication to volleyball, always.

So dedicated, he didn’t even have the time for a serious girlfriend.

Miya Atsumu, playboy of the year, was a virgin. But he’d raise all hell if he let anyone around him find out. So when his team went out for dinner after a particularly brutal victory, Atsumu was happy to get in on all the locker room talk. He was sure he could keep up this facade.

Yet somehow, it spiraled into a competition. Although Atsumu had never been one to be invited to sleepovers or highschool parties, far too busy practicing with his team, he imagined it felt something like this.

“So,” one of the wing spikers started. “How old were you all when you lost your virginity?” The men around him laughed it off, ready to tell stories of their (awkward) first times. Each took their turn, wanting to be the youngest or the one with the best tale to tale. And then, all eyes fell on Atsumu.

Atsumu was a great liar, really. But the bar was loud and he felt the eyes of his teammates like ants on his skin and while he was confident in volleyball there was little he knew about this and Atsumu could not bring himself to do anything but sit there and stare aimlessly. The team waited for an answer.

Finally, their starting setter, who had undoubtedly been chosen based on seniority alone, broke out into laughter. “He’s a virgin!” he realized. “Miya Atsumu is a virgin!” The whole table broke out into rancorous laughter. There wasn’t truly anything bad about being a college virgin, a few on the team had admitted to it before Atsumu. But his attitude of control and snarky attitude on the court had everyone waiting to find something just one thing they could tease Miya Atsumu about.

“I could fuck anyone if I wanted to!” was his quick reply, thinking back to all the girls cheering his names in the stands (and the boys who’d give him a slap on the ass to say “good job”). Surely, he could give up his virginity in an instant, if he put his mind to it.

“Oh, yeah?” It was a middle blocker speaking now, one who Atsumu had the (dis)pleasure of sharing a few classes with. “Even that girl in calc...the one who does all the group projects on her own and everything…”

Atsumu knew immediately who he was talking about. Y/N L/N. You were basically a genius, always getting the highest marks and never taking a moment to wait for those around you to catch up. He’d never even spoken to you. But right now, his pride was on the line.

“Pfft,” he forced a chuckle. “Easy.”

The table erupted into booming laughter again, at Atsumu’s declaration, but quickly quieted down as the senior setter leaned forward with a wager. “Then have sex with her,” he smirks. “Before the next game.”

Atsumu raised an eyebrow. “What do I get out of it?” Aside from the loss of his v-card, of course.

“I’ll ask coach to make you the starting setter.” A hush fell on the table as if a ghost had passed through. “But if you lose, you join as a wing spiker.”

Atsumu gulped down his fears. He was never one to back down on a bet. Besides, the only reason he was a virgin still was because of volleyball. Might as well gain something from it.

He pushed his hand forward, shaking the senior setter’s firmly.

“Deal.”

***

“Could you tutor me?”

Miya Atsumu wasn’t stupid. He’d never been in a serious relationship, but he knew if he asked one of his fangirls to sneak off with him they’d do it in a heartbeat. He knew he could probably find at least one girl within a mile radius who wanted to have sex with him and flirt his way to her bed.

But you weren’t just any girl.

As much as he dreaded school, Atsumu was painfully observant of the people around him. He’d noticed you before, in class and occasionally at games. You kept to yourself without anyone to talk to you, but on the occasion, he’d seen you with friends you shined brighter than any of them. It made him breathless.

Still, he knew you wouldn’t be easy. In group projects, you’d always been devilish with your expectations, dishing out jobs to everyone in an instant and critiquing their work for the best results (this quality shamefully reminded Atsumu of himself, but he’d never mentioned it).

Frankly, he was at a loss of how to get to your bed. But he knew he needed to start by talking to you, and that you’d shut down any friendly flirtation he started with. So he did something more direct. He theorized even if you weren’t keen, you were kind enough not to shut him down completely and hopefully that’d be his chance to talk with you more. But what he hadn’t calculated was your response.

“Atsumu, right? What do you need help with?”

Huh?

You hadn’t even hesitated to agree, looking up at him expectantly.

“Uh...deriving complex functions?” He thinks that’s what they’re doing in class.

You place a hand to your chin, nodding as if you were deep in thought. “Yeah, that’s pretty tough,” you agree, thinking. “I’m free after six tonight, meet me at the library?” you ask him directly.

For once in his life, Miya Atsumu is frozen. “Uh, sure?”

“Cool, give me your number in case something comes up,” you said nonchalantly, grabbing your phone. Before he could even process what was happening, he’d put his number in your phone and you were walking away from him, bidding him a friendly “see you later.”

As he watched your figure get smaller, he was reminded of all the cold comments he’d heard about how difficult you were to approach and the nicknames people said behind your back. He stifled a laugh.

Atsumu wondered if they’d even spoke to you.

***

You here?

It was the first thing Atsumu had texted you once he got your number. He didn’t come to the library often, far more concerned with practice than studying, but as he sat to get out his work from earlier he realized it was actually quite calming. Compared to the loud and irritating bar from days earlier, Atsumu was certain he preferred this.

Sorry, was out with friends. Be there in a few!

He grumbled when he saw his phone. Maybe it couldn’t be helped, but you could’ve at least had the decency to text him earlier, right? Slowly Atsumu felt himself spiraling, his bad habit of finding the negative in just about everything sneaking up his back.

But all his qualms were forgotten when you walked through the doors.

He supposed he’d only ever seen you in class and at a few volleyball games. He quicked up quickly that you were a creature of comfort, preferring a pair of loose sweatpants to anything else. Yet you walked through the door fresh from a night out with friends with your hair done up and a pair of flattering slacks clinging to your waist (and a bit further south as well but Atsumu wasn’t ready to mention that, yet).

“Miya?” He was broken from his trance by your voice, which had a playful lilt to it he’d never quite noticed before.

“Just call me Atsumu,” he heard himself saying out of habit. Even without Osamu at his side in college, Atsumu was never really comfortable being called by his family name. It just wasn’t normal. Still, his cheeks flared up as he worried you’d see it as flirtations instead and be scared off.

“I-”

“Sure thing, Atsumu,” you agreed without hesitation. Oh. All of Atsumu’s nerves were on edge. Nothing to worry about, huh? He quite liked how his name sounded on your lips. He could listen to it on repeat for days, probably.

Snapping him out of his trance, you were quick to get to business. Although Atsumu came with ulterior motives, you were an incredible help. Your notes were neat and easy to understand, but whatever he stumbled on you still found ways to re-word so they’d make sense. He could practically feel all the wheels in his head turning when you spoke like he was in the middle of an intense volley trying to figure out what came next.

Actually, you made it kind of fun.

Before he realized, an hour had elapsed and he felt his eyelids drooping. It wasn’t often that Atsumu used his brain that intensely without break, and he could feel his focus starting to waver. But you’d made it so easy to focus, he’d easily lost track of time.

You let out a sigh next to him. “That’s enough for today,” you determined, shutting your notebook. “Seeing as we have a quiz next class, I can meet again to tutor the night before if you’d like? Just keep doing the practice I showed you and we can do some review.” You had everything planned out in your mind already.

Atsumu let his head hit the table in exhaustion. Although normally he’d have a snarky comment for anyone who dared tease him, he let your laughter ease over him like a blanket. It was music to his ears.

“Get better and it won’t be so tiring,” you assured him, patting his shoulder. Before he could agree or disagree with anything you’d asked him, you had one foot out the door. “See you Wednesday at six,” you bid him goodbye (though Atsumu swore it sounded more like an order).

He grumbled against the table once again, quick to back up his notebook. There was still practice, after all.

While Atsumu found himself more tired than usual at practice, having already used his mind plenty, it was enthralling. The quips of his teammates, asking if it was some hot banging that had tired him out, fell on deaf ears. He could only think about how you’d managed to make calculus of all things sound interesting and the smell of your perfume whenever you bent close to him. Sure, your expectations for him were evident but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wondered how anyone could have called you ‘cold.’

***

Your next tutoring session went fairly standard. True to your word, you checked over the review and prepped for your exam the next day. While you harshly pointed out Atsumu’s repeated mistakes, you gave him insightful tips and tricks to help him fix them in the same breath. You were definitely a genius, he determined.

But he’d also realized he was getting nowhere with these tutoring sessions. Your company was surprisingly relaxing in the midst of his long days and he was delighted at the playful jokes you always managed to slip in, but there were no sparks and his next game was drawing nearer. The word wing spiker loomed over his head like a curse.

He had to do something to change this.

“Would you want to grab coffee with me?” he found himself asking as you packed your bag. For a moment you looked at him dumbfounded, trying to figure out if he was serious.

“Are you asking me on a date?” you tease, no fear of misunderstanding the situation. As usual, Atsumu was shaken to his core by your forwardness. He thought he was honest. But he was certain now was the time to back down.

“If I am, would you say yes?” he flirts back, praying you can’t see the sweat dripping down his neck. There was something electric and unnerving about your smile, seemingly unhindered.

“The Miya Atsumu…” you put on a face like you’re deep in thought, but you’re already sure of your answer. “Sure,” you grin. “Text me the details.” Before he even has the chance to celebrate, you’re gone.

The next day, Atsumu got his highest grade on a quiz since grade school (he wasn’t stupid, really, just very average with school). Even when he got stuck on questions, he’d visualize your mechanical pencil (you’d covered it in stickers) gliding across his page and the sound of your voice, explaining each problem patiently and easily. Then, he’d know what to do.

He texted you a thank you with a flurry of emojis, supremely grateful for your help. Soon, he’s pulling on his nicest pair of jeans for his casual date with you, brimming with energy. Atsumu was so excited he could just kiss you.

That is until he was sitting in front of you in the cafe, realizing he’d never talked to you about anything but calculus. And now that he had his breakthrough and secured a date, he was hopeless. He had no idea where to start. So, always quite shallow, he broke the ice by saying what was on his mind.

“Why’d you agree to tutor me?” For a moment, he wonders if you’ll get offended by the question before he’s reminded of all your rude comments about his mathematical prowess. He was certain you had tougher skin than that. “I mean, I sort of asked you out of the blue. Don’t you want money? Food?”

He expects you to take a while to answer since you seem like the person to have calculated reasons behind all your actions, but your answer is almost immediate.

“Is it not enough to just want company?” you wonder, completely unabashed. Atsumu almost blushes for you, before you think for a moment and find you stumbling over your words. It’s the first time he’s heard you sound unsure of yourself and he ingrains the moment of vulnerability into his mind like a movie he’ll play one day. He never wants to forget the sight of your lightly flushed cheeks, eyes scattering to break contact with him.

“W-What I mean is,” you interrupt yourself. “I hear people talk and I know my reputation. I get focused on work and people get scared away...” Atsumu knows that feeling. “I guess I was just over eager that someone would approach me. Is that weird?”

Ah. Atsumu thinks. This is my chance.

He bends forward, his hand brushing against yours, and greets you with a practiced smile. It’s the sort of smirk that is sneaky enough to have any girl squealing, but sincere enough not to scare you away. “Not at all, doll,” he promises, voice like honey.

Mentally, Atsumu congratulates himself for the smooth delivery, sure that he’ll have you in his arms in no time. Instead, you start laughing at him.

“Do not call me that!” you exclaim, tears bursting from the corners of your eyes. “What do you think this is, the 1950s? [Y/N] will do, yeah?” Your hands reach up to wipe your eyes and the entire atmosphere Atsumu worked to create is lost (although secretly, he prefers that honest and straightforward attitude you replace it with) and he’s left staring at you blankly.

“Why’d you ask in the first place?” you wonder, looking sufficiently amused.

Because I want to have sex with you.

Atsumu finds himself attacked by his own thoughts. It’s not that he wants to, of course. It’s just that he was dared to and he can’t lose the bet. But, wouldn’t it be more enjoyable if he wanted to? Of course, he could want to. But he thinks to get there he’d need to be terribly emotionally invested and he’s barely even had a girlfriend and you’re definitely too perfect for him and-

“Atsumu?” You’re smiling up at him, eyebrows raised. “Did I manage to leave you, who never shuts up,” He wants to tell you that you’re wrong but he knows you’re not and you won’t hesitate to remind him of that. “Speechless?”

He can’t let you catch on, Atsumu tells himself. “I’m bad at calculus and you’re good,” he decides is a good lie. Straightforward and true, just like you. “Is that not enough?” You huff, leaning back in your seat.

“Touche.”

Although your date had started off awkward and tense, Atsumu felt the relief of being entirely comfortable talking to you. He got lost in your quick wit and electric eyes, losing track of the conversation and letting himself get immersed entirely in you. Before he knew it, your phone was going off.

“Shit!” you rushed to turn it off. “I’ve got class in ten.” You were quick to grab your bag and head out, and Atsumu felt his stomach drop, wishing he’d said something. Yet just as quickly you were turning on your heal, an unfamiliar shakiness in your voice, as you bent down to plant on Atsumu’s cheek.

“Same time next week?” you asked, eyes sparkling.

Atsumu felt an unfamiliar tightness in his chest as he smiled back at you. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

***

In the blink of an eye, you became a surprisingly regular part of Miya Atsumu’s daily life. He’d sit next to you in calculus and on days you didn’t have calculus he’ get coffee with you. Every day you were there next to him, smiling fearlessly. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened to your untouchable reputation, but he’d never hesitated to be beside you.

For two weeks this had gone on, your strange friendship that sprung up out of nowhere raging strong. But Atsumu’s next game was soon and he felt the pressure. Yet he knew, no matter what, he didn’t want to ruin what he had going with you. Maybe, it was even worth being wing spiker for a season.

“Could I come to the match tomorrow?” you asked as you were getting ready to leave one day. Atsumu almost choked on his coffee, not prepared for such a bold question. He wanted to ask you who you were asking him as: a volleyball fan, a friend or… a partner?

He shooed the thought from his head. Although both of you called these coffee outings “dates,” they’d never ended with anything more than him walking you him and a kiss on the cheek outside the door to your apartment. You were far from dating.

“Sure, why not?” he responded, pretending to keep his cool. But would you like him less when you realized he was benched? Why did you even want to go?

“It’s raining,” you moaned, distracted from Atsumu’s response. He looked to your (lovely) legs to see you were wearing shorts and converse, definitely not ideal for this weather.

“I’ll drive you home,” he offered, keen on showing off his new car. He’d already sent you a photo of it, of course (a selfie, actually. He looked quite stunning) but he still wanted to show you in person. Soon, you were next to him in the passenger seat, looking at the road ahead.

You made normal small talk, but Atsumu noticed your hand seemed to be wondering closer to the area between you two. He ignored it.

When you reached your apartment, he walked you in like normal. He waved hello to the person at the security desk, they were familiar with him at this point. Finally, the two of you reached the doormat. It always felt to him like a save point in a game before a boss. He just couldn’t seem to get past it and into your apartment.

But when he noticed you wore a different lip gloss than usual and a new perfume, he thought maybe today could be the day. He swallowed, rolling his shoulders back. He’d make his move for sure. Breathing in, he readied his mind for what he’d say to you, wondering what kind of flirting could make you break.

“Kiss me.”

Huh.

“Atsumu,” you looked up at him, eyes demanding. “Kiss me.”

When he first started talking to you, occasionally you’d say something that caught him so off guard he’d freeze up and have no idea what to do. But kissing wasn’t sex, and Atsumu knew he could win in a battle of the lips. Before you could even fully open your door, he’d close the space between you two.

He didn’t take a moment to question why you asked him, instead silently praying you felt the same pull to him that he did to you. The kiss was desperate and long-awaited. As soon as he was in the apartment you were closing the door behind him and letting him press you up against him.

Desperately, Atsumu wanted to feel all of you. He gripped his hands around your waist and sucked at your lips, begging to be closer to you. It was intense and passionate and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

The two of you were a mess of sweat and pent up tension, but somehow you made it to your bedroom. Your hands searched over Atsumu, wanting to feel the expanse of his toned body and broad shoulders. You could feel him getting excited against you, edging him on by grind against him. More you called out. You wanted to feel more of him, all of him.

And then he froze.

You looked up to him, confused. “Are you okay, Atsumu?” you pulled away from him immediately, scared that you’d set something off. Instead, you reached out to grab his hand in yours, squeezing it gently. “We can stop if this is too fast,” you assured him. While you’d been getting impatient waiting for him to make a move, the last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable with you.

“I’m fine,” he promised you, but his eyes said differently. His pupils were blown out and his eyes wide but he looked downright scared. You breathed out, not yet sure how to comfort him. Instead, you took in all the things you knew about him, coolly trying to wonder what could be bothering him.

“Is this going to lead to sex?” he asked you, sitting on your bed with his clothes riled up and his face looking very thoroughly kissed. You wanted to laugh, looking at his swollen red lips and the clueless expression on his face because the answer would be clear to anyone else, but Atsumu kept surprising you. Still, you knew better than to make fun of him. It was very clear he was trusting himself to you.

“If you want it to you,” you answer, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “But it doesn’t have to.”

There’s a nervousness in Atsumu’s eyes that you were unfamiliar with. It was different than the frustration that built up when he didn’t understand math, or the shyness he tried to hide whenever he’d flirt with you. It was the realization that if he wanted whatever was between the two of you to go anywhere, he had to come clean now.

“I asked you to tutor me because my seniors on the volleyball team dared me to have sex with you!” he burst, folding in on himself.

For a moment you thought you could feel your heartbreaking because you couldn’t believe you’d let yourself get tricked. But naively, you prayed that maybe his feelings still rang true, reminding yourself of all the coffee dates and late nights studying. That worth more than just a dare, you hoped.

“But I asked you on the coffee date because I like you! I sat next to you in calculus because I like you and I don’t care what people say about you!” Atsumu declared, face burning red.

You knew there was a lot that could get under Miya Atsumu’s skin. You’d been to a few practice volleyball games where he played and seen his short fuse first hand, but still, you found yourself surprised and relieved by his words. Atsumu was, if nothing else, straight forward. Even though he’d had different motives, you knew he still worked hard to get better at calculus. You knew how his face lit up whenever you walked into the cafe and the most common emojis he used when he texted. You had no doubt behind his words now.

“So,” you start teasingly, tracing circles around his shoulder. “Does that make you a virgin?” The way your voice dropped, eyes looking promisingly at Atsumu like he was about to be devoured, had him straining against his pants.

“Yeah,” he admitted, pupils blown out for a whole new reason.

You slid yourself over him, letting your self straddle his hips. Your fingers continued to trace his chest, appreciating all the time he spent training. Excruciatingly slowly, you bent forward to whisper against his ear. “Let’s change that tonight, yeah?”

That was enough for Atsumu.

For a virgin, he was surprisingly dominating while you made out. Atsumu brought his mouth to yours once again, quick to bite at your lips. His hands came up to knead your ass, large and strong. I’ve been waiting to do that, Atsumu thought, picturing your slacks from the first time you tutored him. He always did love to see you walk away.

Soon, he got bored with your lips and found himself peppering kissing across your jawline and traveling across your neck. As he got to the crook between your should and neck he heard your breath hitch. Perfect.

Mercilessly, he nipped and sucked at the spot. As much as you tried to keep down your moans, you felt them bubbling up in your chest.

“You know…” you told him breathlessly. “For someone who’s never had sex you’re awfully good at this.”

Atsumu scoffed in response. “I’m a virgin, not a celibate,” he explained, before going after your neck again. You threw your head back in pleasure, giving him easier access. You wondered what else he could do with his mouth.

His pursuit of learning about your entire body continued, one hand leaving your ass to grope your breasts. He reached his hand up and under your shirt, sending shocks straight to your core as his calloused fingers brushed over your skin. Finally, palm landed on your breast, feeling it enthusiastically. You could hear him sigh as he did it, surely having played this moment over in his mind time after time.

You wanted to enjoy it, really, but there was only so much you could handle. “It’s not a balloon!” you laughed, swatting his hand away.

“Hey, I was busy with that,” Atsumu teased but brought his hand away regardless. He held onto your hips, instead, watching as you rid yourself of your shirt and bra. He watched you with a calculating eye, trying to learn more, to be better.

“Like this,” you told him, dragging his hand to your breast again. You had him pressing feather-light touches to you. “Gentle,” you whispered, letting yourself get lost in the sensation. He took your directions carefully, bringing both of his hands up to take in your chest. He was more careful now, experimenting. He ghosted his thumb over your nipple, watching how your body shivered in response.

Atsumu was completely in tune with your every reaction and quickly understood how sensitive you’d become from this slow grueling pace. All he’d done was play with your nipples, switching between light ghosts of touches and rougher swipes with the pads of his fingers, but he could already feel you grinding against him.

Unable to hold back, he finally broke his concentrated silence, letting a groan out into your shoulder.

“Right,” you noticed, looking down. “You probably want to take care of that?” As if teasing him, you rolled your hips against his bulge again. His grip around your waist tightened.

Atsumu started to protest. “But-”

“No buts!” you cut him off. “I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” you promised, eyes unwavering.

This was even better than his dreams.

“Whatever you say, [Y/N],” he breathed out, letting you get up so your hands could work at his belt.

“Call me doll,” you muttered, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down. Although he was still in his boxers, you went to your own shorts first, pulling them down eagerly.

Atsumu twitched. “What is this,” he drawled. “The 1950s?” It felt good to have the upper hand for once.

“Throw me a bone here, you won’t even take your own clothes off,” you whined, pulling at his shirt. He helped you along the way, getting it over his head. Finally, you pulled his boxers off, letting his erection stand tall and proud for all to see.

You gulped at the sight of it. His length was average, but it was quite girthy with an intimidating tilt to it. How many fingers is that? You wondered.

“Impressive?” Atsumu asked when he noticed your wide eyes. The only people he’d ever really compared himself to were porn stars and his brother so truly he had no idea if he was packing, but he’d let you do the talking tomorrow.

But you were quick to wipe the wonderous expression of your face. “In your dreams,” you bit back, going to grab a condom.

“In your nightstand?” Atsumu said incredulously. You rolled your eyes.

“Where else?”

Touche.

You started to unpack the condom and roll it over his member, eager to get the show on the road, but Atsumu found himself grabbing your wrists. “What about you?” he asked. “I mean…” Atsumu was never one to admit to his shortcomings, but there was something pretty clear here. You had more experience than him. “Don’t you want to feel good, too?”

If your pace was too fast, you’d probably get left high and dry while Atsumu chased his orgasm. “Couldn’t I…” he gestured with his hands, pushing two fingers forward. “Help you out?”

You chuckled. “Love if you’ve never fingered a girl before I’m not becoming your test subject,” you quipped, Atsumu grumbling below you. What was the point if you didn’t both enjoy yourselves? “But…” you traced his jawline. “I can show you how I do it next time. Teach you how I like it?”

Atsumu smirked, pulling you down to the bed with him and rolling over you so he could linger over you. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, sweet and so unlike him. “Sounds perfect, doll,” he whispered against your lips.

You gulped. For someone so inexperienced, there was an intensity to his eyes that went unmatched by anyone else. Even when you had been the one guiding him along, you felt his eyes drinking all of you up. He was truly beautiful, leaning over you in all his glory. You could get used to that sight.

“Is…” he cleared his throat. “Is it okay if I put it in?” he asked, reminding you both that he was still unsure of himself.

“Yeah,” you assured, reaching up to grab his hand. “Take it slow.”

He did, Excruciatingly. You felt his tip enter you curiously, already stretching you out so well. Atsumu entered you in a way that you felt every single millimeter. You yearned for him to get closer, to fill you better.

“More,” you whined out.

Atsumu smirked at you, his face screaming I win. “What’s that, doll?” You groaned, rolling your head back. “You wanted me to take it slow?” he taunted.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Atsumu!” you snapped, pushing your hips up to meet his. You sighed at the feeling as he finally bottomed out. But Atsumu didn’t take your challenge lightly, not letting up. He pulled back out of you, only to snap his hips back. You had no time to get used to his size, not with the brutal pace he was setting.

Soon, you were a mess. While you were fairly sure Atsumu was simply his own release, he made you feel so damn good while doing it. His strong hips pushed back into you ruthlessly, hitting you deep and well. Your arms wrapped around his back, nails pressing into his shoulders.

“You like that, doll?” he asked through his own groans. He’d done his best to hold them back, but the feeling of you surrounding every single inch of him was simply too much. You felt too good.

“Yeah baby,” you urged him on. “You’re doing so well. You’re fucking me so well.” Your nails gripped into him, scratching at his back. But it only had him pushing harder into you, feeding into your praise. He was the one wrecking you like this.

Yet Atsumu lost track of his inhibitions and quickly found himself feeling a familiar coil in his stomach. He didn’t want this to end yet. He wanted to feel more of you, all of you. He let out a loud moan, trying to hold back.

“It’s alright,” you assured him. “There’ll be time to do more. Let go.” It angered him that you had the energy to soothe him while he was trying to fuck you silly, but that only encouraged him to push harder. Through your own moans, you found it in you to whisper to him. “Please, Atsumu. Cum for me.”

He couldn’t hold back anymore. His hands grabbed your hips, surely tight enough to leave bruises, and snapped forward, pushing all of himself into you. He came into the condom in hot streams, breathing heavily.

“I’ve never orgasmed like that,” he admitted, finally slipping out of you. You whimpered a bit at the feeling of being empty, before taking the semen-filled condom out of you.

“Ew,” the two of you said in unison, before laughing at one another.

Even though you’d just been thoroughly fucked and he felt like he’d ran a marathon, Atsumu bathed in the feeling of complete trust he had when he was beside you. It was incredible.

“I could sleep for days,” Atsumu sighed, collapsing on your bed. You laughed at him, pulling on a nightshirt.

“Hey, don’t cover the view!” he teased, wrapping an arm around your waist as you joined him. As if he didn’t stare at it long enough to etch it into his mind.

“You have a match tomorrow,” you reminded him. “Gotta laugh in your teammates’ face for that dumbass dare, so you can only sleep for one night.” You snuggled up against Atsumu, letting his warmth wash over the best of you.

You were too tired to really process the surprised in Atsumu’s voice when he agreed with you, too busy drifting off to sleep.

***

The match came without fail. Atsumu didn’t mention anything to his teammates as you gave him a kiss good luck before he entered the gym. You had proudly donned his jersey, ready to support him from the stands. But if that wasn’t enough, the scratch marks all across Atsumu’s back were enough to thoroughly shut up any doubts his teammates had about the night prior.

Atsumu was the setter for the whole game.

#miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #atsumu x reader #haikyuu miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu x reader #smut #lemon #haikyuu lemon

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oh-my-may · 4 years

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Goshiki having a crush on the manager and being jealous of Ushijima

requested: Hi! Id like to request a scenario for goshiki: reader is the manager and she knows a lot about vb so she really helps. Goshiki's a crush on her so every time he does smth cool he looks at her waiting for a reaction. Reader always cheers on him, but she's very close with ushi and he gets jealous and asks him to play a 1on1. He accepts and Goshi messes up and reader tells him smth like "you don't need to do anything to impress me, I already admire you" and end up together somehow. Thanks!! ❤️

Goshiki is so cute I love this man :(( This request also totally sounds like something he would do omg

Okay so you were in the first year as well and joined the club at the same time as him, the current manager being your cousin. It was clear to you you wanted to be the manager - you liked volleyball, and you tried playing it, but you rather kept track of the players statistics and helped them get better. Playing was not the thing for you - you rather helped them.

And Goshiki has crushed on you since pretty much the beginning. He’s not the type of guy to be shy about, but he’s not that obvious, either.

He just always watches you (no, he’s not staring!) and he definitely wants to impress you! He’s always looking out for your reaction to his spikes and attacks, he wants all the praise and cheers! He just wants to be recognized and complimented, especially from the girl he admires the most

And you, being one of the most supportive people ever, always obliege to his needs, clapping and cheering for him. He always tries to look smug after, but really he just blushes when you cheer his name and compliment him and the whole team teases their baby ace for it.

And you’re also really cute, the whole team immediately fell in love with you in a certain way. They just want to protect their baby manager! They always look out that no creepy guys from other teams walk up to you, they take turns in walking you home when it’s dark out and they’re always somewhere around you in school. You find it very indearing. It helped you a lot with getting comfrotable around so many tall, intimidating boys.

For some reason no one really understands Tendou and Ushijima grew particularly fond of you. When you’re not helping one of the others or stand next to the coaches, analyzing what was going on, you stood at their side and talked to them, watched them and made jokes with them (Tendou).

Goshiki doesn’t fail to notice this, though, since all his concentration during practice is on both you and volleyball. He feels quite jealous when you spend so much time with them - especially Ushijima, since he’s kind of a rival to him.

So whenever you’re laughing together with the third-years and your attention is not on Goshiki, he will quickly call your name and you’ll watch his moves in awe, before smiling widely and clapping. “That was so cool, Goshiki! Good job!” And then Ushijima will tune in with critique on his technique and Goshikis mood will be down a bit, until you shake your head and argue that you think he’s improved a lot.

Whatever Goshiki tries, he never really gets your full attention. Did you even notice him? He didn’t just want to be a member of the team or a friend from school to you.

But honestly, he didn’t have to worry baout that if only he knew that you did in fact admire him. For his determination and skill at his age. He immediately caught your eye when you were at your first practice and you grew fond of him faster than you liked - his constantly for praise searching personality somehow bewitched you in a way. You found him very cute.

Once at practice they played a practice match within the team and Goshiki and Ushijima were on opposing sides. Ushijima went for an attack that Goshiki tried to block or save, but he was having a hard time. the fact that you only cheered for Ushijima didn’t help, either. So afterwards Goshiki bravely walks up to his senior and asks for a one-on-one.

The whole team is escalating into cheers and laughs and Ushijima looks unimpressed as ever. Until Tendou comes up behind him and whispers something into his ear about “you won’t be here next year, it will be good for his technique as the future ace” and so Ushijima agrees as Goshiki freezes on the spot. So that was set. The next day at practice it will be his time to shine - not just in front of the team, but mainly in front of you. He will finally show you that he can be just as good as Ushijima. Or even better.

You’re a little unsure about the whole thing. You awkwardly walk up to Ushijima and ask him to be nice to Goshiki and not swamp the younger boy with impossible attacks. Ushijima just blinks at you, saying how he doesn’t see any sense behind the whole thing if he doesn’t pour in his everything so Goshiki can learn.

Tendou grins in the background. He caught on about Gsohikis feelings for you since the beginning and also noticed how you seemed to be especially nice to the first-year. He knew exactly what you were doing - and what Goshiki was trying to do with this game.

Goshiki stayed in the gym a lot longer that day, practicing every attack and serve he could think of so that he would be prepared for the next day.

They both play with another player on their field, as a one-on-one in volleyball was a little hard to do. Though, the second player on the field would not do much other than save the occasional ball and mainly set the ball for Goshiki and Ushijima.

You’re anxiously sitting on the sidelines along with Tendou and the other members. Your mind is torn - do you cheer for Ushijima or Goshiki? Do you even cheer for one of them or just stay silent? You fiddle your fingers as the match begins and the ball flies over the net repeatedly.

It is clear that Ushijima will win from the beginning. He makes sure there is a big point gap from the beginning on and uses many different techniques. But Goshiki really tries his hardest to keep up and score points himself. You really feel with him, especially after Ushijima wins the first set with a 10 point difference and Goshikis jaw clenches along with his fists. He’s sweating from head to toe but still manages to spike some balls and runs across the field to save the ball and punch it back over the net.

Still, he looses. And when he realizes it he falls to his knees and places his bare hands on the floor. His body is shaking and choked sounds escape his figure. You walk up to him in worry - Maybe he overworked himself? Did he strain a muscle? Did he hurt himself?

You kneel down next to him, softly placing a hand on his back as you realize he was crying. The drops falling down his face and landing on the floor were not drops of sweat but tears, the sounds escaping his mouth were quiet sobs.

“Goshiki...” you say quietly. “Does something hurt? Is everything okay?”

The worrisome tone in your voice, your hand on his back and your proximity finally do it for him. He looks up at the ceiling, tears still steraming down his cheeks uncontrollably. “No, Y/N! I really wanted to win, I really wanted to.” he sobs and the whole scene almost breaks your heart. “How else are you ever going to notice me?! How else can I get you to like me and look up to me and admire me like you do with him?!”

Your eyes widen as he looks at you with pure frustration in his reddened eyes. His cheeks were glowing as well - but you didn’t know if it was from exhaustion, the crying or maybe even embarrassment.

“But Goshiki.”, you begin softly, a small smile appearing on your lips. “I already admire you.”

The sobs instantly stop as he’s scanning you in shock. “Really?” his weak voice asks and he wipes the back of his hand over his eyes.

“Of course! How could I not? You’re so good! You’re probably the most determined player on the team and you never loose sight of your goal. You’re so talented for your age! There’s no need for you to compare yourself to Ushijima-san, because he’s so different from you! He’s older, he has more experience and he uses different techniques and you’re doing just fine on your own!”, you explain, your words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

An unbelieving expression is plastered on his face and he’s unable to move any muscle in his body for a whole moment. He can just gulp and stare at you in shock, the wildest red blush evident on his cheeks and ears.

“Come on, Goshiki! Just ask her out already!” Tendou then cheers and you two realize that you’re not alone and in fact were not the whole time. The rest of the team was watching the scene unfold, their babies still crouching in the middle of the gym. Soon the rest of the gym tunes in on his cheer and you both get so shy, you can barely look at each other.

Before Goshiki can finally open his mouth to say the words you finally feel brave enough to do what you’ve been wanting to do for a while now. Without putting much thought to it you lean forward and just press your lips on his, your face as red as a tomato since all the others were watching. Now they were cheering and yelling as Goshiki fell backwards because he didn’t expect you to put all your weight into the kiss when you leaned forward.

For a second he’s so surprised he doesn’t move at all but then a bomb of serotonin explodes in his body as he grins into the kiss and puts his arms around you to pull you closer.

And that was how a) you started dating, b) the other team members had to pull you apart after some moments and c) an endless story of teasing began.

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liamhaydn-blog · 3 years

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Joshua & Fury: reading of the resumes.

You can’t read any discussion about Anthony Joshua for long without seeing reference to his resume. The resume is usually brought up as the first line of defence to any criticism slung his way, and is perhaps the only line of attack that is still being used by AJ fans as to why their man still deserves more credit and praise than Tyson Fury.

The resume line is used by noone more than Eddie Hearn, who mentions it before every fight, after every fight, win or lose. The names by now reel off his tongue, and near everyone from what I have seen is in complete agreement that AJ has put together one hell of a record.

This has always somewhat baffled me, and I will explore why here. First of all since April 2016, every fight he’s had has been a World title fight. His last 8 fights have been for 3 organisation’s belts. When you are the champion of those 3 organisations, you will have to fight decent fighters, to justify you holding onto so many belts. Also these organisations want you to face their mandatory challenger now and then, the chances are someone ranked #1 will be a pretty good fighter. Does a unified World Heavyweight champion really deserve so much credit for fighting fairly solid opponents?

Comparison is often made to Wilder’s defences for example, and for sure it does seem that Wilder is a bit of a flat track bully, who didn’t seem to particularly mind some easy knockouts over less than stellar opposition. Though it still remains hard to fairly compare his level of opponents to Joshua’s. Joshua gets bigger crowds than anyone in world boxing, he’s for years now sold out big stadiums in a matter of hours, he’s simply one of the biggest stars in boxing with huge PPV numbers. This to say, they can afford to pay opponents big money. The big money that is required for a credible opponent. I don’t think that has always been the case for Wilder, who himself was not getting anything like big money until having been World Champion for a while, let alone his opponent.

This is not to completely excuse Wilder, the fact an agreement was never reached to fight Dillian Whyte in all the time he was mandatory challenger, its quite bizarre to me why Wilder seemingly did not ever fancy that fight. And I do think that unlike Wilder, AJ has and always will be willing to face anyone, be it Wilder, Fury, I don’t think him a coward or someone who would doubt himself enough to not fancy them fights.

The reason for the AJ-Wilder fight never materialising whilst both were champion, I don’t believe was down to AJ himself, though I believe its possible his team and promoter wanted to keep him away from Wilder for a little longer, to further build up his experience. But for Wilder’s part, I never got the impression he was particularly falling over himself to get the fight either.

I digress, but the point is that though I believe AJ has been more up for a challenge and a real fight than Wilder has, it’s not quite as simple as just looking at who their opponents have been for defences and not including the context.

The most common comparison presumably in the whole of boxing is AJ’s resume against Tyson Fury’s. As stated earlier, this is often something used by AJ fans, and Fury’s resume is the one main critique levelled against him by virtually everyone who wishes to put him down.

Again, it often seems a little without context. A man who has defended or attempted to defend his world title 9 times is always likely to have fought more decent fighters than someone who has never defended before, that seems obvious. Fury is mocked for never having attempted a World title defence, (aside from the fact its not really his fault from a boxing standpoint that he was unable to defend his belt for 2 years due to being side-lined from the ring for medical issues, nor was it his fault he was robbed by judges in Los Angeles in his first fight with Wilder, therefore delaying his ability to make a first defence) and yet also mocked for a supposedly weak resume, when the two things kind of go together as one rather explains the other. Your resume is unlikely to be great without a world title defence.

Looking at Fury’s resume, his best opponent prior to fighting for the World title was Chisora. Now the fact is, this was already not a great time for Heavyweight boxing, swathes of very average Heavyweights were getting the chance to lose to the Klitschko’s, so it shouldn’t be too surprising Fury didn’t have to fight off many stern challenges to become the top contender. One challenge could have been former Cruiserweight and Heavyweight World Champion David Haye, again not really Fury’s fault Haye pulled out of the fight twice. One man he did face though was Chisora, who in their first fight was 14-0 and 27 years old. The 22-year old Fury went into the fight as the underdog. They fought again 3 years later, inbetween these bouts Chisora became one of only 4 men to lose to Vitali Klitschko without being stopped.

Chisora is regarded as a journeyman for the 11 losses on his record, but the fact is nobody has ever had an easy night with him, barring Fury in their rematch. Chisora arguably won a very close first fight with Whyte, and was having another very close fight with him in the rematch before Whyte found a great knockout in the 11th, Usyk did not shine against him in the same way he did against Bellew and Joshua, and he was very unlucky to not win a decision against former World Champion Joseph Parker. Not bad for a journeyman. But Fury certainly made him look like a journeyman in their second fight, showing exactly how a big man should fight against a little man, he didn’t let Chisora lay a glove on him and beat him up all night until Chisora’s trainer finally took mercy on him and pulled him out after 10 brutally one-sided rounds.

The next ‘name’ on Tyson’s resume is Wladimir Klitschko, who was on a run of 19 successful wins in World title fights, and hadn’t lost for 11 years. On the Champions adopted home patch of Germany, Fury won a unanimous decision infront of 50,000 Klitschko supporters, to give the Ukrainian his only defeat by decision in 69 fights. Not a bad win I suppose.

Often used to mock Fury’s resume is the name ‘Sefer Seferi’ and yes the fight was a joke and a bit of a waste of time, but it was Fury’s first fight for 2 and a half years, yes he could have fought someone a bit better ofcourse, but I don’t think it would have been wise to fight anyone fans would consider a decent fighter on his very first step on the comeback trail. 2 months later was Pianeta, again I don’t think it’s that surprising that when you’re fighting for the second time in 3 months after a long absence, and your plan is to fight for the World title less than 4 months later, that the level of opponent you’re facing is not that high, that seems to be fairly logical. I think facing Deontay Wilder for the WBC title just 6 months into the comeback made up for it in fairness.

Going into their first fight, Wilder had faced 40 men and knocked them all out. It’s fashionable now after the beating Fury gave him in the rematch to dismiss Wilder as a bum, a never-was. But it’s simply not true. He’s 6 foot 7, incredibly heavy-handed with one of the most concussive punches in Heavyweight history. Fury fought him in his prime after the best win of Wilder’s career, an 8 round stoppage of Luis Ortiz, who at the time was for sure a worthy contender. Fury himself was 6 months back after a 2 and a half year absence, mostly spent trying to damage his body to the same extent his mind was damaged. After outboxing him for 9 rounds, Fury picked himself off the canvas to box his head off some more, until in the 12th round Wilder landed one of the hardest and best 2-punch combos he’s ever thrown. One of the only true knockout punches ever landed to somehow not result in a knockout. Fury won the fight but as we know was robbed and given a draw.

Between this fight and the rematch, Fury is again mocked for the two names he fought inbetween. Tom Schwarz and Otto Wallin. First of all it was kinda strange why these 2 fights were even necessary and they didn’t just do an immediate rematch, or even 1 fight inbetween, 2 seemed excessive. But financially it worked out great for both men, Wilder who was able to cash in for 2 more fights as Champion, and for Fury he could get into a run of real activity which helped him immensely for the rematch with Wilder. Schwarz was rolled over as expected, but Wallin inflicted 2 huge cuts on Tyson which left him fighting nearly the whole fight with only 1 eye, still winning nearly every round. Which is surely quite impressive, given Wallin is now deemed by Hearn a highly credible opponent for Whyte, one of the division’s top fighters.

In the Wilder rematch, Fury produced what was I think the best performance by a Heavyweight this century. He did what noone thought he could do, which was bully the bully, beating him with power not just cunning. As I said, now Fury has done it so easily, people will talk about how Wilder was rubbish all along, never beat anyone etc. but if anyone thinks AJ or Whyte or anyone else would just as easily stand up to Wilder’s power, speed and explosiveness, I think they are very mistaken. Whether Wilder will be the same fighter with his air of invincibility shattered after defeat remains to be seen, but it would be great to see him in the ring against Britain’s other top fighters. My prediction is, it would see Fury’s win and performance elevated even further.

Fury now faces Wilder for a third time, and whilst I like most consider it a shame Fury wasn’t able to move onto new challenges, if he wins, it’s another excellent win. I don’t consider it any easier than a fight against AJ would be. It’s true that AJ is a better boxer than Wilder, but still vastly inferior to Tyson, so I don’t see how he provides much greater threat from a boxing standpoint, he’s not going to outbox Fury in a million years. So the only threat to Tyson posed is power, Wilder has a higher KO % than AJ despite fighting nearly 20 more times, lets his hands go more, hits harder, is more dangerous with a single shot than AJ, so therefore I feel the most dangerous fighter to Fury, as he himself has said many times, remains *to this day* Deontay Wilder.

Now to really the point of the article, Joshua’s resume. After amassing 14 knockouts in 14 fights, all coming in the 3rd round or sooner, the Olympic Gold Medallist had become Britain’s most talked about and hyped prospect ever. His 15th opponent was Dillian Whyte, a 16-0 fighter with 13KO’s. Whyte has since gone on to garner a deserved reputation as one of the division’s toughest and respectable fighters, but that’s now. Going into when AJ actually fought him, he had faced absolutely nobody. He had 6 amateur bouts including a win over AJ, moved to kickboxing, came back to boxing and had 9 pro fights before being banned for drugs. Whyte was out the ring for 2 years, had 5 fights back then fought Joshua.

So at the time of the fight there is no doubt that whilst AJ was seen as a future World Champion, Whyte was not seen as anything of the sort, just an ‘opponent’ there for AJ to get another fast and emphatic knockout. The emphatic knockout came but not before experiencing adversity for the first time, as in fight number 15 of his career AJ faced someone who could take his leather and land some of his own, before succumbing in the 7th. Despite the rawness of Whyte, he still had enough heart and talent to provide Anthony with his first career test.

Next fight, AJ fought for the World title, facing what most regard as a terrible World Champion, Charles Martin. He may have walked this earth like a God, but he fought in the ring like a Big Bum Dosser, against AJ anyway, who took him apart in 2 rounds. Martin appeared for all the world like a man woefully out of his depth, dutifully accepting his beating for a good payday. A win over Gerald Washington has since seen an attempt at the rehabilitation of Martin’s image from Eddie Hearn no less, who now lists the conquest of this man as proof of AJ’s greatness, who next Gary Cornish?

AJ made his first World title defence of his IBF crown against Dominic Breazeale, who was at the time ranked #13 with the organisation. Joshua won in the 7th round. His second defence was against Eric Molina, who AJ dispached in 3 rounds. Another 2 men recently listed by Hearn to demonstrate AJ’s strong resume. In the same interview, he criticised Wilder for having beat noone..except he’s also knocked out both Breazeale (in 43 seconds) & Molina. A decision win over Breazeale was also enough to show Hearn that Wallin was a worthy PPV opponent for Whyte, so are they good wins or not? I’m not sure, I guess it depends on who we’re talking about, AJ or Wilder.

Next up saw AJ transition into a UK stadium fighter when he met Wladimir Klitschko at Wembley Stadium to attempt to add more belts to his collection that had recently been vacated by Fury. Having been soundly beaten by The Gypsy King, Klitschko had gone from 39 to 41. The feeling for a lot in the UK at the time was, it’s a good time to beat a good name to earn some credibility against an old, past it champion. That looked to be the case when AJ dropped Wlad in the 5th but there was still some life in the old dog yet when the very next round AJ hit the canvas for the first time in his career. Wlad took control of the fight with AJ struggling for a second wind having used up a lot of energy, with stamina issues affecting the 250-pounder. There was a few rounds where AJ was too tired, not throwing, concentrating everything on trying to recuperate, that you’d think Klitschko could have stepped it up and gone for the finish. Whether age stopped Klitschko from pushing on the gas or he felt confident he could see out a decision, he didn’t do it and AJ found the best punch and single moment of his career in the 11th with a huge uppercut which signalled the end of Wlad’s chances. It was a great fight which AJ did very well to win, but it had been by the skin of his teeth.

After Pulev pulled out of their proposed fight, Carlos Takam stepped in as a late replacement. Given the lack of time, this wasn’t a terrible replacement, he is tough and comes to fight, ensuring the fans will atleast get to see a few rounds. But he has lost to every name fighter he’s faced, including Journeyman Chisora. So Chisora isn’t a good name on Fury’s record, because he loses to every good fighter he faces, but Takam is a solid name on AJ’s record, despite the fact he was knocked out by Chisora. It’s all very confusing.

To hold 4 belts, AJ then faced Joseph Parker, the holder of the WBO title, winning the vacant belt with a home decision against some chubby kid, Andy Ruiz. At the time, Parker had a very good reputation, but the fight was a stinker, with AJ disappointing his legion of fans as he was taken the distance for the first time. Parker has since lost to Whyte and in my opinion deserved a draw at best with Chisora having been dropped in the first round, and now will have to fight a rematch for a more emphatic win. Since the AJ fight, he’s looked a fairly average heavyweight, seemingly quite lucky to have ever held the World title, having not done anything since to make anyone believe he could ever hold it again.

The next defence came against the small and light for a heavyweight 39-year old Alex Povetkin. Looking at him, not much of a threat would perhaps be expected to a man of AJ’s size and stature but for 6 rounds he gave Joshua a very competitive fight until the fight was ended by the Champion’s power in the 7th. Povetkin had gone the distance with Wladimir Klitschko despite being dropped four times, and probably deserved a second shot at the world title sooner than 5 years after that. The 39-year old was still a credible challenger but with his best years behind him.

Then on June 1 2019, came the infamous AJ US debut. After a fight with Big Baby Miller collapsed due to his drug use, in stepped Andy Ruiz, who had a similarly large belly but 4 inches less in height than Miller. It was obvious what would happen next, AJ would announce himself to US audiences with a quick knockout. Ruiz hit the canvas for the first time in his career in round 3. AJ, one of the best finishers in the sport, jumped on him. What happens next usually, is roared on by tens of thousands of Brits, AJ punches and punches until his opponent goes down and stays there. This time infront of an audience of stunned Americans, Ruiz comes off the floor to land a shot to AJ’s temple which changes the course of the fight and both men’s destinies. Ruiz puts AJ down and the champion never recovers, unable to regain authority or control in the fight, he is victim to Ruiz’s barrages and decides not to fight on in the 7th, recognising after being dropped yet again, that it’s not going to be his night.

After losing the Brawl In Montreal, Sugar Ray Leonard knew he had to get his conqueror Roberto Duran back in the ring as quickly as possible, whilst he was out partying, piling on the pounds and not training. AJ applied the same thinking, and like Leonard in the ‘No Mas’ fight took on a completely new approach for the rematch. Andy Ruiz has very fast hands, its not wise to trade with him up close. He does not however, have fast feet or particularly long arms. AJ maintained his discipline in the rematch to comfortably outbox Ruiz for 12 rounds, boxing from distance, never tempted to go for the knockout. Ruiz weighed in at an enormous 284 pounds, 16 pounds heavier than before.

Performance and result wise, the Ruiz rematch in Saudi Arabia is perhaps the most impressive of AJ’s career to date. The 32-year old Ruiz still has to prove however, if he is truly a top class fighter, or whether he just produced the performance of a lifetime and got AJ on the right night. If AJ had beaten Ruiz first time round it would not have been seen as a particularly significant triumph, but due to the credibility he only gained as a result of beating AJ, this conversely amplified the achievement of Joshua gaining revenge in the rematch.

Joshua’s first defence of his second reign came against Kubrat Pulev after just over a year out the ring. Like Povetkin, Pulev was approaching 40, had fought for the world title whilst a younger man and lost to Wlad Klitschko (Pulev being stopped in 5), he was also quite a short and light man in comparison to the giant figure of Joshua. With only 14KO wins in 29 fights, Pulev looked the ideal opponent for AJ. He was durable and well conditioned, and came to win but he stood right infront of AJ, with no head movement, so AJ moved his head for him with brutal uppercuts. If you stand infront of Joshua and don’t have much of a punch or speed to threaten him with, he looks brilliant and he did at times on this night, despite even against this opponent being reluctant to fully commit to power combo’s, the memory of Ruiz at MSG clearly not yet banished, but the win came in the 9th round, AJ’s first stoppage win for over 2 years.

AJ’s second reign as champion was alot shorter than his first, defeat coming in his second defence against former Cruiserweight king Oleksandr Usyk. Usyk had come under vast criticism it shouldn’t be forgotten for his first 2 performances at Heavyweight. Many people, though I personally don’t agree, thought that his fight with Chisora was very close, he certainly wasn’t sending fear into the hearts of the division. But Usyk has only failed to win 15 fights out of over 360 amateur and pro for a reason, and he thoroughly outclassed Joshua. The fight would have been hard enough, and not a guaranteed win even if Joshua hadn’t got his tactics so completely wrong, but he atleast would have been in with a chance. Usyk, thought to be too small for a heavyweight, didn’t look small in with one of the divisions giants, because he didn’t fight like a small man, he didn’t allow Joshua to feel physically superior, and showed no fear or respect for his power.

I won’t be suprised atall if Joshua rights his wrongs in the second fight, by doing what he obviously should have done in the first fight. Being rough and nasty, throwing as the saying goes, with bad intentions. But why it takes a 2-time World Champion with his experience a second fight to realise this I have no idea. Having a “chess match” fight with Usyk is maybe something you do in sparring to learn some useful things, you don’t do it infront of 70 thousand with your belts actually on the line..It was one of the most incredibly naive things I have seen from an experienced champion. It struck of a man in a bit of an identity crisis, who can’t decide what type of fighter he is inside the ring, nor what his boxing persona is outside it, in the lead-up to fights.

As another mistake AJ seemed to repeat from the first Ruiz fight was he seemed all pally with Usyk and too relaxed in the build-up. It could just be a coincedence but he was nice and pissed off with Pulev before getting in the ring with him, and he produced the right performance. I know Usyk is a difficult guy to dislike, but he’s gonna have to try.

Strangely, Hearn also listed Usyk on AJ’s resume. I don’t see much good of having good names on your resume if you lose to them, otherwise we may aswell declare Kevin Johnson a great, as he’s fought everyone (and lost to everyone, but I guess that doesn’t matter). If AJ wins the rematch, he deserves credit for it, as it would for me be the best win of his career, given the age of Klitschko and Joshua’s personal circumstances of 2 defeats in his last 4. But I don’t really get this thing of “give AJ credit for taking the fight”. Its the mandatory challenger for one of his belts, he has to fight him, or else give up that belt. Why would you become world champion just to give a belt up because you have to face someone good? talk about giving credit for the bare minimum.

This questioning of AJ’s resume, is not to criticise him personally. I have no doubt before he retires he would if up to him fight Wilder, Fury, whoever else who is up there at the time, and if he does so he will lose plenty more times, because his chin and tactics are not of the standard of some of the other guys, but he will lose and come back and keep trying, and I respect that. But in conclusion I think up to this point, with no Fury or Wilder under his W column, he is getting a lot of credit for wins against guys who when listed as a collective are fairly solid names, but when taken individually, are not so great. Whilst Fury’s list has less solid names, there are names who can be taken individually and are great standalone wins.

The way I would describe it is would you rather take a couple of 10′s to bed, but not many 6,7 or 8′s? or would you rather take a few 6,7 or 8′s but never a 10. I know which I would prefer.

#boxing #aj #anthonyjoshua #tysonfury #gypsyking #usyk #oleksandr usyk #deontaywilder #wilder #bronzebomber #sport

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fairyladyspring · 4 years

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Roxy’s Wasted Potential

I love Roxy and I wish she was on the main cast, so why isn’t she? In this essay, I will be talking about how I think Roxy’s potential is being wasted, why this might be and why the reasons are wrong, so let’s dive right into it.

How was Roxy’s potential wasted?

We all know, Roxy was intended to join the main cast after Season 4, yet it never happened. Instead of taking on a main role, Roxy was delegated into the back seat in Season 5 taking on a side character role instead of a main cast one. Maybe you could have seen it coming, after all, she was not the first one to receive a downgrade instead of upgrade (let me shamelessly plug my Moments in friendship drabble between Roxy and Mirta).

Roxy as a character was hyped up very much after all the forth season dealt with finding her and accepting her destiny to be a fairy when she first rejected it. By the end of the season she was starting to grow into her role as fairy with her journey starting after magic was brought back to earth.

As a kid, one of the key aspects I loved about Winx Club was the discovery of magic via Bloom as the proxy. Bloom finding out about her heritage however was essentially over after the movie, there should not have been much more to discover – and her role of discovering magic could have been taken over by Roxy.

But why did Roxy even get the shaft and was pushed back?

Unlike Mirta (who was pushed out due to similarities to another character of a similar show), Roxy had no such similarities to other shows and no between fandom discourse. The Roxy discourse was entirely within the Winx fandom and after three seasons and one movie, Winx fans had a hard time getting used to Roxy as a character, complaining about her addition to the cast.

Not only was Roxy called a whiny brat, fans saw no more than a Bloom clone in this character. Both characters from earth, suddenly the only fairy from a planet whose magic was forgotten – the similarities are there if you try to find them. But that is about where I believe the similarities end.

And still, fans discontent did seal Roxy’s fate and she got reduced to a background character. The questions arises though, was the critique of Roxy entirely reasonable?

Why are the reasons wrong?

Criticism: Roxy is a whiny brat

Hear me out, but I think every character received an infantilization – but Roxy stood out because we had nothing to compare her to. Season 4 has one main criticism even today and it is about the Winx behaving more immature and causing relationship drama the Season could have done without. Writing Roxy to be more mature would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

But even then, Roxy was only 16, an age where usually all things magic is not quite believable anymore unless proven wrong. It was a Moment of Awesome, when Roxy started to believe in fairies, giving the Winx the ability to turn into Believix fairies.

And still, Roxy is not quite there yet herself, magic may be real, but why her of all people? She had been living her life as an ordinary girl and its starting to turn upside down, and she doesn’t quite know what to expect. And truly, why would she be the last earth fairy and not someone else?

Roxy transforming was never about her own, it was always about one she loved, defending her dog, her best friend in life. Following her steps in becoming a true fairy, she would have to go to Alfea and leave everyone behind, her father and her dog. (We can’t say human friends as we never saw them, but I believe she may not have had many close friends outside of animals). Notice how she would have to leave behind her reason she reached for her powers?

Finding her mother finally does give Roxy an answer to why she is the last fairy – it's in the family. Moreover, her mother will live with her father and Roxy would feel less bad about leaving her father behind, he and Morgana will be together. And she had time to get used to her being a fairy, which is how she does accept going to Alfea.

Criticism: Roxy is Bloom 2.0 or a copy of Bloom

One other popular criticism is Roxy is essentially a copy of Bloom, last earth fairy, princess to a realm (Domino and Earth respectively) and their shared origin on earth. Both Roxy and Bloom can be hot headed as well and are loyal to a fault. Yet, neither personality trait is making Roxy a cloe, all the Winx are loyal and Musa and Aisha share the hot-headedness as well.

Not to say, both girls reacted very differently to magic, as I outlined in the above section. Bloom was very much onboard from the second Stella told her she was a fairy, immediately wanting to go to Alfea and persuaded her parents to let her go while Roxy was a lot more hesitant.

This does cause Roxy to know she is ready and not doubt herself, once she had made her decision and come to term with it, whereas Bloom constantly doubted herself even later (if the roles were reversed, the Trix would never have been able to steal the dragon flame because Roxy would not have been this insecure).

As @whitecirclepixie has put it when we talked, while Bloom is a strong leader, she also has a lot of insecurities that can get the better of her, while Roxy knows her worth and shows how powerful she is. This would lead to the two of them forging a deep friendship (relationship) given the chance at interaction and they could bond over their origin, while reacting differently, they could give each other different perspectives about magic.

Roxy would give Bloom more security about having been raised without magic and show Bloom, yes earth fairies belong to the magic world, while Bloom could give Roxy guidance in getting used to magic, having lived through it herself as well as give each other the tie to earth, they might otherwise loose (especially Bloom).

Final thoughts

To me, the portrayal of Roxy has a lot more realistic roots amidst a season of bad writing. Not only are Roxy’s reaction similar to how most people would react and be more suspicious of anything that’s basically out of the ordinary – that is not to invalidate Bloom who represents everyone who always wants to go on an adventure and be something more magical and special – but Roxy was also less representative for the audience and how they would react (or believe they would).

Roxy is a fresh of breath air with her more realistic suspicious portrayal and the rather cartoonlike trustingness of the Winx but it does make her seem out of place at times in a show aimed at a much younger audience who want to believe.

Quite so, this made Roxy a much more natural fit to World of Winx, where her portrayal fits the tone of the show a lot more – and having her question Bloom’s trust in Jim makes the viewer question Jim as well and speaks for some of the audience not wanting to trust Jim, myself included. It does make me wish Roxy would have faced Tinkerbell, as this would have given much more nuance to the ‘redemption’ Tinkerbell got.

I would insert a paragraph about Season 7 here, but I have not watched the season, so I cannot say much except from the looks of it, Roxy would have deserved to be part of the main cast at least for that story (but this may be yet another of the ‘focus on the wrong character’ curse Season 5 had to endure with Aisha). Season 7 would have been the perfect time for Roxy to shine and it was a huge opportunity misssed.

#winx club #fan salt #winx roxy #winx bloom #winx mirta #nickelodeon

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elmidol · 3 years

Text

Error: Program Not Found - Eighteen

Summary: You are in charge of programming the droids that work most closely with both General Hux and Kylo Ren. Unbeknownst to you, each of these two men have it in their heads that your relationship extends beyond the workplace. This causes things to escalate quickly when your two apparently secret boyfriends compare notes on their respective partner who is far too similar for their liking.

Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: none (I think?)

Side Notes: Contains all three routes, divided by breaks

Error: Program Not Found

“Once I knew you, I never wanted to know anyone else.” – Leo Christopher

Eighteen: Intimacy

[Kylo Route]

It had felt natural to head in the direction of Kylo Ren’s quarters following your interactions with General Hux. Your mind buzzed as your feet carried you forward; your surroundings were blurs, unfocused due to your mental fixation with your destination. Relief had flooded through you subsequent to your conversation with Armitage, however that buzz threatened to fade away. A new stage had been set. The budding relationship that you were beginning with Kylo would, indeed, change things no matter how you worked to keep things the same. That growth period, you wanted to put it off for the time being. Rest was a reward that you desperately wished to claim for yourself alongside comfort.

His very presence would offer you that, as it often did. You turned down the final corridor down which Kylo Ren’s quarters were contained. Five stormtroopers marched past you, the white of their armor drawing your gaze and causing your eyes to focus your surroundings for more than a fleeting second. Some of the tension in your shoulders melted away. You rolled them, reaching to your right shoulder with your left hand and giving a quick squeeze to tackle a knot.

You drew short at the door. Sucking in air through your teeth, you spared a quick glance over your shoulder. As you had begun to expect, two of the stormtroopers had paused to turn and consider you. Rumor fodder. Your lips quirked at the sides, and you rolled your eyes while shaking your head. There was no way around it. You returned your attention on the door, stepping forward and sighing as it slid open before you could knock.

The notorious mask most often seen on Kylo Ren when he stalked through the halls or fought on the battlefield lay on the chair atop the man’s cowl. You stared directly at the mask’s visor while stepping into his quarters. The door slid closed behind you the exact moment that you were out of its path.

Kylo lingered in your peripheral vision. Neither of you made a point to directly face the other. There was no need for that. Already more of the tension had slipped away. A lightness in your chest allowed you to breathe more easily.

“Eddard is officially on the project,” you said, finding it easy to speak of work without fearing that you would insult him. Kylo grunted by way of reply. The sound had not been dismissive, which encouraged you to continue. “Things are far from perfect, however I think they are on the right track.”

“These feelings extend beyond work.” You nodded, and here you did look his way. Those dark eyes met yours, a lightness to them that highlighted a warmth not present for others.

You walked to the chair without looking away from him. Your fingers skimmed along the metal surface. The mask contained smooth portions and rigids that alternated, making your movements jerky. The cowl provided a contrast in texture that encouraged you to lift your other hand. You bunched up the material, working it out from underneath the helmet and up into your grasp.

Kylo stepped nearer to you. “Cold?”

“No.” You ran your tongue along your lips. “You wear it often. I suppose I was curious how comfortable it was.” Kylo did not nod, nor did he stop walking closer. He set a hand atop the cowl though he did not remove it from your possession. “Do you need to train?” Whatever sentimental value the cowl had for him, you did not want drawing attention to it to cause him to withdraw from you. On that same note, however, you wanted to give him an out. He could rescind the invitation to his quarters without insulting you.

Instead he leaned forward, his mouth claiming yours. You stiffened in surprise before relaxing into the kiss, which grew in intensity. His demands were not concealed in the least. Kylo groped at your hip with his free hand before trailing it upwards towards your breast. You ground your hips into his, the bundle of his cowl a ball between you but doing nothing to keep you apart. Kylo’s hand shifted off the cowl and seized your upper arm. You allowed him to turn then steer you backwards without complaint.

He spread you across his bed. The cowl remained tucked against your stomach though he seized your wrists into one hand pinned your arms above your head. You sucked in air greedily during the brief interlude when he positioned your hands. Then he claimed your mouth again, his tongue working against yours. You rolled your hips upwards, whimpering at the feel of his cock through the layers of clothes that you both wore.

“Not yet.” You could have kicked yourself for the words you spoke. Kylo grunted against your lips, his nose skimming yours. His eyelashes fluttered, tickling your cheek. “I would like to be in my quarters when we do. That way I can curl up and rest afterwards. We do not have to spend the night together.”

“Mm.” It was a softer grunt than the first, and Kylo’s body rocked into yours. You sighed in contentment, relishing in the feel of him. “I will come to your quarters later.” You laughed before you could stop yourself.

Shielding your face with a hand, you worked to calm your laughter. Kylo did not let your amusement detract from his pleasure. He kissed the back of your hand, grazing the flesh of your wrist with his teeth. It sent a pulse of delight through your body like a shockwave.

A chime from the left caused all movement to cease. Kylo released a puff of breath, the only sign of his displeasure over the interruption. You, meanwhile, considered that it had been a good thing that you had put a stop to what activities might otherwise have been occurring. Him being called away during the first time you had sex, that would have left a sour taste in your mouth. Kylo extricated himself from the tangled mess of your entwined limbs. He lifted the comlink, his back to you. His body shielded you from view of the officer that spoke, stating that the Supreme Leader wished to speak with him.

After the communication ended, he murmured that he would come to your quarters. You nodded though he could not see you. The flutterings in your stomach did not cease; you were touched that he did not wish to alter his plans if he could help it. You stated that you would see him then whilst rising from his bed and smoothing out your clothes.

[End of Cycle]

Echoes of heavy footsteps resounding the corridor outside of your quarters announced the inevitable entrance of Kylo Ren. You considered the MSE droid that presently hid in one of the room’s corners and found yourself smirking. Your finger touched the icon on your datapad to open the door in time with Kylo’s arrival. He had chosen to redress in his full attire including his mask, the visor of which briefly met your eyes before his attention trailed towards the droid. You would have paid quite a few credits to see the expression on his face. You imagined that he had drawn his eyebrows towards one another in mild confusion.

“You kept it.” The vocoder aided in transforming his statement into something rather toneless. It failed to completely erase the edge of curiosity that you picked up from your history with him.

“I did,” you said as a grin spread across your features.” He grunted in reply while you continued to speak. “It is quite a trip hazard, I’ll admit, however I am enjoying the challenge.” It was, at the very least, no longer slamming into people. Instead the MSE droid had been stopping suddenly, which resulted in a reverse effect: you collided with and tripped over it. You had done just that earlier upon reentering your quarters. “I can be stubborn.”

“Mm.” This time his grunt, deepened by his mask, vibrated through you. You bit down on the insides of of your cheek if only to keep from seizing your lip. Anything at all to hold in the moan that threatened to rise from you. Kylo Ren, nevertheless, seemed to know what his noises did to you without any verbal confirmation. He stepped into your quarters enough that the door closed behind him. “You wish to know more of the Force.”

The statement prompted a nod from you, which he mirrored rather than speaking immediately once more. The amount of speaking he had already done since entering your quarters impressed you; he was not one to hold a prolonged conversation. That he did so with you caused your heart to flutter and heat to pool into your face.

Kylo moved within the room, his visor pointed at the MSE droid, which had rolled forward only to move backwards in retreat. It stuttered forward for a second time. Your lips quirked towards one side and you wrinkled your nose. You truly did enjoy the challenge, more due to not being critiqued on your progress. That did not eliminate the frustrations that arose in you with the multiple issues you had encountered since first bringing the droid into your quarters.

Kylo lowered himself once he was in front of you. His current seated position did not differ from when you had joined him in meditation on previous occasions. A surge of pride burst through you at the knowledge that he was comfortable with you to this extent. Kylo tilted his head to the side, as though curious about something that you could not place your finger on. After a moment, he held out a hand with its palm up, and your datapad lifted out of your hands to hover in the air between the two of you.

He made it look so simple, so natural. As though everyone in the galaxy should have been capable of this feat. The datapad curved in its path, twisting around in a circle before descending to return to your possession. You cupped it with both of your hands. Kylo’s hand had not moved, his fingers had not twitched. You wondered if he was required to use his hand at all, or if that had been for your benefit.

“The Force is more than parlor tricks.” The laugh that erupted from you caused your face to heat up further. You lifted the datapad to momentarily hide from him, your shoulders shaking. Warmth spread throughout the rest of your body. He had been intentionally funny, and it was intimate to you, special. His snark, such ironic statements, more often ventured on a path of deprecation. This had not been that. This was kind. In his way, it was sweet. “You may ask two questions regarding the Force, and I will answer.” This he stated after you managed to regain your composure and lowered the datapad.

You paused to think about what you might ask him. Misinformation about what the Force could do ran rampant, yet such questions might be vague or try his patience. The conversation that he proposed did not need to be a singular event. You tapped three fingers against your lips while replaying the act he had mere moments ago completed. You placed each of your hands on a leg.

“I want to ask a question about the questions, yet I am unsure if you will count that against me.”

Kylo lifted his hands to his helmet, unlatching it. The hiss of the pressure release never failed to evoke the need to suppress a shudder. There was something about that sound that you could not describe. Anticipation would be understating things. You were aware that you would see his face. Which he did to certain prisoners, from your understanding. Kylo placed the helmet on the ground to his left. He did not once break eye contact with you.

“I will not count it against you.” You traced every mole on his face, the thick lips that you wanted to feel on you. Then drowned in the depth of his eyes.

“If a question has two parts to it, does that count as the two questions?” He hummed by way of reply. You waited, beginning to hold your breath, and realized quickly that he was not going to offer a full response. You released a strangled noise as you worked through how to elaborate. “Nothing extensive or that requires multiple explanations.” He gave a nod and waved his hand before himself, as though giving you permission. “I am assuming that the physical gestures when one uses the Force aids in control, correct?” Another nod. “Does that change when one’s mastery of their abilities improves?”

“For some.” He shifted forward a fraction, his knees closer to yours. You curled your toes. A moment later, you pushed yourself nearer to him, finishing the contact. His desire to touch you, to fuck you, had not faded. Whatever Snoke had kept him occupied with, you assumed that he required more time to unwind from it. Nothing carnal, no violence. Mental work, you thought as you blinked.

You replaced your hands on your knees, the backs of your fingers on his. It dawned on you, the question that you wanted to ask. Whether it was too sentimental for him or not, you would leave that to chance. He was under no obligation to answer. There was no agreement stating that he could not reject one question and pose the opportunity for an alternate.

“How do I feel in the Force to you?” Your heart pounded in your chest as you asked the question aloud. Its beating echoed loudly in your ears, and for a second you swayed in place. Steadying yourself, you swallowed thickly and hoped that your reaction had not been off putting.

Kylo opened his mouth without uttering a word. His eyes raked along your face then caressed upwards. He lowered his gaze once more to settle on your lips. “All beings are specks of light. Yours is brighter to me due to familiarity.” You held your breath, waiting for him to say more simultaneous to expecting nothing. Kylo rested his forearms on his thighs. His hands dangled in his lap, near his ankles. “It is better if we wait.”

“Do you have to go?” you blurted, the muscles of abdomen tightening. He shook his head in unison with the moment the MSE droid rolled forward. It bumped into TeeArr, who startled from his rest. You sucked your lips into your mouth and waited for TeeArr to say something, anything.

The droid did not disappoint you. “Commander Ren! Do you require more training droids?” It could have been worse. Kylo tilted his head to the side without looking at TeeArr. There were no traces of annoyance on his face.

You debated answering the droid’s question yourself, however decided that it was better to not open that can of worms. You scratched at the bridge of your nose, broke eye contact with Kylo, and checked on the MSE droid. It stuttered when attempting to move. Sighing, you moved away from Kylo, breaking off the minute amount of physical contact you had with him, to power down the droid.

“Just focus on recharging, TeeArr. Next cycle is going to be plenty busy.” TeeArr did not argue with you; when it came to recharging, the droid rarely contradicted you. He powered down himself, his optics dimming before shutting off completely. Only then did you return to your previous position.

Kylo had not budged an inch. His knees were warm against yours, prompting you to scoot even closer. He rearranged his legs, and you shifted again so that you were between them. You extended your legs a bit, working to find a comfortable position that did not detract from his comfort. Kylo worked his hands along your shoulders once you were situated. He familiarized himself with the layout of your body, freely exploring with not traces of shyness that you could find. You let him, relishing in the feel of his touch as well as the knowledge that this was the man you were in a relationship with.

-------------

[Hux Route]

Before the cycle ended, you decided to venture towards Armitage’s quarter. You had shot him a message indicating your desire to see the TIE cat bed in person, and he had stated that you were plenty welcome. You fought to keep the grin off your face as you walked through the corridors. Despite the grim task of rejecting Kylo Ren officially, you were pleased overall with how the day had gone. Of course, heading towards Armitage’s quarters now that you were in an official relationship with him would have brightened your day regardless.

The stormtrooper that stood guard outside Armitage’s quarters stepped to the side when you arrived; that the trooper was aware of your permission to be there heightened your joy. Heat spread throughout your body, and you idly wondered how apparent the pleasure was to those around you.

You pressed in the entry code then stepped inside, offering a soft greeting to Armitage upon seeing him. Your eyes then scanned the circumference of the room. Seeking out the TIE cat bed took no more than a few seconds. You spotted it in one of the corners and found that Millicent was curled up there. Her purrs echoed, her contentment enough proof that you had done a good job. Normally Millicent might have skittered away or become playful when you arrived; that she was exhausted, likely from extended play with the toys the TIE provided, served as further proof.

“I wonder if I will have to come during the day to see it. She is usually more active around lunch.” You tilted your head, looking at her from a new angle.

“Yes, although she is also quite active during the night cycle.” You grinned widely at the tone of his voice, a cross between affection and exasperation. Armitage extended a hand towards you, and you stepped nearer to him. Your breath nearly caught in your throat as his hand made contact. His touch was gentle though firm. He had only recently ended his work shift; though, realistically, he could be called away at any second. “I acquired a list of other works by a newer poet I believe will catch your interest.” You released a hum in response, wondering what it was he believed you would enjoy.

Armitage slipped a finger under your chin, turning your head slightly to one side as he drew lazy circles along the area and stared into your eyes. Your stomach fluttered, and you found yourself yearning to touch him as well. It was more intimate now than when you had been in his office. You set a hand on his bare wrist, thinking how scandalous the sight had been in its own way. He covered so much of his body so often. You imagined that he could see the amusement in your gaze, as his expression further relaxed.

He leaned down and captured your lips in a brief kiss. It ended before you had a chance to respond, and you furrowed your brow. Armitage traced your jawline with his fingers before cupping the side of your face and moving in for a more proper kiss. You returned this one, melting into the sensation of that soft mouth melding with yours. Once he pulled away this time, he led you towards one of your preferred locations in his quarters.

You curled up on the blue couch beside him, both of you sitting comfortably. Armitage grabbed a datapad from the side table once the two of you were settled. He powered on the device and began to flick through files until he located the one he sought. You rested your head on his shoulder as you watched him.

He pulled up a new poem. It was structured differently than the other that he had shared with you, and you could tell by the word choice as well that it had been penned by a different poet. This individual also compared metal and nature, although their preference was more difficult to discern. They merged the two, entwining them and speaking of their coexistence in romantic analogies that caused your breath to hitch. It was ideal to you, the picture that the poet had created in your mind with their words.

“I thought you might like that.” You could only nod in reply to Armitage’s words, your hand placed on his arm. There were so many things you wished to properly express, however words did not spring to mind. Not the ones you would want to use, at any rate.

You curled your body more tightly against his. With this close proximity, every breath you took allowed you to drag in the scent of his soap. He smelled so clean, and you surmised that he had recently showered. A quick glance at his hair did not reveal any strand out of place. It was gelled, which you doubted he would do directly before bed. You reached up for the top of his head. Armitage did not bat away your hand or pull from you. He searched through more files, likely for another poem, and allowed you to touch him. His hair was surprisingly damp. Not by much, yet enough that you realized water was what held those locks in place instead of gel. You smiled at the softness of it.

“I am very fond of both,” you said at last. Order and chaos. Nature and machines. Hair gelled in place or else free to do as it pleased. Your gaze slid away from him to land on Millicent, who remained asleep. “The poem made me think of home, of when I first began working with droids.” Your smile grew as you pictured it, ran through the memory as though it had happened just the previous day. “My parents preferred that I worked on them outdoors. We had grass in the yard, and I would take a blanket to sit on. Some of my neighbors avoided using droids.” The pair of you chuckled. “I try to respect it, however I never have understood the aversion some people have to droids.”

He hummed in thought, his fingers pausing to hover above the datapad. Armitage pursed his lips forward a fraction, opened his mouth, and released a noise that sounded like the first syllable to a word. What word it would have been, you did not know. He closed his mouth again, and he grunted while letting his head fall back so that he could look at the ceiling. You said nothing, allowing him this time to think. You were plenty content to inhale deeply again, to enjoy the smell of him, his presence.

When he opened his mouth again, Armitage successfully spoke. “There are many reasons for it. Some come from families that dealt with the Trade Federation. I am certain you’ve heard of their discourse with Naboo.”

You worried at your bottom lip, bobbing your head in a nod. You had heard of it along with other planets that had dealt with Separatists and their droid armies. Mistrust stemming from trauma did make sense to you on some level. Yet you wanted to argue; you were biased, you well knew, and you wanted others to accept droids. In the next moment, your thoughts came to a harsh pause. You were aiding the First Order in designing assassination droids. It would help to sow seeds of mistrust.

“Maybe it is not as good a day as I thought,” you murmured. Armitage said nothing. You glanced up at him and found him staring at you in return. You debated saying nothing. He might well think your concerns foolish or, given that you worked for the First Order, treasonous. The relationship you had with him was new. If it started off with mistrust and paranoia, where was it to go? You would rather he chastise you here, whether you agreed with him or not, than let negativity fester.

He listened until you were done speaking, which did not take much time. Armitage patted your hip. His hand shifted up and down along your side. “There are no easy answers when it comes to the gray area of war. Your droids will hardly be the first to work towards assassination.” In another setting, and from another mouth, you might have taken insult to the second statement. Instead you thought on it, considered the reasons why you were working for this goal. In part it was to have your other project approved, the one that would help save others. The one that would enrich their lives. Gray area indeed.

In the seconds that followed, Armitage resumed his search for another poem that had been saved on the datapad. It was strange to you that it took him so long; normally he would have a better filing system for documents. That was proof enough that the datapad in his possession at the moment was used for things unrelated to work along with being a device he did not often use in general. The alternative would be that he had more works saved on the datapad than you had guessed. He never appeared to you as having a generous amount of freetime, which had caused you to assume that he did not purchase or save many works of fiction, or even non-fiction pieces for that matter.

Your budding relationship meant that you would learn a great many things about him; details that you had previously neglected to note would be granted new light. You touched Armitage’s arm at that thought, feeling the muscle beneath his shirt. He was lean in some regards, however there were tell-tale signs that he ensured he was fit to serve on the battlefield if the situation called for it. Or at least inasmuch as what would be required for him to survive. You equally preferred to remain behind the scenes. This was in contrast to Kylo Ren, and you supposed that such differences had been part of the causation that you had, in the end, felt more of a connection with Armitage.

After locating the second piece, he read it aloud just as he had done with the first. You closed your eyes to allow the words to wash over you. You could spend days listening to his voice regardless of what he was saying. It had a charm to it. Every inflection was perfect, his enunciation one that your academy teachers had worked to instill in all students. He paused in the proper places when coming across a comma, period, or similar breaks. Armitage’s voice lended itself well to evoking the correct emotions from you that the poem had been designed for.

This particular piece had a different focus than the previous works that he had shared with you. It ignored nature and machinery alike to instead focus inwardly. It painted emotions in various shades of color, each serving a purpose for stages in life as well as different experiences that one might go through. It was a longer poem than the others as well. Love had a multitude of shades; the poet explored familial, platonic, and romantic love by giving them separate turns. On occasion they overlapped, creating new hues.

Familial love was the first time you heard a quiver in Armitage’s voice that you could not shake away. When he fell silent upon completing the poem, you sat there and replayed the moment in your mind. A part of you wanted to say something, while at the same time you worried that he would become more guarded and wish for you to leave his quarters. You doubted that you would be spending the entire night—you were not quite ready for that, although perhaps soon—but that did not mean you wanted to leave just yet.

“It’s a very sentimental piece,” he said once more time had passed without you saying anything.

You nodded, pinching at the material of his shirtsleeve and rubbing it together before releasing your hold. “It is not wrong. Harnessing our own emotions, mastering them, helps us in many ways throughout life. Love can be a weakness or a strength. It comes down to not allowing yourself to be blinded. To see the larger picture through all those hues.” You glanced at him and saw his throat bob as he swallowed. “What do you think?”

It was an innocent enough question, and allowed for an assortment of answers.

“I think the hues offered may differ from person to person. Some may never see certain colors in their entire life.” It was like a punch to the gut delivered in unison with someone gripping your heart. You ached for him, for the vulnerability he displayed while he did not divulge everything that had happened to him.

It was common enough knowledge that Brendol Hux had been less than pleased to have Armitage as a son, but the exact depth had been unknown—at least to you.

You readjusted how you sat, slowly working your legs across his lap and bending them at the knees. Armitage curled an arm around you, bringing you closer. The contact was one that he needed as much as you did, one that he yearned for. How long had he yearned for it? How many would he have allowed himself to drop his guard, even a fraction, for? The emotional abuse he had endured in life had left him with scars that you were now catching glimpses of. You suspected—Maker, you hoped that you were wrong, yet you doubted it—that there had been physical blows alongside those emotional cuts.

“This is meant to be a positive experience,” he said, amusement slipping into his tone. It brought a new smile to your face, and you felt the minute amount of tension that had begun to build fade away. You rested your cheek on his shoulder while staring at his face. Armitage returned your gaze. He leaned forward, your mouths meeting. “I am satisfied with the colors I have seen.” You tried not to laugh, but failed. You snorted, covering your face and shaking your head, unable to contain your mirth.

The sound woke Millicent. She released a noise containing a meow and something of a squeak. She might have yawned mid-meow, however you were not certain. You lowered your hands from your face to look at her. She rose and stretched, arching her back and turning her head to assess all occupants of the room. Seeing that it was you, she meowed again then trotted over to her water dish to rehydrate.

You slipped off of Armitage’s lap and walked in the direction of the TIE cat bed. Noises behind you indicated that he shifted as well, though you were uncertain if he had risen. You knelt in front of the bed, reached to the side, and hit a switch that allowed you to give it voice commands; this feature had been added after one of your discussions with Aelin. It was quick to install and did not weigh much at all. You instructed the bed to convert into its other mode. The TIE’s transition was smooth, a blue beam of light running along its outside the entire time. That sensor would aid in preventing injury to Millicent if she ever came near the TIE mid-transformation. It would freeze until the area was clear.

This feature was one that you hope to improve upon in the coming weeks if given any downtime. It might help you work on the MSE droid that you were still tinkering with; remedying one issue always seemed to reveal another. This made your moment observing the TIE cat bed in action all the more rewarding. It was smooth, transforming into play-mode and dangling a cat toy from one of its wings as it hovered.

Millicent darted over to the toy, batting at it and rolling onto her back. “You do great work,” Armitage said. More movement, and you heard footsteps drawing closer. He knelt down next to you, the pair of you watching Millicent play. “I hope to get her on more of a schedule so that she does not interrupt my sleep.”

It was rare that he received decent sleep, although you were not about to say that. Instead you tapped a finger against your chin. “Creating a smaller model that works alongside this, one that is devoted to extra play, may help with that. Essentially it will be nothing more than a hovering cat toy, I suppose.”

“It sounds perfect.” Affection and pleasure tinted his voice. You thought again of the poem. Glancing at him, you took note of the love in his eyes for the small cat. She was his form of family, and she gave him her love unconditionally in return. Pitying him would have been an insult; you empathized with his struggles in his life, specifically his early life, but you marveled at the man he had become.

---------

[Poly Route]

After spending your time with Armitage then with Kylo, you found that you were more exhausted than you had been in quite a while. Of course, you mused, there had been the presentation before either of those. That had been easy from an emotional standpoint. Mentally it had been taxing. That covered the emotional and mental exhaustion, you thought, and worked to discover what had you so physically tired. It was likely a byproduct of the pair.

You laid on your bed with your hands resting atop your stomach and stared up at the ceiling. TeeArr and the MSE droid were recharging. No one else had entered your quarters since Kylo had left. You were alone. That was not always as bad as one might think. It gave you time to run through all that had occurred, and sort through what you wanted to plan for the following cycle. Work was of the utmost importance. Socially, however, you had to figure out how to divide your free time between two men. They both had stated that they were open to this polycule. The questions as: for how long? You did not want to grow comfortable with one arrangement only for one or both of them to yank the metaphorical rug out from under your feet.

For a moment, you did nothing more than breathe and trace patterns with your eyes along the ceiling. Anyone could drive themselves bonkers with negative thinking, with theories as to how a relationship would go. Even if you had been dating only one of them, there were potential factors that could shake things up. That was how life worked.

You rolled onto your side to give yourself a better view of the MSE droid. A little after Kylo had left, you had tinkered with some of its coding again, finding more flaws. Flaws that had not been there before, which indicated a potential virus. Wiping the droid clean and starting its programming from scratch would be less of a hassle. Finding a means of countering the virus would be more helpful, however, in that the repair could be replicated should it occur in other droids. You first had to ensure that none of your equipment had been damaged by the potential virus; you would use your spares when you began work in the coming cycle.

Perhaps thoughts of code-related projects should not have calmed you as much as they did. It was what you did for work. This was different though. It was personal, it was for yourself. You smiled, thinking of it along with Kylo’s reaction to seeing the droid. Next you thought of Armitage and Millicent in her TIE cat bed. Being with both of them made you genuinely happy.

Stretching, arching your back, you altered your position once more, scooping up a datapad as you accomplished this shift. You had not yet finished winding down from your day, and you had enough of your wits about you to compose a message to each of them. Something simple though nothing cheesy.

You tapped your fingers against the side of the device. The drumming held no true rhythm, although you did not particularly care. You made the decision to not open the replies no matter how soon they came. Only then did you begin to write a message to Kylo Ren, inquiring when he would be able to have a meditation session with you. It was something that would not interfere with his work or training while for you it offered a chance to clear your mind of mental tasks while enjoying his company. Dating on starships was an interesting affair to say the least. For Armitage, you hoped to join him for tea, one of the new flavors that you had purchased. It would be soothing, and was also something you could do while in his quarters. He was always most at ease there.

Once you had sent the messages, you powered down the device and tucked it away. You then slipped out of bed. Your feet pattered on the ground, taking you towards the MSE droid, in front of which you knelt.

People so often took droids for granted, and you honestly did not understand it. Some hated droids. Others preferred droids that could not communicate in Basic. They chose to purchase droids that spoke only binary, which they often failed to learn. You rolled your eyes. What people wanted were mindless slaves. Drones were different than droids. You wished that more people understood that. That more appreciated the gift that droids were, that they would cherish them. It was in part programming, however many droids learned to adapt so as to best serve their masters and partners.

Your gaze flickered over to TeeArr. That was what he was to you, you thought. He was more of a partner. Or a child, as he had somewhat implied. The people in your life influenced him as much as they did you. And he cared for you. His concern had so much to do with his programming, however what had first sparked the idea to allow room for personality had been the early stages of his adaptation into your work life.

His relationship with Kylo and Armitage will be different. I need to ensure it does not interfere with work. Should he become too casual with them… You quirked your lips towards one side. TeeArr had enough history working with diplomats that you worried less than you otherwise may have. Still, there would be work to be done. Which meant ensuring that you had free time between cycles and dates with your boyfriends to devote to yourself and to TeeArr. Evenings will be best.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you rose to your feet again and slunk back to your bed. The covers were invitingly warm in comparison with the light chill of the room. A low buzz emitted from the air vents.

Aside from running through codes, another means of relaxing yourself before bed was to recall some of your fonder memories. At present those were of previous interactions with Kylo Ren and Armitage Hux.

Early on, when it had come to speaking with political figures, you had been frustrated with Armitage—General Hux back that to you. He had given only clipped greetings, if he greeted you at all, and referred to you by your job title rather than name. That had gradually changed. One incident in particular had been when the politician had spoken over you during a discussion about Imperial droids that were, to many, obsolete. You had felt that some of their programming would be useful in newer droids. The politician had pretended to listen for roughly one sentence before he turned to Armitage and began speaking as though you were sitting there silently.

Maker, you had grown so flustered. It was the first time that you had wanted to sock someone so badly that you shoved your hands under the table to hide your fists. Armitage had, in turn, ignored the other man in favor of looking your way and requesting that you repeat yourself, because he did not believe the knowledge you were attempting to share had been heard. It was hard to not respect him in those moments. Whether you butted heads on opinions or not, he showed you professional courtesy and respect that you had worked your ass off to earn.

Next you considered one of the times you had spent nearly an hour with Kylo. Neither of you had spoken for the better part of fifteen standard minutes. You had discovered a viewport with a gorgeous view of several constellations along with a distant moon. It had given you pause, stolen your breath away. You had walked closer to the transparisteel, and stood there with your arms dangling. Kylo Ren had already been present, although you barely noticed him. He spoke first. He told you that you would be late. You hummed in absent acknowledgment, the words not registering until nearly a half hour had passed. Then you had uttered out a swear.

At that point you left the viewport and headed in the direction of the meeting room that was filled with officers awaiting a presentation from you. You worked hard to think up an excuse, anything to save face. Nothing sensible sprang to mind. Thus you entered the room to receive glowers and glares. A snarl wrinkled the face of the lead officer, who began to open his mouth only to release a strangled noise of surprise before he uttered Kylo’s name. And Kylo Ren spoke for you, stating that you had been with him. That was all. Four words. She was with me. No one had questioned it, and any animosity aimed at you had left.

They were both kind, you thought. It was in their own way, however in retrospect they had been more human to you than the majority of those you had had contact with in the First Order. You had paid that in kind, too. Had treated them with respect. Had spoken with them, smiled at them. Had unknowingly been falling in love with them, or at least parts of them.

You lifted a hand to your mouth, your eyes widening as you faced the depth of your feelings for them. It explained so well why you had faced such difficulty when believing that you would have to choose one or the other. You would have been lying to yourself to say that you could have done so. Just as you had lied to yourself, making that decision to not read the replies until the next cycle.

You grabbed at the datapad again, fingers trembling a little as you pushed the power button. There was much that you wanted to share with each of them, mentally, emotionally, and physically.

Physically. You bit down on your bottom lip and barely suppressed a shudder.

There were two messages waiting for you. Both Armitage and Kylo had replied not long after you had sent each of them their message. It caused the already-present thrumming in your body to spread.

You opened the message from Armitage first, as it was the one on top. He enjoyed the idea of having scheduled tea sessions with you on an ongoing basis. It would allow you to monitor the TIE cat bed, perhaps also allow you to design more droids appropriate for her care. No one could say that either of you were wasting time being idle. That was a risk that an officer of his rank dealt with in the First Order. It was ruthless, this organization. He had a list of three times that would work best for his schedule, and you replied back indicating the two that would work for you, stating that you would give him a definitive answer partway into the next cycle. You imagined that if things changed on his end, he would message you if possible.

With that reply sent, you opened Kylo’s response to your message. The laugh that leapt from you made you glad that you were essentially alone at the moment. He had inquired if you meant for a meditation session in his quarters or in the training room. It was impossible for you to not smile over the fact that he was seeking clarification over whether or not you were using code. Truth be told, you were plenty willing to partake in either form of ‘meditation’ he had been considering. You worked to keep your wording from being too forward. Leave room for a little bantering, you thought.

This time when you powered down the datapad and found a more comfortable position to rest, you were determined to avoid further distractions from sleep. Plans outside of work were developing. You had to get your sleep for that, to have the proper amount of energy to fully appreciate your time with Kylo and Armitage.

The humming of the vent lulled you into a deep sleep. The dreams you had were vague, but with an air of pleasantness. Familiarity. Arms wrapped around you. A person beside you. Laughter, yours and two other distinct voices. You did not dream of the presentation, as you sometimes did following such meetings. Only of them.

#errorpnf #kylo ren x reader #general hux x reader #kylo x reader #hux x reader #kylo ren imagine #general hux imagine

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brawltogethernow · 4 years

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So on the whole, how useful would you say Death Note is for teaching someone how to write a convoluted plot between enemy chessmasters that's at least... 50% watertight?

General disclaimer that I haven’t touched the source material directly in many years, and all my dn posts are me feeling my feelings. But yeah, I can shake my 8-ball about this.

There are two components to dn’s approach to “a convoluted plot between enemy chessmasters”, and they’re only roughly stapled together. There’s the rivalry/characterization part, which is both compelling and silly, and is mostly about aesthetic. That never really concludes in a satisfying way. It’s not TRYING to, because the characters are pretty much there to hold up the thought experiment premise, which demands a lot of grit and unpoetic death and not solid foundations of character/relationship work. Like there’s stuff there but you’re really deep-mining for it and doing a lot of the work yourself, and that’s by design. All of the character arcs, which are pretty thin on the ground, trend in a negative/dismantling direction (because it’s a tragedy), and few of the relationships play out all the potential they have (because it’s not a tragedy about relationships).

The character aspect of the chessmaster stuff is heavily reliant on the conceit that once people are smart enough they will start reaching the same conclusions in the same way. Like there’s a single most ideal train of thought for every situation that even people who should have very different thought processes will reach with the assistance of enough little gray cells. This isn’t uncommon in smartboi stories, but dn went absolutely ham on it, if you want to make a study of that trope.

The biggest takeaway there is probably noting how the creative team seems to have been unaware that a lot of their audience was actually buying into that between the lead and their rival as a “meant to be enemies” kind of thing and didn’t realize that faction would be less interested once it became obvious that no, all geniuses in this world are taking turns using one brain. I’ll freely admit I deliberately misread this element to maximize my own investment.

Then there are the tricks and puzzles. The odd logical hole is inevitable, but overall they’re solid. They’re also just procedural plots delivered in a less formulaic story than that usually makes one think of. There’s nothing distinguishing them from the weekly puzzle of a House episode or a Detective Conan arc except for raw creativity and panache. There is rarely any characterization going on whatsoever. The twists require players, but you never get the sense that only whoever is being pulled to act could fill their part. They’re always stand-ins for perfectly generic individuals, putting their distinctive quirks and intense personal philosophies aside. This is that idea that there’s one way of thinking that everyone is accessing at staggered intelligence levels in play again. People are simplified until they can be pieces in contraptions no more complex than Light’s exploding desk drawer trap.

This is why the trick plots of dn don’t get pored over a lot by fans. They’re looped too loosely to the rest of the story to have an emotional impact that will make them memorable long-term. They’re deceptively simple, too. Kind of the opposite of a story twist that makes you rethink everything that came before it in a new light. You can’t dismantle dn and reassemble it like pentominoes very easily. A lot of it is grand set pieces, and if you tease out any of the puzzle plots they sort of lose structural integrity and flake away. This is why most canon divergence fic for dn is “diverging” by asking the question “what if Light were less of a shit”.

Ultimately, Death Note only gives the impression of being a complex engine made of moving parts. Its strong suit is its showmanship. It’s very good at carrying you along from twist to twist in a state of mild beffudlement that doesn’t quite escalate to belligerent and securing that “Oh wow! That was clever!” reaction. The mastermind-offs of are deceptively static, pretty much coming down to one party either failing or succeeding to thwart a plot laid out by another in advance without a lot of combating each others’ machinations in real time. Once resolved, twists vanish from the consciousness like disappearing gold. There’s no fiber to them, just flash.

This isn’t critique! Most elements of this story do what they’re deployed to do. (If the tricks needed workshopping, people would analyze them more, ironically.)

I’m myself shit at (de)constructing brain tingler twists and can’t really identify if dn’s are useful for instruction purposes. Not for people who don’t already have a natural talent for them, I guess! It might be interesting to identify why they’re not immediately identifiable as bloodless trick plots, except I suspect it might just be that the rest of dn is so insane and dissimilar from stories that usually contain those? Like I already compared it to two Holmes descendants, and it definitely has BBC Sherlock “let the asshole speak, genii are a protected species” vibes, and the criminal protagonist facing off with a detective premise is Arsene Lupin-y, yet I still feel weird identifying Death Note itself as in this broader genre because *gestures to all of it*.

It’s the least formula-reliant example of the breed I can think of right now, which is neat. (Annnnd also definitely feeds in to people being dissatisfied with it because they miscalled what it was trying to be. Dn is just generally pretty unique, and I imagine the team was making up a lot of its playbook from scratch as it went along, which leaves the audience in kind making up the experience of consuming it.)

All of the above is incidentally why dn is infamous for being very compelling in the moment but then having people revisit thinking about it and decide the he-knows-that-I-know-that-he-knows conceit is actually ridiculous and needs to be taken with a grain of salt.

So uh. This all SOUNDS like bad form, but that’s arguably me being a basic bitch who “likes when plot and character and aesthetic inform each other”, and that’s just fundamentally not what Death Note is. Also it’s kind of a lofty starting goal and writing is hard. Like! This approach worked! We are discussing a very successful property with many fans. (And a weirdly finite cultural impact for its popularity but this isn’t necessarily why.) I guess this is an acceptable playbook, and the takeaway is that you CAN successfully Frankenstein together different unconnected storytelling methods, and it will look dazzling and impressive and barely leave any of your readership feeling confused and hollow inside and likely to return and make fun of themselves for accidentally liking your work wrong.

Oh, also, dn as do’s and don’t’s of building a mastermind character. Do give headlining characters eye-catching, memetic traits. Don’t fail to trace those traits down so they actually represent something at your character’s core because you crossed over the line from “spinning characters out as foils and parallels who compare and contrast to each other in interesting ways” into “all of your smart characters are basically the same challenge-seeking misanthrope stamped with different surface features” -- except WHO ELSE IS GOING TO HAVE THAT PROBLEM? THAT’S NOT NORMAL.

So yeah you COULD study Death Note, or you could binge some crime dramas and then some X-Men issues that have battles in the center of the mind over the same weekend and get basically the same net effect.

#death note #mirrorfalls #asks answered

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asteroiideae · 3 years

Text

okay, so I don’t make these kinds of posts often because tbh I’m a little lazy and very tired like 24/7 lmao but I’ve been seeing a lot of Pride reading lists hit my dash (and they’re excellent, and I save them all!) buuuut reading books is still a roadblock I’m struggling to mentally overcome -- and audiobooks are great, but they take 84 years (sometimes literally???) to get through. so! I thought I’d share a (very tiny) list of the queer manga I’ve read this year that you might enjoy for Pride, with some descriptions/trigger warnings/thoughts to go with them. so here we go in no particular order other than where they sit on my bookshelf:

What Did You Eat Yesterday? by Fumi Yoshinaga

okay so I know I go on about this manga at literally every presented opportunity, but I honestly just can’t help myself??? as a thirty-something queer adult, I really love the quiet maturity of this relationship between Shiro and Kenji; especially when it’s highlighted by references to shenanigans of their youth, and the ways in which they are still growing as both individuals and a couple. I’ve only read the first six volumes but I’m OBSESSED.

Status: Ongoing (17 volumes; 15 translated) Summary: Shiro and Kenji are an established adult couple with separate careers and interests, whose relationship is depicted over the meals cooked for them by Shiro. This doesn’t have an overarching plot, which might be off-putting for some readers; each chapter can be compared to a fanfic one-shot, usually containing it’s own tiny storyline or theme. It’s literally just domestic moments and meals shared between these men. Warnings: While I didn’t personally have a problem with this, younger readers might find some of the dated terms offensive. If you’ve spent any time with older queer folks (older as in 45-50+) this won’t be anything you aren’t used to, but if your experience of queer folx skews younger or online, you might get taken by surprise. There’s also some internalized homophobia; and by some I mean quite a bit. Shiro’s personal arc (at least in the first six volumes) heavily revolves around how much he closets himself and tries desperately to pass as “normal” in Japanese business culture.

Boys Run The Riot by Keito Gaku

holy shit holy shit holy SHIT. this story is so good??? so VERY good??? I was a little cautious, and a little bit uninterested in a story about teens (only because I’m in my thirties and crave more adult representation,) but I was VERY WRONG to be. Boys Run The Riot is beautifully drawn, beautifully written, and probably my favorite work on this list. the mangaka is also trans so the inherent understanding and nuance of our protagonist’s experience is really lovely. Also featuring a fantastic brotp between a trans boy and his new himbo bestie; no seriously if you want a story about a trans boy getting to have good broships with other boys his own age I CANNOT stress this enough. Volume two is releasing next month; I have it preordered. I’m laying on my floor wishing for time to hurry the fuck up. I need more of this smol angry trans boy and his big soft himbo bff. PLS. Status: Ongoing (4 volumes published; 2 translated) Summary: Ryo Watari is a second year high school student who is trans and struggling to feel comfortable with his very rigidly structured life at school, at home, and among his friends (to whom he is not out.) By chance he meets Jin Sato, a cis boy who also feels outcast (often judged for his appearance without any deeper thought.) When Ryo comes out to Jin in a state of frustration, Jin accepts who Ryo is and makes an offer -- why not start a fashion line that subverts all the expectations that have been put on them both; why not express themselves even when they’ve been told they shouldn’t. Warnings: Ryo is struggling with gender dysphoria, and it is written by someone who has probably experienced it, so it might be a little real for any trans folks who deal with that. Also, while neither the narrative nor Jin misgender Ryo (at least, not once he expresses to Jin that he is a man), Ryo is not out to anyone else and so he frequently is misgendered at school and we see how badly that impacts him and the way he views himself and processes his emotions. Ryo spends a lot of time being angry and trying to swallow it down, and that can be very raw to witness at times. There is also a depiction of unsafe binding (though the mangaka has an immediate note about binding safety, and goes further in-depth at the back of the manga.)

Our Dining Table by Mita Ori

okay, so I was a bit on the fence about whether or not I wanted to include this as a rec, but I decided that it might actually been what someone wants or needs, so here it is! while I really enjoyed this concept, and I’m always a sucker for found family stories (let me tell you I’m queer without telling you I’m queer, much?) it feels like this story is a bit rushed at times, and the romantic relationship between our protagonists is very blink and you’ll miss it. I don’t even want to call it subtle so much as it is just not remotely the focus of the story so it’s a little startling when it happens. but! if you’re looking for a story about adults processing grief and trauma together, and learning how to care for another person (and as a result, learning how to care for themselves,) this is a nice read that isn’t too heavy! Status: Complete (one volume) Summary: Yutaka is a salaryman whose past experiences prevent him from reaching out to others, even through something so simple as sharing a meal. Despite this is REALLY loves to cook, and wishes he had a reason to do it more often. Then he meets Minoru, and his muuuuuch younger brother Tane (it’s like a 17 year age gap between the brothers?) and finds himself teaching them how to cook, and overcoming his fear of eating in front of others. Warnings: Good news, there’s no overt homophobia in this story! Bad news, the other trauma makes up for it! We have a lot of trauma surrounding parental death, childhood bullying, and adoption; in addition to an actual fear of eating in front of others.

Our Dreams at Dusk / Shimanami Tasogare by Yuhki Kamatani

this is the first manga series I collected, and I’m still very pleased about that. the art is ABSOLUTELY stunning? the use of visual imagery and surreal analogies to explain queerness is fucking on POINT. I cried so hard during a couple of these volumes I developed a migraine. I only have one piece of critique on the whole thing (addressed in the warnings,) and I intend to do another re-read when I’m ready for the catharsis of sobbing into my pillow again. Like Boys Run The Riot, Our Dreams at Dusk is drawn and written by a member of the queer community (a non-binary mangaka, this time,) and as a result it hits pretty fucking close to home in a lot of ways. while I really love this series it’s super not for the faint of heart, you WILL come out of this reading experience with some things to unpack. Status: Completed (4 volumes; 4 translated) Summary: We mostly follow Tasuku Kaname, as he is outted at school by a classmate as being homosexual, and his initial despair and subsequent journey of acceptance. In this process, Tasuku finds himself at a drop-in center, which seems to primarily function as a safe space for queer people; we meet several lesbians, an elderly gay man, a trans character, and a young character who isn’t ready for any kind of label because they are still ??? about themselves and their identity. Each of these “secondary” characters is given room to breathe and to work through difficulties of their own while Tasuku watches and learns that even though life is hard sometimes, there’s beauty to be found in one’s own strength. Warnings: hoooo boy; well there’s all kinds of homophobia and transphobia; a character is outted against their will (multiple times), there’s some really insidious transphobia covered by “concern”, there’s internalized homophobia everywhere, and a very complicated asexual character whose presentation left me (as an ace) with super mixed feelings and a lot of frustration (though I wouldn’t call it bad necessarily; just wanted to put that out there for my fellow asexual folks.) If you have read (or go on to read!) any of these, please let me know! I’d love to chat about the stories, and hear your thoughts on them -- because we’re a broad/diverse community and our own experiences shape us differently and give us different insights. <3 ANYWAY, for those of you who read this monstrous self-indulgent post, thank you! Feel free to add any queer manga you’ve been reading below - I’m always on the hunt for more recs!

#happy pride #manga recs #gay representation #queer representation #trans characters #asexual characters #gay characters #everything in-between tbh

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sunkissedpages · 5 years

Text

breaking curfew || th x reader [part six]

A/N: what it do babey ahaha

Summary: When you got the job to be a counselor at the summer camp you’d grown up attending all your life, you expected to see some familiar faces. But you certainly hadn’t counted on having to work alongside the boy who had made it his life’s mission to make your life a living hell every summer. In fact, you thought you’d never have to see Tom Holland again. But he’s is in the cabin right across from yours with campers of his own- smirk, jawline, and all. If you didn’t know any better you might’ve thought that he applied for the position just to spite you, but who were you kidding? What kind of asshole would do something like that?

Warnings: swearing, fear of heights

What I listened to while writing: the breaking curfew playlist by @cinnamon-roll-peter!!

Word Count: 2.5k (updated)

Series Masterlist

Tom gulped nervously like he was suddenly reconsidering having to spend an undisclosed amount of time stuck in a small space with you.

“Tom,” you growled and he took a step back. “What did you say?”

“I was just kidding,” he tried, but you didn’t buy it.

“No you weren’t, asshole. Who told you that?”

“I- um I just overheard your campers talking at dinner the other night?”

“Bullshit, what does ‘overheard’ really mean?”

“I may or may not have talked to them in passing...”

“What? When?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “You were preoccupied.” You still didn’t know what the fuck he meant. “With Ying,” he said like it should’ve been obvious.

“So you think it’s okay to just take that opportunity to talk to my campers?”

“They called me over!”

You went on the offense. “What?! What did they want? What else did they say?”

“I don’t think I should-“

“Tom!”

“They were just asking about why you didn’t like me...”

Thunder crackled in the distance and you narrowed your eyes at him, wondering if the flush on his face was from sunburn or nerves. “And? What did you say?”

“I just said I didn’t know! That you just haven’t liked me since we were kids.”

“Of course you made me look like the bad guy, Tom. Typical.”

Tom scowled, licking his lips. “What did you want me to say? That you’re still pissed about breaking curfew one time eleven years ago?”

“Fuck you, is that really all you remember from that night? From all those years?”

“Do you always live in the past?” He asked, seeming bored.

“Do you always use humor to compensate for your tiny dick?”

“You know what, y/n, maybe if you weren’t such a bitch all the time, your campers might actually like you and wouldn’t be asking why you can’t be more like me!”

You watched his eyes grow wide with shock as yours did in turn. Your jaw went slack and your mouth fell into an o-shape. Whatever insult you had been about to hurl next dissolved on your tongue and turned bitter. It didn’t matter now.

Tom was quiet, standing with his arms crossed in front of you, offering no apology. Your eyes burned and you didn’t even try to blink the tears away. It was your fault for pressing him into telling you what your kids really thought of you, it was your fault that they felt that way about you in the first place. But to compare you to Tom of all people, that cut deep. What had you done in a past life to deserve that blow?

“I’m requesting a transfer,” you decided simply and turned on your heel to leave.

“Wait-” Tom stuttered. You were surprised he was saying anything at all. “What do you mean transfer?”

“I mean I’m transferring to another daytime activity, if they’ll let me. I’m done with Arts and Crafts.”

“You mean you’re done with me.”

Your hand on the doorknob was the only answer you gave, but Tom reached out to stop you again, placing his hand over yours.

“It’s still storming,” he said in a tone of annoyance tinged with concern. “The campus is locked down.”

“Are you going to stop me?” you challenged, sniffling.

He looked back down at your hands still touching and considered it, but ultimately let go, choosing to watch you run off into the rain instead.

You tossed and turned in your bunk that night, unable to fall asleep. The camp beds were uncomfortable already, the added stress of the day was only making it more difficult to drift off. Tom’s words played on repeat in your head as you laid there in the dark.

Your girls lay sleeping silently in their bunks around you, unaware of what you’d learned. In all honesty, you had thought about quitting. Packing your bags and driving home and spending the summer working retail in the city. As miserable as that sounded, you felt like you had let your campers down, and that they deserved better. Zendaya had quickly talked you out of that and insisted that even if the things Tom had said were true that there was still time to turn things around.

The summer wasn’t even close to being over, and it wasn’t that the girls didn’t like you, they just... “had a few critiques about your counseling style” as Z had put it gently.

“No first-time counselor’s perfect,” she had assured you. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve forgotten my campers names already.”

“Yeah, but have they said they wished you were more like Tom?!” you had groaned back, flopping back onto her twin-sized bed.

“Um, no. But they’re young, y/n. They probably just think he’s cute and meant it as a compliment- not an insult to you.”

“But what about when they said I’m no fun?”

Zendaya took a deep breath. “You have been a little distracted lately,” she admitted. You made a face. “Tom threw you off, I know. You weren’t expecting him to be here and he’s a dick, trust me, I get it. But at the end of the day you have to put that aside so you can do your job and be the best you can for these kids, you know? I think they probably just want you to be more engaged. Less focused on some boy, and more focused on them.”

You knew she was right, but it was still hard to hear. Zendaya wasn’t the kind of person to be brutally honest for no reason. No, she was kind and compassionate. But sometimes she would tell you what you needed to hear- always with your best interest in mind.

When your alarm went off from under your pillow the next morning you had barely slept three hours altogether. You considered snoozing it and getting up when your campers did, but you knew that the only time you had to get ready was right then so you pushed yourself up and out of bed like you were being played back in slow motion.

You went through your routine on autopilot. Brush teeth, shower, awkward half-naked conversation with Fy, get dressed, wake kids up, help them get ready for the day. It was honestly a blur up until breakfast when you were standing in line with your cabin for pancakes.

“Are you guys excited for the competition today?” you asked them. “It’s a lake day.”

“Yes!” Amalia exclaimed immediately. “I hope it’s a swimming race because I’ve been practicing at free time!”

From the corner of your eye you saw Grace shrink a little bit into herself and tried to smile reassuringly at her.

“There will be some swimming,” you admitted, just so that they could all be prepared, “but not everyone will have to swim.”

You were ambushed with rapidfire questions next, but you stubbornly refused to tell them anything about the competition. Everyone else had to wait until the afternoon to learn what it was going to be, you weren’t going to give your campers an advantage by telling them what the activity was. Plus, it would ruin the fun.

You smiled when the nagging subsided and they knew they weren’t going to get anything else out of you, but teased them with your superior knowledge about the activity all morning.

By the time the actual event rolled around you were a little worried the hype wouldn’t live up to the actual activity. But as soon as your campers saw the pool inflatables they took off at a sprint down the hill towards the lake without warning, leaving you chasing after them with all of their backpacks and water bottles.

For once you were early and had to wait for the rest of the camp to arrive before the competition could start, but your girls were already ready to go. It hadn’t even been explained yet, but there was a collection of fun pool floats down at the shore of the lake including, but not limited to: a flamingo, a popsicle, a watermelon slice, a shark, a pizza, a swan, a turtle, a unicorn, an iphone, a car, a rainbow, and a cat.

They were scattered along the shore and were to be used in a partner race. Each camper would partner up with another and choose a float. One camper would get on the float and the other would be in charge of navigating it. The camper in the water was supposed to do all of the pushing and kicking while the one on top of the float could help with paddling.

Since your cabin had five campers you teamed up with Grace. It was perfect because you knew how nervous she got around water events and could let her be the one on the float no problem.

When Lorraine blew the whistle for the event to start chaos broke loose. You were going to let Grace pick your team’s float, but she was too slow so you grabbed the first one you could find- which just so happened to be an orange creamsicle with a bite taken out of it.

Grace hopped onto the float and you pushed it out into the water, kicking as hard as you could. Three minutes in your stupid, ill-fitting swimsuit was riding down and your lungs were burning, but you still went as hard as you could until you reached the finish line.

When you finally came up for air and rubbed the water from your eyes you saw Grace laughing along with the other campers who had finished around the same time.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, putting your hands on your hips even though they couldn’t seem them under water.

“You ran right into Theo and Amalia!” Grace snorted.

“I did?” You had absolutely no recollection of doing that, you must’ve truly been going buckwild if you didn’t even notice you had run into your own campers. You felt terrible until you saw them all giggling about it and decided to play along. “Well maybe you two shouldn’t have been in my way!”

“You’re the one who can’t swim straight!” Theo argued defensively.

You shook your head. “I don’t know about that, I think we’re going to need to watch the replay to see who’s right.”

It wasn’t much, but they were laughing. You knew you wouldn’t be able to turn things around between you and your campers completely right away, but it was a start in the right direction.

After everyone finished racing the winners were announced and then there was a little extra free time to spend at the lake before dinner. Cabin 11 ended up coming in third place which the girls were completely over the moon about, mostly because they beat a lot of high schoolers- which you thought was completely valid.

When event cleanup was finished and everyone was chilling by or in the water, a handful of counselors suggested cliff jumping from a wide ledge that overlooked the lake. You were going to decline the invitation when Harrison asked, but Tom said “nah, y/l/n won’t come she’s not a fun counselor”. The way he said it in front of your campers with his stupid smirk and stupid friends all watching made your blood boil.

Obviously that was a dare and obviously you had to take it, because you weren’t going to look like a pussy in front of all of your peers. And you weren’t about to let your campers down either. What’s the worst that could happen?

The cliff was a good bit higher than you were expecting, but you still told yourself you could do it. Everyone else up here was going to jump and they’d all be fine so you could too, right?

Wrong.

The ledge was probably only forty or fifty feet from the water’s surface, but once you were actually up there looking down it seemed miles away. Your campers looked like tiny dots bobbing in the water below, and you couldn’t even make out who was who. You gulped, and took a step back, pressing yourself up against the sturdy wall of the mountain for balance.

You could hear Zendaya’s voice in the back of your mind, scolding you for giving in to peer pressure- from Tom of all people. You knew she was down there too, probably biting her nails ragged like she did when she was nervous.

A cool breeze was making your wet swimsuit cling to your skin even more than it already was and you wrapped your arms around your shoulders in an unsuccessful attempt to fend off the chill.

Unaware of you cowering in the corner, Harrison volunteered himself to go first. Taking a leap of faith off of the cliff, he spread his arms out like a bird and flipped into the water, shouting and screaming the whole time.

The rest of the counselors took turns jumping, running, and pushing each other off the edge before plunging into the murky lake while you hung back. There were only a handful of jumpers left when Tom finally noticed you hiding behind everyone else.

“You look like you’re about to puke.”

“I might,” you admitted, but shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

Unexpectedly, his face softened and his eyes crinkled with worry. “You know you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, y/n.”

“Why, so you can make fun of me for chickening out later and hold it over my head for the rest of the summer?”

“I mean that would be a bonus, but-”

You took a shaky step forward towards the jumping point. “You’re the one who said I’m boring, okay? I know you wanted me up here just so you could get back at me for transferring and prove to yourself I’m a quitter or whatever you need to tell yourself. Don’t try and backpedal now.”

You were the only two up there now, and you could hear confused shouting from

“So what if I didn’t think you would do it?” Tom argued. “It’s just not like you!”

“You don’t know anything about me, Tom!” you shouted back. “And you don’t even like me so why do you care?”

He scoffed and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t.”

You pushed past him to the rocky drop-off of the cliff, pausing to take a deep breath when your toes were dangling over edge. You heard Tom shout something as you fell, but it was lost in the wind whistling past your ears.

The impact on the water knocked the air out of your lungs and made your vision go cloudy fast. You were still falling, deeper and deeper into the water, the glassy surface disappearing out of reach above you as you sunk.

When you finally had the sense to try and swim towards the sunlight, pain tore its way up through your right arm and you tried to scream out in agony, but were suffocated by the water around you, pulling you deeper still.

You were forced to use your left arm to try and claw your way to the surface, ignoring the way the pain from your other arm was making you feel lightheaded. Black spots danced in your vision and you were so far gone that you didn’t even notice someone swim up behind you and grab you by the waist to pull you to safety.

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#breaking curfew #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #behind the scenes

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 7

<- Chapter 6 | Chapter 8 ->

Summary: I gave myself a stomach ache writing this one 🙃

2,961 words

Thirty-two days. Nine surgeries. Twenty blood transfusions.

Sometimes it seemed like just yesterday when everything was going right—you and Frederick were so happy together, his books were selling, your career was flourishing, and he had just asked you to marry him. Sometimes, it felt like a lifetime ago. A state of being so foreign, you wondered if it had even been real, or if you were remembering someone else’s life.

Seasons turned. Cherry blossoms were starting to bloom in the parks around Maryland, and each gust of cool wind carried with it their sweet pink fragrance. The spring air vibrated and sang with life renewed. But where you were headed, the air was stagnant, beige, and sterile.

As the automatic sliding glass doors drew you into the hospital, away from the sun, a piece of your heart withered like a flower. It sank deeper when you considered how the unhappy hours you whiled away in those sterile halls were nothing compared to what Frederick had to endure. He didn’t have the luxury of being able to leave.

Physically, he was beginning to show signs of real improvement. The pneumonia had completely cleared up, and he was starting to receive permanent transplants from the cutting-edge, lab-grown skin created from his own cells. Most of his body was still wrapped up in gauze, but a few places had only received second-degree burns, and those patches were almost back to normal. For the first time since the attack, his odds of not dying were higher than his odds of dying.

Mentally was a different story. His moods grew progressively more sour. With none of his true nemeses at hand to take out his bitterness on, that burden fell upon his nurses, doctors, and upon you—and it was beginning to weigh heavily. At first you didn’t want to see the rift that was forming, even as he cut your visiting hours short in an angry huff, and had fewer and fewer kind words for you. You shoved every fear and frustration into a box at the back of your mind so you could keep smiling. He was just in pain, you kept telling yourself. He just needed time.

You held onto the hope that as he got better, your relationship would return to what it had been before. But he was getting better, and the rift grew wider.

“We’ll still want to wait at least six months to do the procedure, until your infection risk has dropped to baseline levels for a healthy adult, but we’re putting you on the transplant waiting list now,” the doctor explained. She was one of his regular surgeons who had been with him since day one. She wore a white lab coat over blue scrubs, and hid behind a clipboard as she spoke. You liked the that she needed to use the file as a shield—it made her relatable. Always friendly, and clearly a skilled surgeon, but uncomfortable with the heavy emotional talking to patients, especially to Dr. Frederick Chilton, who was always in a bad mood, and always ready with a scathing remark.

But today he had nothing to say. No critique on the hospital’s competence. No casual observations with hidden barbs. Just a silent nod of acknowledgment before turning his head to gaze out the window at the fresh spring flowers, framed by the sea of fake ones you had bought.

Francis Dolarhyde, the Red Dragon, had bitten Frederick’s mouth with such extreme ferocity there was not enough connective muscle left to reconstruct new lips from Frederick’s own tissue. The only option for him to look normal again would be a face transplant—donated facial muscle, skin, and hair from a cadaver—although the doctor explained that the procedure was risky. After taking the transplant, Frederick would be put on immunosurpressant drugs for the rest of his life to prevent rejection, which meant every flu season, or even a coworker with a cold, could turn deadly without careful precaution. But to Frederick, it was worth the risk. He couldn’t bear spending his life being stared at. He couldn’t even stand you looking at the black hole that was his face.

Yet what the doctor explained about the procedure added weight after weight to Frederick’s chest until he felt crushed by despair.

The donated tissue had to be a very close match, or his antibodies would reject the new lips. Unlike receiving a heart or a kidney, his new skin had to be an aesthetic match as well. It could not be from too old a donor, or the skin would lack the proper elasticity. And, unfortunately, most organ donors were not comfortable donating external organs—it ruins the open-casket wake.

So, he could be waiting on a match for a very long time.

You thanked the clipboard-wielding doctor when Frederick remained sulking, not bothering to look up as she left. He adjusted himself slightly to follow a flash of movement—a bird—out the window, and winced as it tugged his unyielding scar tissue. Something tore under his armpit, but he didn’t yelp in pain—he was used to this level of it by now—but his eyes watered.

“At least you can sit up a little bit now. That’s great, isn’t it?” you said in an attempt to cheer him up.

He scoffed, and made no immediate reply.

Years, was all he kept thinking. It could take up to three years to find a match, possibly longer, the doctor said.

“Up to three years or longer,” he growled sarcastically. “She does realize that means nothing? It means any time, or never.”

“I know...”

“But thank god at least I can sit,” he spat bitterly. “A little.”

You were taken aback by his sharp rebuke and fell silent, a cavernous gulf between you though you sat right beside his bed. As you recovered from the sting, however, his words made you smile. He had always been churlish, but recently all of the spirit had been eroded away from his petty attitudes, leaving him defeated and mean. It was nice to hear his churlishness take on a spark of sarcastic sass.

“Don’t lose hope, darling,” you said in an overly-sweet patronizing cadence. “One day you’ll have enough movement back to flip her off.”

He paused, eyes flicking over to you curiously. You had been downtrodden for weeks, too, and he hadn’t expected a joke. He chuckled appreciatively. You wished the good moments lasted longer these days.

It wasn’t as though his life had ended, even if his full cosmetic recovery would take a little longer than he hoped, and even if he was bedridden for several more months. It was that sharp mind and wit that made you fall in love with him, and he still had that. He could keep you entertained for hours discussing some arcane piece of trivia or sharing lurid gossip. Since he was cut off from his normal sources of scuttlebutt, you kept him updated on all the latest rumors you’d learned over dinner with Jack Crawford—about the shitstorm he’d brought down on himself at the FBI when Will Graham went rogue, how Alana and her wife fled the country (but you heard they might be in Cuba), Freddie Lounds being sued again. He always enjoyed hearing about other people’s misfortunes, but today it just made him jealous that you’d been spending time with Jack.

“You have both recently lost a spouse. What comfort you must take in each other,” he insinuated.

“I haven’t lost you, Frederick.”

You went into that sentence thinking you were convincing him that you loved him, but as it closed, you realized you were desperate to convince yourself he wasn’t gone. The more you tried to hold him close, the more you felt him pulling away, and felt a creeping dread that even if he got better, you would lose him. Everything you tried to say to reassure him only made him feel worse, and you wondered if it was your fault. Someone more capable, more empathetic, would know the right things to say. You were a failure. He deserved more.

His professional life, too, hadn’t ended. His injury would barely be a bump in the road to his writing career if he wasn’t so stubborn and prideful. The publisher offered to send a ghostwriter to finish The Dragon Slayer, for which they greedily anticipated a significant boost in sales, considering the author’s headline-making personal involvement in the Red Dragon’s end. Frederick, however, refused to be interviewed by “some insipid amateur.” He claimed they would not understand the nuances of psychology required, and stood firm on the grounds of “artistic integrity,” but the truth was, he did not want anybody else to see him.

His face had not made it into the papers, despite several attempts by Freddie Lounds to sneak into the hospital with a hidden camera, and he did not want any more of the world than absolutely necessary to know the extent of what the Dragon had done to him. He did not want to see the shock in the writer’s eyes at seeing his disgusting lipless teeth. He did not want a stranger to see him inevitably start drooling the longer he spoke—and he hated repeating himself to people who could not understand his impaired diction.

No. Publishing The Dragon Slayer would have to wait, though the possibility of another author beating him to the punch bothered him nearly as much as his missing lips. After an entire month recuperating, he thought he would at least be able to type again, but he could barely move his gauze-mittened fingers.

The world had not forgotten him, evidenced by the occasional fan-mail the publisher forwarded to him. You would bring them in and read them—a lot of get-well-soons, and entreaties to hear his side of the Francis Dolarhyde story. A lot of them were from professionals and students in the psychiatric field, pointing out errors or suggesting contradictory theories. Those were the most fun to read, because Frederick would come alive with indignation, debating with the letter as if its sender could hear him, sometimes making you send a response, seething with superiority as he dictated.

In those brief moments, it was like having the old Frederick back. Then a nurse would come in and need to run a test, or feed him, or something else that embarrassed him back into his shell of anger. Or he would grow too animated and rip one of his grafts, and his zeal for argument would end precipitously with a scream, and a surgeon.

As you shuffled a handful of addressed envelopes and started reading through the latest batch of strangers wishing him a healthy recovery, you were struck by a thought.

“Why haven’t I met your family?”

The wind caught in his throat. His scabbed-over nostrils flared before he answered, “I doubt that is what the letter reads.”

“They never visit, even when… even when you could have died. My parents even flew in that first week, when they heard. They helped me with the flowers. Why do your fans send more condolences than your family?”

Gritting ones teeth does not come easily when ones teeth are constantly bared by default, but Frederick grit his teeth. “My mother is old. She can hardly be expected to travel.”

A plausible answer, but not the full story. His discomfort with the subject only spurred your curiosity. All the time you’d been together, you had simply accepted Frederick as an individual, with no need for a childhood backstory or a group of others sharing his features and last name to complete him. You’d gathered, in snippets, that their relationship was not the best, and were satisfied to leave it alone. But he nearly died. The nurse who asked you about his next of kin looked so confused when you had no one you could contact, and it made you feel foolish for never having asked.

“It’s just, we’re going to be married.”

“So?” he said, a hard, mocking edge to his voice.

“So, if I’m going to be part of your family, isn’t it weird that I’ve never met them?”

Instead of answering directly, he snarled, “Look somewhere else.”

“I wasn’t staring!”

“Look. Somewhere. Else.”

You huffed, and sat back in your uncomfortable plastic chair whose unpadded seat bruised your butt after countless hours, crossing your arms. The box full of anger was overstuffed. You shoved its contents down like clothing in a suitcase to squeeze one more sting of hurt inside, but it began to overflow. “I swear I don’t stare at your face any more than I used to,” you muttered aloud what was supposed to remain a thought, “but now every interaction needs to be a carefully calculated balance between not looking at you enough to feel gawked at, and not not-looking enough to make you feel like I’m averting my eyes from your horrible face.” At the word “horrible,” you wiggled your fingers and wavered your voice the way the vampire running a children’s haunted house would say the word “spooky.”

“I am sorry my suffering is so inconvenient for you,” he said in clipped, cold syllables, and you knew you’d pushed him too far.

“I’m just saying, you know I don’t care about your face. You’re acting the same way as when you got shot, and you got over that. You know I still think you’re beautiful. Can’t you give me some credit and just stop freaking out?”

Being stuck in a hospital bed with limited range of motion, he had few resources with which to express anger, but his chest rose and fell and his breath hissed like steam through his nose. “You...” he seethed. “You never care about the pain I suffer, do you? You, in your fantasy world where you accept my injuries and make it all better—you have no idea what it is like to be violated. To have your body ripped apart! It is not a thing one ‘gets over.’ Beautiful? That is rich coming from one who would not know how to tuck in a shirt without my guidance. It must be lovely in whatever quaint children’s storybook your mind inhabits, but in the real world, appearance matters. It matters to me. Your fetish does not stop every sane individual from seeing ugliness. You believe I should be delighted to have a partner who calls ugliness beauty and trivializes my grief? I should have had you analyzed years ago—my judgment was compromised by my relationship with you. I could not see. Your attachment increases with my physical deterioration. You prefer me broken.”

“That… that isn’t true! How dare—”

“You could barely tolerate me before Abel Gideon took my kidney. I was shot in the face and suddenly you professed your love. What shall it be this time? Ah, yes—marriage. You must be elated.” He rolled the words over his tongue in that distinctively upper-class way that was almost musical, yet bone-cuttingly brutal.

“Stop. This had nothing to do with it—you proposed to me!”

His eyes had been flashing with energy behind the bandages as you argued, but all the anger in them vanished like a message written in steam on a bathroom mirror. They took on a dull, blank glaze.

“Then I take it back,” he said. You wished you believed he meant the accusation. His head shifted toward you, but his dull stare seemed to look right through you to the door. “The engagement is over.”

Your throat dried up. “You don’t mean that,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“I will not be with one who gains pleasure from my mutilation. Get out of my room. There are some amputees over in the rehabilitation ward; go explore your fetishes elsewhere.”

He couldn’t be serious, and yet there was no hint of sarcasm or hyperbole in his flat tone. He meant it. You were surprised to find that you weren’t sad. Your hands began trembling uncontrollably, the tiny convulsions working their way from your extremities to your shoulders, tightly clenching in your gut, but it wasn’t sadness. The overfilled box tore open at the seams, exploding its pressurized contents, and weeks of frustration shattered against the walls and cascaded out over the floor.

“Fine!” you stood up from the hated plastic chair so sharply it scraped across the laminate floor and tipped over backward. “I can’t put up with a second more of this, anyway! I can’t keep walking on eggshells waiting for you to snap—if this is the way it’s going to be from now on, then marrying you would be a nightmare.”

If you had seen him flinch as if your words had physically wounded him, then you might have stopped shouting. A surge of pity might have overwhelmed you, and you might have broken down sobbing. He might not have been able to go through with it, then. Seeing you blubbering with heavy, hot tears rolling down your face, he might have said he was sorry, like he wished he could have said if only he were not so much like his father.

But you were too angry to look at him, and you didn’t see him flinch.

So a moment later when your back was in the doorway, instead of I’m sorry, he said, “Keep the ring. Sell it, and get a new apartment. Do not come back.”

“Fuck you!”

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #Raúl Esparza #hannibal #angst #my writing #and now as a reward I finally get to read beccabarba's Chilton fic :D

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passionate-reply · 4 years

Video

youtube

This week on Great Albums: Soft Cell’s 1981 debut, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret! The first great gay synth-pop album, and the one that walked so that acts like Bronski Beat, Erasure, and the Pet Shop Boys could run. Yeah, “Tainted Love” is cool, but have you ever heard “Sex Dwarf”? Full transcript after the break!

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums! Today’s video tackles Soft Cell’s 1981 debut, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret. While “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret” is not necessarily a household name, this album did produce one track that I can just about guarantee that you’ve already heard, assuming you have any familiarity with Western popular music.

Music: “Tainted Love”

“Tainted Love” is one of those classics that’s almost too big for its own good, with an enormous shadow in popular culture. Few compositions from the 1980s, from the general arena of synth-pop, or, indeed, in the popular music canon, have quite as much of a legacy. As an introduction to the significance of Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, it’s not an awful start, but it does have a bit of an “obvious single choice” feel--not only for that huge hook, but also for how tame, even quaint, it starts to feel compared to the other stuff here. “Tainted Love” is a gay song, sure, but it’s only expressing that idea in an abstract manner--it is a cover, after all. What the remainder of the album lacks in “DUN DUN,” it makes up for in frankness and remarkably candid handling of sexuality, which still manages to be a bit shocking, even as this album reaches its 40th birthday. Could anyone but Soft Cell’s Marc Almond really have sold us the raw, lurid raunchiness of “Sex Dwarf”?

Music: “Sex Dwarf”

Beyond the outrageously explicit nature of “Sex Dwarf,” its most noteworthy characteristic is just how playfully, cartoonishly devilish it is. I’ve always read it as a work in the grand tradition of the queer community reclaiming the trope of the camp gay villain, seen so often in popular media. In its purest form, this gay villain archetype is the ultimate expression of chaos and disorder--their rejection of social norms of gender and sexuality and their threat to the status quo go hand in hand. While it’s reprehensible to simply equate queerness with evil, there’s a long tradition of reclaiming that same imagery, turning the lavish power of such transgressor figures into a badge of strength, and that’s how I tend to interpret “Sex Dwarf.” That said, for as much as tracks like these seem to almost force a specifically gay reading of the album, it also seems interested in themes of sexuality and sin, more broadly. Take the track “Seedy Films,” for example, a more playful number full of slinky clarinet, teasing rattles, and breathy, almost gasping female backing vocals, seemingly suggestive of a more heterosexual vantage point.

Music: “Seedy Films”

I like to think of each track on Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret as coming to us from the perspective of a different anti-hero, each as unreliable and capricious as the last. Another key track that complicates issues of perspective and identity is the album’s tense opener, “Frustration.” “Frustration” delivers on its title musically, with a stubborn refusal to ever resolve its constant melodic tension at any point during its runtime, making it legitimately fatiguing and stressful to listen to. Its lyrics might be interpreted as a critique of the boredom lurking behind mainstream society’s “ideal” life of suburban safety, and a send-up of the alleged appeal of fitting in and being normal. But we could interpret it equally well, as a song that’s less about being “straight” in the sense of “square,” and more about being heterosexual--perhaps as the lament of a closeted gay man, tormented by an incommunicable internal struggle, despite all the material comforts in the world.

Music: “Frustration”

Either way, “Frustration” can be compared to “Secret Life” on the flip side, which focuses on the idea of a divide between one’s external facade of a respectable and ordinary existence, and the darkness of one’s internal, deviant, carnal desires.

Music: “Secret Life”

Whether their narrators are parsed as gay or straight, their songs are certainly tense tales of repression and release. And they’re also mediated by the idea of being trapped in a tame, and particularly middle-aged existence. The clearest expression of the theme of getting older, and possibly more and more constrained by the need to put on airs of respectability, is, naturally, “Youth”:

Music: “Youth”

The stale, conservative lifestyles of the middle-aged certainly don’t seem like the most natural subject matter for a debut album by a pair of twenty-somethings, but I like to interpret this fixation as a bit of a memento mori. The urgency of enjoying life’s pleasures, now, is checked by the fear of a future in which that window of opportunity is closing. As I said earlier, all of these tracks are narrated by some character or construct, and in that sense, the real identities of Marc Almond and David Ball matter fairly little. In the world of Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, nearly everything feels constructed or artificial--it’s all just an act, as much as “Secret Life”’s narrator puts on a respectable front. The superbly campy “Entertain Me,” which wouldn’t feel out of place in some cult musical, engages most clearly with the idea of performance, bringing in a giggling call-and-response choir and a chaotic clamour of percussion in its desperate attempt to, well, entertain us. Critically positioned at the top of the second side, it’s the perfect place for the album to second-guess itself as a work of art.

Music: “Entertain Me”

That track is certainly more “Rocky Horror Picture Show” than “Architecture & Morality,” isn’t it? While the synth-pop acts penetrating the mainstream before Soft Cell, like Gary Numan and OMD, had a bit of punk’s rough, low-budget, DIY ethos to them, Soft Cell were the first ones really crafting performative, self-aware post-disco synth-pop, that owed more to the swooning divahood of Donna Summer in “I Feel Love” than it did to the starched shirts and robo-rhythms of Kraftwerk. Much like disco, Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is truly a production--dense, luxurious, tweaked to perfection in a studio, and featuring several traditional instruments that are uncommon in rock, such as “Frustration”’s saxophone and “Seedy Films”’s clarinet.

The most noticeable thing about the cover of the album is almost certainly its lurid blue and fuchsia lighting, gleaming harshly against Almond and Ball’s leather jackets. It immediately takes us to the sweaty, nocturnal, and of course, homoerotic world this music dwells in. The duo stare us down, with fairly cross or standoffish posturing, suitable for an album as in-your-face as this one. There’s a bit of a narrative hook here, with Almond either producing this mysterious, almost certainly illicit package, or perhaps tucking it away. Almond’s sunglasses are a small detail, but one that I think holds a lot of contextual significance. There’s a long history of erotic art aimed at the gay male audience utilizing devices like hat-brims and shades to create a “disrupted gaze”--a sort of lightly objectifying, or compartmentalizing, manner of sexualizing its subjects. I’d also be remiss if I didn’t mention Ball’s snakeskin necktie, which is another classically sexy touch. Note also the neon light motif used for the text, which contributes to that nightlife feel as strongly as anything else. With a name like “Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret,” it would’ve been truly sinful to write that out in anything besides this warping neon, and it’s the perfect title to accompany an album that’s as insistent and gleefully tawdry as they come.

Earlier, I had contrasted Soft Cell with other major players in synth-pop who came before them, and I think that context is vital to understanding why this album is so indispensably important. Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is, quite simply, the first great gay synthesiser album. Growing up in America, the rock and roll heartland, it’s hard to escape the understanding that electronic music is inherently gay-coded. But that’s an impression you won’t get from that first generation of artists, who presented as unpretentiously butch, and were more interested in singing about factories, spaceships, and telephone lines than about sex or romance with anybody. The deep relationship between queer culture and the music synthesiser simply wouldn’t have blossomed the way it did without Soft Cell, and the unforgettable worldwide success they achieved with “Tainted Love.” Without that foot in the door, the rise of groups like Bronski Beat, Erasure, and the Pet Shop Boys later in the 80s would’ve been unthinkable. That alone makes Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret a piece of essential listening for anyone seeking to understand the history of electronic music.

While Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret remains Soft Cell’s great masterpiece, and they never reached the same heights of commercial success again, they went on to release two additional studio LPs before disbanding in the mid-1980s. Marc Almond went on to have a fairly successful career as a solo artist, bagging a few additional hit singles in the UK, and David Ball became half of the house duo The Grid. The pair did re-unite in 2002, to produce a rather serviceable LP called Cruelty Without Beauty, which explores many of the same themes of their earlier work, albeit through a lens of Information Age dread.

Music: “Caligula Syndrome”

In 2019, we were told to expect the true final report of Soft Cell, in the form of a grand farewell concert entitled “Say Hello, Wave Good-Bye”--a title pulled from one of the singles off Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret. But, for all of the hype, it looks like that really won’t be the end for them after all, as Soft Cell have announced yet another reunion in 2021, and another new studio album in the works. So we’ll have to see what else these two have in store!

Overall, my favourite track on Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret is the single “Bedsitter.” It’s all about questioning whether the life of hedonistic excess is really worth it in the end. It’s about those moments one spends between benders, binges, and flings, gripped by emptiness and self-doubt. Therefore, the presence of “Bedsitter” adds some nuance, and undercuts a lot of the easy, simple conclusions we’re tempted to make, from a surface-level reading of the album as a free-love bonanza. With languid and melancholy verses clashing with a disconcertingly anthemic refrain, it’s filled with tension from within, and despite its lack of external conflict, it comes across as one of the more unsettling tracks we have to choose from. That’s all for today. Thanks for listening!

Music: “Bedsitter”

#music #great albums #album review #album reviews #synth-pop #synth pop #synthpop #soft cell #marc almond

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exhaustedfander · 4 years

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Okay uhhh I‘m not good at giving requests. How about prinxiety and them seeing each other again after a long time! Or sth like that.😅

I had three sperate ideas for this one, but this is the one I settled on. Here’s a fluffy little human au. I’d love to hear what you think!

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word count: 1,638

The Best Gift

Virgil rocks on his heels, glancing at his phone. According to Roman’s text, his plane landed about fifteen minutes ago. He’d be outside to greet him any moment now, and that in itself fills Virgil with more joy than he’d felt in a while.

Roman does what he could to avoid performing in shows too far away from home. He’s always scouring for gigs in the area, or at least not too terribly far away, not exactly eager to spend long periods away from his emo nightmare. However, sometimes there are roles that Roman can’t shy away from, as much as he hates the idea of leaving Virgil, and this had been one of those times.

It isn’t as though Virgil doesn’t understand; dating a traveling actor, his boyfriend actually traveling, sometimes, isn’t something that can really come from a surprise. More than that, Virgil’s incredibly supportive of his partner. Roman’s a hell of an actor and he knows it. He deserves to grace every stage that will have him, larger ones, especially. But that doesn’t make the time apart any less difficult.

Sure, they call each other a ton, Roman insists on Facetiming nightly, and they keep in touch as best they can. But it’s never any easier, facing that empty bed at the end of the day. It can be a lot to handle, realizing audiences of strangers are being graced with Roman’s presence while Virgil is home alone eating Ramen Noodles and sulking.

It’s not as though Roman is Virgil’s entire world – he’s damn close, though. Virgil has friends he loves spending time with. He works as a freelance artist, so holing himself up at home is usually more fun than depressing, painting all day long. But god, he misses Roman when he’s away. Maybe more than he’s willing to admit, sometimes.

Three months has got to be the longest they’ve spent apart since they’ve been dating, at least as far as Virgil can remember. The gig was a role of a lifetime, Roman would’ve had to be sufficiently stupid not to take it, but it wasn’t easy on the couple. Virgil flew up to see one of Roman’s shows, and that was great, but it made going back home all the more challenging. Roman’s been gone so long, Virgil’s aching to see him, and any minute now, he’s gonna get to.

Virgil can certainly think of worse ways to spend a birthday.

“Virgil?” Virgil swivels around, grinning ear-to-ear when he sees Roman walking his way, suitcase in tow. Virgil practically sprints toward him, immediately pulled into a firm embrace the moment they make contact.

“My love, my angel, mi amour,” Roman drawls, dramatic as ever but Virgil can’t find it in himself to be irritated with him, “I missed you!” Roman gets on his tiptoes (Virgil would be lying if he said he hadn’t always found their height difference adorable) pressing their lips together soundly. If they weren’t in public, Virgil would want nothing more than to keep kissing Roman for eternity, but alas.

“I missed you too, dork,” Virgil says with an unshakable grin as they pull apart, though his hand quickly finds Roman’s free-one as they walk towards the taxis, the sound of Roman’s luggage wheeling behind them. “How’s the jet lag?”

“Absolutely abysmal,” Roman declares, and Virgil’s fairly sure he’s being a little dramatic, if such a thing is even possible, “Can we have a quiet day at home? I want nothing more than to lay on the couch with you and watch Disney movies, and continue to declare my undying love for you.” Virgil snorts.

“Aw, you poor baby,” he says, only half-sarcastically, “Sure, babe. Whatever you want. Sound good to me.”

The two talk of their missed time together in the cab, Virgil telling him of some of the new pieces he’s been working on and Roman filling him in on how the play went.

“That’s the last far-away show I do for a while,” Roman says once they’ve arrived home, flopping down on the couch, “God, it’s good to be home with you.”

“That’d be nice,” Virgil admits, sitting beside Roman, which quickly turns to settling into his lap, Roman’s fingers threaded in his hair, “Not – not that you can’t do shows wherever. I get it.”

“Hey, I mean it,” Roman says, voice edging on seriousness, “I’ve missed you terribly. I’ve missed us. I loved doing the show, and I met some very wonderful people, but very little compares to you, my love.” Virgil laughs lightly as Roman presses a kiss to his lips, firm and overwhelmingly loving.

“Jesus, you’ve managed to get even sappier than usual.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, darling,” Roman says, “And, also, shut up! You love it.” Virgil glares playfully at his boyfriend.

“And what if I do?”

“And you looove me,” Roman says, drawling out the ‘o’ as far as it’ll stretch. Virgil rolls his eyes, but his expression betrays nothing but fondness. “Yeah, I do. I really fucking love you, Ro.”

“More than angsty emo bands?”

“Well… let’s not go that far.” Roman squawks in offense.

“You wound me!” Virgil laughs again, the sound far more content than he’s felt in the last few months, his arms winding around his boyfriend so that he’s lying against his chest.

“I’m teasing and you know it,” Virgil says, kissing Roman once more as if to further his point, or maybe just because he’s really missed kissing him, “I missed you like crazy.”

“One of my co-stars flirted with me; would you believe that?” Virgil hums in place of a response, lost in the feeling of embracing Roman against for the first time in what feels like forever. “I have you as my lock screen, and I talk of you constantly. Also, where in the world did she get the impression I had the slightest interest in women?!” Virgil snorts at that.

“Must’ve been an off-day for her if she was delusional enough to think you were straight, or bi, or anything that isn’t insanely gay.”

“I know, right!”

Virgil’s missed this so much. Their playful back-and-forth, innocuous teasing, cuddling on the couch and basking in each other's company. As far as he’s concerned, he’d like to keep holding onto Roman like this and never, ever let him go. Virgil can’t recall when he’d become such a fucking sap, but there’s no changing it now. He’s just gonna have to live with it, and he really doesn’t mind the thought of that.

They watch Disney movies as discussed, Virgil critiquing and pointing out plot-holes all the while (Virgil, everyone knows Beauty and the Beast is a little problematic, and frankly, I don’t want to hear it!) He can tell the long flight really wore Roman out, so he decides not to comment about the fact that it’s his birthday, instead putting all of his focus on being together again.

That is until Virgil comes out of the bathroom some hours later, having just gotten ready for bed, and finding Roman sitting on their bed with a sullen expression.

“Whoa, hey, Roman, what’s the matter?” He asks, quickly sitting beside his partner.

“I’m a terrible boyfriend.” Virgil blinks. What the fuck?

“What? No, you’re not. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your birthday,” Roman supplies, sounding gut-wrenchingly guilty, “I forgot your birthday!”

Oh. Virgil had kinda forgotten himself, too caught up in having Roman by his side once more. He glances at the clock.

“It’s not midnight yet,” he says, “You didn’t forget. Just remembered a little late.” Roman buries his face in his hands.

“I didn’t get you anything! I didn’t wish you happy birthday! I-I’m terrible, you must hate me!” Virgil sighs, settling a hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Roman…”

“I’m sorry,” Roman mumbles weakly, embarrassedly.

“Hey, it’s okay. I don’t hate you.” Roman peaks up from his hands, daring to make eye-contact.

“You… you don’t?”

“Jesus Christ, of course not! I love you, you idiot. It’s just a birthday, I’m gonna have more of those, you know. It’s kind of this annual thing.”

“But- but I didn’t –.”

“It’s fine, babe. Seriously, I kinda forgot, too. Having you home again is gift enough, as it is. I can’t think of a better present than that.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” Virgil shakes his head, planting a kiss to Roman’s cheek.

“No need. There’s nothing to make up for. You look ready to pass out right now, as it is. I’m not mad at you for forgetting; you’ve been so fucking busy for the last couple of months, and you had a long-ass plane ride today. You’re permitted a little forgetfulness, okay?” Roman sighs as he slides into bed with Virgil and shuts out the light, his head resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow.” Virgil lets out a sigh.

“You don’t have to –.”

“I want to,” Roman insists, “It’s the least I can do since you’re being so gracious.”

“What, were you expecting me to force you to the couch, or something?” Roman pauses. “Roman?”

“…Maybe.” Virgil can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Are you kidding me? After all those nights without you, I’m not letting you go anywhere.” To make sure things are crystal-clear, he tightens his hold on Roman, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“That’s good because I really wasn’t looking forward to it.”

“You’re such a dramatic doofus. Lucky that you’re so cute,” Virgil says, feeling Roman begin to go lax with exhaustion.

“Mm, love you, Virgey,” Roman mumbles sleepily.

“I love you too, Ro.”

“Happy birthday…,” Roman says before sleep greets him and he drifts off. Virgil shuts his eyes, contentment washing over him as, too, welcomes slumber.

Despite Roman’s insistent apology, Virgil still can’t think of a better birthday present.

=+=

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#prinxiety #romantic prinxiety #human au #fluff #so much fluff #I like to write them soft #their dynamic is just so #*chefs kiss*#SO good #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #request #exhaustedfander writes #exhaustedfander

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