#to the point where it is INCREDIBLY difficult to ignore the problems I’ve been ignoring | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

linkspooky · 11 months

Note

Hi there!! I really enjoyed reading about how you approach writing and characterising characters like Nanako, Mimiko, Nobara or Gojo so I’ve been wondering how do you go about writing someone as angsty and downright violent yet soft and childish at times like Megumi? Boy really had a cursed life for someone named blessing… so I feel there’s a lot to unpack when it comes to his character. Do you have any headcanons for him or do you mostly base his characterisation on what we’ve been shown in the manga? And how difficult or maybe easy you find writing him?

Megumi's actually the most complicated and well-written character in the manga (this is the part where @theanimepsychologist appears to high five me) so it's understandable you might have trouble writing him.

You don't really need to fanonize Megumi, because everything you need about him is already there in the manga. He's a jungian character who literally uses his shadow as his weapon to attack people, so the story delves incredibly deep into his inner world probably moreso than Yuji the main character.

To begin with though, this is my favorite way to describe Megumi:

Fushiguro had intended to just pay and leave but with his serious personality, his idea of leaving was dismissed by Itadori’s reasoning. However, his eyes that were as deep as the night that peeped out from the bottom of a deep ditch became even more lifeless. Fushiguro tried once more to switch off his self-awareness. Numbness was the safety feature of life. If he did not think of a way to protect his spirit, it would not be strange if a curse was born.

"Numbness was the safety feature of life", every behavior Megumi exhibits is an attempt to suppress his emotions, to numb himself down and feel nothing.

This is what makes him a Jungian character. His primary personality trait isn't being grumpy, or serious, or anti-social, it's being avoidant. Which is why it's funny people often compare him to the other black haired rival characters in shonen jump, because he's nothing like Sasuke.

If you wanted a character to base your Megumi characterization on, the closest comparison is Killua. The abused child who ran away from a family of assassins, who thinks absolutely nothing of himself while describing his best friend in the gayest way possible as pure light. Killua's primary character trait is also avoidance. He doesn't really want to be a better person at the start of the story, he has no problems with killing people, he just wants to RUN AWAY. Which is also why he takes the one sibling he likes from the abusive household and kind of just leaves the rest of them behind like it's none of his business.

Megumi's primary character trait isn't anger, or violence, even if he's both of those things it's avoidance. He wants to avoid both the people in his life and his problems whenever possible until it's too late. He doesn't want to analyze himself or his own actions, which is why I made the banner image of this post Megumi straight up saying "I don't care if I'm right or wrong." This is how you get the contradiction that is Megumi, someone who self-righteously lectures Yuji in the first few chapters that he doesn't care if a prisoner died because they hit someone with their car by accident, then one hundred chapters later in the culling games blatantly says "I'll totally kill people to score points."

Megumi's simultaneously extremely strict and lawful, but also does not think those laws apply to himself because he doesn't want to think about himself. He has no image of himself. This is where you get to the childish aspects of his character. His second biggest character trait is that he's basically an eternal child. He can't handle any of his emotions in a mature way like an adult would so he just doesn't. The reason he hides all of his emotions in the dark and ignores them is because he doesn't have the tools to deal with them. His own feelings are the leaky roof that he can't afford to fix so he just has to pretend it's not there.

Megumi also isn't really trying to grow up or grow past his mistakes, because he is stuck in survival mode. Megumi's a child because he has no proper adult role models in his life. Yes, this is including Gojo. If you want a real life metaphor for the way Megumi behaves, he's like a foster kid passed from house to house until he's eighteen who never connected with any of his parents and was probably treated as a renter by them instead. Megumi himself in story is kind of treated like he's more mature than others too, just because he has a more serious personality, and has been forced to carry a lot of responsibility at a young age (by Gojo).

Which finally, you have to look at the two adults in Megumi's life who are responsible for a lot of his behaviors. Toji is someone who abandoned Megumi, and not only that he took the money he gained from his jobs, and selling Megumi and practically gambled it away and blew it on stupid shit. He failed in his responsibilities to Megumi every step of the way. Yet, there's a strong resemblance between father and son. Toji is the way he is because he was abandoned by his family his entire life and cast out, and wound up doing the same to Megumi. Toji also, seemed to use Megumi's mother as the only good thing / the only good influence on him and when she died he practically gave up. It's the same for Megumi, he basically used Tsukimi the same way as the person who inspired him to be good. Without Tsumiki, look at the despair that Megumi falls into and how he stops fighting Sukuna entirely.

Then you have Gojo, who let's just ignore the child soldier aspect of the way Gojo treats Megumi for now. I think the worst influence Gojo has on Megumi, is he expects Megumi to be exactly like him. Gojo and Megumi were both born with their clan's strongest technique, they're both natural geniuses who learn whatever they try to learn quickly. My friend Psycho had this to say about it.

Isn't it ironic how Gojo is the one telling Megumi he doesn't know how to bring out his best? Megumi is your class "I'm so naturally talented everything comes easy to me, but I don't know that I don't know this, so I don't try or strive hard for anything."

Gojo and Megumi are similiar in a lot of ways, but if Toji represents Megumi's violent side and the worst of his trauma, then Gojo is Megumi's avoidance. Gojo is also someone who doesn't want to form connections with people, who is stuck isolated in his own little world and never really changes or adapts to circumstances because he's always been perfect at what he does.

Gojo tried to raise Megumi into another Gojo, but failed because Megumi is different in ways that Gojo doesn't understand. Megumi doesn't really want to strive to be the best sorcerer in the way Gojo does, because Megumi was forced into it by circumstances. Gojo was like, Megumi if you don't come with me and do sorcery jobs for the school then your sister will be abused by the Zen'in. THis is totally a choice I'm giving you. Gojo doesn't understand why Megumi would have so many mental hurdles that would prevent him from reaching his full potential. And I think the biggest reason for this is because Gojo basically treated Megumi as a miniature adult from the day they met onwards, instead of treating him like a child. Gojo didn't have to raise Megumi, but the bare minimum he could have done is realized that Megumi is a child and not an adult and can't handle the responsibilities or an adult and doesn't have the emotions or maturity of an adult.

Gojo doesn't realize that however. He expects Megumi to deal with the crushing responsibility of being an adult, because that's how Gojo was raised and look at Gojo he's doing just fine he's the strongest.

So, like to cap this all off Megumi is a character with a pretty deep internal world made up of all the emotions he's repressing.

I'd say to other people he comes off as quiet and unpleasant. He also keeps interaction with others down to as minimum as possible. If he's interacting with strangers, he tends to be respectful, because he's projecting the personality of someone more mature than he really is. He's also the one who by default tries to act responsible and make the plans for other people even if he's the youngest one in the group. All of these things are because Megumi 1) feels a crushing responsibility to be the adult in these situations, and 2) also wants to avoid that responsibility hence his quiet and antisocial behavior as a default.

Megumi is also a male tsundere, which is how he deals with even the people who's closest to him. A lot of his dialogue in regards to Yuji is just some version of "Shut up, Baka" whereas with Nobara he tends to just kind of ignore her when she's being annoying and let her tire herself out.

Megumi also has incredibly low self esteem so when you're writing his internal dialogue, you should have him basically describe people like Yuji in the gayest terms possible much like Killua, while at the same time insulting and belittling himself. He props other people up to make himself look smaller in comparison.

Megumi's also in general pretty self-loathing. That's another reason why he represses himself so much, because he just sort of hates himself. He thinks he's a shitty brat who can't do anything right. When Megumi tends to pull more morally ambiguous things like advocating for murder, or getting too violent in a fight, he tends to justify it as "I'm not a good person like Tsumiki and Yuji so it's okay if I get my hands dirty". Which isn't a good excuse but it's very sad that a sixteen year old boy is unable to see the good in himself and is constantly comparing himself to others and finding them to be better.

Finally, Megumi's kind of like a parentalized child, at least in the fact he's been treated as a mini-adult by the biggest adult caretaker in his life and is expected to function like one. Therefore, Megumi has an image of himself that he's more mature than the people around him and knows better when he doesn't. He also doesn't really seem to grasp when he's being childish or angry or immature because he doesn't see himself that way, he's the adult, he'a always forced to be the adult.

Okay, I hope that helped you even a little bit Megumi is a pretty complex character to grasp, if you want even more inspiration then just read Hunter x Hunter.

#megumi fushiguro #toji fushiguro #askspookies

55 notes · View notes

calamitydaze · 1 year

Note

im nosy please elaborate hehe (esp on the snf stuff eyes emoji)

you got it 🫡 warning in advance for banter + snf crit but this is all from the perspective of a fan i’m not hating just to hate. and under the cut cause this is everything i’ve been holding in it’s Long

imo the problems with banter boil down to 1) a lack of direction, and 2) that it honestly seems like nobody but karl even gives a shit about it. it doesn’t even need to be a particularly inspired idea to work, just coasting off their dynamic would be fine (i don’t think karl/sap/george is a great combo for this format but that’s not to say it can’t ever work, i’ve enjoyed them in past episodes) but they still need to go into sessions with like…. an idea of what to do. it’s evident in both individual episodes— losing track of the topic ten minutes in, aimless conversations, starting and stopping stories, etc— and the podcast as a whole— celebrity guests seem picked at random with minimal research done, their chris episode that had a chance of being topical didn’t come out until after the general public lost interest, and doing THREE reboots because they keep losing steam after putting out two episodes is just ridiculous (though they’ve been better about that recently, credit where it’s due). their new set actually looks great, i like it a lot, but it doesn’t make their fundamental problems better. and all that would be more excusable if i got the sense that banter was really a passion project for them, but like i said yesterday i just…. don’t think that it is 😭 i do feel like karl genuinely wants to make it work and tries hard. but snf seem like they just said yes because it’s easy for them and they’ve got literally nothing else going on, and at least imo it shows

three guys in their twenties making a mid podcast isn’t the worst thing in the world (in fact it’s healthy for them. enriches their environment) but the reason everyone is so bitter towards it is because it’s ALL we get these days, save for a stream for two every couple weeks. it’s true that banter doesn’t Actually stop them from doing anything else, if they wanted to make content they would make it, but when we hear that group streams have been canceled and snf fly to north carolina a day later that’s still what it feels like! and, maybe most maddeningly, they seem to be under the impression that most of their audience Likes the podcast?? that’s the only explanation i can think of for the hubris of booking a big venue in a low-traffic state just before vidcon with no guests but austin ever announced and the most half assed promotion i’ve ever seen (see my point about not caring). i don’t like them blaming the venue for the cancellation either, i call bs on them being “difficult to work with” and it was almost certainly because of low ticket sales. like honestly, genuinely, did none of you see this coming? it’s incredibly out of touch and even though i like all three of them i can’t help but feel bitter thinking about how the only content we can expect from content creators is something they don’t seem passionate about yet continue to ignore that their audience very resoundingly Does Not Want It

and that brings me to snf’s careers right now as a whole. i don’t have as much to say as i did yesterday cause this anon summed it up so well but it really feels like between dream not micromanaging them anymore, minecraft content in general getting lower views and more creatively burned out, and not being separately stuck inside forced to do Something to stave off the boredom, they just don’t know what to do anymore, so they do nothing (or make seven-minute mr beast videos). dream isn’t the content machine he used to be either but at least with his projects like usmp (🕊) and drusic i can feel like he’s busy with projects he loves and there will be something tangible for me in the future, so i’m more willing to wait and see. and using tommy as another example, he’s done a great job branching out into other avenues and preserving his audience when what he was doing got tired. there’s no reason snf Can’t, they just haven’t. and when i hear about things like them scolding dream for promising us things i’m like ?!? fair i guess, i’d rather not expect anything and not be disappointed, but it’s only not happening because you guys aren’t making it happen. are you really SO busy that you can’t carve out three hours in an afternoon to cook something on stream? (in fairness that could be said about all three) or do you just not want to, and expect your audience to stick around indefinitely like it’s 2020?

and this discussion has been had on tumblr already of course and to be honest i’ve never really agreed with the consensus that it’s entitled to want content from content creators, but just to cover my ass a bit LMAO: this doesn’t bother me day to day, i have life to keep me busy so i just watch something when it interests me and don’t when it doesn’t. i love that dteam seem like friends first and business partners second and i would rather preserve that than grind content! but all the same i don’t think it’s wrong as fans to be critical of what people we like are (or aren’t) putting out but as always yk feel free to chime in with agreements or disagreements or whatever i am a greek forum for minecraft youtubers

#example of a ytber podcast i think works really well: hey and stuff #(if anyone remembers that relic LMAO)#it’s not a crazy original idea but it has a defined gimmick that gives the episodes direction and it works really well with +#wilbur’s personality #i miss hey and stuff. can it come back please #the yard is a good one too of course but i don’t really watch it #anyway... here you go!#bella answers #anon #critical

12 notes · View notes

something-like-a-heart · 1 year

Text

I just reblogged something that made me think a little bit about my personal experience of neurodivergence, that thing about how autistic characters on TV insult people, argue with the characters they’ve insulted (usually unintentionally) instead of apologising, and seem to be incredibly confident like they’ve never had to learn that people will get sick of you and abandon you at some point, once you’ve crossed a particular line in the sand through one of your behaviours, and you won’t see it coming until after they’ve done it. So you try your best not to be accidentally annoying or insulting or “too much” in any way, but it still happens and it’s your fault; when you get lonely, and people tell you that you’ll have to “be yourself” to make friends. Meanwhile, “being yourself” is what lost you these people in the first place. “Being yourself” is dangerous. Shall we say, it touched a nerve.

Anyway, it largely tracks with my experience of neurodivergence far more accurately than most of what I’ve seen in neurodivergent representation onscreen. Even when characters who read as autistic or otherwise ND on television or in the movies do cross that line, their friends will usually take them back. Meanwhile, I’ve had friends, good friends (or at least people who I thought were good friends) suddenly just cut me out of their lives for no apparent reason—at least, none that were apparent to me. Sometimes it gets back to me that they thought I was annoying, that I was too weird, that I laughed too hard or didn’t smile enough or that I had insulted them somehow (though I never really find out how, because apparently I already know what I did, which is ridiculous; I would not be asking if I actually knew what the issue is). I do my best to be polite and not show it when I’m in a state of sensory overload or I’m emotionally overwhelmed (and that last one has been harder to deal with than usual since my mother died five months ago). I try to act appropriately at all times but damn, is it HARD. And no matter how “normal” I try to act, some of my less “normal” traits always come through.

I’m extremely fidgety and always have been. It’s difficult for me to figure out when it’s actually my turn to speak in many situations, leading to me either being ignored or accidentally interrupting. I feel emotions very powerfully—the problem is that I’m not great at expressing them until they reach a point where they’re damn near unbearable. I over-explain because I’ve been misunderstood too damn many times throughout my lifetime, but people don’t listen because an explanation is considered to be little more than a poor excuse at best and passive-aggressive at worst. I’ve also been accused of passive-aggressive behaviour when attempting to take responsibility and make amends for something that I know I’ve messed up. When I’m emotionally overwhelmed or in a state of sensory overload I temporarily lose the ability to speak. I am always as precise in my words as I am able to be (again because I’ve so frequently been misunderstood) and although it’s been the source of some of my funniest jokes, I’ve also often been accused of taking things too literally; people sometimes assume that I’m actually too stupid to understand figurative language. I can be extremely blunt if I’m not careful, and I have to focus on smiling because my natural tendency is to have a very neutral expression on my face, especially when I’m in a state of hyperfocus. I misread situations badly if they don’t resemble things I’ve encountered before. And no matter how much energy I put into making myself acceptable, I never quite seem to manage it. I mean, I do my best not to be an asshole, but I just don’t, and probably can’t, perceive things from the same perspective as most people, so sometimes I get it horribly and catastrophically wrong.

This is why I don’t like playing new-to-me board or card games with people who already know the rules very well. It’s a bit too much like the most frustrating parts of my everyday life—everyone else already knows the rules, but if I make a mistake because of a rule that I didn’t know, or that I forgot because I had to absorb a lot of complex information all at once, people get mad at me and accuse me of trying to cheat.

And yet, I feel like I’m not actually allowed to claim neurodivergence. I’ve never been formally assessed or diagnosed with anything. That’s why I often tag my posts and reblogs about neurodiversity as “probably autistic”—I’ve been told by a few people who have a good reason to recognise the signs of certain types of neurodivergence that I probably am on the autistic spectrum, but without a proper diagnosis I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m just making excuses for inexcusably immature attitudes and behaviour. Either way, I’ve gone through a significant amount of my life feeling like I have a defective brain, and I can’t help but be angry at myself sometimes for just not working the right way.

#personal #probably autistic #probably neurodivergent #possibly tmi and almost definitely whiny

2 notes · View notes

memynissanandi · 11 months

Text

Current Nissan Almera Range Reviewed

If you’re a car buyer on a budget, the market is just getting better and better for you. Car makers are responding to the massive growth of the B-segment and your choice of vehicles under R200 000 seems to grow daily.

Enter the latest Nissan Almera, a nameplate South Africans will remember from the early 2000s. Based on the Micra, the Almera can be thought of crudely as a Micra with a boot, but some clever engineering means it offers a lot more than its hatchback sibling.

Space, space and more space

It’s difficult to describe how much interior space is available, particularly in the back and in the boot. Two 6-footers could easily sit behind each other (one in the driver’s seat, one behind). If you’re a freakishly tall family on a budget, this is the car for you. I’ve driven very large German saloons that don’t offer half the rear legroom of the Almera.

The boot space is equally cavernous, at 490 litres, and much emphasis has been placed on smoothing out the edges of the boot to create as much usable space as possible. I’m not sure how else to describe how big 490 litres really is - I can comfortably climb in there if that helps.

As a family vehicle, I would argue this is about as practical as it’s going to get at this price point.

Comfort, Interior design and features

The Almera is offered in only one trim level - Acenta. This means pretty much everything you could want in a budget ride is standard, which makes things nice and easy - no sifting through a long options list. More on that at the end of the article.

Most of the interior bits and pieces have been lifted from the Micra, which is not a bad thing overall. The climate switchgear still feels too plasticky, but otherwise, the interior feels durable and well put-together. At this price point, it’s about as good as it’s going to get.

I did like the addition of an independent rear fan. This will certainly be welcome in summer. It hasn’t really been warm enough to test it in Cape Town, but it has two speeds and works by sucking in air-conditioned air from the front area and pushing it through to the rear.

Where Nissan has excelled is drive refinement. The engine is incredibly quiet at idle, and cabin noise is very decent while on the move. In fact, with the radio on the sort of sensible volume my Gran would appreciate, there’s barely any road noise at all at urban speeds.

I still think the seats could offer more lateral support, but besides that, they are comfortable and the driver’s seat adjusts for height.

The pedals, gear shift and steering are all successfully engineered to be incredibly light and undemanding - it’s not a taxing drive at all. A decade or two ago, a car in this price bracket would have been a bit of a pig to drive. Not anymore.

If you’re looking for the kind of drive that gets your senses tingling, you’re not looking at an Almera anyway, and Nissan knows that.

New Nissan Almera Styling

I’m not mad about the styling, mostly because it looks like I designed it. And the height of my car design career was in the back of Maths in Standard 3. In this segment, I don’t think car makers can afford to ignore styling especially with the Koreans and French making some striking yet affordable cars at the moment.

That said, it’s not offensive and will appeal to a very wide audience. I could live with it, and my Gran loves it. Chalk that up to success then.

Engine and drive

The Almera will only be available with one engine, the 1.5 litre inline-4 petrol, which has been tried and tested in the Micra. It’s a decent little workhorse; it has enough power to make it feel useful when nipping through traffic, and cruising at motorway speeds is no problem.

It doesn’t like revving near the red line, but most of these small displacement engines don’t. Again, if you’re a redline junky, you’re probably not looking at an Almera anyway. Below 4000rpm, the engine offers everything you need in a package like this.

Claimed consumption is fair, at 6.3 litres/100km. My test unit is averaging 7.2, but that has been exclusively short trips in town. With some highway driving, I’m sure that figure will drop. Claimed consumption for the auto box is higher at 7.2 litres/100km; bear that in mind when making up your mind about the transmission. If you sit in traffic, an auto does make life less stressful.

Safety features

Driver and passenger airbags are standard, as well as a suite of braking assist functions, ABS, EBD and BAS. The passenger cell features high-strength construction, ISOFIX anchor points are standard as well as an immobiliser.

Standard features on the New Nissan Almera

The Almera is available in 6 colours with full-colour coding (bumpers and wing mirrors).

Standard features include:

– 15-inch alloy wheels, – electric door mirrors, – Manual air conditioning with dedicated rear vents and independent fan speed – control, – a radio/CD/MP3 audio system with an aux input port, – steering wheel audio controls, – a height-adjustable driver’s seat, – tilt adjustment for the steering wheel, – remote central locking with speed-sensitive auto-locking doors and – a comprehensive trip computer with two trip meters, instant and average fuel economy readouts, tank range and service information.

Summary

Nissan has gone for a value package here and succeeded in offering something that South Africans certainly appreciate: space. It’s a car that is about the size of vehicles in the segment above, at a B-segment price. It’s not the most exciting car in the world but practicality and budget are not exciting concepts to begin with.

Review compiled by https://www.cars.co.za/

0 notes

evelynking · 1 year

Text

The Vulnerability in Change & Questions in Me

I never really expected to find myself sitting in the bathroom and contemplating my very being at 25. I used to be so sure of myself and so comfortable in who I had grown to be. It took me a lot of hard work to get to that point and if there is one thing about me, it’s that I am not one to give up on something I worked so hard for. Especially when that’s…myself?

This has been a growing subject for a bit. It started in the back of my head as a whisper and has now gone all the way behind my eyes and made me see myself in different colors and different lights. And I am questioning all of it. Have I been so devoutly me that I’ve forgotten to acknowledge that not everyone’s going to like or understand that? Have I taken years of pain and previous difficult experiences and made them massive triggers for such simple things? Am I still just unsure of who I am? Has my comfortability in knowing me just been a really bad act? And worst of all…

Am I not the kind, good, thoughtful, empathetic person I swore I was?

Maybe the quarter-life crisis is a real thing. Maybe I’m struggling to understand that I am actually seen as an adult now and that, for some reason, adults don’t get seen as having such big personalities. Or maybe I’m using that as an excuse. I went through a massive phase of self discovery and uncovered this proud, defiant, loud, loving, caring, thoughtful, well spoken, unashamed person I never thought I could be. To find my voice and use it in a difficult situation or to walk into a room I’d usually be anxious about and be someone leading and engaging in conversation were things I could only dream of. Things I envied came naturally to others.

I found those traits and leaned so far and so hard into them that I cannot imagine pulling back. And then I face situations where I have to remove parts of me and be someone else. Be something else. I am a huge fan of the word “genuine” and that’s all I ever want to be—it’s what I never got to be before. I want to be multidimensional and to be the same Evelyn in every single space as I am in another. I don’t want to hide parts of me.

And that’s quite selfish and ignorant. It’s immensely hard to accept that I am flawed in a way of not understanding that sometimes hiding things is what is normal and expected. Sometimes you have to be a certain version of yourself in specific settings. Sometimes all of you doesn’t work; just some of you. It’s a hard lesson to learn and I am, for whatever reason, making it even harder and a bigger problem than it is. To be author me, work me, friend me, wife me, mom me, and just me requires different things at different times. Is it negligent or ridiculous to hate that? Is it embarrassing and immature to have not figured that out by now?

Or is it that defiant trait that makes me look back at all the times and all the places I suffocated in because I boxed myself up like that and say, no, I’m not doing that again. I worked so long and so hard to love and accept and just find myself for nothing if I go back to being flat and shifting from one version of Evelyn to the next. Do I lack discipline and rationality and self awareness to not understand that the separation is not only necessary, but also good?

I don’t know. I don’t think I expected all of the amazing growth and revelations I found being 23 to turn into a really difficult wake up call. And I don’t know if it’s entirely fair or true or right to think of it like that.

I fear I don’t know who I am and that 25 year old me is somehow the lesser version of myself. I feel lost and confused and it’s so childish. I don’t mean or want or need this to come off as self pitying or pathetic. Of all the things I’m worried about or questioning, my vulnerability, thoughtfulness, and openness when it comes to sharing my experiences and views are not included. I’m a firm believer that sharing these intimate things is incredibly valuable and necessary. It means so much more to be willing to talk about it than to keep it locked up. You don’t know how many people have the same thoughts and need to see someone else vocalize (or write) them. I like to think that part of my purpose in this world is to be the one to do that.

I wish I had some wonderful conclusion or any insight or wisdom to share about navigating this but I…I don’t. Because I don’t even know what it means. I don’t know how to proceed. I only know that 25 is pushing me to a new point of figuring out who I am and who I need to be but it isn’t easy this time. It isn’t clear. I think it might be a slight identity crisis. Or maybe it’s just a really bad day.

#life #writing #blog #personal #mental health #growing up

1 note · View note

musclesandhammering · 3 years

Text

Every Single Issue I Have With S*lki (It’s Not Just The Selfcest)

Here goes. I threatened to post this a few days ago and never did, but I just saw a s*lki stan Twitter account claim that Loki caring about Sylvie more than the whole multiverse was a Good And Romantic thing and it pushed me over the fucking edge, so now you all have to read this. I’ve divided it into categories cause there’s just THAT much.

OOC Bullshit

• First and foremost, no amount of mental gymnastics you do will ever make me believe that this specific Loki- the one that just invaded New York, that just came off a year of Thanos Torture, that just got done being influenced by the sceptre, that was literally in the middle of a crisis already, and then on top of that went through all the trauma of Ep 1- would even be worried about a romantic relationship. That would be the furthest thing from his mind. Go back and watch how he acted in Avengers- you think that guy would abandon his previous mission to become a snivelling simp for a girl he’d just met 3 days prior? Yeah, there’s no universe in which that makes sense.

• “It’s very in character for Loki to fall in love with himself lololol-“ NO, it’s literally not. Out of all the characters in the mcu, I don’t think I can think of anyone that genuinely hates themselves more than Loki. He even referred to all his other male variants as “monsters” and said meeting them was “a nightmare” in this series. He’s got so much self-loathing, plus the fact that he genuinely thinks himself to be an evil backstabbing scourge- so there’s no evidence at all suggesting that he would ever develop a fondness for, or even be inclined to trust, another version of himself, after only knowing them for 3 days.

• Building on that, the whole concept of Loki falling in love with a version of himself just feeds into the annoying ass misconception that he’s a narcissist. No matter which way you stack it, he’s not. If you’re referring to NPD, he doesn’t fit the criteria, and if you’re saying “narcissist” just as a slang term meaning “selfish and arrogant”, that still doesn’t accurately describe him. But when creators like Waldron and Herron do things like having him fall in love with himself, it makes it so much easier for casual viewers to think that he is.

Shitty LGBT Rep

• It’s kinda sus that Loki’s are allegedly genderfluid and yet the only female-presenting variant we see (and apparently the only female-presenting variant there is, cause the male Loki’s all seemed unfamiliar with the concept) is treated as some kind of mind-bogglingly special paradox. Also very sus that, out of all the Loki variants, the one our Loki falls in love with just so happens to be the only female one. What a coincidence.

• The fact that the creators of the show went around bragging about Loki’s bisexuality and Marvel purposefully (lbr) allowed stories about Loki possibly having a male love interest to circulate, specifically enticing queer viewers to watch the show (you know, the definition of queerbaiting), and then instead of having a male love interest (Loki was the first queer main character, so it was the perfect opportunity) they gave us *gestures to this dumpster fire* this… it’s just a middle finger to LGBT fans. The fact that they would rather have this relationship with all its myriad of problems than have a gay relationship is just……. Very telling.

• While him being with a woman obviously doesn’t refute his bisexuality, the fact that they showed/talked about him being interested in 3 different women (flight attendant, Sylvie, Sif) and never even hinted at him being attracted to a man, definitely makes it seem like they were trying to cover up his bisexuality to smooth things over with the more homophobic viewers. You know? It’s like “I know you’re pissed that we sorta confirmed Loki as bi, so we promise we’ll never mention it again! Or even hint at it! As a matter of fact, we’ll give him lots of female lovies and make him seem as straight as possible! That’ll take your mind off of that horrible crumb of queer rep, right? Please please please keep giving us your money!!!”

• Aside from all the other issues, at its core, the biggest reason why I think I’m so irritated with s*lki is that it took one of the most interesting, complex, and diverse characters in cinema atm and squished him into a tired ass unnecessary heteronormative subplot…. Like literally every. single. other. protagonist. ever. Loki is such a unique character, and it’s so so so incredibly disappointing that they stuck him into that same boring cookie cutter romance that happens to every other character in every other movie I’ve ever seen. It’s a disservice, and it’s honestly just not compelling or entertaining at all.

Thematic Issues Galore

• His arc didn’t need a romance. With anyone. It was unnecessary and it didn’t make sense plot-wise. In fact, one of the reasons he was my fav prior to this was because he was the only big-name mcu character whose story wasn’t muddied-up by a romance that didn’t need to be there. So much for that.

• He wasn’t emotionally ready for a romantic relationship with anyone. Hell, just a genuine friendship would’ve been pushing it for him at this point. He was in such a bad state that any relationship he got into would’ve been toxic and unhealthy for both him and the other person, and it doesn’t make sense why the writers would want to put him in one when there were so many cons and essentially no pros (other than “Uwu aren’t they cute together”).

• Sylvie’s character in general was unnecessary and Loki’s character was robbed just by her being there. The whole show became about her post-Ep 2. They spent most of the time giving her backstory, building her up, telling us how awesome she is, trying to convince us to like her, etc when what they really needed to be doing was building Loki up- cause I gotta say, if I had to describe TVA!Loki in a few words, they would be Flat, Boring, and Weak.

• The romance overtakes the plot. They spend time portraying their supposed connection that could’ve been spent adding depth and complexity to literally any of the characters. They make the big Nexus Event them giving each other googly eyes on Lamentis when it could’ve been so many other way more profound things that speak to the fundamental nature of Loki’s. They have the climax of the finale be “oh no she betrayed him to kill He Who Remains” when it could’ve been something way more compelling (Loki having a moral crisis over whether or not to kill HWR, Loki contemplating the state of the multiverse and weighing the pros and cons of freedom vs order, Loki looking into some What If situations and getting emotional about what could’ve been regarding his family, Loki realising the gravity of HWR’s offer and finally coming to terms with how important he is to the universal cycle, etc etc). The entire plot suffered in favour of a romance that half of us didn’t even want.

• It essentially reduced all of Loki’s potential character growth down to “He did it for his crush.” He seemed to at least have some motivations of his own in Ep 1-2 (feeble as they were) but after Sylvie showed up in Ep 3, literally every action he took was just him being a simp for her. Why did he lie in the interrogation? To try to protect Sylvie. Why did he fight the minutemen and Timekeepers? To survive kinda, but mostly cause it was important to Sylvie. Why did he get pruned? Cause he got distracted trying to confess his crush to Sylvie. Why did he try to get out of The Void? Cause he thought Sylvie needed him. Why did he stay in The Void? Cause Sylvie was staying. Why did he try to enchant Alioth? Cause Sylvie told him to. Why did the multiverse get cracked open, leading to an infinite number of Kangs waging war on all of existence? Cause Loki didn’t wanna hurt Sylvie in their fight at the Citadel and then get distracted by her kissing him. It’s uninteresting and honestly pretty embarrassing.

• Throughout their “relationship arc” the writers do their absolute damndest to convince us that we should like Sylvie more than Loki. And you know what? It’s the most hypocritical shit I’ve ever seen. They preach and preach about how Sylvie’s life has been so difficult/we should feel bad for her/she had it so bad/poor poor sylvie/she had it SO much worse than pampered prince Loki…. But then they never even touch on any of Loki’s trauma of hardships (the ones that have been ignored for literally 3 movies now). They frame Sylvie as a good person and a Freedom Fighter after she spent literal decades/centuries mass-murdering brainwashed TVA agents and showing exactly zero remorse for it….. but then they make it their mission to constantly remind us that Loki is a terrible person and constantly put him in situations where he’s forced to acknowledge his wrongdoings/show remorse/admit to how “evil” he is for being a mass murderer for like 2 years. They show him on-screen having a wider range of powers than her, and perpetuate his whole shtick of being a “master manipulator” or whatever….. But then they make Sylvie “the brawn” more competent, intelligent, and physically capable than him. Tell me how it’s a good thing for a ship to be so narratively biased toward one character.

Missed Opportunities

• If they absolutely had to have a romance subplot, then they could’ve paired Loki with one of the characters that have already been established OR one of the characters that were a big part of the whole TVA storyline anyway. It would’ve been so interesting if they’d revealed that Loki had a history with some of the players from previous films (Sif and Fandral both come to mind). It also would’ve been really interesting if they’d given Loki a love interest that actually had some allegiance to the TVA as a whole (Mobius maybe, but not necessarily. It also could’ve been Renslayer or B-15). Hell, imo it would’ve been cool if they’d followed through with that “See you again someday” line that he said to the flight attendant in Ep 1. ALL of these characters have way more chemistry with him than Sylvie, and they were also already relevant to the plot without wasting half the show to give background info on them.

• If they absolutely had to have a hetero-presenting love story involving an enchantress-type figure, then there’s a whole Enchantress (Amora) that was actually Loki’s love interest in the comics. Plus, fans have been screaming for Amora to appear in the mcu for years. Plus, Tom literally pitched an Amora/Loki storyline way back in 2012-13. Also, Lorelei (another enchantress) is also one of Loki’s love interests in the comics, and she already exists in the mcu (she was on Agents of SHIELD). There were several different established characters for them to choose from. Creating a whole knew amalgamation of a character and going with the “she’s a Loki variant” storyline was just completely unnecessary and made no sense.

• They completely robbed us of a Chaos Twins dynamic. Had they handled Sylvie better and not forced her and Loki to smooch, the two of them could’ve had a really really complex and interesting sibling relationship. Loki could’ve stepped into Thor’s shoes and sort of used that new role to gain some self importance, and Sylvie could’ve finally had somebody to look out for her/teach her magic/be there for her. It would’ve been very aesthetically pleasing, the vibes would’ve been out of this world, it would’ve been way more profound than this bs, and frankly it would’ve been much more entertaining to watch.

• Loki’s relationship (read: obsession) with Sylvie completely overshadows all Loki’s other relationships in the show. Loki and Mobius were literally the focal point of the series in Ep 1-2, but after Sylvie showed up in Ep 3, they barely had any interactions with each other, and Mobius pretty much faded to the background entirely. Loki had the beginnings of a pretty interesting antagonistic relationship with Renslayer (with her wanting him pruned, then arguing with Mobius that he couldn’t be trusted), but after Sylvie showed up the dynamic shifted to focus on the history between her and Ravonna. Loki and B-15 started off very badly and openly disliked each other throughout Ep 1-2, and then in the end of Ep 2, Loki showed a little bit of concern for her when she was possessed, hinting that they might be inching toward a reconciliation- especially considering how obvious it was that Loki was gonna uncover the TVA’s sins eventually. There was so much potential for him to be the one to give her her memories back and convince her to change sides, but no, of course that honor went to Sylvie. In fact, after Sylvie showed up, Loki and B-15 never even spoke to each other again.

Various S*lki Fails

• If they were trying to convince us that this affection was mutual, they completely failed. There’s nothing I’ve seen that even hints at Sylvie feeling the same way about Loki that he does about her. At most, I’d say she has a slight endearment to him. She finds him likeable and she’s grudgingly fond of him, but she definitely isn’t in love with the guy. Maybe she thinks he’s cute and hopes that he gets out of this mess alright, but her mission obviously comes before him- whereas, it’s been confirmed multiple times that Loki cares about her above anything else. She doesn’t trust him, she looks at him like he’s an incompetent fool half the time, she shows little to no reaction during most of his confession moments, and she kissed him as a means to distract him so that she could get him out of her way. Look, all I’m saying is, when you get into a relationship where one of you is way more invested than the other, it never ends well.

• This goes without saying for a lot of us, but the selfcest is just straight up odd and cringey. If you’re cool with that sort of thing, fine! People can ship what they want! But don’t pretend it’s not at least a little bit uncomfortable. Yes, I know they’re not technically siblings so it’s not technically incest, and they’re also not technically the exact same person, but they’re similar enough that it makes things weird. And yes I know selfcest can’t happen in real life, so there’s no way to judge it morally, but neither can most of the other stuff that happens in these shows/movies (the Snap, Loki destroying jotunheim, superhero with powers being held accountable, mind control) and yet we still find ways to judge their morality, because they all mirror real-world events. (The snap= genocide; Loki destroying Jotunheim= bombing other countries; superhero accountability= weapons accountability; mind control= grooming and coercion). And lbr the closest real-world mirror to two versions of the same person (who may or may not share DNA, family, backgrounds, physical and emotion characteristics) being romantically involved with one another is incest. And you can be ok with that if you want- that’s your prerogative- but don’t get pissy just cause a lot of us are squicked out by it.

• The whole mirror metaphor (learning self love via each other) thing just fell completely flat. First of all, having Loki learn to love himself by looking at someone who mirrors him did not, in any way shape or form, require them to be romantically involved. But they were. Of course. Secondly, the creators have contradicted themselves so many times on whether Loki and Sylvie are the same or not, that it doesn’t even really register to the viewer that the mirroring thing was what they were going for. Finally, Loki and Sylvie are shown to have so little in common- and to have only the most bare minimum of similarities personality-wise- that it doesn’t even make sense that Loki would “learn to love himself through loving her”. Like? They’re nothing alike. So how would he make the connection that he himself is actually pretty cool, based on her alone? There’s virtually nothing in her that reflects him.

• I know the objective of the entire show was to convince us of how awesome and unique Sylvie is, but honestly her relationship with Loki just did the opposite. A hallmark of a Mary Sue is having her constantly upstage the male lead, and then having him instantly fall madly in love with her anyway. And that’s.. exactly what happened here. Everything they’re doing to try to force her character to be more stan-able is really just forcing her to look more like their self-insert OC. Which is exactly what she is. It would’ve been so much more satisfying if she didn’t have to try so hard to look cool, if they didn’t have to try so hard to make her backstory tear-inducing, if they didn’t have to turn our protagonist into a snivelling simp just to prove how incredible she supposedly is. Very much #GirlBoss energy and we all know how performative and cheap that is.

• The entire thing was too rushed, there was too little build-up, and it was nowhere near believable. As stated above, it’s ridiculously unlikely that Loki would canonically even be interested in Sylvie, and this show did nothing to explain why he was. He just suddenly was. There was nothing they showed us as viewers that would justify a guy as closed-off and preoccupied as Loki falling head-over-heels for a girl he just met. Their was no explanation, no big revelation, no reasoning, it just… kinda happened. And I’m also severely skeptical of any love story that has the characters go in this deep after only 3 45-minute episodes of exposition.

I’m sure there’s other stuff, so if anyone thinks of anything, let me know and I’ll be more than happy to add it. Tagging @janetsnakehole02 @raifenlf @natures-marvel and @brightredsunset800 for expressing interest. This is all your faults.

#antisylki #loki meta #kinda #loki series critical #loki series negativity #anti loki x sylvie #anti loki series #anti sylvie #frosty bby #loki deserved better #I don’t even like TVA!Loki tho so I guess it doesn’t matter with him lmao #tva loki #loki laufeyson

923 notes · View notes

florbelles · 2 years

Text

i understand that everyone is absolutely sick of hearing from me on this topic, but given that, as many of you have doubtlessly also seen, this is something that has actively affected other members of the community and some of my dearest friends, i do want to say some final words on the topic, and then i’ll move on.

i’ve made a similar post once before. i was angry, then. at this point i am simply exhausted and saddened that this is seemingly an inescapable part of the fandom experience, and it is the reason why i am not active in the ways i would like to be anymore. to be clear, i miss it. i miss it a lot. i miss it so much, in fact, that there have been multiple times that i have legitimately debated whether or not the tradeoff was worth it. the answer has always been no.

my first tendency is always to assume that something is a me issue, if not in fact then in my feelings towards it. the fact that my experiences are shared assures me that it is not. it would be wonderful if i could simply put everything aside and say, i don’t care that every answer i give in an ask meme, any wip snippet i share, even my responses in tags, will show up elsewhere. here’s the thing, though. i do care. and so i have simply decided to remove that aspect of my fandom experience, genuinely feeling that when the inevitable happens, i’ll have no one to blame but myself.

while i should like to give the benefit of the doubt in most scenarios — similar fandoms can give way to similar ideas, after all, and i share many concepts and themes with the works of my dearest friends i’ve met through fandom, having discovered them in part because of it — there are some scenarios where behavior patterns and repeated instances of direct, verbatim or near-verbatim plagiarism has occurred, not only to me but to others, oftentimes in ways that are conspicuously out of place or even contradictory to previous output, that it becomes impossible to ignore.

additionally, while my primary reason for remaining on this site is because i am overwhelmingly grateful for the wonderful friends & mutuals it’s given me, and i very much want to continue to support their work and interact with them on the platform where we met, unfortunately there is another, far less supportable reason, in that this aforementioned pattern is difficult at this point to attribute to inspiration or enthusiasm. the latter i understand; it’s one of the great advantages of existing in a communal creative space, and inspiring other creators and reinforcing their love of their own work is incredibly rewarding. when there’s a degree of duplicity involved, however, with other creators publicly claiming to have pioneered concepts that are yours (and were implemented for years prior), or even taking meta talking points when speaking to new fandom members about joining with a specific type of character or arc that they did not, in fact, join with, but in fact acquired later in direct opposition to their original premise (but i did, in fact, join with years prior and never felt the need to comment on), i begin to understand that the desire is not simply to share a creative space, but to claim it.

this has not always been an incredibly sympathetic problem to have. the response to someone, or multiple someones, sharing that they have dealt with direct plagiarism of personal projects to the extent that it has destroyed their fandom experience when contrasted with the response elsewhere when someone receives a bad review or anon hate has made it clear where it falls on the fandom grievances list. that’s perfectly fine! no one else is expected, much less obligated, to be bothered by it; i don’t share this in order to insinuate that anyone should behave or feel differently about it, but simply to account for my own behavior, because the reality is that it’s not something i feel particularly safe speaking about, and it’s something that i have often chosen to ignore in silence. i am not comfortable doing that in scenarios where i understand it is not only happening to myself. i can no longer choose to take a high road and tacitly condone it by my continued amicability; i’m no longer simply saying, “i am willing to ignore this happening to me,” i’m saying “i’m willing to look the other way when people i care about are hurting.”

to be clear, i will never publicly point fingers. i will never, ever condone shaming, bullying, harassing, or targeting someone. i simply want to be able to privately curate my fandom experience without there being a ripple of dramatics questioning who i follow or block and for what reason without it blowing back on me and my friends to the extent that it becomes a conflict i have to publicly address, as has happened in the past. i simply request that my boundaries are respected, as well as my right to having them.

thank you for bearing with me this far, and thank you so much to all of the incredibly lovely people i’ve met who continue to make being a member of the creative community so, so worth it. as always, i’m incredibly excited to watch and support your own creative endeavors, and i sincerely hope that one day i’ll reach a place where i feel comfortable fully joining you again.

xx stella

#costar said 'backspace today' and stella said 'no <3'

16 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (Chapter 7)

(chapter 1) (chapter 2) (chapter 3) (chapter 4) (chapter 5) (chapter 6)

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman-- even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: almost 3k?

warnings: slight breeding kink (but only if you speak romanian aksjghakgjhg), angst, violence (in the form of a fistfight, which the reader isn’t involved in)

Just as you always did, you woke up to sunlight streaming in through the lace curtains, and a cool breeze blowing by. What was peculiar was Sebastian next to you, sleeping peacefully as his chest rose and fell with relaxed breaths. You let yourself watch him for a moment before you decided to try to sneak out for a cup of coffee. Problem was, the bed was sort of creaky and it was very difficult to move without making sound. Your plan was to move as slowly as possible, keeping your weight evenly distributed over the mattress, and it worked rather well— right until the last second, of course, when a loud shift of the boxsprings beneath you made Sebastian stir and blink open his eyes.

You were about to apologize for waking him, but he grinned and slipped his arms around you, bringing you back to where you started and surrounding your body with his warm, muscular form.

“Bună dimineata,” he hummed as he pulled you closer, his voice even deeper and more gravelly than normal.

“Bună dimineata,” you did your best to repeat it back, making him smile even though your pronunciation wasn’t great. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he replied softly, heavily accented and clearly more a recreation of the sounds you’d made than real English, but still intelligible and so painfully adorable as well. “A fost uimitor aseară.”

“Last night…” you began, but you didn’t even know where to begin. What could you possibly say about that? Would it even matter, if he can’t understand it. “God, you’re fucking amazing,” you blurted out with a soft laugh.

“Sa o facem din nou,” he growled as he pulled you closer and kissed you, slipping his tongue into your mouth instantly. A more self-conscious you— as in, you yesterday— would’ve worried about morning breath, but you now couldn’t taste anything but him and couldn’t feel anything but his lips on yours and couldn’t do anything but weave your fingers into his hair.

You moaned when his kisses trailed down your neck, and you wanted nothing more than to melt into his body one more time, but you had other things to attend to.

“I need to get up,” you announced as you tried to escape from his grasp, but he held you tighter and brushed his lips over your shoulder.

“Nu, nu, nu te dice,” he cooed, making you laugh and squirm. “Stai in pat, fă dragoste cu mine toata ziuă.”

“I have to get up, I’ll be right back,” you tried to explain but he stayed ever vigilant as he held you tight and licked over the shell of your ear. Finally you managed to get him to stop, as much as you didn’t really want him to, allowing you to slip out from under the covers and find your robe where it had been discarded on the floor.

He watched you as you crossed the room and popped into the bathroom for your bag, pulling your birth control pack out of it and using a handful of tap water to wash down your morning pill. “Ah,” Sebastian seemed to have a realization from the bed, and you giggled.

“Told you it was important,” you grinned.

“Probabil cel mai bine să nu ai un copil cu un străin,” he nodded, “dar nu sunt sigur că m-ar fi deranjat atât de mult dacă te-aș fi însărcinat.”

Following suit, he stretched briefly before getting out of bed and searching for his discarded jeans and boxers. You made no effort to hide your ogling as you watched his cock swing between his legs. Even soft it was thick enough that you couldn’t figure how it ever fit inside you (the delightful soreness between your legs reminded you that it was no easy feat). He took note of your staring and grinned devilishly, leaning against the wall to give you a better look. “Îți place ce vezi?” he purred.

“Should’ve known this would all go straight to your ego,” you chuckled. “I’m gonna go downstairs for some coffee. Do you want some? Cafea?”

“Da,” he nodded, as he slipped his clothes back on, “mulțumesc.” Funny how his idea of getting dressed still left him half-naked.

Foolishly, you expected him to let you pass, since you were both going to benefit from your trip to the kitchen; but of course he had to slip his arms around you from behind and give you just one more embrace, making you sigh and relax your head back against his shoulder. He kissed the top of your head and you hummed happily, letting your eyes open to look up at him before taking a moment to look out the window you happened to be standing right beside.

You were just hoping to appreciate the countryside scenery, meaning that you were rather shocked and confused to see a car pulling up. When it stopped and the driver stepped out, your eyes went wide and your back suddenly straightened itself.

“...Michael?” you gasped. You wrenched yourself out of Sebastian’s grasp and started to run down the stairs. He called after you but you ignored it.

Barreling down the stairs and out the door, you found your husband walking up the driveway.

“Honey,” he frowned when he saw you, “I’ve been trying to find you since you left— what the hell is going on? Why are you wearing a robe?”

“It’s hardly nine in the morning,” you defended before you realized there were much bigger topics at hand: “Michael, what are you doing here?” you asked, after a few seconds of confused stuttering.

“I’m taking you home!” he replied, as if it were obvious.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, “don’t play stupid. Do you think I’ve been here against my will, or by accident or something?”

“No, I saw your letter,” he sighed.

“And you saw the part where I said not to look for me, and that all future communication would come through my lawyer?”

“You’re my wife,” he replied coldly, “I think I’m within my rights to talk to you directly.”

“You shouldn’t have come here. I was actually happy before you showed up.”

With perfect timing, Sebastian stepped out the door behind you, looking to you and to Michael, and back. “Ce se întâmplă?” he asked you.

“Who the fuck is this?!” Michael asked accusingly.

“I’m gonna give you a chance to ask me that again, in a way that doesn’t make it seem like you have any place to judge what I might be doing alone with a man,” you hissed. “He’s just the groundskeeper, Mike.”

“Then why is he shirtless?” he exclaimed.

“I don’t know! He… does that a lot!” you exasperatedly shouted back.

“Look, I’m not angry,” Michael sighed. You laughed bitterly.

“Good, cause you have no right to be.”

“But I think it’s fair if I’m worried about you spending months alone with strange men.”

“Oh, strange, is that the problem? Strangeness? Would some more familiarity— perhaps a familial relationship— between you and these men make it easier on you, Mike?”

“Honey, please—”

“Don’t call me that,” you grimaced.

Michael stormed towards you, and you felt Sebastian step closer to you as well, wrapping an arm around you. Having him by your side made this significantly more awkward, but it made you feel safer, too.

“Hey man, get your hands off my wife,” Michael growled, pointing a finger at Seb.

“He doesn’t speak English,” you rolled your eyes.

“Well, I’m not sure you do either— otherwise you would realize that we’re still married, and you need to come home.”

“Just because you won’t sign the papers doesn’t mean we’re still together,” you reminded him sternly as shook your head.

“I’ll end it with your sister, is that what you want?”

You laughed, because you were afraid if you didn’t that you would cry. “Jesus, Michael! Are you hearing yourself? This sounds like a greek tragedy, or fucking EastEnders! Next I’ll be discovering I have an evil twin, and you’ll bang her too!”

He was a lot more offended by that than you expected. “It was never just sex. I love her. But I love you more,” he clarified, suddenly getting serious.

You chuckled weakly, hardly believing what you were hearing. It’s not that he was ever particularly nice, or romantic or anything, but at some point in his life he had been incredibly intelligent… and now he barely made sense at all. “Wow, you sure do know how to make a girl feel special.”

He frowned, clearly losing what little cool he’d had at first. He had always had a bit of a temper. “For better or for worse, we’re still legally married— damn it, we’ve been together for how long now? And you’re ready to throw that all away?”

“No, but you were,” you spat back.

“But I wasn’t, and I’m still not. You’ve gotta hear me out—”

“I don’t have to do anything—”

“No, you’re not listening to me—” he talked over you, again.

“I don’t owe you any more of my time—”

“Damn it, why won’t you just listen!” he growled, grabbing you by the arm suddenly. Instantly, Sebastian stepped forward and pushed him back.

“Sebastian, it’s okay,” you tried to soothe him.

“Hey, could you maybe tell your boytoy to keep his filthy hands off me?” Michael demanded at the same time.

“Mai bine ai grijă,” Sebastian hissed, also at the same time.

“I literally can’t,” you answered Michael. “I told you he doesn’t speak English.”

“Yeah, well, I think some things transcend language,” Michael bit back. “Tell me something, pal,” he addressed Sebastian, “did you fuck my wife?”

“Sper că nu spui ce cred că ești,” Sebastian shook his head, clearly on the end of his rope.

“Mike, leave him alone,” you demanded, but it came out sounding so much weaker than you meant it to.

“Did you,” Michael pointed to Sebastian, going so far as to poke him in the chest condescendingly, “fuck—” he mimed thrusting his hips, and you grimaced— “my wife?”— finally, he pointed to you.

Sebastian certainly understood that; and, in lieu of an answer, he socked Michael right in the jaw and sent him straight to the ground.

“Oh my god!” you yelped, dashing over to where your husband was crumpled into a ball on the gravel and kneeling beside him.

“What the fuck?!” Michael gurgled, holding his face in shock and pain.

“Are you okay?” you asked anxiously, spinning to look at where Sebastian was standing and looking much too proud of himself, shaking out the hand he’d just hit Michael with. “Sebastian!” you scolded, making him give you a defensive look.

“Ce?” he shrugged flippantly, though he clearly felt a little guilty when it became obvious that you were irritated with him.

And that was how you ended up here, standing in the living room and tapping your foot quickly, staring at the couch where Michael sat with a bag of ice held to his jaw, Sebastian beside him (though as far away as possible) resting with another on his hand.

“You had no business coming here,” you informed your husband coldly.

“You wouldn’t know about this place if it weren’t for me,” he reminded you. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you?”

“I thought you wouldn’t care,” you corrected.

His silence was stern, and he gave you one of those looks that used to scare you but now just made loathing and pity sink down in your chest. It was ambiguous if he was too angry to reply or if he really had no defense. After all, what reason did you have to believe that he would care about your leaving?

"If you're here to make me rescind the divorce order, it's not going to happen. I'm not leaving with you. I'm not forgiving you. Please just go," you sighed.

"That's not why I came. None of that is why I'm here," he mumbled. "I came here…" he straightened up slightly, raising his voice confidently. "I came here to tell you that I love you. I need you. And I want you back."

Now that he was looking right back at you, suddenly you couldn't take it anymore and turned your gaze away again.

"Whatever you need me to do to fix this, I'll do it. We'll get through this. Isn't that what marriage is? Fighting for each other, struggling together?" He stood up and approached you, reaching out to rest his hands on your shoulders; you almost flinched when you felt his touch, but resisted the urge, glancing up at his face before looking over at Sebastian whose injured hand was twitching as he looked away with a tight jaw. "Tell me how to make this right, please."

You tried not to look as Sebastian as you processed Michael's request; similarly, it seemed he was trying not to look at you. But even if you ignored this new, peculiar romance in your life, your marriage was still broken beyond repair and you couldn't imagine anything that could change that. "I'm sorry," you finally whispered, watching Michael's face fall, "I don't think there's anything you can do."

He released you from his grip, less angry than you expected; more somber. "I want to stay and work this out," he explained. "Better yet, I want you to come back to London— come back home— so we can be together and discuss everything there. But I'm only going to ask you one more time before I leave: stay with me. You don't need to forgive me, or even love me again, at least not yet… just give me a chance to try to earn everything I took for granted."

You'd imagined this moment so many times: cursing him out, making him grovel, kicking him to the curb. To be completely honest, you'd even imagined potentially taking him back. But now that you were here and it was, somehow, real, your desire for vengeance was fading along with your desire for reconciliation.

"I have something I need to give you," you whispered, walking upstairs and going back into your room, getting on your hands and knees to search the floor. Finally, discarded in a dusty corner with slightly uneven floorboards, you found the ring you'd tossed aside the night before. Fighting back against the tears welling in your eyes, you picked it up and came downstairs, holding it outward for Michael to take.

"I'm not taking that back," he refused, shaking his head. "You keep it for a while longer, until you're sure this is really what you want."

"I'm sure. I'm moving on. Take it back," you demanded. He sighed but reached out and plucked it from between your fingers, pocketing it though still wearing his own golden band. "Besides, my sister might want it."

He scoffed, turning as he began to walk away. "You're cold."

"Frozen solid," you agreed. "Goodbye, Michael… drive safe."

He shook his head and made a sharp exhale as he walked away, nearly slamming the door behind him. You stared off into space as Sebastian silently watched you; you didn’t want him to see you cry, but it was starting to seem unavoidable as your lip quivered and your eyes grew wide with tears.

“Shhh,” he soothed gently, standing up and stepping forward to pull you into his arms. “Nu plânge, e în regulă.”

"God, I'm so stupid," you whispered between sobs muffled against his chest. "I'm so fucking stupid…"

He whispered to you and kissed the top of your head, repeating one thing over and over that you couldn't make out well against the sound of your own crying filling your ears.

But even without knowing what he was saying or what it meant, it made you feel better.

As evening approached, you realized a new predicament had arisen: would Sebastian stay in your room again? Would you go to his? Or would you sleep separately, maybe even drift back to just being essentially housemates after a unique one-night stand?

Your questions were answered suddenly when Sebastian suddenly came to the couch and scooped you up into his arms, making you squeal a little before you relaxed and let him carry you to his room. He all but threw you onto the bed, climbing on top of you and kissing you deeply as you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck.

Already you felt more comfortable with him than you sometimes felt with people you'd known most of your life; you didn't feel self-conscious when he ran his hands over your body, you didn't try to suppress your moans when he kissed your neck for fear of sounding ridiculous— and maybe that was just because it was such a fantastical situation, so unlike yourself and so far from home, that it was easy to feel like a different person with him.

Or maybe it was that you'd spent so long trying to be somebody that people liked, and now you were being yourself for the first time in decades.

You couldn't really be sure. And since your brain short-circuited every time Sebastian whispered something in your ear that just sounded filthy regardless of what it actually meant, you didn't have the time to think about it.

#sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan au #sebastian stan fanfic

445 notes · View notes

noriyoshi · 3 years

Text

vibez. - pjh (m)

pairing: jihoon x fem!reader

genre: smut

word count: 4.8k

warnings: oral (f-receiving), use of a vibrator, exhibitionism, teasing, explicit language, explicit sexual intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it!),

synopsis: Jihoon makes you wear a vibrator and teases you throughout the day as punishment for teasing him in front of Yoshi.

a/n: i’m new here and i suddenly got inspired to write this overnight so i hope u guys enjoy it! any feedback is always appreciated ^__^ not proofread atm

“Be good for me,” Jihoon says as his fingers lightly brush over your slit. You were wet long before Jihoon began to touch you. The amount of arousal Jihoon collects just from a slight brush against your lower lips would be embarrassing had he not been so turned on by it.

There is nothing Jihoon loves more than seeing you unravel underneath him. Your eyes are screwed shut and your lip trembles from between your teeth. You’re trying hard to focus on how Jihoon is touching you. He likes when you watch him. He wants you to see every little thing he does to you. Yet, you can’t help the way your eyes shut as he teases your entrance, finger prodding slightly only to return to his teasing. He’s turned to rubbing circular motions, applying a heavenly pressure onto your clit before dragging his fingers back down. He repeats the action a few more times, smirking when you start to buck your hips.

“Ah,” he tsks. “What did I tell you?”

“S-sorry,” you mumble, a cute pout sitting on your lips. “I’ll behave.”

“Thanks doll,” he kisses the inside of your thighs softly, inching his way inward towards where you needed him most. “See, I really wish this didn’t have to be a punishment.” Jihoon sighs, eyes staring at your core with hunger. He wants nothing more than to devour you, to make you cum over and over and over again. He makes a tentative swipe through your folds with his tongue, moaning at the taste. Your whimper sounds like music to his ears and he painfully wishes he could hear it all day. “But you won’t learn anything if I don’t teach you a lesson.”

He finally pushes a finger in, thrusting it in and out slowly before adding a second.

“B-but,” you choke when his fingers start to curl. “P-please” you whine. “I’ll be good, I-I-I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I disagree,” he scissors his fingers inside of you, taking his time to stretch you open. Jihoon’s pace is tantalizing. Slow and steady, as if you both don’t have classes to attend in half an hour. You haven’t even left your dorm yet. But Jihoon doesn’t seem to be worried about that. No, his mind is more preoccupied with something else. “I think this will be a good punishment for you.”

With his unoccupied hand, he pats around the bed until his hand finds the object he was looking for. He stops the fluid motion of his fingers and pulls them out, tapping your clit lightly before he sits up to show you the object.

“What is it?” you grab the bulbous, pink object and examine it with wide eyes.

“A vibrator.” he states simply. “A remote controlled vibrator that you will be wearing until I come pick you up from class.”

“Jihoon-” you begin to protest.

“This is your punishment.” he gives you a look as to not argue.

“But what if someone hears?” you mutter quietly, cheeks dusted pink at the thought of someone knowing what you’re up to.

“Well, this baby is quiet, so no one will hear or know a thing so long as you’re quiet too.”

“But-but, that’s not fair.”

“You misbehaving and teasing me in front of Yoshi wasn’t fair either, princess. Now lay back so I can put this in.”

You shuffle back onto the bed, spreading your legs open enough for Jihoon. He subconsciously licks his lips as he stares at your still glistening pussy. He presses a button near the front of the vibrator and it comes to life. Much to your surprise, it’s not vibrating like you thought it would be. Jihoon resumes his position between your legs, pressing his fingers into you once more to make sure the vibrator will fit. He uncaps the lube sitting on the desk near your bed. Your arousal is surely more than enough for an easy slide but Jihoon is precautionary and makes sure to cover the foreign object well before pressing it to your entrance.

“Relax, baby,” he coaxes, his lips kissing your thighs again as he pushes in the bulbous end of the vibrator. After the initial stretch, it rests comfortably inside you. Jihoon sits up and massages your thighs comfortingly before pressing a quick peck to your lips. “Perfect,”

You pull up your skirt and panties and stand. Your legs are a bit wobbly, but you think you can manage. The vibrator itself isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it doesn’t help with the feeling of arousal that’s still ever so present. You wonder what the purpose of the vibrator is if Jihoon’s not even gonna turn it on. As if he’s reading your mind, Jihoon picks up his phone and says, “Now we test it.”

You look at him curiously as he unlocks his phone and swipes through until he presumably finds what he’s looking for. Moments later you feel the unforgiving vibrations rumbling to life. The toy vibrates quickly, repeatedly pulsating in all the right spots. You moan aloud, unable to control yourself at the incredible feeling. You push your legs together, eager to relieve yourself when Jihoon turns it off, leaving you whining and unsatisfied.

“It works.” He smiles devilishly. He picks up his backpack and walks out the room, headings towards the front door where his shoes are. You rush after him, snatching your phone off the desk and your backpack off the floor. You shut the lights to your room off and slam the door behind you. “Jihoon, you’re just gonna leave me like this? All day?”

“Not all day babe, don’t be silly. It’s just a couple of hours.” he opens the door and waits for you to walk out before shutting and locking it behind you.

“Jihoon,” you whine quietly, tugging on his hand.

“End of discussion, now let’s go. I don’t wanna be late.” he grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers as you begin your walk towards class and begin the dreadful day.

Jihoon fills the walk to class with meaningless chatter, excitedly talking about a prank he had pulled on Junkyu not long ago and how now they were preparing for an assignment together so Junkyu’s set on getting his revenge. You giggle at the thought of Junkyu trying to get back at Jihoon. Ever since you had first met the pair, it seemed that despite their friendly nature, they were quite competitive. Especially with each other. You can’t imagine what Junkyu is gonna try to do next.

As much as you love to hear about their shenanigans, your mind can’t help but wander back to your punishment. More so, to how Jihoon seems to not be affected by his ministrations this morning. Sometimes you can’t help but be astounded at the amount of self control Jihoon exhibits. He could touch you for hours without so much as even thinking about himself, no matter how much it turns him on. You know Jihoon must be suffering just as much as you are, but he hides it behind his bright eyes and pretty smile. Ugh.

Before you could give it another thought, you arrive at your first class of the day. Jihoon kisses you softly, bidding you a good day. His eyes twinkled with mischief before he simply turned around and walked off towards his destination. You didn’t stick around to watch him, your mind set on focusing and getting through the day.

You’re about halfway through your first period and you’ve completely gotten your mind off of this morning’s situation. Your teacher has split you into groups to have a short discussion session. You’re midway through your sentence when suddenly the vibrator roars to life. You choke, fanning your face at the realization of what’s happening.

“Are you okay?” your classmate asks as she pats you on the back. You nod, uncapping your water bottle and bringing it to your lips. The water is refreshing but does very little to distract from the problem happening in your panties. You struggle to finish your point, rambling as you try to rapidly finish so that someone else can talk. Once all sets of eyes are off of you, you scan your classroom, wondering if perhaps Jihoon hadn’t headed to class like he said he would. He couldn’t have timed something so well if he weren’t in the same room as you but when your eyes fail to lock with his, you turn back to the discussion. You catch parts of the statements from your classmates but overall begin to tune them out.

Eventually, the attention is back on your professor but the feeling in between your legs isn’t getting any duller. If anything, it feels like each vibration is a new sparkler and the higher Jihoon turns it up, the closer they are to igniting and popping off in a beautiful array of fireworks. You lay your head down, as Jihoon slowly heightens the level of pressure between your legs. Keeping quiet proves difficult when Jihoon changes the pattern, an entirely new sensation that has you biting your arm in an attempt to keep your classmates from noticing the lewd thing going on right next to them.

You can feel yourself on the brink of orgasm when suddenly it stops. Unintentionally, you bang your fist on the table. It’s loud enough to draw the attention of your professor who asks, “Is there a problem?” She stares directly at you with an unsatisfied look. You sit up quickly, attempting to make yourself presentable and kept. “N-no ma’am. Sorry.” you mumble. She raises an eyebrow before turning her attention back to the lesson.

God, this is so embarrassing. Jihoon would be laughing his ass off right now if he saw this.

Little did you know, Jihoon has been sitting in the back of the classroom watching you attentively all this time.

He had gone to class like he said he would. Only thing is, he got bored halfway through. It was too hard to focus on the lesson when there was something much harder between his legs to focus on. He had done his best to ignore it; acting nonchalant was his best bet at getting you as needy and desperate as he wanted. But after all, he isn’t immune to you. How could he possibly remain unaffected when you have the most melodious sounds he’s ever heard. Every moan, whine, and whimper goes straight to his cock and has him hard without you so much as touching him. It makes him swell with pride knowing he’s the one pulling all these beautiful noises from you.

And god this morning when he was getting you all ready for your punishment, it took everything in him not to devour you. Your glimmering wet pussy was just begging for Jihoon to eat it out. Just the one flick of his tongue through your folds had him nearly abandoning the punishment completely. You taste like heaven and Jihoon can never get enough of it. Then, lord when he began to stretch you open.. He wanted nothing more than to inch his cock inside you slowly until you’re completely full of him and then fuck you relentlessly until the only thing you can cry out is Jihoon, Jihoon, Jihoon. He’s amazed how after he’s fucked you so many times, you’re still as tight as ever, fitting him like a glove. He almost groans thinking about how badly he wants to be buried deep inside of you right now.

But he can’t.

So he slips out of his class and takes the trek back to your classroom, sneaking in through the back doors to watch. From his position at the top of the stairs, he can see you perfectly while he remains hidden from your detection.

Like most college courses he’s been in, a majority of the students are sitting near the back which happens to be very convenient for him. He takes a seat and leans away from the student sitting two desks over. He lays his phone down face up on his desk and watches as the professor speaks. Soon after she breaks the class into groups for discussion. He pretends to join a group near him, sitting in on their conversation as they begin their discussion. Once your attention is on your group mates he slides the little emoticon up about halfway. He can’t help but laugh at your reaction. He turns back to face his group mates upon seeing your head turn in his direction. Oh, this is gonna be good.

Near the end of your first period, he heads outside to wait for you where he normally would. When your eyes land on him he’s scrolling through his phone. He looks up to see you stomping over, an endearing smile takes over his face.

“Hey babe, how was class?”

“Don’t hey babe me!” you mimic, jamming your pointer finger into his chest.

“What did I do?” he laughs, putting his hands up in defense.

“You-ugh! It was so embarrassing,” you walk away.

Jihoon jogs up to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Oh no, did something happen?” he feigns innocence.

“You’re just gonna laugh at me if I tell you.” you pout.

“I swear I won’t.” he replies but you can already sense the teasing tone in his voice.

You recount the embarrassing story with your teacher to which Jihoon cracks up laughing. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!” you protest, pushing him away though a small smile creeps onto your face.

“I’m sorry! It’s just- that’s hilarious.” he continues laughing.

“Jihoon!”

“Why so embarrassed, baby?” he’s stuck to your side again, this time his lips are pressed against your ear as he whispers. “You scared you’re gonna let everyone know how good I make you feel even when I’m not there? Hm?” he teases. “Or are you just saving all your pretty noises just for me?”

To any passerby, you’d look like any other couple who’re trapped in their own little world. No one would suspect something not so innocent from either of you. Which is why Jihoon takes this opportunity to turn up the vibrator again, this time to a much higher setting.

You gasp, looking around you before turning to face your boyfriend, hiding your face in his neck. “Aw, c’mon baby, is it that bad?”

You can’t find it in you to respond. Your hands clutch Jihoon’s biceps as you moan right into his ear. Your legs are starting to feel wobbly, the familiar feeling in your stomach is starting to build up again. Your breathing becomes more erratic. You try to keep quiet as Jihoon aids you to your next class but you can barely put one leg in front of the other.

“Fuck,” Jihoon mutters when you moan again, your fingernails digging into his arm. His poor baby is so close to falling apart right in front of him. He turns the vibrator off again and the sound you emit almost has him feeling sorry enough to turn it back on and let you cum right there.

“Please. Jihoon, please. Let me cum, I’m begging.” you whimper quietly.

“Sorry, babe. Rules are rules and you have to learn to follow them.”

Your pussy clenches around the toy listlessly, chasing an orgasm that will no longer come. It’s only been an hour and yet you know your panties are wet beyond repair. Jihoon pecks your forehead before turning you around towards the direction of the door down the hall and smacking your butt lightly.

If the first period was a teaser for what you’d be in for, your next two periods would be unforgiving.

—

Unforgiving they were. Jihoon really knew how to get you at the worst times. You’d been so close to coming only to be left high and dry so many times it was starting to hurt. By the end of your last period you were wet and delirious. You had stopped focusing on the class material a long time ago, your mind only caring about one thing and one thing only.

As you stepped out of your last class of the day, you didn’t bother to greet Jihoon, opting to grab his hand and drag him back to your dorm with you instead. He says nothing but follows your lead, enthused by your eagerness.

From the moment the door to your dorm room closes, your lips are on his. Jihoon may be letting you take the lead now, but don’t think for a second you’re in control. You’re still on punishment and he’ll make sure you don’t forget that.

You make your way down the hall to your own room and close that door too. You thank the heavens that by now most of the residents of your hall have cleared out for spring break. Jihoon is the king of telling you to keep quiet and yet fucking you so hard it’s nearly impossible. You’ve gotten a few noise complaints so you’re glad you can avoid one this time around.

As soon as you make it to the bed he pulls you onto his lap, his lips attached to yours in a feverish kiss. One hand holds you by the small of your back, the other hand holding the back of your neck, pushing you into him. Your arms are wrapped around his shoulders, holding yourself steady. Once your pace is set, his hands drop to your ass, controlling your hips as you grind down on him.

You’ve soaked through your panties to the point that Jihoon can feel your arousal seeping onto his lap. He groans into your mouth at the feeling. As he kissed you, you melted into him, feeling light headed from how aroused you were. Eventually, his tongue slips into your mouth, exploring every crevice it could. You hold each other tightly, as if letting go for even one second will make the euphoric feeling disappear. The longer you kissed each other, the needier your touching got.

You could feel how hard Jihoon was now, his length sliding against your folds deliciously despite the amount of fabric between you. You wanted to quicken your pace, to finally chase the orgasm you’ve been after all day, but Jihoon is pressing into your hips so tightly it’s nearly impossible. He’ll surely leave a mark.

He begins to nip at the junction of your shoulder, biting down softly before cooling off the burn with his warm tongue.

“Have I learned my lesson now?” you rasp. You tilt your head back to give Jihoon better access to your neck. He continues to press open-mouthed kisses to your chest, leaving light marks all over it.

“For now.” he replies. Before you could ask what he meant, Jihoon tugs at your shirt, asking for you to pull it off. You comply and toss it off to the side. Jihoon follows suit, taking his off without you having to ask. He likes to think it makes you feel more comfortable if you’re both equally undressed. Small things like these remind you how considerate and sweet Jihoon is underneath his mischief and dominance.

He doesn’t spend too much time licking and sucking at your chest; his main focus for the night being the ever growing arousal between your legs. He kisses his way down your stomach and flips your skirt up. You lift your hips up slightly so you can bunch the skirt around your waist and Jihoon takes the opportunity to run a finger through the wet spot on your undies.

He peels them off and bunches them up as well, stuffing them into his back pocket.

He pulls the toy out slowly, reveling in your whine at the emptiness. He’s in love with the way your pussy clenches around nothing, begging to be filled. But before he gives in to his biggest desire, it’s only right for him to finish what he started this morning.

“So wet,” he mutters more to himself than to you. “All this for me?” he takes two of his fingers to spread your lower lips apart. He takes a moment to admire it, insanely turned on by how wet you’ve gotten over a couple of hours. He’s going to enjoy this.

You look down between your legs to see Jihoon’s eyes fixated on your core. “Stop being weird and do something,” you complain, bucking your hips up. He tears his gaze away, now looking up at you with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think you should be talking like that to the person who decides when and if you get to cum.” he states flatly.

“S-sorry.” you reply quickly. “I just- I need you so so badly. Please do something, please.”

Jihoon decides to take pity on you. “Oh, look how needy my baby is,” he coos. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m gonna eat that pretty pussy of yours soon.”

He drags a finger through your folds slowly, admiring how it glimmers when the light catches it. He sucks your essence off his finger before repositioning himself on the bed, his face coming down to your drenched pussy lips.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

You’ve gotten this far and he still asks if you’re sure. As sweet as he is, you scoff, wanting nothing more than for him to just get on with it. “Yes.” you answer with an annoyed tone.

He chuckles but obliges. Moments later, you feel his hot tongue lick a stripe up your slit.

“Oh my god,” you cry out.

His tongue dove in, lapping at your folds restlessly. To say Jihoon is greedy and impatient wouldn’t be wrong. He generously licked, sucked, and slurped at your folds messily, occasionally flicking kitten licks at your clit for additional stimulation. Jihoon would stop at nothing to please you, even if that meant getting lockjaw. The thing about Jihoon is that he genuinely enjoys pleasing you (when you’re not misbehaving). He’s quick and skilled and he knows exactly what it takes to make you cum. Now, he doesn’t always take the faster route, oftentimes settling for taking his time because he could really spend the day doing this with no complaint.

You’re moaning and swearing, trying to keep your voice at bay but Jihoon can sense when you’re being too quiet. He wants you to be as loud as you want to be, as loud as you need, and sometimes he plays unfairly to get that. He buries his face in your folds and gets to work, eating you out as if you’re what he’s been craving yet so deprived of.

He brings his thumb to continuously circle over your clit while he hums and sucks and licks at your cunt. Soon enough you’re feeling the familiar heat all over your body and the coil in your stomach and this time Jihoon doesn’t let up.

“Jihoon, please.” you whine, grinding your face up against his lips.

“Please what, baby?” he pulls away. “Want me to stop?”

“No!” you say entirely too fast.

“Please don’t stop. I need to come.”

He returns to your center and laps until you’re convulsing around his tongue, shaking in pleasure and pulling away when he doesn’t let up. He holds your legs apart as you try to close them shut, not letting up for a moment even when you’re yanking at the strands of his hair, shuddering against him and grinding your pussy against his tongue until you’ve finally come down from your orgasm.

When he sits up again, he’s looking at you with a dazed yet happy smile. His lips are shimmering with your arousal and it makes your face flush worse than it already has.

“Can you go one more round for me, princess?” Jihoon asks. You’re exhausted from your long day of teasing but one look at your boyfriend throws that exhaustion out the window.

You answer by pulling him down into another lip-searing kiss. That’s all the answer he needs. He pulls away and unbuckles his pants, throwing the belt somewhere on the ground with a clink. Next, you sit up to unbutton his pants and help him shimmy out of them. Finally, all that’s left in the way are his briefs. He watches you closely as you palm him through his briefs. The groans and grunts he lets out are music to your ears. Jihoon is always about pleasing you and though he’s never against you reciprocating, you love when you get the chance to.

You’re getting into a rhythm when Jihoon’s hand covers yours, stopping you from stroking him any further.

“Not now. Wanna cum inside you.”

If you hadn’t still been so turned on that would have definitely done it.

He pulls his briefs down and you lick your lips subconsciously. His tip is already red and angry, precum oozing from the slit at the top, the vein leading down his cock to his balls looks delicious and you want to run your tongue all over it.

This time you switch positions. Jihoon slides over to your spot and scoots back until he’s against the wall. You basically jump on him, your legs settling on the outside of his thighs, straddling him once he’s comfortable.

“Still needy, huh? Don’t worry I’ll fuck that right out of you.” he teases, his hands trailing over your body before settling on your hips. You grab his dick and slideit against your folds teasingly.

“Oh,” he groans.

He holds you in place but gives you the free range to move. You slide his cock up and down your folds once more, pushing in, only slightly before pulling back out.

Fuck he thinks to himself.

You sink down further this time before pulling out again

“Don’t do that.” he warns.

“Or what?” you grin.

Once he’s sheathed inside of you, he stays still, reveling in the feeling of your warm walls as you clench around him. As you finally lift your hips to begin building a pace, Jihoon snaps his hips upward too. After a few tries, you’ve managed to build a good rhythm and he is thrusting right into the spot that makes your toes curl. He cries out at your action, a sound that’s like music to your ears. His hand immediately came down to smack your ass.

The sound of his cock driving deeply into your wet pussy echoes through your dorm. Now that you’re so acutely aware of how loud the sound resonates, you wonder if you can be heard outside these walls.

“My baby is so dirty, huh, taking my cock so easy. This cock was made for you, wasn’t it, baby?” he shifts beneath you, the new angle and his cock pistoning into you driving you closer to the edge.

You’re both covered in sweat from the exertion and your limbs are tired but you’re so close. So close. He groans and pulls out before finally picking up the pace, going almost ballistic as he fucks into you relentlessly. Nothing but the sound of skin-on-skin and loud, fervent noises fill the room.

“Fuck, yeah, I love it, holy shit-” you gasp, grasping his large hands with your small one.

You’re nearly crying out now, already feeling the tight coil in the pit of your stomach once again. You could feel his dick pulsing inside of you. He wasn’t going to last much longer and neither would you. His thrusts were getting sloppy but he wouldn’t let his pace up.

Involuntarily, you clench around Jihoon and it sends him over the edge. He’s spilling inside of you with a guttural groan. He doesn’t slow down as he rides out his orgasm, determined to get you there too. His finger thumbs over your clit harshly as you continue to clench around him.

You cum too, hips bucking and legs twitching as you cry out his name one last time. You’re holding on to his arms tightly, your nails digging crescent moons into his skin. Jihoon doesn’t mind though. Any scratch, hickey, or mark from you is something he’ll wear with pride.

You don’t want to get off his lap yet, you want his cum to settle inside of you for a while. Your head is tucked into his neck, eyes tempted to flutter closed as Jihoon traces patterns on your back listlessly. Jihoon himself is starting to doze off but he lifts you off of him with whatever strength he has left. You feel his cum trickling out of you and you crinkle your nose in disgust. Jihoon notices and pushes himself off of the bed, heading towards the bathroom to get a wet washcloth.

“Hey babe?” Jihoon calls out as he nears the door.

“Hm?” you mutter sleepily.

“I hope you don’t think your punishment is over,” he replies.

#treasure smut #park jihoon smut #jihoon smut #treasure #park jihoon #treasure imagines #treasure scenarios #jihoon imagines #jihoon scenarios #treasure jihoon

461 notes · View notes

felassan · 3 years

Text

Some DA trivia and dev commentary from Twitter

There’s a lot of different tweets, so I’m just pasting and linking to the source rather than screencapping them all or making several different posts or something. Post under cut for length.

User: Was dragon age 2 your favourite in the franchise?

David Gaider: DA2 was the project where my writing team was firing on all cylinders, and they wrote like the wind- because they had to! Second draft? Pfft. Plot reviews? Pfft. I was so proud of what we all accomplished in such a brief time. I didn't think it was possible. [source] DA2 is, however, also where the goal posts kept moving. Things kept getting cut, even while we worked. I had to write that dialogue where Orsino turned even if you sided with him, because his boss battle had been cut and there was no time to fix the plot. A real WTF moment. >:( [source]

Mike Rousseau: I remember bugging that! And then being told it wasn't a bug, and being so confused. Doing QA for DA2 was an experience. Trial by fire. [source]

DG: So I think it's safe to say DA2 is my favorite entry in the DA franchise and also the sort of thing I never want to live through ever again. Mixed feelings galore. [source]

User: (I personally blame whoever it was for ruining most romance arcs in other games for me; they don't live up to Fenris's romance storyline)

DG: I wrote Fenris, so uh - me, I guess? Or maybe his cinematic designer, who put in the puppy dog eyes. [source]

User: If DA2 had just been an expansion, do you think it would have been better received? There was a lot of great stuff in there, and I think my initial dislike of it was because of the zone reuse. If it hadn't needed to be a full game, would that issue not have arisen?

DG: Hard to say. It was either going to be an over-scoped expansion or an under-scoped sequel. If it had stayed an expansion, it might never have received the resources/push it DID get. [source]

User: I'd love to visit the universe where you had an extra year or so to work on it. You did a very good job as it stands, but it definitely had rough edges. Not just the writing team either. The whole game had hit and miss moments, that just a little more dev time could have fixed.

DG: On one hand, DA2 existed to fill a hole in the release schedule. More time was never in the cards. DA2 was originally planned as an expansion! On the other, if we had more time, would we have started doing that thing where we second guess/iterate ourselves into mediocrity? [shrug emoji] [source]

Jennifer Hepler: This is what I love about DA2. Personally, I greatly prefer something that's rough and raw and sincere to something that's had all the soul polished out of it. Extra time would have helped for art and levels, but it would have lost something too. [source]

DG: Right? I think we could have used some time for peer reviews (and fewer cuts), but I think the rawness of the writing lent a certain spark that we usually polished out. [source]

JH: Definitely. I think the structure (more character-driven) and the tightness of the timeframe let each individual writer's voice really come through. Polish can be very homogenizing. [source]

DG: I should add I'm not, by any means, against iteration. Some iteration is good and necessary. The problem that BioWare often had is that we never knew when to stop. Like a goldfish, we would fill the space given to us by constantly re-iterating on things that were "good enough". [source]

Patrick Weekes: I appreciate your incredibly diplomatic use of the past tense on "had". :D [source]

User: DA2 was my gateway into the series and I’m so happy it is. I love the game the way that it is. It’s one of my favorites of all time. But I am also aware of everything that was said here. If it were remastered, do you think it would change?

DG: I'd be surprised if it was ever remastered. If it was, do you really think they'd change things? Do remasters do that? No idea. [source]

User: Both sides got undercut as I recall. Didn't that whole sequence also end with the mage leader embracing blood magic? It was very much "a plague on both your houses" moment, at least for me.

DG: Yep. Orsino was supposed to have his own version of Meredith's end battle, which only happened if you sided with the templars. That got cut, but the team still wanted to use the model we'd made for him. So... that happened. [source]

DG: I would personally say that DA2 is a fantastic game hidden under a mountain of compromises, cut corners, and tight deadlines. If you can see past all that, you'll see a fantastic game. I don't doubt, however, that it's very difficult for most to do that. [source]

PW: I love DAI with all my selfish "I worked on this" heart, but DA2's follower arcs and relationships are probably my favorite in the series. [source]

User: As I've expressed many times, I love the game, especially it's writing and characters but, for me, the most impressive aspect of it, in consideration of it's lack of time for drafts and revisions, is the 2nd act with Arishok. What amazingly complex character and fantastic duel

User: Just played it again and I have to agree. Though he is bound by the harsher tenants of the Qun, he makes valid points about free marcher society. Though it is obvious that he and Hawke will come to blows eventually, the tension builds gradually and understandably

DG: Luke did such a fantastic job with the Arishok I found myself sometimes wishing the Qunari plot had just been THE plot. [source]

User: What do you think would have changed, story wise, if you had more time for DA2?

DG: I would have taken out that thing where Meredith gets the idol. It was forced on me because she needed to be "super-powered" with red lyrium for her final battle. Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that. [source]

User: I deeply lament that there wasn't/couldn't be some sort of DA2 equivalent of Throne of Bhaal's Ascension mod.

DG: I'd have done it, if DA2 had allowed for anything but the most rudimentary of modding. ;) [source]

User: I mean, and I think I understand where you were trying, but how much legitimacy did the Templars and her as top Templar have after they're keeping the mages locked up against their will in the old slave quarters? Feel free to not reply.

DG: I think it's the kind of discussion which requires nuance, and which discussions on the Internet are not prone to. [source]

User: Was a compromise that the quest lines don’t branch? It felt like it was supposed to be that way but then you end up in the same place later regardless of what you pick. Like I hoodwinked the templars so good to help the apostates escape but in Act II they were caught anyway.

DG: I remember us having a lot more branching in the initial planning yes. Most of this got trimmed out in the first or second wave of cuts, in an effort to not cut the plots altogether. [source]

DG: "If you could Zack Snyder DA2, what would you change?" Wow. I'm willing to bet Mark or Mike (or anyone else on the team) would give very different answers than me, but it's enough to give a sober man pause, because that was THE Project of Multiple Regrets. [source] I mean, it's the most hypothetical of hypotheticals. It's never gonna happen. I wouldn't be surprised if EA considered DA2 its embarrassing red-headed stepchild. We'd also need to ignore that in many ways DA2 was as good as it was bad BECAUSE of how it was made. But that aside? [source] First, either restore the progressive changes to Kirkwall we'd planned over the passing of in-game years or reduce the time between acts to months instead of years... which, in hindsight, probably should have been done as soon as the progressive stuff was cut. [source] I'm sure you're like "get rid of repeated levels!" ...but I don't care about that. All I wanted was for Kirkwall to feel like a bigger city. Way more crowded. More alive! Fewer blood mages. [source] I'd want to restore the plot where a mage Hawke came THIS close to becoming an abomination. An entire story spent trapped in one's own head while trapped on the edge of possession. Why? Because Hawke is the only mage who apparently never struggles with this. It was a hard cut. [source]

User: I would LOVE to hear more details about this! I don’t suppose there’s any chance of a short story?

DG: I don't even remember the details of the story, sorry. There was a fight, and you caught the bad guy and then realized none of it was real and woke up idk [source]

DG: I'd want to restore all those alternate lines we cut, meaning people forget they'd met you. Or that they knew you were a mage. Or, oh god, that maybe they'd romanced you in DAO. So much carnage. [source] I'd want to restore the Act 3 plots we cut only because they were worked on too late, but which would have made the buildup to the mage/templar clash less sudden. Though I don't remember what they were, now. Some never got beyond being index cards posted on the wall. [grimace emoji] [source] As I mentioned elsewhere, I'd want to restore Orsino's end battle so he wouldn't need to turn on you even if you sided with him. And I'd want an end fight with the templars that didn't require Meredith to have red lyrium and go full Tetsuo. [source] Heck, maybe an end decision where you sided with neither the mages nor the templars. Because it certainly ended up feeling like you could brand both sides as batshit pretty legitimately, no? That was never planned, tho. No idea how to make that feel like an actual path atm. [source] Maybe an option to go "umm, Anders... what are you DOING?" 👀 [source] And, of course, a Varric romance, because Mary took that "slimy car salesman" character we'd planned and did the impossible with him. I can feel Mary glaring at me for even suggesting this, tho. [source] Lastly, the original expanded opening to the game which allowed you to spend time with Bethany and Carver BEFORE the darkspawn attacked. And, um, that's about it off the top of my head. Zack Snyder, WHAT PANDORA'S BOX HAVE YOU OPENED. [source] Shit, I remembered two more things: 1) Restore the "Varric exaggerates the heck out of the story" at the beginning of every Act, until Cassandra calls him on it. Yes, that was a thing. 2) Make DA: Exodus. Yes, I am still bitter. [source] God damn it, I meant "Make DA: Exalted March". The DA2 expansion, NOT Exodus since that was DA2's original name and makes no sense. Because the expansion ended with Varric dying, and that will always be on my "things left undone" list. [source]

User: Whaaaat?

DG: Well, you know that scene in Wrath of Khan where Spock goes into the dilithium chamber because he's a Vulcan? Well, imagine that but with Varric and red lyrium and because he's a dwarf. ;) [source]

John Epler: I distinctly remember referencing the bit from MGS4 where you crawl through the microwave corridor in the split screen, while cinematic battle rages on the other half. [source]

DG: It would have been glorious, John. Glorious. [source]

JE: I don't think I've ever been so certain what a shot should look like as I did Hawke coming in and finding Varric in the broken throne, just like when he was telling Cassandra his story. [source]

DG: It would have come full circle! Auggghh, it still kills me. [source]

User: Lord, you folks are a little too good at this.

JE: The true secret behind videogame narrative is knowing how to make yourself seem a lot more clever than you actually are. [source] 'Oh, we TOTALLY planned that.' [source]

User: Ok, this thread [the DA2 regrets thread, which is the big chunks above] but Inquisition.

DG: My regrets about Inquisition are, more or less, the normal kind. Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid. [source]

User: You can keep your Varric romance, I want a Flemeth romance goddamnit!

DG: I would allow for one flirt option, and then a recording of Kate Mulgrew laughing for three minutes straight. [source]

User: I had a hypothesis about the repetitive caves in DA2. They're repetitive because it's Varric telling the story and he didn't consider them important. They're like sets in a play. (Okay, I really suspect it was a time/money/resources thing but I like my fake explanation better.)

DG: Hang a lampshade on it, maybe? Cassandra: "But that's the exact cave you were in last time?" Varric: "Whatever. They all look the same, I'm not THAT kind of dwarf. Can we move on?" [source]

User: that makes sense, hypothetically to make Varric romanceable and keep his arc—that had to happen for the main plot—I imagine you would have to make double the content (or more)? which would've been a tall order given the time/budget constraints the game was under

DG: Right. When it comes to "romance arc" vs. "follower story arc", we generally only had time to do one or the other. Never both. Romancing Varric would have meant not getting the story of his that you did. [source]

Mary Kirby: The one exaggeration I really, REALLY wanted, that we never got to do was Varric narrating his own death scene with Hawke weeping over him, then cutting to Cassandra's pissed off glaring at him. [source]

DG: Haha! The one I wanted was Varric's plot where he takes on the baddies single-handedly, sliding across the floor like Jet Lee, action movie-style, until finally Cassandra gets irritated and he has to admit Hawke & the rest of the party showed up to help. [source]

MK: We did that one! (He didn't do any Jet Lee moves, though.) Jepler gave him letterboxing to get The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly showdown vibes while he shot a ton of mooks single-handed. [source]

DG: Wow. Shows how much I remember. [source]

JE: I found it! I remember seeing this sequence as my treat for doing a bunch of much more challenging work. It was fun to see how far I could push our limited library of animations. [link] [source]

DG: Heh awesome. I could have sworn it was cut, honestly. I think I was even in that meeting. [source]

User: no disrespect but that’s surprising and rich of Mary “Hard in Hightown” Kirby to think DA2 shouldn’t have had a Varric romance when she wrote an entire book of Varric’s self-insert character pining over his Hawke insert character… HIH is the reason we had VHawke Summer 2018

DG: I can't *really* speak for Mary, or how she feels about it now compared to back then. I only know how she felt about it back then, and I'm not sure it was as much the concept of the romance but that Varric's entire story would be bent to "romance arc" ...a very different thing. [source]

JH: I remember pushing to have the first DLC start with Hawke having an option to ask Varric, "Did you tell Cassandra about us?" and if you picked it, Varric would answer, "Of course not, baby. I told her you were sleeping with X..." and then proceed as if you had had a full romance. [source]

DG: I still wonder how that would have gone over. x) [source]

JE: Okay, one more DA2 thing. Putting together the cinematics for this scene was a blast. [link] [source]

MK: These lines are my greatest legacy. I want "Make sure the world knows I died... at Chateau Haine!" inscribed on my tombstone. [source]

JE: I was so glad no one said 'no' to the crane shot. [source]

MK: It needs that crane shot. It's the perfect icing on that cake made from solid cheese. [source]

DG: The designers were all "we need more combat" and I think we were all "I think you underestimate just HOW interesting we can make this dinner party". [source]

JE: And finally. I think @SherylChee wrote the one-liner. I think we had a collection of like, 20. [link] [source]

Sheryl Chee: Yeah! Something like that! I remember submitted a whole bunch and Frank said you only needed one. Wish I'd kept the other fifteen. [source]

JE: A random chooser where, each time through the scene, you get a different one-liner. [source]

JE: DA2 is the project I'm the proudest of. I also absolutely get that it didn't land for a lot of people. But I don't think it's inaccurate to say that, in a lot of ways, DA2 defined my career. [source] Everyone spent a year working at their maximum ability. I was a fresh cinematic designer and was given all of Varric's content, as well as the Act 1 Finale mission. It was a lot for someone who had been doing the Cinematics thing for literally 6 months. [source] There's some stuff in there I can't look at without wincing. And there's some stuff I'm genuinely proud of. Not to mention, it was my introduction to most of the writing team. Several of whom I'm still working with today! Albeit in a different capacity [source] Also, weirdly, one of my most enduring memories of Dragon Age 2 is how much Bad Company 2 we'd play at lunch. It was a LOT. [source] Every game I've worked on has a game I played attached to it. ME2 is Borderlands. DA2 is Bad Company 2. DAI is DayZ. I, hmm. There's a progression there. I don't know how I feel about it. [source]

User: Is DA4 going to be tarkov then?

JE: I've kind of churned out of Tarkov for now. Probably Hunt Showdown, at least right now. [source]

User: I think people also don't take nuance into consideration -- like I FULLY acknowledge the flaws in my favorite games and will openly criticize them, but that doesn't mean they're not my favorite games anymore??? You can like and thing and still be critical of it.

JE: A lot of my favourite shit is deeply flawed! I acknowledge it and I think it's interesting to dissect the flaws. [source]

User: I still wish Justice was an actual character in DA2 rather than a plot point.

DG: There was a moment during DAI where we *almost* put in you running into Justice with the Grey Wardens, and he's all "Kirkwall? I never went to Kirkwall" [source]

User: Does that imply that Justice was shoehorned in to DA2?

DG: Nah, it was an in-joke where we thought it'd be fun to suggest that "Justice" was simply some demon that tricked Anders in DA2. Wooo those tricky demons! We didn't do it, though. [source]

User: [about templars] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

DG: I don't doubt that many people agree with you, and yet people can and do argue on behalf of the templars as well. My place isn't to pick a side, but to provide evidence that players can interpret for themselves [source]

User: Can you shed some light for us on how DA was able to do multiple same-sex romance options for different genders but the Mass Effect team treated them like the plague? What process existed for your team that just wasn't their for the other tentpole franchise?

DG: Different people making the decisions, almost different cultures. I don't know what it's like now, but for many years the Mass Effect team and the Dragon Age team were almost like two different studios working within the same building. [source]

User: It truly boggles the mind. Kudos for doing demonstrably better on consistent queer representation than the ME teams. Y'all never needed us to make petitions to try to get the studio's attention and ask them to do better by us. That's the fight we're once again embroiled in now.

DG: Honestly, I don't feel like tut-tutting the Mass Effect team. They did their part, and if they were a bit later to the show than the DA team they certainly did more than almost every other game out there -- and willingly. [source]

Updates begin here

User: So what was the reason for naming Dragon age 2 "Dragon age II" and not using a subtitle?

DG: As I recall, that was purely a publisher decision. I think they wanted to avoid the impression it was an expansion. [source]

User: Is there no chance of ever remaking DA2 under better circumstances? -Somehow remove the repetitiveness of gameplay by making changes and updating the tech and adding much more to the storyline. It could almost be a new very exciting game.

DG: I'd say there's zero chance of that. Let's keep our hopes up for the next DA title instead. [source]

User: I am a little confused here, help me out here please! How exactly was the cut boss battle with Orsino supposed to work out? How it would've kept him from turning against the player?

DG: It means that, if you sided with the templars, the entire boss bottle at the end would have been against Orsino and the mages. No fight against Meredith. The end decision would have been more divergent. [source]

User: I do remember that one of the reasons going around for that, was that resources were going to the transition to Frostbite. I'm still not fully sold on that having been a good choice. I felt that more time should have been given for that transition considering it was made for FPSs

DG: We didn't transition to Frostbite until DAI. Given our time frame for DA2, I don't think we *could* have transitioned to a new engine. [source]

User: Since your talking about the what could have been for DA2. Could you say what your script was for Anthem? Cause I remember reading that you wrote the plot on that game.

DG: I created a setting for Anthem and scripted out a plot - but, as I understand it, almost none of that ended up being used. So it's a bit pointless to talk about what I'd planned, as that'd be for some completely different type of game. [source]

User: [in reference to the exchange above where DG said “Being "crazy", however, robbed her side of the mage/templar argument of any legitimacy. I hated hated hated that.” re: Meredith] except, I don't think it had very much legitimacy to begin with. keep in mind, we interact with other characters with the same argument. The one that comes to mind is Cullen, a sane templar in power. The templar's side of the argument is inherently flawed.

If I missed a tweet, got the wrong source link or included a tweet twice, feel free to let me know and I’ll correct.

Edit / Update: Post update 22nd April

#dragon age #bioware #video games #fenris #the Fenaissance #long post #longpost #cassandra pentaghast #my lady paladin #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #mass effect

257 notes · View notes

oumaheroes · 3 years

Text

All Tied Up

Word Count: 2479

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘What the fuck are those?’

France sighed from where he was hanging up his clothes in his hotel wardrobe, ‘Good evening to you too. Why are you in my room, already, Arthur? I only arrived half an hour ago, couldn’t you let me exist without your presence for just a few moments more?’

He hadn’t heard him come in; France didn’t think he’d left the door to his hotel open. Although, England did have a bad habit of quietly entering places rather too well for his liking, ‘It’s bad enough that I will have to endure so much of you this week.’

‘Fuck off. I was hungry, so I came to see if you’d eaten.’

France turned back to his open suitcase for another shirt, ‘And?’

England frowned at him, ‘And?’

‘And,’ France prompted, slipping his favourite dress shirt onto a hanger. It was wrinkled; he hoped there was a decent iron here, ‘what were you going to do then?’

England huffed at him, as if, somehow, he France was being the difficult one, ‘And if you hadn’t, I was going to go with you.’

‘Could you not ask me to dinner like a normal person?’

England ignored him and nodded his head to the top of France’s temporary wardrobe, ‘Why have you got those?’

France followed his eyeline, stepping back when he couldn’t see anything. A few paces back and beside England he could see there, right at the back and on the top shelf of the wardrobe, were a pair of handcuffs.

‘Bit lewd for a week-long conference, init?’

France raised an eyebrow at him, ‘Do you really think I’d be that crass for those to be mine?’ England said nothing but his look became a lot more pointed. A beat of silence later and France shrugged, ‘Fine. But those ones are not.’

‘Of course.’

‘Why on earth would I lie about that.’

England shrugged, ‘Why do you do most of what you do? I never know.’

‘No, because you’re far too dim.’

‘Dim? Coming from the bellend who takes handcuffs to a NATO summit in Toronto.’

‘They’re not mine- what are you doing?’

England had moved around him and crossed the room towards the wardrobe and was now reaching up to the back to grab the handcuffs. France looked at them in his hands and then around his temporary room in distain, ‘I can’t stay here anymore, who knows what else they missed cleaning.’

France imagined that poor Canada was probably stressed enough as it was hosting this thing and likely didn’t need any additional work, but the idea of sleeping in a bed that might not have been changed was not something that appealed to him in the slightest. If the handcuffs were missed by the cleaners who knew what else they had failed to catch.

England tutted, ‘Don’t be such a baby.’

‘I hardly think me caring about my personal hygiene is me being a baby.’

‘You’ve slept in worse.’ England paused, ‘You’ve left worse.’

France opened his mouth to retort but England made an approving sound, opening the cuff wider, ‘These are pretty good quality, you know.’

France rolled his eyes, ‘Oh, and you would know.’ England turned them over and France sniffed, tucking his hair behind his ears, ‘Put those back, they’re probably filthy.’

‘No, I mean they look like they’re law enforcement rather than… well. Not.’

France stepped closer, ‘No look, they’re too flimsy.’ He pointed to the chain that connected the two cuffs, ‘and those are incredibly out of date- surely your police don’t still use these?’

England flushed, ‘Of course not! But I’ve seen a few of these about recently.’

‘Really? And how many decades ago was that? Twenty? Thirty?’

England waved a hand airily, ‘I don’t know, thereabouts maybe.’

‘You’re a fool.’

France made to take them from him but England pulled back sharply, ‘What are you doing?’

France blinked at his suspicious tone, ‘What are you doing? You’re not going to keep them, are you?’

‘No!’ England’s cheeks burned scarlet, ‘No of course not, but you reached for them so suddenly-‘

‘And what?’ France leant back and put a hand on his hip, ‘You thought I was attacking you?’

England scowled, ‘Well, it wouldn’t be the first time now, would it?’

‘Oh that is rich coming from you-‘

‘What’s that supposed to mean!’

‘You know full well what that means- look, just give them here.’ France lunged forwards, hoping to tug them out of England’s hands but England jumped away reflexively. Maybe he’d judged the angle wrong, or maybe England had tripped him somehow- either way France fell too sharply onto him and England gave a surprised yelp.

Click.

They froze, France with both hands balled in England’s shirt to keep him upright. One of them now had a shiny, very solid looking, handcuff around it.

They both stared at it in silence.

England gave a choked laugh and tried to cover it as a cough, ‘Francis, I swear I-‘

‘You arsehole!’

France shoved himself off and England held up his hands placatingly, ‘I swear I didn’t do that on purpose.’

‘Oh of course you didn’t!’ France held out his handcuffed arm out on front of him and shook it at England aggressively, ‘Take this off! Take it off right now!’

‘Okay okay, calm the fuck down, Jesus Christ.’

‘Calm? Calm? You tell me to be calm? I just got off a nine-hour flight only to be handcuffed by you of all people half an hour after I get in my fucking hotel? And you’re telling me to be calm?’

England, who had gone back to the wardrobe to feel about the top shelf, let out a soft, ‘ah’.

France laughed and shook his head, ‘No. No no, no don’t tell me there’s no key. Don’t you damn well dare.’

England, now that the initial shock of the situation had worn off, was clearly trying to hide that he was enjoying France’s predicament, ‘there’s no key.’

France threw a clothing hanger at him.

----

Two hours later, and things were no better.

France, (reasonably, he thought), refused to leave the room until the handcuffs were off and refused to let England leave the room until he’d fixed the problem that he’d created. England could agree that yes, maybe he had some part to play in all of this, but really it was France’s fault for lunging at him so suddenly and only agreed to stay if they ordered dinner first.

So, aside from a break to eat, France angrily chewing through a delivered meal he’d demanded England pay for in stony silence, they spent the time pulling apart the room and crawling to places France would never admit to crawling just in case the key had managed to slip down into some long-forgotten corner.

They’d both turned everything inside and out, upturning all of the drawers and taking off all of the bedding, but no luck. The wardrobe itself was fixed to the wall with no holes a key could have slipped through, so eventually France had to admit defeat and concede that there was no key to be found.

England, to his credit, did try to hold it together commendably well and had only let a euphoric grin slip through twice, both times of which he’d covered by burying his face behind something and pretending to cough until he’d smothered his glee enough to reappear with a blank expression. However, any time his eyes were caught by the glinting mental hideously shackled around France’s wrist, the corners of his mouth would twitch in a way that made France want to immediately wound him with the nearest blunt object.

Sadly for France, England was his best chance at getting him out of the current situation and so committing assault upon him was not the best resolution to his current troubles.

‘You’re going to have to do it,’ France said eventually after he’d finished rechecking a drawer England had already searched, (one could never be entirely sure that England was taking this seriously- being an almighty annoyance to France was one of his favourite pastimes, after all, and France didn’t want to assume the glimmer of remorse he had seen was genuine.)

‘Do what?’

‘Oh, don’t play the fool; get me out.’

England made a derisive noise, ‘Oh yes, sorry, let me just pull the key out of my ar-‘

‘No,’ France tutted at him and shifted through his suitcase to find his toiletry bag, ‘You may pretend to Australia that you do not know how to pick locks but we both know that you do¸ and seeing as there is no key and I am stuck here I’m sure you can pretend to forget that lie for just the moment.’

England snorted and took a hairpin that France offered him, ‘You have been watching far too many Hollywood films.’

France put a hand on a hip, ‘Can you do it or not.’

England bristled, ‘Of course I can. But hairpins like this aren’t exactly the bes-‘

France interrupted him with a shake of the wrist, ‘Do you see this still attached to me? I really do not care. Get me out.’

Muttering very gruesome sounding things under his breath, England pushed France down to sit on the bed and crouched before him, positioning France’s wrist upturned on his knees.

France nudged him gently with his foot and raised his eyebrows suggestively, ‘You didn’t have to handcuff me to get me here, you know.’

England swatted him away and looked at him in disgust, ‘Don’t you start.’ He bent apart the hairpin and worked it into the lock, twisting it slightly, ‘I wouldn’t want to anyway, you smell like plane.’

‘Oh! Oh, darling do tell me why that is. Hmm? Is it because I haven’t had the chance to shower yet, because I was attacked before I had even finished unpacking?’ He ran his free hand through England’s hair, ‘Why is this so long? Have you not had it cut since I last did it?’

England squinted at the handcuff and didn’t look up, ‘No, I’ve been busy.’ He twisted the hairpin and it made a very hopeful clicking sound, but nothing happened and England went back to jiggling it ever so slightly into different positions, ‘You can do it whilst we’re here.’

France huffed, ‘And what makes you think I can?’

‘You always take scissors with you.’

‘No, I meant what makes you think that I will.’ He brushed England’s fringe back from his forehead, measuring out its length between his fingers, ‘Just because I-‘

They both jumped, startled, as the door to France’s room burst open unexpectedly to reveal America in the doorway, ‘Yo Francis, we’re all going out to- what the fuck are you doing?!’

England’s head popped up and suddenly France could see all too clearly how this scene looked to America’s eyes: France, a fist buried in England’s hair and England crouched on his knees in front of him, head bent close to his lap.

England locked eyes with him, an expression of shock on his face, before flicking to America framed and frozen in the doorway. He held up a hand placatingly, ‘No it’s okay, they’re just handcuffs!’

‘Oh God!’ America clapped a hand over his eyes, ‘No way man, I do not wanna see that! Jesus, what is wrong with the both of you? Have you heard of locking the door?’

‘No!’ England stood up suddenly. He didn’t let go of the handcuff and the movement jerked up France’s arm roughly, causing him to give a cry of pain. England dropped his arm in horror, ‘It’s really not what it looks like.’

‘Okay, sure dude, whatever,’ still with his hand over his eyes, America backed away out into the corridor, ‘I’ll let everyone know you can’t come because you’re both occupied.’

‘No!’ France and England both shouted in unison but it was no use, America slammed the door and they could hear him running down the corridor in the direction of the stairs.

France sighed through his nose, ‘Well, that went well.’

----

England did eventually spring France loose. After turning off his phone and forcing France to silence his own and not touch it (they kept beeping, America worked fast at spreading the news) he managed to work his way into the lock after chewing it into more of a sharp point and bending it into ridiculous angles.

‘There you go, they can’t have been official handcuffs,’ France rubbed his wrist, relishing the feeling of the metal being gone, and picked up the handcuffs to turn them over, ‘police handcuffs wouldn’t be that easy to pick.’

England snorted and brushed down his trousers, ‘Or, maybe I’m rather good at it.’

France did pretend to politely consider this for a second, ‘Or, your police have never had quality handcuffs, which really does make your government’s further reduction of their budget particularly sad. What will they use next, cable ties?’

England scowled, ‘Is that any way to talk to someone who just freed you from handcuffs?’

‘Yes, if that same person put me in them.’

England gave a bark of laughter, ‘I’m sure you’ve done something recently to deserve it.’

France hmm’d and stood up to join him, ‘I’m glad your alternate reality entertains you.’ He stepped up to England, grabbing his wrist and tugging him closer with one hand before bringing the other to rest on the small of his back.

‘What are you-‘

France swiftly kissed him silent, bringing his hand from England’s wrist to cup the nape of his neck and press his thumb gently into the bones. He felt England relax, the tension from his shoulders loosening as he gave into it and France let him have the moment unspoilt for a while. Then, before England could react, with the other hand France pulled him closer, pressing them closer together, before removing it suddenly.

Click.

With a noise of outrage, England bit him, hard, on the lip and France pulled away with a grin as England furiously brought his hand up to reveal a shiny new bracelet.

France laughed, stepping back quickly lest he hit him, ‘There, now I know you have done something recently to deserve that.’

England recovered the distance, hands clenched at his sides, ‘Yes, but mine was a fucking accident!’

France shrugged lightly, ‘Well, it’s a good thing you’re rather good at breaking out of them, isn’t it?’

England pressed his lips together so tightly they went white and France smirked at him, ‘I’m going to have a shower, you entertain yourself there for a moment with that and then we can go out for a drink.’

England sat down with a huff and picked up the now very abused hairpin, ‘You’re paying.’

‘Maybe.’

‘And we’re avoiding the place everyone else is going to.’

‘Oh certainly.’

----

AN:

I was going to write something soft and sweet, or something more serious with a bit of detail, but this came out instead. I’m not mad about it, but I do wish I were able to stick to some sort of plan.

It made me chuckle writing it, so I hope you all enjoy!

#fruk #hws england #hws france #aph england #aph france #hetalia #aph #hws #hetalia fanfiction #Arthur Kirkland #Francis Bonnefoy #my writing

140 notes · View notes

anothers-trash-my-treasure · 3 years

Text

Take It Out On Me

Happy Smutty Saturday! I seem to like writing things revolving around the pandemic lmaoo I'm sorry, I don't want to make that a habit. This is escapism, after all. Anyways, request from god knows how long ago about angry fucking with our fav gremlin boi

Pairing: Merriell Shelton / Reader (Female)

Warnings: 18+. There's some angst, some words exchanged in anger but nothing too crazy. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls don't be dumb) Rough sex, dirty talking, hints of BDSM if you squint, praise kink if you squint.

Word Count: 3K

Tag List: @edteche2 @xmxisxforxmaybe @diasimar @txmel @gloriousdarkangelsworld @paradoxicaltornado @404-not-found-xix

Enjoy!

When the pandemic started, things weren’t so bad. Your job allowed you to simply work from your laptop, you had turned the second bedroom/storage room into a makeshift office and it worked just fine. Merriell, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He had been laid off, and, at first, was incredibly stressed about it. Thankfully though, you made enough money to cover the rent and the government came through with some financial aid that helped Mer pay for the bills. You’d be okay.

In fact, once the financial stresses were taken care of, it was actually kind of nice. You two hadn’t lived together long, but long enough that you had noticed your schedule differences and long enough to know you had missed each other. Gone were the late nights at the shop that left you lonely and missing his touch. Quite the contrary, during the first few months, you had fucked like rabbits. He had taken you in every room of the house like you were christening the damn thing all over again. The kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, hell, he even had you in your ‘office’ at one point. It was fun, being together all the time.

Until it wasn’t.

Eventually, being cooped up in the same goddamn space all the damn time got to both of you. And you loved him dearly but god he was so fucking annoying sometimes. Usually, you could avoid creating tension either by slinking away to your office for a bit or politely asking him to take a walk. But the office door had been a lost cause ever since he fucked you up against it so hard it came right off its hinges and it was raining outside, so he couldn’t leave. You were stuck.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, but the little things that usually didn’t matter had gone unchecked and undiscussed and were beginning to bite at your skin in a way you couldn’t ignore. For you, it had started when you went to the bathroom in the morning, only to discover he had left the toilet seat up and you fell right through. For him it had started when you unconsciously kicked him awake at 6 in the morning on a Saturday. And from there it spiraled. By the time you were ready for coffee, he had drunk the whole pot.

“Thanks for leaving me some.” you had grumbled, and maybe you meant it in good fun, but your sleepy attitude struck a chord, and you knew that because it was met with silence.

So maybe that’s why you didn’t ask him if he wanted some of the eggs you were making for breakfast. And maybe that’s why he decided the be extra loud when he finally made his own breakfast. Pots and pans clanging as he threw them in the sinks, cupboard doors slamming shut and using his fork just a little too violently in a way that set your whole being on edge.

By the end of the day, you had snapped at each other a few times and the tension was so thick that you could barely stand just being next to him. You hated that you were feeling this way, that these stupid lockdowns were driving you away from each other when all you wanted was the opposite. But you couldn’t let go of your anger and annoyance, and it bled through your veins, poisoning any conflict resolution that threatened to act as an antidote to your frustrations.

The last straw came at dinner. He had asked you what you wanted to eat and just the question had you gritting your teeth. So you had replied, telling him that he could make whatever he wanted. That, apparently, was the wrong answer.

“Jesus fucking christ,” he snarled, slamming his hand down onto the kitchen island, “Can you please jus' tell me what the fuck you want?!”

You had done nothing more than glance his way and roll your eyes, not getting a chance to respond before he was launching into a tangent.

“Seriously, what the fuck do ya think I am? Some kinda mind reader?” He asks, one hand gesturing wildly while the other keeps the counter in a white-knuckled grip, “Ya been in this fuckin’ mood all goddamn day and Darlin, I gotta say, ‘m fuckin’ sick of it.”

You bark out a sharp, bitter laugh, “Oh, you’re sick of it?” You stand up from the couch, walking behind it so you can get closer to him, “Like you haven’t been intentionally pissing me off all fucking day.”

His jaw pushes out in annoyance, both hands now gripping the countertop, “I promise you,” and you gotta give the guy credit for trying to regain some composure, “whateva’ I did to make you this goddamn bitchy was not intentional.”

“Oh, so I’m a bitch now?” You counter, folding your arms over your chest.

His eyes close and his chin tucks into his chest, recognizing his mistake but unwilling to apologize for it, “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Tell me.” you insist, stepping closer to him, “Tell me what a bitch I’ve been. Blame all your problems on me. Because that’s just easier, isn’t it?”

It’s not true. You know. He knows it. But right now, all you can focus on is the anger that’s been boiling in the pit of your stomach.

“Y’know what? Maybe this-” he cuts himself off, but his quick gesture between the two of you finishes the rest of his sentence for him. Silence fills the kitchen and now there’s salt added to the wound. Hurt swirls with your anger and you can’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried.

“No, say it.” you encourage bitterly, crossing the line into the kitchen, “Tell me how moving in together was a mistake. Tell me how you can’t fucking stand living with me. Tell me how I’m so bitchy and how sick you are of my shit. Tell me-”

Before you can finish antagonizing him, he’s got you pushed up against the wall, his hands braced on either side of your head. He’s so close to you, you can feel his breath, angry and panting on your skin. You look into his eyes, seeing them hard and cold with his anger but something else lying behind them.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, and before you can even begin to be angry about it his lips are on yours and you can’t breathe.

His anger is very apparent, even as he kisses you. It’s rough, bruising, but it’s an outlet for all the negative feelings you’ve been experiencing so you kiss him back just as hard. You reach for him, unsure if you’re working to pull him closer and push him away. It doesn’t really matter though because he doesn’t let you touch him for long. Within seconds both your wrists are taken in one hand and pinned above your head. You fight against his hold, despite knowing it’s futile. In retaliation you bite down hard on his lip, feeling only a little satisfied when he pulls away in shock, his free hand coming up to check for blood. There's not.

You meet his eyes with a defiant smirk. He wants to play dirty? Fine. You can play that way too.

He steps away and for a second you think he’s actually going to walk away. But then-

“Get your ass to the bedroom.”

You almost laugh. If he thinks you’re, in any way, going to be compliant tonight, he’s sadly mistaken. Instead, you cross your arms, falling back to lean against the wall, your eyes never leaving his. He chuckles, an angry smirk crossing his features. He looks away, shaking his head, tongue poking against the side of his cheek in complete disbelief. Before you can think of your next move he’s got you thrown over his shoulder, marching the both of you down the hallway to your shared bedroom. You squirm, trying to push yourself to an angle that would let you fight his grip but it’s no use. By the time you work his hold free, he’s already dropping you on the bed. Although dropping may not be the right word, he all but slams you down, leaving you momentarily breathless.

Even then, he moves quickly. His hands move to his belt, quickly working the clasp back and off so he can slide his jeans off. Despite your anger, you feel heat pool between your legs when the fabric drops to reveal bare skin. It’s nothing new for Merriell, but it never fails to do something to you. He knows it too, a cocky smile gracing his face as he sheds his shirt too. He only lets you look for a second before he’s quickly flipping you onto your stomach. He forces you up onto your knees, hand finding the back of your neck to keep you where he wants you as he climbs onto the mattress behind you.

You put up a bit of a fight, although you’re becoming less and less focused on your anger and frustration and more focused on the feeling on his cock pressing against the back of your jean-clad thigh.

“Always seem to forget how fucking stubborn you are.” He growls into your ear, pressing himself against the line of you body while his free hand starts to unbutton and work off your pants, “Hard headed and difficult.” he continues, biting roughly on your earlobe just to here your intake of breathe and to feel you struggle against his hold, “A fucking brat.” He punctuates the last words by tugging both your jeans and panties down around your thighs roughly. You hiss at the forcefulness of the action, feeling the burn of the fabric against your skin contrasting with cool air against your bare pussy.

You’re completely at his mercy.

His presence is dominating, even though you can’t see him, his hands, one pressing on your neck to keep you still and the other caressing the swell of your ass, let you know exactly who's in charge. You don’t struggle, both of you knowing how much you want him, but you still hold an air of defiance. Your face is turned so you can breathe, but you won’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. He tries to draw you out, teasing you by dragging his cock against your wetness. He alternates between taking the tip and rubbing it between your folds and fucking the space between your thighs. He knows what it does to you, can see the way you fight the urge to beg by pressing your lips together.

But you don’t fold.

“C’mon baby,” he taunts, venom laced in his words, “I know you want it.” As he talks the hand on your neck slides up into your hair, “Know you want that attitude fucked outta ya,” He tugs your hair roughly, pulling a gasp from your lips and forcing you to look back at him, “All ya gotta do is ask.”

You breathe heavily for a second, eyes locked with his, “Go fuck yourself.”

He growls, shoving your head back down into the mattress and thrusting into you roughly. Your back arches, eyes rolling back in your head as he begins to fuck you, not allowing you even a second to catch your breath. The second he sees bliss cross your features, he’s insufferable.

He laughs against a moan, “Feisty,” he comments, “but the second my dick’s in ya, you’re putty in my hands.”

You’re desperate to prove him wrong. You force your eyes open, locking them with his and pushing back against his thrusts, the headboard already banging against the wall with the force of both your movements.

“Feel’s good doesn’t it?” He asks, free hand coming down on your ass with a sharp smack.

“I’ve had better.” Your voice bounces with each thrust, but you’re determined to keep your composure, despite the pleasure that makes your toes curl.

Another growl rumbles through his chest and he lays another harsh smack to your rear, just to see your body react, “Liar,” he hisses, fingers digging into your skin.

His angle changes ever so slightly so that his cock now drags against your sweet spot with every movement and you can’t force your moan back. His eyes light up, laughing delightedly at the sound, “Had betta’ my ass.” he comments, leaning down to bite roughly on your shoulder, effectively leaving marks all across them, “Ya jus’ can’t help ya’self. You love it. Love the feeling of my cock in you.”

“Who says I’m thinking of you?” You shoot back.

You know it’s not true. Merriell was unlike any lover you had before, you were hopelessly and utterly ruined for anyone else. But that didn’t matter. The comment, however untruthful, hits his possessive streak just like you knew it would. He pulls out of you, flipping you onto your back and nearly ripping the remaining fabric off your body before resuming his brutal pace, this time using your wrists on either side of your head to hold you down. In this position he can ensure that you’re looking at him, leaving no doubt in either of your minds that it’s him that makes you feel like this. Only him.

“Such a fucking brat,” he growls, leaving bite marks all along your skin. By the time you’re done, there won’t be a part of your body that’s not marked by him.

He stops talking for a second, focusing instead on giving you the fucking of your life. He’d never fucked you like this. He’d been possessive, sweet, caring, loving, jealous. But never angry. Not like this. Every ounce of frustration and anger he’d felt was redirected to his hips, the air tense with the hurtful words you’d both said earlier.

“C’mon,” you taunt when he slows for a second, lips turned up in a sneer even as you pant, breathless, “That all you got?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, hoisting your legs up onto his shoulders, releasing your hands so he can move one to your throat, pressing you into the bed that way instead. It’s hard for you to breathe that way, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it. And if you thought he was fucking you hard before, it’s nothing compared to the way he’s fucking you now.

The new angle allows him to trust deeper into you and your stubborn resolve begins to fade a little. Your hands scramble to latch onto his forearm that holds you down, not trying to push him away but just searching for purchase, for support somewhere you’ve always found it. He’s not faring much better, head rolling back onto his shoulders with a groan as he fucks you. You’re both quickly abandoning your anger in favor of the pleasure that you provide each other.

“Merriell,” you mewl, a peace offering without even realizing it.

His head snaps back to look down at you, eyes sparkling at the sound of your name on his lips for the first time tonight, “There she is,” he pants, leaning down to kiss you, open-mouthed and filthy. It’s still harsh, but the anger behind his motions is nearly gone, “My good girl, huh?”

You don’t even need to nod, to voice your confirmation. It’s not even really a question. You both know you’d come to an unspoken agreement.

“Fuck, baby girl.” he moans against your mouth, slowing his trusts just enough so he can really make you feel the drag of his cock inside you, “Oh, you feel so good.”

You love it when he gets like this. When all he can do is fuck into you and voice his pleasure. It’s a sure sign of surrender.

“Yes,” you gasp, back arching up against his as you feel your pleasure begin to reach its peak, “Merriell, I’m close.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, nodding in agreement, “C’mon, baby I gotcha. Let go for me.”

Your eyes lock with his the second you feel yourself slip over the edge. You see the way his eyes watch you, full of love that he had hidden behind his anger earlier. Your nails dig into his arm and your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself as pleasure courses through your whole body. You think that maybe you're shaking, but you’re completely detached from your conscious, knowing only the bliss he’s brought you.

Your senses come back to you just in time to feel him finish inside of you. His head buries into your neck, muffling his moans against your skin. The hand that had previously held you down now cups the back of your neck, the other gripping the back of your thigh with a grip so tight, you’re sure you’ll wear his fingerprints for a week.

He collapses against you, staying buried in your heat but pulling back enough so he can kiss you passionately. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his hair as your emotions begin to rise. When he pulls back your eyes are wet with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, rubbing your noses together.

He nods, rubbing your noses together affectionately, “Me too,” he says, just as quiet, “Don’t leave.”

It’s a rare moment of sheer vulnerability, much needed after the heightened tensions throughout the past few days. You both knew, on some levels that the words shared earlier were spoken only out of frustration. But there was always that glimmer of doubt that you both felt. For him, it was always that you could find someone better. And for you, it was always the possibility of him growing sick of you.

You shake your head, kissing his softly, lovingly, “Never.”

After a few more moments of holding each other, he pulls out of you but doesn't move much further. He pulls you tight against his chest, kissing the top of your forehead. You bask in the silence for a handful of moments, just listening to each other breathe, finally feeling the tension between the two of you dissipate.

“Next time, can you just please put the seat down?” You murmur against his chest, a teasing tone to your voice.

He barks out a laugh and you grin against his skin at the sound.

Everything was going to be okay.

#merriell shelton #merriell shelton x reader #merriell shelton / reader #snafu #snafu shelton #snafu x reader #rami malek #rami malek smut #rami malek x reader #smut #angst

142 notes · View notes

geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 3 years

Text

My Wildest Dreams

Howdy Howdy! This is my fourth (of five) prompts for my 500 follower raffle (and it’s taken me so long to write it I’m at 600, sorry)

This is for the oh so talented @julek for the pairing Geraskifer and the trope truth potions! I hope you like it!!

Shout out to @selectivegeekwithstandards who was my sounding board and helped me fix what was a verifiable disaster of a first draft <3 <3

Jaskier wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was annoyed at the way Geralt and Yennefer were behaving but it certainly was exhausting.

The sorceress had met up with him and Geralt two towns back and had been travelling with them since. It wasn’t uncommon for the three of them to travel together, Yennefer popping in and out of their lives as she saw fit. But this time was different for some reason. Normally she would arrive and her and Geralt would disappear to fuck like bunnies for a while while Jaskier yearned from afar. This time, however, they’d had a hushed conversation and then… that was it.

And they had kept having those conversations, sending furtive looks toward Jaskier each time. The bard decided to pretend like he didn’t notice but honestly it was getting a bit too weird. Normally when Yennefer was travelling with them, Jaskier spent the entire time pining, wishing they were paying him attention… inviting him into Yennefer’s impressive tent for… whatever it was they did.

Jaskier sighed as he noticed the look Geralt sent him from the other side of the room. Geralt didn’t normally sneak looks at him or, if he did, he was normally sneakier about it. They were in an herbalist’s shop, Geralt and Yennefer having both needed ingredients, so Jaskier was just wandering around and looking at the various things and keeping his hands to himself.

Jaskier suddenly noticed something strange on the highest shelf of jars in the shop.

The jar was smaller than all the others and it wasn’t labelled either. It was filled with a brilliant purple powder that shimmered in the low candlelight.

“It’s not for sale.”

Jaskier jumped, not having heard the old herbalist walk up behind him. He cleared his throat, “What is it?”

The herbalist ignored his question. “Are you with them?” the man gestured to where Geralt and Yennefer had their heads close together and were muttering to each other.

“Yes.”

The man hummed thoughtfully, eyeing Jaskier, “You can have it.”

“What?” The man had pointed at the small jar when he said it but he had also just said it wasn’t for sale.

The man grabbed the jar off the shelf and held it out to Jaskier, “It’ll solve your problem.”

“What problem?” Jaskier asked as he reached out and took the jar, staring curiously at the contents.

The man nodded toward Geralt and Yennefer, “With those two. Just add a spoonful with their wine, they won’t taste a thing.”

Right, yes. Just mix a strange substance in their drinks. That’ll work brilliantly. “And what exactly is it supposed to do.”

“It will make them tell the truth.”

Well… that would certainly be a nice change. But still...

“I can’t pay for this.”

The man waved a hand, “I told you, it isn’t for sale. And trust me, it will help.”

Jaskier pocketed the powder hesitantly and watched the herbalist cross the shop to where Yennefer was inspecting a bundle of herbs.

How strange. But the truth would be nice. He needed to know what was going on, why the two were being so secretive.

No. He couldn’t.

It took another week travelling with Geralt and Yennefer’s weird behavior before Jaskier put any actual consideration into using the powder. The pair had just kept on with their whispers and their staring, making Jaskier uncomfortable at every turn. Honestly, he had listed after the couple for years but now he was getting rather put off just looking at them.

Desperate times and that...

Jaskier waltzed through the door to the inn room they were all sharing, three mugs of wine in hand.

“I need you two to tell me the truth,” Jaskier declared, standing just inside the doorway of their room. It was time for him to put his foot down and get the answers he needed.

“What are you talking about?” Yennefer asked sharply. She was frozen, loose herbs held in one hand, lingering over where she had been bundling them over the table.

“You two,” Jaskier gestured at them, sloshing wine in the mugs he was still carrying, “have been keeping something from me for weeks and I am sick of it.”

Geralt opened his mouth but Jaskier shushed him, “No, listen. I need the truth. Either you tell me now or, if that’s too difficult, you drink these.”

Geralt grunted, “What would drinking wine have to do with anything?” The witcher had set down the dagger he had been examining in favor of staring at Jaskier, directing his full attention at the bard.

“The drinks are drugged,” Jaskier responded matter-of-factly. “A truth potion. So, if you don’t think you can be honest with me without help, you can drink this. Otherwise, I’m leaving, and I don’t want to see either of you again.”

The silence in the room was stifling and suddenly Jaskier was horrified. What if he was being too forceful? What if they just… left?

Yennefer and Geralt shared a meaningful look before finally Geralt stood up and walked over to Jaskier, taking the mugs of wine from him. He handed one to Yennefer silently before taking a drink from his own.

Geralt looked back to Jaskier, “You’re right, you deserve the truth.”

Yennefer stared at the wine in her hand for a moment and Jaskier suddenly felt incredibly nervous. What if this was something he didn’t want to know after all?

Finally, Yennefer took a long drink and hummed slightly, “You are right, Jaskier.”

“Do you feel any different?” He asked hesitantly.

Yennefer shook her head, “No, we’ll need to finish the drinks for it to work properly. And I think I would like to wait until then to have this conversation. It won’t be easy for me.”

“Okay,” Jaskier responded quietly, sitting on one of the beds in the room as he worked on his own wine, waiting for… something to happen.

Geralt and Yennefer had both returned to their previous tasks, both absentmindedly sipping at the wine.

There was a knock at the door.

Jaskier hurried to open it and accept the three plates of food, “I hope everyone’s hungry” he said brightly.

“Always am. Never get enough to eat.” Geralt said, reaching out to take a plate from Jaskier.

Geralt’s brow furrowed suddenly as Jaskier looked at him curiously. He had long suspected that the witcher needed more food, but he had never said so. Jaskier set the second plate across the table where Yennefer was sitting, “and for the lady”.

She simply nodded in thanks, a small smile on her face.

Jaskier sat upon the bed again, digging into his plate. “So,” he started in between bites, “do either of you have anything you would like to tell me?”

“I enjoy your company.” Yennefer said suddenly, her face reddening.

Jaskier was taken aback, “You… what?”

“Enjoy your company.” The sorceress was staring at Jaskier with emotion shining in her eyes that Jaskier never thought he would see. Not directed at him.

Jaskier looked at Geralt, unsure of how to respond. Geralt’s lips were pressed together tightly, his brow furrowed, “Is… something wrong, Geralt?”

“I…” Geralt hesitated, “am sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” The witcher didn’t apologize easily, always saying rubbish about not having feelings, so the statement meant a lot, particularly under the circumstances.

Jaskier nodded, feeling bad he’d given the two the ultimatum, but glad he would get answers now, “I just couldn’t handle the weird tension and the whispering and the looks anymore.”

Yennefer sighed, “We were talking about you.”

“Why were you talking about me?” Jaskier suspected as much with the looks but he couldn’t think of a reason they would be talking about him.

“Because we’re both in love with you.” Geralt responded quietly, his eyes downcast.

Jaskier was certain his heart stopped, “Ahhh… that doesn’t sound right.” They couldn’t possibly have feelings for him, not more than a fond friendship. It didn’t make sense.

“Well, we can’t lie thanks to you.” Yennefer said, staring Jaskier dead in the eye. The earnest look on her face left Jaskier breathless.

He nodded, breaking the eye contact, “Right. Sorry about that. I was just at my wits end.”

“We really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Yennefer said, her voice softer this time, drawing Jaskier’s gaze back to hers.

“Do you… mean it, though? That you both love me?” Jaskier couldn’t remember ever feeling more vulnerable.

“Yes.” Geralt said simply.

Yennefer nodded, “Yes. We do. We just weren’t sure what to do about it.”

“Well… telling me would have been preferable. Not acting like… you were plotting against me would have also been a good alternative.”

Geralt stood and walked to where Jaskier was sitting, kneeling on the ground in front of him, “We… were worried you didn’t feel the same.”

Jaskier set his plate aside and rested a hand on Geralt’s face. He took a deep breath, tears pooling in his eyes, “Geralt, I’ve been in love with you for a decade. And Yennefer, I care about you. I do. And I’m not opposed to… trying for more. With both of you. If you’ll have me?”

Yennefer stood slowly, walking across the room to sit beside Jaskier, setting a gentle hand on Jaskier’s shoulder and reaching out to hold one of Geralt’s hands with her other. “We would be honored to call you ours,” she said, placing a gentle kiss on Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier beamed, tears finally spilling over. Geralt reached up and wiped them away with a tender caress.

Jaskier stood quickly and cleared his throat, “I’ll be right back.”

Geralt frowned from his position on the floor, “Where are you going?”

Jaskier laughed lightly and smiled back at the witcher, his heart fluttering madly with how happy he was, “I’m going to get you another plate of food.”

Yennefer chuckled, “That’s a good idea. We’ll be waiting for you.” She leaned back on the bed and smirked at Jaskier.

Jaskier knew in that moment he was living out his wildest dreams and he couldn’t be more thrilled.

Check out my masterlist!

Tag list: @stinastar @feraljaskier @bastardofmothman @hailhailsatan @moonysourenza @its-onions @elliestormfound @dapandapod @geraskier-trashh @jaskierswolf @fontegagrilledcheese @negativenuggetz @veritasrose @feral-jaskier @kozkaboi @kueble @selectivegeekwithstandards

#500 follower raffle #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #fanfiction #geraskifer #geraskefer #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg #ot3 #love declarations #truth potions

272 notes · View notes

i-am-bitterly-jittery · 3 years

Text

Simply Meant To Be (pt 1)

An expansion on this soulmate blurb (no Virgil in this one though)

[part 2]

Rating: teen

Word Count: 2130

Pairings: Roceit, Intrulogical

Warnings: minor swearing

~~~START~~~

Roman is a romantic, that’s just a fact. He loves love. Any day he gets to watch two soulmates meet each other is automatically a good day. The second best day of his life was getting to watch Remus meet their soulmate when they were sixteen. The best day of his life is reserved for when he meets his own soulmate.

It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. One day.

For now, Roman is content with being colorblind (well not content, but he’s learned to not let it bother him too much). Remus and Logan are actually a huge help with that. Logan has even gone as far as to make a list of all of Roman’s clothing and includes a chart of what pieces do and do not go together based on Remus’ (admittedly professional) opinions, and Remus actually went through and labeled all of Roman’s makeup with what color it is and what kind of look it should go with.

Anyone who vaguely knew the twins might think that Remus would use this opportunity to mess with Roman, but Remus knows how much Roman hates being colorblind; they would never lie to Roman about colors — about other things? Sure, but not colors.

Remus and Logan met when Logan moved to their school from Georgia. One day Remus had claimed that there was a trail of color — they would later learn that it was navy blue, Logan’s soon-to-be favorite color — leading from the parking lot, to the main office, to the east wing. They’d chosen to skip first period in order to follow it, having never seen the trail before, and Roman, being unwilling to miss the opportunity to watch his brother meet their soulmate, followed him. Remus had walked right into a physics classroom, and straight for a boy with short curls and thick glasses that Roman had never seen before and declared him their soulmate.

Roman got detention for skipping first period, Remus got a pass on account of meeting their soulmate.

Most people met their soulmates before they turned twenty-five, after all, how difficult can it be when all you have to do is find the trail of color they leave behind them everywhere they go and follow it?

Well, as Roman has learned in his thirty-five years of being alive, it can be pretty freaking difficult.

As children, Roman and Remus had wandered their town far and wide looking for colorful trails, and even after they met Logan, Remus continued to go with Roman as he searched, even if they couldn’t see Roman’s soulmate’s trail themself. As soon as Roman graduated from high school, he took the customary gap year that most everybody who hadn’t met their soulmates yet takes to search for their soulmates.

He never caught a glimpse of anything.

“What if I missed them somehow? What if I saw their trail and just didn’t realize it?” Roman whines one day at his usual Saturday brunch — because they’re adults goddammit — with Remus and Logan.

“You wouldn’t have missed them, Ro bro,” Remus assures him as they do every time Roman starts lamenting about having not met his soulmate yet. “Colors are so unmistakable that there’s no way you’ll miss them.”

“And even if you are genetically colorblind — which is unlikely considering Remus is not,” Logan continues before Roman has a chance to respond. “I have read multiple papers that state that soultrails will still make themselves distinct. There are multiple accounts of the trails emitting light, absorbing light, or even emitting sound. All of that is, of course, on top of the translucent cloud that follows your soulmate’s every move. I find it improbable that you, of all people, would not have noticed a soultrail.”

“Yeah, I know you guys are right,” Roman sighs. “I just want to meet them! I’ve travelled all over the place looking for them, where are they?”

Remus says nothing, which Roman is grateful for because Remus has a habit of saying dark jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, and Roman really doesn’t need to hear them suggest that his soulmate died in a car crash or something right now. Besides, the question is rhetorical. If Remus could see Roman’s soulmate’s trail, then he’s sure they would have spent the last nineteen years looking for them too.

“Sorry, I guess I brought the mood down,” Roman apologizes. “How are you guys?”

Remus opens their mouth.

“The PG version, please!” Roman rushes to say before Remus can mentally scar him. Again.

Remus closes their mouth again.

Logan rolls his eyes fondly and proceeds to get Roman up to date on all the high school gossip.

“- and of course the middle school’s robotics instructor left suddenly to follow her soulmate to England, so I have taken over as their advisor until a suitable replacement can be hired.”

“How is that?” Roman asks, cringing at the thought of having to deal with middle schoolers. Kids in general kind of freak him out, but middle schoolers especially.

“It has been fine, they are not as adept as my high school students, but of course for many of them this is their introduction to such things, so I’m trying to be patient and supportive.”

Roman snorts at that. He’s sure Logan is a good teacher, but his brother-in-law can be a bit short tempered, and has a habit of talking down to people who don’t understand what he’s trying to tell them.

“Don’t laugh at him!” Remus jumps in to defend their soulmate. “Logan’s great with kids, it’s adults he has a problem with.”

“They are much too old to be as ignorant as they are,” Logan defends himself resolutely.

“Of course they are, Sugar Butt.” Logan cringes slightly at the pet name, which is really all Remus is ever looking for with their pet names.

“Anyway,” Logan says, somewhat forcefully. “There is one student who seems to know what he is doing, but he doubts himself at every turn. I have tried telling him that he is doing everything correctly, but he is… reluctant to trust himself.”

“Maybe as the year goes on he’ll gain confidence,” Remus suggests. Logan hums in acknowledgment, and Roman takes that as the end of talking about Logan’s students. “Oh! Ro bro! Did you hear the theater got a new makeup artist?”

“Finally!” Roman groans, thinking back on their last makeup artist. “I swear Lisa was trying to poke my eyes out every time she did my eyeliner!”

“Oh she probably was,” Remus comments offhandedly. “I told her — back when she first started with the theater — that you thought that makeup artisting was a waste of time.”

“WHAT!?” Roman screeches, gaining the attention of the staff and other patrons.

“Roman,” Logan warns, growing uncomfortable under the curious stares.

“How could you do that to me?” Roman hisses at a much quieter volume. “I never said that! She hated me for five years because of you!”

Remus shrugs, slurping the end of their drink through their straw loudly.

“You better not make the new artist hate me!”

“I would never!” Remus gasps, clutching their heart dramatically.

Roman glares.

“Cross my heart!” Remus insists with a much too innocent expression.

“I hate you.”

Remus just gasps again before dissolving into uncontrollable giggles.

~~~

There isn’t rehearsal on Sunday, so Roman doesn’t have to go in to work. Unfortunately, he is saddled by the knowledge that Remus — as the theater’s costume designer — does have to go in today, and therefore has a whole day to lie to the new makeup artist about him.

Come Monday, all Roman can do is hope that Remus hasn’t done irreparable damage.

“Calm down,” Remus orders when they come to pick Roman up. “They weren’t even in yesterday; I haven’t met them yet.”

“I’m not letting you ruin my relationship with the makeup artist again,” Roman pouts.

“Just try and stop me!” Remus cackles.

Once they reach the theater, Roman practically jumps from the car before Remus has even parked.

“REAL MATURE!” Remus yells after him as he sprints for the theater door.

“THIS ONE IS GOING TO LIKE ME!” Roman yells back.

“NOT IF I MEET THEM FIRST!”

Roman skids to a stop as soon as he reaches the lobby. Not expecting their twin to just be standing there, Remus slams into his back, throwing them both to the ground.

“The fuck, Ro Bro?” Remus demands as they flop off their brother and onto their back.

“I-I see it,” Roman whispers, voice filled with wonder.

“See what?” Remus demands. “The lobby? You’ve seen the lobby bef-oh!”

The awestruck look on Roman’s face finally clicks, and Remus bounces excitedly.

“You see it? Like it it?” Remus scrambles to their feet, dragging Roman up with them. “Where? Which way does it go?”

“It looks like how the sun feels,” Roman says instead of answering. “All light and warm and good.”

“Roman Kingsley you tell me which way your soulmate went this instant!” Remus demands loudly. This is important dammit!

“It goes from there,” Roman points to the side door that’s usually used by staff that take the bus to work. “To there,” the door leading backstage.

“Excellent!” Remus cheers dragging Roman forward. “Time for your date with destiny!”

Remus throws the backstage door open dramatically, but Roman groans as he realizes that his soulmate’s trail is going in literally every direction, making it impossible to know which way they went last.

“Well?” Remus asks expectantly.

“Either my soulmate is familiarizing themself to the theater, or they knew I’d be here and are trying to spite me,” Roman answers somewhat dejectedly. “I can’t tell which trail is freshest.”

“Well shit.” Remus scans each entry as though Roman’s soulmate will just happen to wander in (plausible, considering they’ve trailed all over the theater).

“Hey guys!” A voice calls from by the dressing rooms. The brothers turn to find Thomas, the owner of the theater and their boss.

“Thomas!” Remus cries gleefully. “My absolute favoritest person in the world behind my incredibly sexy soulmate!”

“Okay, so you want something,” Thomas answers with an amused grin. Remus always piles on the compliments when they want something.

“Who’s new today?” Roman asks, more to the point.

“Like, in the theater?” Thomas asks. “Just Janus, the new makeup artist. Why?” Thomas’s eyes widen as if he’s just had a realization. “You’re not going to prank him or something, are you? He’s very talented, I can’t have you scaring him away already!”

“Roman’s soulmate is the new makeup artist? Lame,” Remus pouts. “How am I supposed to trick him into hating Roman?”

“Soulmate?”

“My soulmate is in the building, Thomas!” Roman declares, striking a dashing pose before deflating a little. “Except his trail leads all over the place, I don’t know where he went!”

“Oh… well,” Thomas looks to each direction Janus could have gone, but he clearly doesn’t know which way Janus would have gone. “He said he wanted to get a lay of the land before everyone got here…”

“I got this!” Remus pipes up suddenly before cupping their hands around their mouth like a megaphone and screaming at the top of their lungs. “JANUS!”

“What?” A faint, far-off voice calls back, followed but the sound of hurried footsteps. “Thomas?”

“Dressing rooms!” Thomas calls back.

Footsteps thunder down the stairs, and all too soon a man appears on them.

The first time you lay eyes on your soulmate, you begin to see the world in color. Everyone’s experience is different: Remus said that as soon as he laid eyes on Logan, the world exploded violently into vibrant shades. Logan said that colors appeared one at time, quickly, but slow enough for him to notice. Roman’s mom said that her soulmate’s trail swelled to fill the space before things slowly began to take on their proper color, and his mama said that it was almost like everything had always had color, she just hadn’t bothered to notice before.

For Roman, the man before him is painted in vibrant shades while the background remains in grayscale, but as soon as the man makes eye contact, his colors begin to slowly bleed throughout the space.

The man’s eyes widen as he stares, slack-jawed at Roman — no doubt mirroring Roman’s own expression.

“I’m Roman,” Roman says quickly, before Remus can forever ruin his first meeting with his soulmate by making a dick joke or something.

The man smiles and Roman immediately decides that his favorite color is whatever this guy’s eyes are — they’re hazel, but Roman will later change his favorite color to red after realizing how stunning and bold the color is when it isn’t just another shade of gray.

“Janus.”

~~~TO BE CONTINUED~~~

General Taglist:

@royalty-of-all-things-snuggly

@pixelated-pineapple

#ts sanders sides #sanders sides #roceit #intrulogical #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #Janus Sanders #character thomas #My writing #thursday writes #fanfiction #fanfic #creativitwins #princeit #soulmate au #simply meant to be au

235 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Faded

Averykedavra prompt: okay, first of all, can I be added to your taglist? I love your fics! secondly, if you're open to prompts (apologies if you're not) could you write some logan-centric hurt/comfort? with roman and maybe Virgil comforting him? no pressure, but thanks!! and again your fics are absolutely incredible

Thanks for the prompt babe you’re an icon ^_^

Read on Ao3

Warnings: Logan’s not feeling so great, so self-doubt, self-esteem issues, all that jazz

Pairings: depending on how you want to read it, logince, analogical, possible prinxiety, analogince, or just hella platonic. My aro ass doesn’t know anymore you choose

Word Count: 4237

When a Side's role is disregarded, their door fades from the hallway.

Logan...do the others really need Logan?

Or just Logic?

“Neato! So you're making your little factoids optional this time around.”

Thank Archimedes the little pixelated boxes didn’t allow for much dynamic character interaction.

Logan swallows and tries to keep going, growing more concerned that the lump in his throat would make it impossible to speak. But he can do this. For Thomas, he can do this. He has to.

“Oh, I’ve got this one, guys!”

‘IGNORANT’ flashes up in front of him in big, red letters. Almost immediately he can hear the scoldings of Thomas and Patton followed by Roman’s mumbled apology but it’s too late. The word sears itself into his brain and he can’t see anything other than the choice that they’ve made.

He swallows again. Alright. He’ll speak directly to the audience. Thomas has to listen to them eventually, doesn’t he?

…well, maybe, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting every time he pops up with something and it’s completely ignored. He tries to appeal to Patton’s sense of humor. He tries to give Roman something when he can’t find the right words. He tries to give Thomas something, anything.

Then he gets overexcited and pushes Patton into the blinds.

The second Roman’s sword flashes out and slices him neatly in two a searing bolt of pain spreads to his arms, to his chest, to his throat. He knows logically—he knows everything logically—he can’t be hurt by that. It isn’t him. He is not connected in any way physically to these lowdowns.

So why are his hands shaking?

This is so ridiculous. He is Logic. He should not be working like this, he should not be reacting like this. This is logically the next step, he must simply not be out of the adjustment process yet. Which is ridiculous in and of itself, has he not mentioned several times over that the presence of the others imbeds Thomas’s ability to think rationally and calmly about the issues they have to face? Has he not himself wondered that if he were not so…undone by being in the same room that he finds it difficult to keep going when he needs to? Shouldn’t this be better?

“You know I'm- I'm not doing a really great job explaining this philosophy. Um, Logan?”

Patton? Logan pops up.

Patton smiles—smiles?—at him as the box appears at the bottom of the screen. From this angle, he can’t see Roman or Thomas. What’s happening? Why hasn’t he been paying better attention?

Why can’t he focus?

“What would a real philosopher think about what I'm saying here?”

Oh. Oh, no. This isn’t going to be good, is it?

“Well, Frederich Nietzsche really wouldn't have been thrilled with anything you've had to say, primarily because pity seems to be at the center of your idea of ‘putting good into the world.’”

“Th-that's not what—“

“Nietzsche famously rejected the notion that pity was a virtue.”

“Okay,” comes the quiet mumble that, really, should’ve told him to stop talking now, he wasn’t being useful anymore.

But no. Logan was never very good at being quiet, now was he?

“He once claimed that pity ‘runs counter to the instincts that preserve and enhance the value of life…’”

Last chance, Logan, something in his head whispers as something else flashes in the corner of his vision.

‘Skip all.’

But they would never do that, right? They knew, somewhere, because Thomas knew, that you had to listen to Logic. You had to listen, at some point, because if you didn’t, what did you have? They would shake their heads or grumble in annoyance, or cut him off when he’d been talking for too long or ask him to be quiet, but they’d never skip him entirely, cut him out of the conversation, would they?

Patton’s finger presses the button and something of unyielding cold wraps around Logan’s neck.

He flails as it yanks, jerking back awake with his eyes open, out of the boxes, out of the video, at his desk, staring at the screen as his lowdown program blocks him out.

No.

No!

What happened? Why did they—is he—can he—

Why didn’t they want to listen?

Logan’s fingers fly over the keyboard in front of him, searching desperately for an answer. Maybe he programmed this wrong. Admittedly he’s a little new at programming so he could’ve messed something up that disconnected him. Maybe Patton clicked it by mistake. Why was there even a ‘skip all’ button to begin with? He doesn’t remember programming that. And what was it that wrapped around his throat?

His hand goes to his neck at the mere memory of the horrible thing that yanked him out. He winces when his fingers slide of patches of warm, inflamed skin. It…it actually hurt. It left a mark.

What—

The instant his lowdown pops up with his face, he knows.

It shouldn’t hurt. Really. This shouldn’t hurt.

Now perhaps Deceit could see what it was like to be Logic. Or at least to try and be Logic.

Now perhaps…perhaps he may have someone to talk to.

No.

Deceit was, in fact, far better at being Logic. Within an instant, he’d gotten the conversation to his side, gotten the others to listen, to think about what they were saying instead of just following on blind faith.

Of course.

Because it wasn’t Logic they didn’t want to listen to, was it?

It was Logan.

Logan closes his eyes. Alright. He can adapt to this. He can…he can work with this. He just has to figure out how.

He turns away from the computer, stands, and carefully makes his way across his room to the nightstand, where the emergency first-aid kit sits tucked in the drawer. He will patch himself up, best he can, and then figure out what to do.

He’s too distracted to hear Roman’s terrified shout.

“What have you done with Logan?”

———————————————————

A few hours after filming stops, there’s a very soft knock on Logan’s door. He doesn’t move from his desk, nor does he pause in his typing. False sympathies and empty comforts have never been very appealing.

…and he is just the slightest bit worried that he won’t be able to resist the urge to slam the door in Patton’s face.

Footsteps moving away sound from outside. Good. It’s better this way, isn’t it?

The lowdowns didn’t work. Well, they did…but they worked a little too well, didn’t they? Instead of being less invasive, they just…cut Logan’s contributions out entirely. They let Logan be taken. They were good for Logic, not Logan.

Logan’s head turns to the wall where he has two lists tacked up. Standing, the desk chair scraping behind him, he picks up the marker.

His job is to be Logic. Therefore, if he is failing at that job, he must find a way to be better.

The list on the left has ‘LOGIC’ written in large, block letters. On the right, ‘LOGAN.’ Isolating the key characteristics of each concept will help to shift himself properly into the role he must play. Logan’s eyes scan down the ‘LOGIC’ list.

LOGIC:

Emotionless

Useful

Rational

Necessary

Welcome

The end of the word ‘welcome’ is smeared. Logan looks down at the marker. His hands had shaken so much as he added that last word…why? It was true; logic should be welcome in any conversation, that’s why is it so useful, that’s why it has so many of the other characteristics that it has. Logic should be wanted, regardless of the subject matter, because of what it could do. It had felt so small of Logan to add the word, even when it was the correct course of action. Was it not implied by the others that it should be wanted?

That…that he should be wanted?

Unconsciously, Logan twists the cap of the marker back and forth as his eyes dart over to the ‘LOGAN’ list.

LOGAN:

Irritating

Invasive

Emotional

Easily dismissed

Unwanted

If he had any doubts about whether or not these qualifications were inaccurate, each had cemented their place on this list after today.

Logan’s hand flies to his neck again, grazing over the bandages he’d wrapped around himself, only to stutter to a halt when his fingers met the fabric of his tie.

His tie.

Hadn’t—he’d—he’d been so sure he’d been doing this right. He dressed well, he spoke carefully, he did his research, why—why was it so easy for them to say he was—to think of him as—

…why didn’t they want to listen to him?

He tried. He tried so hard to be what they wanted, what they would listen to, to appeal to each and every one of them to make sure he was still fitting in enough to be heard. Logic had to be heard, that’s one of its most important qualifications.

As his fingers fumble and catch around the knot, it pulls taut and for a moment he’s thrown back into the feeling of Deceit’s crook around his neck.

Oh.

Oh, that’s right…he…Deceit—or, well, Janus, now—didn’t he...he was…Logic isn’t the problem.

Janus’s Logic made them listen. Janus’s logic made them pay attention. Janus’s Logic was wanted.

Logan’s fingers slide off his tie in a numb haze.

His hand falls limply to his side.

He stares at the lists.

Irritating.

Invasive.

Emotional.

Easily dismissed.

There is a reason none of these qualifications have come up when he considers pure Logic.

A wave of cold rushes over Logan. His knees wobble. His hand staggers out for something, anything to grab onto, to hold, to stop himself from collapsing under the weight of what he just realized, to stop it, to stop it, to stop—

He hits the ground with a thud.

The words beat into his head over and over as he lies there, frozen, cold, so cold, curled up by his bed with something wrapped tightly around his throat and his glasses staying stubbornly on his face so the words remain in perfect focus.

It is not Logic that is the problem.

The others can use Logic.

The others can listen to Logic.

The others can want Logic.

They just don’t want Logan.

Logan curls closer around himself as it starts to become very, very cold. That…this can’t be right, he must be missing something. He’s emotionally compromised right now, he’s not any good at being Logic, maybe—maybe that means he’s doing it wrong, he has to be doing this wrong, there’s no way they could—they need him, don’t they? They need Logan, they have to listen to him, they—they—

Unbidden, a whine escapes Logan’s throat. It burns as it rings around his empty, cold room. He covers his face with his hands.

Even his cheeks feel icy cold.

Someone will notice, he tries frantically, someone will notice if I never show up again, someone will notice if I—if—if—

But they didn’t notice. Not today.

Not until it was too late.

Outside, in the corridor, a dark blue door begins to fade into the wall.

———————————————————

“Logan? Logan!”

Bam, bam, bam.

“Logan!”

Frantic hammering against the door jolts him awake. Immediately he winces as something in his neck catches. How—how long has he been like this?

“Logan, please, open the door, we—we can’t open it!”

Oh…the others have noticed…should go open the door.

Wincing again, Logan rights himself, sitting up with his back leaning against the bed, blinking through his fuzzy glasses. Why are they so filthy?

…oh, he must’ve been crying.

How emotional.

“Logan? Logan can you at least say something?”

“I’m gonna break this door down.”

“No!”

Well, yes, Logan does not want his door broken down. Groaning, he stands, making his way over to the door that—wait.

Why…why is his door so…pale?

The knob looks almost translucent as he reaches for it, his pulse hammering as his fingers close gently around where it should be. He takes a deep breath and carefully, carefully, turns it.

“Logan, thank god, I—“ Virgil cuts himself off with a choked gasp as he stares at Logan. “…L? What…what happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” The instant it comes out of his mouth he knows what Virgil means. He sounds like his throat is actively attempting to cut itself off with every breath.

A choked whine comes from behind Virgil. Logan’s eyes dart over to see Roman a sickly pale, staring at Logan, horrified.

“…S-specs? Specs, I—Logan, oh, no, can I—can we—“ Roman reaches for him, only to freeze and quickly pull back his hand.

Another wave of cold settles over Logan and his hand falls through the doorknob.

“Logan,” Virgil murmurs, “can we come in, please? I, uh, we wanna talk to you for a moment.”

Why would you want to talk to me?

“…of course.” Logan steps aside and lets them pass, looking down at his hand.

It’s still a hand, but it looks…thinner. He can tell where it isn’t, if that makes sense.

When has Logan ever made sense?

Virgil sits down on the floor, next to his bed. Roman hovers near the door, wringing his hands together as Logan carefully pushes the door closed.

“I’m sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s eyes widen as his head jerks around to face Roman. Roman gives him what may be the smallest smile he’s ever seen before taking a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, the sincerity making the cold burn in Logan’s chest, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It—it was stupid of me to press the ‘ignorant’ button and it was not my intention to hurt you. And I...slashing your box was wrong too. I just saw Patton get hurt and I—”

He cuts himself off and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Logan," he repeats, softer this time, "for all that I have done to hurt you. I want to be better about it."

Oh. “…thank you, Roman,” Logan says carefully, “I appreciate your apology.”

Roman gives him a nod. Logan looks at Virgil, whose head still rests against the bed, staring at the two of them.

“Is this what you wanted to discuss?”

“Sort of, but…uh, Logan, you…you’re not looking so great, bud.” Virgil shifts, looking to Roman, who nods and takes a seat on the floor too, leaving a space between them. “Will you come sit with us?”

“…of course.”

Logan sits gingerly between the two of them, his gaze fixed on the outlet in the wall opposite them. He hears the rustling of fabric as Virgil shifts, and sees a little white in the corner of his eye as Roman scoots a tad closer.

“So,” Virgil murmurs after a second, “I guess this video was…hard.”

Roman huffs quietly. Logan nods. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“Have the others not already told you?”

“I’d like to hear it from you too.”

Logan takes a deep breath, ignoring the way the cold burns the inside of his lungs. “I attempted to implement a new strategy for how I interact with you and the viewers. Instead of appearing in person, I chose to use a series of lowdowns so the information would appear in a non-invasive way.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“…keep going, L.”

“They were…not as well-received as I had anticipated.”

A flash of movement and a stifled noise make him look over. Roman fiddles with the hem of his sleeve right in front of his mouth, obviously having cut himself off. He glances over.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “I didn’t want to interrupt. Please, continue.”

“I, er…” Logan swallows, something about the movement of Roman’s fingers holding his focus captive. “I hurt Patton.”

From his other side comes a sharp intake of breath. Logan looks away.

“I hurt Patton. I could not do my job properly. I had compromised the conversation. A ‘skip all’ button appeared and…”

“Patton pressed it,” Virgil finishes when Logan doesn’t speak, “he told me.”

Logan doesn’t say anything. The crook manifests around his throat again and he shudders.

“…Logan,” Roman’s worried voice says, even as it sounds like it’s coming from underwater, “Logan, did…what did that do to you?”

“Janus,” Logan croaks, “he—his staff, it—I—“

“Hey, hey,” Virgil croons, reaching for the hands that tug persistently at his collar, at his bandages, when did they get there?— “don’t do that, L, you’re gonna hurt yourself, stop that…”

“Logan, can I hold your hand, please?”

Logan lets Virgil tug his hands away from his neck. It—why—what’s happening?

Why are Virgil’s hands so warm?

Judging by Virgil’s expression, he’s as concerned about the stark difference in temperature as Logan is. Several emotions flit across his face before Logan can name them until they both register Roman’s question. Roman holds his hand out, all but pleading for Logan to let him.

“Please,” he whispers, his hand starting to tremble, “please, Logan, may I…can I just hold your hand?”

“Why are you so worried,” Logan wants to ask, “what is it that makes you so insistent about holding my hand?”

Instead, when his voice is barely about a strangled whisper and his first attempt makes his hand phase completely through Roman’s, the question emerges as a stifled scream.

“Shh, shh,” Roman whispers, moving in as close as he can, trying to curl his hands around where Logan’s should be, “it’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll—we’ll figure it out, Logan, we’ve got you, it’s okay—“

Roman burns.

“R-ro—“

“Easy, Roman,” Virgil mutters from behind him, “take it easy, you’re gonna freak us all out.”

“I know, I know.” Roman clutches the air of Logan’s hand tightly. “Okay…okay, Specs, we gotta…we’re gonna take some deep breaths, okay?”

No, no, it hurts when Logan does that, what’s…

He does as bid. The air whines in protest as he slowly breathes in and out, in and out, focusing on Roman’s thumb rubbing small circles into his hand. Roman seems to calm a little as he watches, bringing Logan’s hand close enough to cradle it in his lap as they breathe.

“Good,” Virgil manages, still clutching Logan’s other hand tightly, his own voice shaking slightly, “okay, now we’re all just gonna calm down, yeah? Just…nice and calm…”

Logan has no idea how long they sit there, on the floor, only that after a few more deep breaths, it no longer hurts. Roman’s hand no longer burns, it’s just warm. Virgil no longer trembles, he’s just there.

“My apologies,” he manages, “I did not mean to be so…inconvenient.”

Roman’s cry of protest is quickly accompanied by: “hey, no, none of that, Logan, you’re not being inconvenient. It’s been a hard day for all of us.”

“But was I not—“

“No,” Roman interrupts gently, “I’m sorry for interrupting, but…no, Logan. Nothing that happened today was your fault. Absolutely nothing.”

“…I’m the one who hurt Patton.”

“That was an accident and you didn’t know it was going to do that,” Roman says firmly, “and it was our fault we didn’t listen to you. So much that you felt that was your only option.”

Logan swallows. “…what about Janus?”

“What about him,” Virgil prompts, “the fact that he…came into the video?”

“It was my lowdowns that enabled him to do so.”

“And we pressed the ‘skip all’ button,” Roman says. “And I’m the one who gave him tips on how to impersonate the rest of us better.”

Roman is right, even as Logan begins to feel cold again. Still, he opens his mouth.

“I…I’m not…I can’t…it…”

“Logan,” Roman says quietly when Logan can’t seem to find the words, “none of us are angry with you. I’m certainly not angry with you, and I’m…I’m sorry about everything that I may have done and have done to give you the impression that I do not hold you in the highest esteem possible.”

Logan’s mouth drops open in shock.

“I think you overdid it a little there, Princey,” Virgil chuckles.

“But it’s true,” Roman insists, still cradling Logan’s hand in his lap, “Logan, you’re…you’re so important. And if I have done anything that makes you think I don’t care so much about you, then I…I will do everything I can to fix this.”

What?

“You…but we..we fight,” Logan manages weakly, “all the time, you…you disagree with me every chance you get, how—“

“I told you on movie night,” Roman says, the corner of his mouth tugging up, “I poke fun at the things I love.”

Love.

Logan’s brain stutters to a pause.

“You’re my family, Logan,” Roman continues, oblivious to the fact that Logan.exe has stopped functioning, please try again later, “and I…you are so clever, so sharp, so good that of course I want to talk to you about things. I respect your opinion so much and I want to hear everything.”

“Yeah, if you ever stop teaching us stuff I might actually start crying and never stop.”

“Virgil!”

“What, like you’re any better?”

“Of course not! I would be devastated!”

“Wait, wait,” Logan mumbles, “you—you what?”

“L,” Virgil calls softly, still chuckling a little as Logan turns to look at him, “L, we care about you so much. We wanted to give you space, especially after today, but…dude, you know we need you, don’t you?”

“You need Logic,” Logan mumbles, “you…of course you need Logic.”

“We do,” Roman confirms as the cold threatens to open up in Logan’s chest again, “but we also love Logan.”

“You have got to stop throwing that word around,” Virgil murmurs, “you’re gonna send him into a full-blown freak-out.”

“But we do, Virgil. We do love him, so much, and if he doesn’t know that…”

Roman squeezes a surprisingly solid hand in his lap.

“…then we have to remind him.”

Virgil huffs, scooting closer. “Yeah, well, that’s easy enough.”

No, no, it very much is not.

Logan’s brain is still struggling to come to grips with the first thing Roman said, about poking fun at the things he loves. He hasn’t come close to tackling the fact that Roman just said they loved him.

And Virgil agreed.

“This…this doesn’t make sense,” Logan says weakly, “this doesn’t make sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” Virgil’s hand is a warm weight against his side. “That we love you?”

“…y-yes?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Virgil murmurs, “what makes you so convinced that you’re unlovable?”

“I…I can’t…I am emotionally compromised. I cannot do my job properly. I will not be as useful as you—“

“Do you need to be useful to be lovable?”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” he says firmly, pressing Logan between the two of them, “no, you don’t, Logan. We love you for you, not for what you can do.”

“Don’t leave us, Logan.” The sheer amount of pain in Roman’s voice aches. “Not because you think we won’t want you.”

A horrible laugh bubbles up in his throat. “And here I thought you were going to leave me.”

“Never,” Roman promises, “never.”

“We did threaten to break down your door because it was starting to fade from the hallway.”

“…I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You don’t need to know right now, we’ll help you.”

“I don’t know how good I’m going to be at this.”

“We’re all working on things, it’s okay.”

“But I—“ Logan swallows heavily— “I don’t know if I can stop believing that I…that it is just Logic you want and not Logan.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Roman calls, squeezing his hand, “I still struggle with that too.”

Logan’s eyes widen. “You what?”

“Believe that you only keep me around as long as I make things that you think are useful?” Roman smiles sadly. “Yeah.”

“But you’re—you—Thomas would not be able to exist without you!”

“Wouldn’t he?”

“No! It’s not just—Roman, you’re so much more than Creativity, if you weren’t here, we…” Logan takes a deep breath and swallows. “Something would truly be lost if you weren’t here.”

He stops.

“…oh.”

“Yeah, Specs,” Roman whispers, “‘oh.’”

“…oh.”

“Come here, sweetheart,” he murmurs, opening his arms and letting Logan fall into his embrace, “don’t you leave us, okay?”

Virgil drapes himself over them, wrapping his arms tightly around Logan’s waist. “We’ll figure it out, L, but you gotta stick around, okay? Don’t—well, try not to worry about whether or not you’re being the perfect Logic. We want you.”

“…promise?”

“I promise.”

“I promise too,” Roman murmurs, letting Logan rest against his chest, “now why don’t we all get into something more comfortable and we can have another look at your neck?”

“Yes. That sounds…good.”

“And Logan?” Logan cranes his head up to look. “If you ever stop teaching us things and telling me about stuff I will start crying.”

Despite everything, Logan smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says quietly, the chill finally beginning to thaw, “I’m not going anywhere.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @such-a-dumbass

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know!

#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #logan sanders #logan angst #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #logince #analogical #analogince

341 notes · View notes