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mahi-wayy · 4 months

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 - 𝐈𝐈 | 𝑻𝑶𝑿𝑰𝑪

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It was still dark in the morning sky, even the fucking birds were asleep and Bhalla was waiting for his mother to arrive in the room where she has called him to talk about something. He really was tired of being the only one with the braincell in the circus affectionately known as the Mahishmati royalty.

He leans back against the wall, rubbing his face to brush off the sleep still heavy in his system.

This meeting was illogical, apparently Sivagami has something to discuss about the marriage proposal and while Bhalla was kind of looking forward to the marriage it didn't mean his mother suddenly could endanger lives of a people by sending them to wake him up after a night of listening to his father throwing drunk tantrums.

He almost killed the poor boy for knocking on his door, he hates getting up early. Bahubali was the sunshine, the early bird, he was happy in the darkness and comfort of night thank you very much.

Bhalla shuts up the internal monologue and straightens when the doors are pushed open and his mother walks in.

“Ma, what happened that you had to meet me at this hour?”

“You are aware that the proposal has been sent to Suryagarh right?”

“Yes mother, it has been four days if I remember correctly.”

“Which is the point of this meeting.”

Bhalla was a little confused, no he was not dumb to not understand his mother usually but Sivagami loved talking in circles which he did not feel like solving like four in the morning or something.

So he remained silent and waited for her to continue.

“It's been four days and we have yet to receive any reply from them. I don't appreciate this behaviour nor the fact that their princess doesn't seem to be in the capital or hurrying back according to my informers.”

Now, Bhallaladeva knew his mother had a tendency to be ridiculous, his whole family had it and he had understood and accepted the fact when he was like ten but this was beyond her usual behaviour.

Devsena really traumatised the woman with her behaviour and he finds it just a little amusing, just a little.

“Ma, maybe it's something important holding her up, maybe wait for a little while longer?”

He really wasn't feeling like going princess hunting, the preparations for his coronation were tiring enough but the look he received told him he had no say in the matter and she knew that he knew.

“Find her, if I find her reasons justified, maybe I will forgive her.”

Seriously, fuck his life.

“As you wish mother.”

He says before bowing his head and striding out of the room, this was NOT going to be fun, by evening he has information on where the princess was and just the name of the place sparked his curiosity.

The perfect princess of Suryagarh, the one everyone wanted was in Singhpuram. Interesting.

He doesn't give his mother the exact location but he does tell her he will be meeting the princess and make sure she understands the gravity of the situation or whatever, he zoned out a little when Sivagami was going on and on.

After that conversation, finally, after months of visiting the place, Bhallaladeva sets out for Singhpuram again, this time on a personal agenda one might say.

The place was as chaotic as he remembered, if not more, his eyes scanned his surroundings lazily. He was familiar with the ins and outs of the place, which happens when you are searching for a man all over the said place.

A over the top cheer from the wild crowd makes his ear ring for a solid minute before he hears it, the sound of footsteps just above him, along with the heavy anklets those feet most probably had wrapped around them.

But the shouts and absolute cheers around him made him lose track of it more easily than he would like he admit.

The disappointment didn't stay for much because soon enough, he could make out a female silhouette standing at top of a platform, she turned around and he almost spat out his drink in surpise.

Dressed in a light golden skirt which had slits to let her legs free, a matching fitting blouse, hair flowing wildly, face decorated with makeshift golden tattoos and art along with all kinds of hand jewellery decorating her hand which held the glass of alcohol she splashed around on the men surrounding her, was Mohini.

Yes, the oh so good and perfect princess was dancing in a damn bar and it amused the older Mahishmati prince a lot more than it should have offended him.

That was because of two reasons, one was plain interest, the sight in front of him clearly told-no screamed that Mohini was anything but the reputation that precedes her.

Second, he has noticed the dropping man not because the woman was ridiculously pretty, of course she was but it was because the said beauty has slit their throats.

He gulped the last of his drink before walking towards the crowd, he was an imposing figure which meant he easily either had people giving him way or he simply pushed them out of the way, as he made his way towards her.

Bhalla was good at reading people, he knew and loved that he had the ability because this very ability was the one who told him that the woman was purposely triggering the animals in the name of men around her.

The way her hips moved, the way she looked at the crowd, the way she merely existed in the moment would drive even the toughest of the saints crazy, he was just a man with a heart and functional pair of eyes.

Her next move made him chuckle out loud even if the crowd downed the noise. She drank from a glass and offered the same to a man, who drank it eagerly of course only for him to fall down. Now while everyone think it was her effect, Bhalladeva saw the man's face slowly blue, those plump lips coloured in red were covered in poison

He would have not admitted this for anyone else but for her, he does. Bhalladeva, the crown prince of Mahishmati, the future king of one of the most powerful kingdoms ever, was getting smitten to his last bone.

His thoughts break when she collides with him, her feet missing the edge of the stage and slipping down, right into him.

Bhalla's body acts before his mind, his hand coming to wrap around her waist, one of his legs stepping back to brace the impact and keep them both standing, her hands holding his shoulders, their chest pressing together and her lips colliding with his neck.

She pulls back from him in a second, flipping back her hair as the crowd roared around them before a sign of recognition crosses her eyes and she smirks.

The crowd chants her name as he lifts her up and sets her back on the raised stage, she doesn't spare him more than a glance before turning around, her skirt brushing his face and suddenly he wasn't sure if the sting in neck was from the poison or the death grip he knew the woman walking away from the all the eyes would have on him soon enough.

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taglist : @warnermeadowsgirl @mayakimayahai @jkdaddy01 @vijayasena @voidsteffy [let me know if you wanna be added]

#bhallaladeva #bhalladeva x oc #bhalladeva x fem!oc #bhalladeva x reader #bahubali fanfic #bahubali the conclusion #south indian fanfic

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caputvulpinum · 1 year

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I remember you once giving an EXCELLENT explanation of how magic “Doesn’t Exist but is Real” and how that kind of contradiction and reconciling it is so powerful?

Whenever you feel like answering this could you restate those concepts? I am working on actually thinking about my Practice and it’s Methods more lately and I feel that I highly agree with that sentiment you gave, but Tumblr’s search sucks.

I think I’m just now understanding a lot of that much more than when it was first said so I’d like to compare when you’re able to restate it

Religion isn't unscientific at its core. I think that's how I might phrase the contradiction these days: the idea that religion is fundamentally not unscientific at its core. Whatever else you can say about it.

Religion is fundamentally magical thinking, though, or at least often incorporates magical thinking. Religion is a sort of magic, also, after all--organized or unorganized, it is belief in something else. Something unexplainable. The idea that there is something you cannot see or cannot understand, but that this something matters to you, to your world.

And looking back, we see religion form again and again, in vacuums and when cultures meet and share and intermingle or oppose. Studying history at the end of the day will always require at least a little bit of studying religion with it. It is omnipresent--for better and for worse--in the way that it affects us, changes how we think, influences how we behave, structures the societies we live in.

Humans are illogical creatures, made of emotions and subjective dread. Magical thinking is fundamentally illogical. It is an attempt to find and understand reason in darkness, to comprehend the things we only see in the peripheries of our visions--but not always. Only often.

Because just as much as religion is magical and illogical, it was often borne out of our craving for understanding, for logic or explanation. We see a rainbow in the sky and we do not know where it comes from, or why we can never seem to reach it, so we try and find a logical explanation for this apparent impossible thing. The answer is magic--fairies, gods, witches. Or perhaps we look at the catastrophe of a storm, look at the all-encompassing wreckage of our homes, and we need to find a reason why this could happen to us. This couldn't be an accident, it has to be by design, because if it happened for a reason, we can understand it; we can give ourselves, if only slightly, the illusion of control. We propitiate an angry god, or we find someone who we have decided isn't like us and blame them for it.

Because the thing is, as much as we are creatures of illogic, we are terrified of it. It becomes existential rather quickly--the idea that all of this is for nothing, for random accidents, that you or your community isn't special or noteworthy or safe? The idea that your pain is shapeless and your terror is aimed at nothing at all? That's hard to imagine, let alone to find comfort in. Gods give a shape to the suffering. The invention of them is one which lets us take the illogical thinking and turn it against illogical thinking. Yes, it is unreasonable. No, it doesn't make sense. It is emphatically unempirical and there will likely never be any concrete proof of any religion's magical thinking being definitively confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt as True.

But it isn't unscientific. It was borne out of the same reason as science, the desire to understand and comprehend. It went only in a different direction than scientific thought did.

The space between science and religion is the difference between what exists and what is real. We walk along paths of trying to understand the world around or within us, and the paths in between those two points is where magic can be found. Neither existing nor unreal.

#my writing #my essays #doesnt exist but is real

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the-music-maniac · 11 months

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I haven't watched that much of One Piece yet, so feel free to disagree with me on this analysis, but there's one thing about people's general interpretation of Sanji as a character that drives me a little nuts. And I'm saying this because even though I'm not very far along, I got spoiled for his backstory (because I refused to stop reading fanfiction even though when I first started I was like, on episode 3).

So before you continue, there are spoilers for Sanji's past.

I think people tend to ignore that the differences between Sanji's demeanor towards men vs towards women likely partially stem from severe trauma. I don't believe his actions are entirely intrinsic, its not like he was born acting like this - nor is it an unchanging immutable fact of his character, despite what a lot of people seem to believe.

And for some context on what prompted this - I'm a sanzo/zosan shipper, so I tend to crawl through the depths of the internet looking for fun little videos and fanarts, and one consistent protest I see with this ship is "Sanji DESPISES men and WORSHIPS women, there's literally no way he could EVER be attracted to men or want to date a man he HATES them."

Which bothers me outside of any arguments about Sanji's sexuality or even about any ships - which I will get to in a second - because that interpretation of Sanji assumes his actions are just there for no reason. Sanji hates men, therefore he hates all men with no exceptions, and he will always hate men. Sanji loves all women, therefore he will always worship every single woman he meets. I dunno, I think it's just a very surface level understanding of who he is, and relies on setting a rule for no reason and just sticking to it, as if it's just a mere quirk of his character with no backing to it.

Sanji's first interaction with any people, was in the form of his biological family, as is the case with most of us. Specifically, his father and brothers, who abused him and didn't even treat him like a person, and his mother and sister, who were the only people that treated him with kindness and saw his humanity. Tbh, he reminds me of the way women who have experienced trauma from men act - a general dislike/disdain and distrust for them (for good reason). And I don't doubt Sanji's overall elevation of women was only hammered home by the fact that his first ever father figure - arguably the first man who's treated him with kindness - teaching him the lesson to always respect women. His very illogical need to never fight women probably partially comes from the events in his life, and because it's not just a two dimensional arbitrary rule established for his character - there can be exceptions and growth.

We already know this, because despite Sanji's general disdain of men as a whole, he is capable of caring/loving men that he personally knows. He loves Zeff, and he loves his nakama - some of whom are MEN. Like, it's right there??? In the same way a woman who has experienced violence at the hands of a man probably still has family and friends or even a significant other that they love and care about that are men.

Like if you're using his demeanor towards the different genders as an "aha got you" argument for why Sanji couldn't possibly be queer, its not as strong of an argument as you think it is.

And if we're operating under the assumption that Sanji partially acts like this because of trauma, it brings up quite a few interesting arguments about his sexuality and potential romantic partners.

Which segways into sanzo/zosan, since admittedly I got into this entire debacle because I was looking into fanart (non-shippers feel free to click away now if you wish, I get that not everyone likes the ship, which is valid).

I don't think Sanji's actions means he couldn't be bisexual. Cause I'm bisexual, and you know what would make me very very keen to ignore all my attraction to one specific gender? If I had multiple instances of that gender hurt me severely. In fact I'm not so certain I don't experience that, because while I haven't had anything super bad happen to me, I hear about things in the news, about friends and family who have been harmed, interacted with men who have talked down to me, and I definitely went through a phase in my younger years where i just refused to consider men as a possibility for a romantic partner, because I was just so so angry. And I'm not saying Sanji doesn't like women in truth, because he absolutely does. He's both attracted to them and likes them. But that doesn't eliminate the possibility that he might also be attracted to men, or other non-binary genders. In fact the more he doth protest, and puts on a show when he sees a pretty woman, the more I'm sure he's in denial. Internalized homophobia can also be a bitch. Contrary to making me think Sanji is absolutely straight, the way he acts in the show actually puts me the opposite way.

I've heard Sanji also has an interesting relationship with gender and may be genderqueer but I don't know as many details about that yet, so I'll skip it for now. But regardless, I look at Sanji and go "I don't think this is a traditionally cishet character."

Of course, this is by far not the only interpretation you can have of Sanji. It could be that he's traumatized and also heterosexual. That's absolutely fine. But my overall point here is that I don't think what we see in canon negates the possibility that Sanji can be queer.

As to why I like Zosan in relation to this:

1. First, a relatively minor thing, I enjoy the sheer amount of bickering/fighting. People hold that up as a reason to not like the ship and I'm like, my dude that's one of the only reasons why I'm here. My love language is annoying the people you love and occasionally having homoerotic battles. duh.

2. Zoro is one of the aforementioned men that Sanji cares about, one of the exceptions to his "men are horrible" thing. Like they argue and fight a lot, sure, but you're not convincing me that they don't love each other. In whatever capacity - platonic or romantic - is up to your interpretation. Sanji loves all of his nakama, that's not really something I see as up for debate.

3. I honestly believe that until Sanji gets a less extreme viewpoint of the different genders - he won't be able to be in a healthy romantic relationship with a woman. For one thing, I know Sanji has self worth issues for days. For another thing, his hero worship for women as a whole - his refusal to fight women, even when they're actively trying to harm him - I don't see that translating well to a relationship. Moreover, I can see it being exhausting for the woman he ends up with, to always be treated like she's made of glass or agreed with, regardless of what she says.

Essentially, he wouldn't really treat that relationship as a partnership between equals, and I think when that happens, you run the risk of the individuals hurting each other, even on accident. Of course, we can also see this as a facet of his character with exceptions and possibility for personal growth. Maybe if he gets with a girl he'll grow and learn and still end up in a good relationship. You could also just interpret his demeanor as over the top flirting that he'll reign back in for an actual serious relationship. Sky's the limit when it comes to fandom interpretations.

But because of this, regardless, I just don't see any potential between the female characters I've met and Sanji. What I do see potential in, is Zoro. Here is actually a character Sanji not only trusts to watch his back, is on equal footing with, but is also unafraid to speak his mind and fight with. He doesn't walk on eggshells or worship the ground Zoro walks on, he has no qualms about defending himself if Zoro crosses a line. That is what a relationship can be built on.

4. Zoro has a contrasting way of interacting with women that I find super interesting. He comes off as the kind of character that doesn't actually care about the gender of the person he's fighting or interacting with - he cares about their ability. Which kinda explains his reactions when he hears Kuina's thoughts about being a girl - and I think Tashigi as well if I'm remembering correctly. There could be a clash of beliefs there that might be quite interesting. I know Zoro and Sanji do fight about how they talk to women, but I meant like something not just played off for laughs. Maybe there is something like that later in the show, who knows, I'm still early on.

5. Again the entire reason why I like enemies to lovers is the need for personal growth. I heard someone say that Zoro would be fine with being in love with a boy if it wasn't Sanji, and Sanji would be fine with being in love with Zoro if he wasn't a boy, and man do I think that's accurate. And here's the crux of the matter - in order for them to get together, they need to get over their hang-ups. Sanji needs to unpack the ten million tons of trauma he keeps repressed under his curly noggin, and Zoro needs to figure out why Sanji rubs him the wrong way. That shit is INTERESTING. People forget that the reason why this trope is so popular is BECAUSE it's a fixer upper - there's work to do. Nothing is perfect. It may even be a little toxic. That's the appeal.

Anyways this is getting TOO LONG. Thanks for reading!

#sanji blackleg; trauma; and his relationship to men and women: an essay #one piece #sanji blackleg #analysis #roronoa zoro #sanzo #zosan #sanji x zoro #zoro x sanji #bisexual sanji blackleg #potentially genderqueer sanji blackleg #zoro and sanji's differing interactions with women are just quite interesting #i headcanon zoro as gay cause that man has never shown interest in a woman from what I've seen so far

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lovemyromance · 18 days

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I like how Elriels don't have to read 30 other SJM (and non-SJM) books to understand the connection Elain has with Azriel. It's on the page, in black and white. There's no twisting of words or reached for foreshadowing or claims of extrapolation going on. We use current canon moments that already prove Elain & Azriel are into each other.

Anti-Elriels, on the other hand, are out here doing the MOST to both disprove Elriel moments and trying to tie together any two random theories in an effort to point to some scrap of "evidence" in favor of their ship.

For example, Elriels often point to the TT & Hybern rescue in ACOWAR to show how Azriel cares for Elain. Even more explicitly stated, in his own POV VC, Azriel is ready to get on his knees for a taste of Miss Elain Archeron.

That is explicitly stated. In the text. The logical reaction would be....to believe what is printed on the page LOL???

Antis will see that moment-read it-process it- and then immediately add on a "Well-but actually".

Meaning, they'll say something like

"Well he might've offered her Truthteller... but actually Cassian offered her a knife too."

"Well he might've saved her from Hybern - but actually Cassian said they'll save Elain first"

"Well, he might've been begging on his knees to try to taste Elain - but actually it's just lust."

Every single Elriel moment they've had some kind of defense for. Everything has to be disproven ... in order to pave the way for their ship.

They are out here trying to disprove explicitly stated moments in the text... while at the same time turning around and saying stuff like:

"Elain asked for sunlight... she asked for Lucien... because Lucien's name means light and he's the heir to the Day Court."

"Something sparked in Azriel's chest... he and Gwyn are mates."

Like how are they out here saying the most - despite having zero things explicitly stated in the text. Y'all are relying on THEORIES while trying to disprove ACTUAL Elriel moments.

Like I'm sorry, but it's a little ridiculous. That's like if I saw "Elain & Lucien are mates" and said

"No actually they're not because Lucien just wants a mate. He thought Jessiminda was his mate and he loved her for so long that now that he has an actual mate he doesn't actually love Elain he really just wants a mate."

"No actually they're not mates bc azriel let out a cry before Elain got dunked in the cauldron - therefore he was crying out for her clearly. And so Lucien & Elain aren't real mates"

Or when "Lucien is compared to flames and Vassa is a firebird so he can't be with Elain because clearly like calls to like so..."

I was gonna include more Gwynriel & Elucien positive, could be romantic (if you squint and forget all you know about romance) moments but they literally don't HAVE any

Like I could sit here and make so many illogical arguments to act like what's canon isn't canon.

But I don't have to. Because Elriel has actual moments together that confirm their growing feelings for each other. The BC gives us an added layer of conflict and forbidden love trope. The talk of rejected mates in the books is foreshadowing that we might explore that plotline as well. The setup is all there, and people are just refusing to see it at this point.

#elriel #acotar #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #pro elain #elain #antielucien #antigwynriel #pro elriel

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thalialunacy · 3 months

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[Written for the @calaisreno May Prompt Prom. We are in the homestretch, people. It's like… plot (?) from here on in.]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) 27: jealousy (28) (29) (30) (31)

In his memory, John's mum had had a thousand words for rain. In reality, it was probably more like… twelve, but he never bothered sorting them. Or learning more about them.

He squints up at the overcast sky while Sherlock locks the front door behind them. 'My mum would call this "cloudybright." The kind that makes you want sunglasses despite not being able to see even a sliver of the sun.'

Sherlock raises his arm for a cab. 'That's actually just because--'

'Nope,' John interrupts swiftly, shaking his head. 'Don't want to know.'

Sherlock stares at him.

'Sentiment,' he says with a shrug. Then he climbs into the cab.

---

He's been standing behind Sherlock, who is crouched down examining part of a body, when someone approaches on his left. 'Brolly?' a feminine voice says.

John glances at the umbrella, then at the admittedly curvy and bright uniformed offerer, then at the sky, which has indeed started emitting moisture. 'Huh, I hadn't noticed.'

She shrugs. 'To be fair, it's not actually raining.'

'No, sure, it's more like aggressively misting.'

She laughs, her nose wrinkling. 'That sounds unpleasant.'

'Yes, well, I have been told it ruins a person's hair,' he says with a grin, thinking of Sherlock whinging about the subject several weeks prior.

Then Sherlock stands abruptly. 'We're done here,' he says, not looking at John before stepping away.

John nods briefly at the umbrella-bearer. 'Thanks anyway.'

'Sure,' she says with a high-wattage smile.

John catches up with Sherlock quickly. 'Cab?'

'I'd rather walk,' Sherlock says shortly.

They walk for several blocks, Sherlock's temper darkening along with the skies. As the aggressive mist turns into actual sprinkles, John's heart twists a little as he clocks what's going on.

He girds his loins and dives in. 'We agreed that I'd never be able to have any secrets while being involved with the cleverest man in all of Britain, didn't we?'

Sherlock doesn't answer for a moment, and John tries not to let it frustrate him. When the detective does speak, his voice is quiet, with anger but also with what John can only identify as shame. 'We did.'

'Then what is it?'

'You barely noticed her interest.'

'I would think that'd be good?'

'If it weren't because it's so common of an occurrence that you're practically inured to it.'

'Am I?'

'She wrinkled her nose at you.'

'Huh. And?'

'And I've heard that's supposed to be appealing.'

John considers this. 'It's certainly cute when Rosie does it.'

'Don't be obtuse.''

'Sherlock.' John hooks three fingers into one of the Belstaff's pockets, thus arresting Sherlock's movement.

The sprinkling has become soft rain, tepid drops on John's forehead, but he ignores it. They're in the middle of a deserted footpath, so John steps closer and folds his left hand around Sherlock's right palm. He's honestly not sure what to say, and while he's considering his options, Sherlock speaks first.

'I do not enjoy this feeling, John.'

'I know.'

'I never have.'

'I know.'

'It's illogical and unreasonable, which is very annoying.'

John's lips twitch. 'Yeah, I know.'

'I expected it to lessen once I knew what it was, but it didn't. I expected it to lessen once you and I were--' He pauses. 'Once I was assured of your feelings for me.'

'And are you?'

'Am I assured?'

'Yes.'

A ghost of a smile tips one side of Sherlock's mouth up. 'Frequently and soundly, thus far.'

John huffs out a laugh, trying not to let himself feel relieved just yet. 'You can't be too cross with me if you're making rude jokes.'

'I'm not cross with you at all.'

John raises an eyebrow.

Sherlock sighs. 'Must I say it out loud?'

And John understands his reticence, very much so, but they've been intentional about eschewing the Keep Calm & Stuff Down All Emotions bit, despite it being exhausting and really sodding embarrassing. 'Either right now or in therapy next week, yeah. But I'd prefer right now.'

Sherlock scowls, but there's not much heat behind it. 'I take back what I said about not being cross with you.'

John tips up and presses their lips together briefly. 'No you don't.'

Sherlock's free hand touches John's jaw for a moment. 'No, I don't.' He makes a disgusted sound. 'I know it's not to do with you, really.'

'Maybe that's why all the advice is to look inward, instead of trying to find a problem within the relationship.'

'"Look inward"? Have you been dipping into the self-help books?'

John shrugs. 'Maybe. Maybe I want to fix this so you don't feel like hell every time a woman smiles at me.'

'Annoyed?'

'A little.'

'I see.'

'Annoyed mostly that you don't even notice when people smile at you.'

'That's because I'm not interested.'

'Neither,' John says firmly, gripping Sherlock's hand and looking him hard in the eye, 'am I.'

'I know that. But--' Sherlock makes a frustrated noise and tugs on his wet hair. 'Sentiment.'

The rain has started coming down in earnest. John doesn't care. 'Alright, then,' he says brusquely. 'Worst case scenario, please.'

Sherlock stares at him. A drop of rainwater wanders off the tip of his nose. 'Are you quite serious?'

'Yep,' John answers, popping his P on purpose. 'Worst case scenario, go.'

'That you'll do something idiotic, like find a woman you think better suits, and leave.'

John nods, feeling the rain sneak under his collar. 'And to be fair, I have done.'

'Yes,' Sherlock grinds between his teeth. 'I am aware.'

'So your instinct to fight or flee is rooted in reality.'

'Are you trying to make this worse?'

'No, because I'm not a dick.'

'You're certainly acting like one.'

'So are you! Can't you ever just bloody listen for once?'

'If you were saying something worthwhile.'

'Oh, we've reached that point in the row, have we?'

Sherlock's mobile rings.

He retrieves it and answers it on speakerphone without looking away from John. His lashes are spiked together with raindrops. 'What.' It's definitely not a question.

Lestrade skips the pleasantries as well. 'We've got a live one.'

Sherlock's head snaps up quickly enough to shake some droplets into John's face. 'Beg pardon?'

'Your suspect just showed up half-dead,' the DI explains. 'And I think you'd agree that he's not clever enough to be faking a broken jaw.'

'It's unlikely. We'll be there as soon as we can.'

Sherlock hangs up and strides away, somehow making puddle-splashing look good.

'We are not done with this conversation,' John calls as he starts after him.

'Yes, we are,' Sherlock says carelessly over his shoulder.

John is glad for the rain cooling his face, which he's sure is red with anger. He sucks in several deep breaths, unclenches his fists, and goes to catch up with his detective.

[ <3 ]

#It's gonna be MAY 2024 #BBC Sherlock #feelings are the worst #may prompts 2024 #MayPrompts2024

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showmey0urfangs · 3 months

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Now that the season is almost over, what is your opinion about the first 6 episodes?

Hi Anon! Well, if I'm being honest, the overall season was a massive letdown for me, though there were a lot of moments and scenes that I absolutely adored.

I know it's very frowned upon to express criticism and negative opinions on main, especially for a show like IWTV that so many people—myself included—are super passionate about. So I try to limit my scathing criticisms to my spaces and to priv discord servers. 😂

But to give you the short gist of it, I just felt that the writing this season was not as polished as it could have been. A lot of the characterization felt off, especially for Louis and Claudia (which I already detailed in another post). The characters' motivations don't make sense either, and it just felt like they were doing things because the plot needed it to happen. The twists and reveals fall flat because they are not properly set up and so they feel illogical and unearned.

A good example of that is Armand's "betrayal" at the end of ep 6. Because of the changes that were made to Louis and Claudia's relationship this season, it makes little to no sense why Armand would see her as a threat in any way. Other than her brief outburst in ep 4, Claudia never expresses any reticence to Louis and Armand's relationship, quite the opposite (i.e. the blood fat cocks convo in ep2). She simply dgaf and her issues with Louis have more to do with him being an asshole than with "choosing" Armand.

We also see Louis express many times (either directly or through Dreamstat) that he views Claudia as a burden. Their relationship had grown very strained and distant and as of ep 6, she no longer holds much of a place in his life, certainly not enough for Armand to see her as competition for Louis' affection. She was already out of Louis' life and getting ready to head out of town, presumably for good. So why would Armand want to "get rid of her" and why now?

Also, because they cut back a lot on the significance of Loumand's relationship, the dramatic reactions feel contrived and, again, unearned. They are not in love, they never shared any special or meaningful connection at any point. They were both simply using and manipulating each other for their own ends. So the "betrayal" is not so much a betrayal but rather Armand finally giving up on this dude who's kept him dangling for five years, giving him crumbs of affection and absolutely no love, respect or compassion. So of course, Armand would choose the coven he's known for 200+ years.

Overall it just felt like the writers couldn't figure out a good balance between making the story exciting and surprising to book readers, while also sticking to the same story beats as the book.

But to end on a positive note, every other aspect of the show was phenomenal; the acting, the set design, the costumes, the music. And I'd say it was still worth watching, if only for episode 5. It was my absolute favourite of the season. It felt like a return to form after the unevenness of the first half and you understand why once you know that it was the first thing they shot, before the strikes ground production to a halt. The writing in that ep was top tier and it gave me the same tingles that the S1 Pilot did, where I was like holy shit, how is this show real!? But unfortunately, things fall off again after that, which is really disappointing.

I'm really curious to see what the overall fandom consensus will be once the entire season has aired and we've all had time to digest it and reflect on it. But for me, this season suffered from the same infamous sophomore slump most tv shows do; it just wasn't able to live up the the first one.

#I expect I'll be getting neanderthals in my inbox yelling at me for this post but it's how I feel so...🤷🏾‍♀️#fl❀'s asks #interview with the vampire #iwtv #iwtv season 2 #amc iwtv

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yolowritter · 4 months

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In Defense of Chloe Bourgeois Part 1: Who is Chloe?

Well...shit, here we go again! Hello there everyone, welcome back to the source of my endless exasperation! Before any of you pick a side to the argument, I want to make it perfectly clear that this isn't a post about whether or not Chloe should have had a redemption arc. This is not my point, and any argument for either side have been repeated so many times by now that I can recite most by memory. So, let's begin by establishing why exactly I'm even writing this post!

Chloe Bourgeois is one of my favorite characters in Miraculous Ladybug. The...the fanon version, obviously. Canon can go keel over in an alleyway, it already has more holes in it than the average swiss cheese. I've been a part of this fandom for a good few years now, and at the time of watching Miracle Queen was understandably upset at the...direction, that her character was taken. It left a sour taste in my mouth because I honestly didn't see it coming, but I'll get more into that later. Point is, I was once a defender of Chloe's redemption arc. I am not stating if I am or not still one of those at present, because that's not what the point is. Regardless of what side of the fence you're on, we can all agree that her character was horribly mismanaged in the latter half of this show. Erratic, extreme and oftentimes illogical choices that sound stupider than Lila's average gaslighting scheme, and a character who previously had an arc going for her now being defined only by the sheer inconsistency that writhes every moment she's on-screen. I'll be honest, I no longer particularly care if Chloe "should" have been redeemed or not, because either avenue could have allowed for some brilliant (or at the very least pretty decent) storytelling.

This defense strives not to strip anyone of their arguments, nor to challenge anyone's headcanons, or make a point about what the "correct" way to handle Chloe's character should have been. Again, I lost interest in the debate a long time ago. I'm simply here to examine who Chloe is as a person, what drives her, what her life experiences have been like, and where all this could logically lead from both a writing and human perspective. I care about Chloe as a person, and about a character who if nothing else, at least acts consistently, in a way where the audience can watch them and understand why they're acting like this. I'll be trying to give context to some of her actions and fill in as many plot holes as I can, as well as giving a glimpse as to how a possible Redemption or Corruption Arc could have gone. So without any further ado, let's dive right in!

Firstly, let's start by laying out some common ground. After the Gabriel Agreste post, I think it's necessary to establish some clear lines as to what exactly we're talking about here. So before anything else, let's look at what we learn about Chloe in Season 1, yeah? Without going episode-by-episode, we generally don't get a good impression of her. Chloe is clearly spoiled by her father, used to always getting her way, and has no problem pressuring others into making that happen. She treats her classmates more like annoyances if not outright minions (Sabrina and on occasion Kim), has little consideration for other people's feelings, and likes appearing superior to everyone else. A pretty bad start, all things considered. She bosses Sabrina around, and we're explicitly told that Chloe often bribes her with her second-hand stuff, or whatever she wants to get rid of. Sabrina clearly doesn't know how to stand up for herself, and Chloe seems perfectly willing to take advantage of her doormat status. She also has the roots for a sweet sweet superiority complex firmly planted, considering how she rejects and humiliates Kim when he tries to confess his love to her. I'll be damned if I ever understand such bad taste, considering how Chloe is generally disliked by the rest of the class, but the point stands. She could have just told him no, even rudely if need be, and left it at that. Instead, she actively chose to humiliate the poor guy. Something similar happened with Nathaniel, whose feelings about Marinette she made public to everyone else for what seems to be entertainment value.

All in all, Season 1 Chloe has all the stereotypical makings of a popular girl from a 2010s American high school movie, including the narcissism, bullying, strong-arming school staff into not punishing these behaviors, inflated ego, and the complimentary minion! Except...Chloe isn't popular. With anyone, actually. Most of the class dislikes and barely puts up with her on a good day. They don't laugh along or jeer at whomever she's giving trouble to. Instead we have several instances where people actively try to either push the teachers into doing something or remove her from a situation where Chloe is causing problems. Think about the filming scenes in Horrificator for example. Chloe is acting like her usual self again, and refuses to allow Marinette to be the lead actress because she'll get to kiss Adrien. A tragedy, I know! Therefore, there's a whole plot to get her out of the room long enough for the scene to happen. People actively consider her at the very least a pain in the rear, and probably someone they just don't even want to talk to.

Obviously this isn't an excuse for anything she does. My point here is that from the perspective of the narrative, even while acting the part of a "Queen B", Chloe reaps none of the benefits, and in fact only serves to make people dislike her more with every episode that passes by. Even Adrien, who I'll circle back to in a second, her childhood friend who has a good opinion of her when he first comes to school, eventually stops trying to defend Chloe's behavior. There are, I think, a lot of reasons as to why she acts this way. Precisely none of them are an excuse or a "get out of jail" free card. Chloe still chooses to behave the way she does, regardless of the motivations.

About Adrien, we know that he and Chloe have known each other for a long while now. She was quite possibly his singular friend during his otherwise relatively isolating childhood, and she's very clearly attached to him. Chloe constantly clings to Adrien and drapes herself over him, and while he seems to find it annoying, there's still never a sense of disgust like with Lila in later Seasons. She's being suffocating, but there is never a connotation of romance here. Still, Chloe does everything she can to keep Adrien close to her, and (in Origins) "teach him how things are" in school. She's the one who got him signed up as a student in the first place, mind you, so she very clearly wants him to be around her. And while Chloe does brag about him being a famous model, she could just...do that without ever actually bringing Adrien out of the house? Clearly that's not the reason why she went through all the trouble to actually get him in the class, because bragging about it would probably go worse if she did it in front of him, or in an environment where Adrien could easily hear about and react to it. Chloe is very possessive of her "best friend" (and only friend, discounting Sabrina), and constantly belittles Marinette for trying to get close to him. Mind you, she doesn't find out about her feelings for Adrien until Season 3 I think. We never see Nino get bullied for befriending him, so what gives?

I'll talk about reasoning later down the line. For now, let's move onto Season 2. Amidst the beginnings of Ladybug handing out Miraculous jewels like candy to her best pals, seriously Season 4 overdid it, Chloe also exists. And during Despair Bear, Adrien finally puts his foot down about her behavior. He tells her that he can't be friends with someone who acts like a bully, and Chloe is genuinely hurt by this, to the point where she does her best to put on a good show and convince Adrien that is capable of not being an ass. Which is actually the case, believe it or not. She holds back the snides, does her best to make casual conversation with the people she considers to be inferior to her (I'll get to that, don't worry), and makes a real effort to keep at it for the sake of their friendship. The reason why she blows up here is made very obvious by the episode itself. Chloe is in unfamiliar territory and clearly reining herself in a lot, which Despair Bear pokes fun of in several back-to-back scenes. She doesn't want to do this, clearly has mutual dislike for the people she's forced to put up with every day and has made up her mind about a long time ago, for the sake of the one person she considers a genuine friend. And mind you, Chloe never uses Adrien for something. She brags about his job in Origins, and preens about their friendship often, but she never takes advantage of him like she does Sabrina. I will get to their toxic friendship in a minute, don't worry, but Chloe chooses not to try doing this with him. Adrien is...oblivious, to put it nicely, and she could easily try and play around that to serve her own goals, but she doesn't. Keep this in mind.

Anyway, she blows up because Armand (also c'mon, if you wanted to make the joke that Chloe doesn't know her butler's name, Jean "insert today's last name" was more than enough, Thomas) keeps lugging her teddy bear and playing pretend with her in a room full of people. I'm sorry, but that may be the most relatable Chloe moment in the whole show. Are you kidding me??? Of course she'd be embarrassed by this! I mean sure, her reaction to the situation is wrong, she shouldn't have screamed at him or threatened the man's job, but Chloe has serious anger management issues. That is obvious, because she acts like this every single day! Why would Armand do this??? She's already way out of her comfort zone by even hosting the party in the first place, surely there's easier ways of reminding Chloe not to be a bitch? Just tap her on the shoulder and say "miss, remember Adrien?" because that's the whole reason this is happening! The teddy bear is completely unecessary! Especially the voice acting! It made me laugh so hard when I first watched that episode but can you blame Chloe for being pissed? Again, she reacted poorly because her self control is comparable to Plagg's when there's camambert in his field of vision! So yeah, it's wrong to scream people's ears off like that, but she was also upset. And she's fourteen mind you!

Anyway, my actual point about Season 2 is that we get to see Chloe's character development. Thank Nooroo, finally a proper arc in this damn show! And we also get to see her family life. Side note, Andre Bourgeois is a spineless coward who I'll be bashing momentarily. But Chloe's mother is horrible! Audrey Bourgeois is blatantly neglectful, if not abusive to her daughter! She treats Chloe the same way Chloe treats everyone else! As disposable, expendable things that don't "deserve" her attention because they're not good enough. Like, if this doesn't give a six year old some hefty trauma along with an inferiority complex, what will??? And the situation becomes even worse as Chloe becomes incresingly desperate during Style Queen, trying again and again to please Audrey by copying her behavior (which she's been doing this whole time) even more intensly, and acting like the entitled, self-absorbed narcissist that her mother is! And this is where we see exactly why Chloe does what she does! Again, none of this excuses her actions, but it does help us understand the behavior. Audrey constantly puts Chloe down and belittles her the same way she does to Marinette...only to later pick the kid that Chloe is jealous of (I will explain this in a second!) to come with her to New York, where Audrey had presumably yeeted herself off to years ago and never bothered to come visit! We already know that she pressured her husband into giving up his love for film to stay with her, maybe even during her pregnancy or after Chloe's birth. Only to promptly vanish and leave him (a person who never grew a spine or managed to stand up to what is undoubtebly a toxic relationship) with her miniature copy. It's obvious that Chloe's barely ever seen Audrey, but she idolizes the woman because that's her mother! Heck, Adrien idolizes Emilie even if she was arguably not a great person (see here) and Chloe is always kicked to the curb for just doing the same!

Audrey is a horrible person and an even worse role model, but when you're five years old and she disappears from your life, is it any wonder that there's a steaming hot pile of mommy issues here? If Chloe has been told by Audrey from the moment she was old enough to understand words that she isn't "exceptional" enough to "deserve" her time, then isn't it obvious why Andre tries and fails to make up for this by always coddling his daughter and giving in to her every whim? He's trying to please her and give Chloe a sense of self-importance that Audrey made near-impossible to develop, and also makes up for his own absence by basically bribing his own child! Not that Andre is innocent in this! If anything, he's even more at fault than Audrey! Because while she flew off into the sunset to fire her twenty-seventh unpaid intern of the week, he was still in Paris with Chloe! Who grew up with him, mind you! And sure, he got elected into office and had a busy job as a single parent! You know what else he did? Crime! Almost everything he does in this damn show is completely illegal! Bribery, blackmail, undue termination of Roger's position as a police officer, who Andre doesn't even have juristiction over mind you (because Paris had the National Police until like 2021-ish if I recall correctly), he's just a corrupt, scummy politian whose ideas (see Megaleech) are harmful to the people he's supposed to be serving and outright motivated by greed! And also, we are explicitly told that he taught Chloe to do these same things! Andre Bourgeois is a total idiot who's probably been committing tax evasion for all we know, and Audrey is a self-absorbed diva who bullies her own child constantly, when she even bothers to go see her! Which is never, unless she needs to be in Paris for some other event related to her job!

Thomas, what the heck do you mean Chloe is evil? Lila is an accomplice to a domestic terrorist, and a psychopath against whom the only protection is the show's PG rating! If Lila could, she'd burn Marinette's house down for shits and giggles my good man! Audrey is everything I just mentioned, Andrey is a corrupt, spineless politician, Tomoe physically abuses her daughter with fucking katanas on the daily, Gabriel Agreste is that domestic terrorist who almost fired every nuclear warhear in the USA by the way! Because that was stupid of the NYC special to do! But he still did it! Plus the genocide in Shanghai! Accident or not, Hawkmoth is still responsible! And later on he also put his son in a room! A rubber room! Thankfully there weren't any rats, as if he needs another OSHA violation! Are you people insane when you say "I don't know why Chloe acts like this"? Have you lost your marbles??? Do you want me to have an aneurysm? Of course a child is going to act the way Chloe does if this is the shit she's been dealing with since Day 0 of her life! Does that make it okay? Absolutely not! But does it mean that she deserved what happened to her canonically? Also no! I'll talk about how the corruption arc could have worked at the end, because they tried and failed to do that, so let's circle back to the "jealous of Marinette" thing from a minute ago, kay?

Note: We're doing this in part 2 because this is closing in on 3k words already. The whole rant is done, no you don't want to know how long it is, I'm just splitting it because nobody will ever read 7.5k words worth of anything on Tumblr dot com.

< next post >

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possiblyunhinged · 2 months

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Tommy Robinson and his ilk centring ‘women’s safety’ as part of their anti-immigration rhetoric is not only idiotic but also illogical.

I understand that men are disenfranchised. Despite a lifetime of navigating the behaviour of men, both strangers and men I know, I can still empathise with the reality that working-class men in this country have been abandoned. I'm not sure when they weren't, frankly. But in a tale as old as time, they are being told it’s immigrants to blame for that. Not billionaires. Not politicians. Immigrants.

Now... where have we heard this before in history? Hmm, if only we had a reference to this slippery slope.

Every single attack on women that makes the news seems to be a platform for them to blame immigration and fuel the notion of ‘this is what’s coming; this is what we’ve voted for.’ It doesn’t matter who the offender is; it will be assumed by these individuals that they are asylum seekers.

So, white British men aren’t predators? Or are they allowed to assault us because we’re ‘theirs’? Perhaps rape isn’t objectively bad; it’s actually subjective based on the colour of someone’s skin? When the head of the MET stated that violence against women and girls is an epidemic that should be treated with the same severity as terrorism, did he include white British men in that?

I’d like to point out that the individuals who suckle Tommy Robinson's singular brain cell also believe they are the ones who follow logic and facts. It’s quite remarkable, really, that level of delusion.

I am one of the many women who have experienced sexual violence.

I grew up in a domestic violence household. I was first groped by a stranger on a train when I was a pre-teen by a man who looked like he could be somebody’s dad. The vast majority of women in my life have a story to tell, often laced with tactics to cope with the actions that were done to them against their will. We live in a country that sees itself as ‘civilized’ and an arbiter of morality while essentially decriminalizing rape.

All the men I’ve had these experiences with were white, British men. How do I know that? Because I knew them. A large portion of sexual violence cases are committed by people the victim knows, not some bogeyman lurking in dark alleyways—men that victims know.

I was assaulted by a country pumpkin, skateboarding, floppy-haired boy who everybody thought was the nicest man on earth. Again, it is a far cry from the stereotype that the likes of Tommy Robinson paint of violent misogynists. But alas, what do I expect from men who describe British women as ‘ours’?

Move over, Simone de Beauvoir. The true feminists are in town, waving little St. George’s flags and drinking tinnies.

My white British dad was a 6’5” rugby player from Stoke who was ‘one of the boys,’ and people in his life thought he was soft as butter. He was physically violent to my mum. He completely decimated my and my brother’s right to just be children.

Two of my friends from university were raped by the same boy, who also raped other girls in our halls of residence. They managed to get the case to court, but eventually, all of them dropped out because everybody, including the police, was quick to say they were ruining the life of a white British boy with the whole world at his feet. They said it would be better just to get a restraining order—well, better for him, at least.

Would Tommy Robinson, Laurence Fox, and others feel outraged at that? Or is it different, violence towards women, if it’s from our country? Our women? Or are they doing what they accuse the left of—ignoring reality because if they were to acknowledge the complexities of the issue, it wouldn’t quite make for a hit tweet for people whose frontal lobes are made of butter?

I mean, one would imagine Robinson and co would be deeply outraged that a misogynist like Donald Trump could acquire the most powerful political position in the world once more... you know, being that they are so into women's rights and that.

This scapegoating of immigrants in a country built on immigration and, frankly, exploitation is beyond the realm of idiocy—it’s illogical. If you want to talk about the cover-ups in Rochdale, then you should also talk about the police officers who are sex offenders and are still allowed to work. You should talk about the rapists in the commons. You should talk about the systemic protection of predators in industries across the UK. You should talk about the girls in schools who are experiencing a rise in misogyny, which is being flagged by teacher's unions.

It's weird... they never mention women's rights outside of their race-baiting antics...

If they truly cared about violence against women, they’d at least acknowledge the scale of the issue and realize that misogyny is as embedded in ‘British culture’ as it is in any culture around the world. Yet again, the thin veneer of civility in this country means nothing when rapists face no consequences via the law or otherwise.

If this sounds mean-spirited, it’s because it is. I am sick to my back teeth of hearing and reading about men who perceive themselves as virtuous, failing to grasp basic points, and having vast platforms afforded to them. Meanwhile, misogyny is on the rise again. Who do people credit for this? The likes of Tommy Robinson, Andrew Tate, and others who have targeted disenfranchised, vulnerable men and directed their rage towards women and minorities.

I am an idiot, and I have had farts that speak more sense than Tommy Robinson.

#tommy robinson #laurence fox #misogny #violence against women #british politics #uk politics #im going to fucking scream

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gayofthefae · 8 months

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There's a certain way about the way the character description of Mike says he's never like a girl before like Will. The solidarity of their characters from the beginning of their relationship, mutual understanding. And the phrasing "you're destroying everything and for what? so you can swap spit with some stupid girl?" The incredulousness of it. The offense taken. Almost a subtext of "I thought we were on the same page about this, like everything. I wasn't leaving for a girl and you weren't leaving me behind in that." Not even to be together, just to say "Lucas and Dustin will like girls, will date girls, and I'll be happy for them. That was always the plan. And we would be happy for them together. And we would sit back and be us. And now you're leaving me too."

And that's why everything Mike says hurts so much. Not because he means it bad. "It's not my fault you don't like girls" doesn't hurt because he believes Mike is homophobic, it hurts because it isolates him. You don't. Unlike me. Feelings aside, this is one of the first things they haven't done together. To quote Nancy this season, as the "Bylers" always parallel each other, "Maybe we just don't understand each other anymore." Mike says "It's not my fault I moved on and you didn't". Then he says "What did you think, really?" And that, talking about it like it was always inevitable, is what hurts too. Will didn't think they were gonna play games in Mike's basement for the rest of their lives. He repeats it because it's a fun idea if really accessible, but Mike was the one to say that the first time. He spits "I really did" back at him. In a way, "How dare you not." Will standing his ground is him saying "I'm not the stupid one here. I didn't think we were never gonna grow up. But sorry for thinking that as we grew up you wouldn't leave me behind."

Mike and Will were the last two to not like girls. That's what that fight is about. Will hadn't been truly alone in that way since he was five because of Mike. And because of that order, Mike was the only one with the capacity to leave him alone in this. But for years, he didn't. And the natural assumption would be that he wouldn't. Not even because he assumed Mike way gay, just because...it's almost a values thing. Like "I thought we were on the same page about this". Like maybe Mike would like a girl. But he would stay. That instinctive trust that you don't really think through hard enough to put into words that might sound a little illogical if said out loud in the way that Mike throws them back at him. But like Will retorted, "Well, I'm sorry for trusting you." And I'm sure it hurt, too, to watch Mike and Lucas bond like this over having girlfriends. And then Dustin had one too and he was happy for him. He didn't seem to mind too much, even when Mike was late to their movies, he didn't say a thing. Because Mike was still showing up. But then Mike and Lucas formed their own little alliance of "guys with girlfriends" and forgot about him. Not just leaving Will behind in their solidarity but finding someone new to share it with. Of course Lucas is their friend but to form this new duo without Will - it hurts.

That fight wasn't just about Mike leaving Will for El when he had feelings for him. It was about Mike leaving him behind. For a girl. It was about an unspoken promise being broken. And Mike making Will doubt that it was ever even there. Making him feel "Stupid. So stupid" for ever believing it was.

And that's why the resolution is good too, as simple as it may have been. Because "What if you wanna join a new party?" is Mike saying "I don't wanna let go of you", and Will saying "not possible" is him promising "I didn't let go when I thought you did". And season 3 is important, too, in how Mike takes that adjustment to "El is now a part of our party" instead of "I'm leaving you for El".

#byler #byler fight #will byers #stranger things #byler subtext #subtext #textual analysis

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sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee · 11 months

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For Riddlers

He's giving a present to S/O and they're like "But I didn't do anything to deserve it." They have a mindset that any type of present or affection for them comes from being useful.

You're doing great with requests!

"Deserving" Riddler party x Reader

Ahhh thank you! I hope I'm still doing okay with requests given everything, hahah. I've definitely noticed a drop in note numbers but I guess it's to be expected now I'm not posting as much. As long as someone is enjoying it, right?

TW: implications of emotional abuse

Gotham

Oh no. He understands that a little too well. We don't know much about Gotham Edward's history, but personally I like to think there's a reason we don't know much about his past. He doesn't speak of it. There are no fond hallmark movie moments he can reminisce on in conversation.

He'll want to just talk about it. Perhaps even talk about his own childhood while he's at it. Why he's worked so hard for recognition and then felt so angry and disappointed that everyone merely saw him as a freak. Doesn't he DESERVE good things? He uses it as framework to show how either side of the argument is illogical and toxic.

You don't need to earn good things. Not from him, not from anybody.

60s

Why would you need to do anything to deserve a gift? How is he supposed to shower you with gifts and jewelry and affection if you need to earn it first? Because he's going to keep doing those things whether you think you "deserve" them or not. Really, it'll become a point of pride for him to slowly break that down over time.

You ask what you've done to deserve it, he tells you he looked at your eyes and thought of how beautiful the color was. Your laugh left him tickled. You woke up that morning, you are alive and you are his person. That's the only reason he needs.

BTAS

This is merely an excuse to up the ante. If you don't deserve such things, then why does he keep doing it? Why is he so delightfully infatuated with showing you his adoration when you're not being useful? Perhaps it's because you don't need to do anything at all for him to want to do good things for you. To give you things he wants you to have.

He'll ask you quite plainly if you only give him things or love him when you think he's deserved it. You don't, correct? Then think about it logically. Why should you have to be useful? He wishes you could see the person he sees.

Zero Year

Does not compute. Once you explain it to him, he understands it logically, but not emotionally. For some people, childhood events that can make one person feel they don't deserve things unless they are useful can turn hard the other way. Edward deserves the world. He's intelligent, he's handsome, and certainly he's charming.

So why would you, in the excellence he's deemed for you, feel undeserving? Does he need to wax poetical about you? Tell you of the celestial pedestal he's brought you up upon to look down on the other mortals? You deserve things because you are deserving of everything. Let him show you all the things he can lay at your feet...

Arkham

Don't be absurd, just take the damn thing. If he's giving it you, you deserve it. There was likely a brief point in his life where he felt something similar- Mostly in him trying to impress someone who refused to be impressed (his father). Going so far as to cheat to get his father to acknowledge his brilliance, which only failed. It fizzled away and turned to needing and deserving it all simply for being himself.

He thinks of it as a weakness of yours. Not... trying to be mean or intentionally callous about it, yet it can certainly come off that way. He'll get annoyed if you try to wave off gifts from him or affection because you don't "deserve" it. No, now he's even more determined that you need to have this. And you'll thank him. And he doesn't want to hear you ask that question again.

Telltale

You don't want it? He'll gauge your reaction. If you truly don't want it, you don't have to accept it. He sees that flicker in you, that hesitation that says of course you do but...

"Then I suppose you'll have to accept it or I'll be insulted." And places it directly into your hands.

He is going to trick your self-conscious brain into taking this gift and feeling you deserve it. He won't harp too much on him being upset or mad or anything to make you feel BAD- but he'll use little talk arounds to convincing you to take it. Look, it's yours, so obviously you didn't need to do anything to receive. So thank him with a kiss and think nothing of it.

2022/Nashton

Similar to Gotham, he understands far too well what this feeling is like. Just slightly different reasons. It's practically the entire reason so much of his lifeline was hanging on the renewal project and wanting to be involved in it. If he could be useful and pull himself from the muck....! They'd love him. They'd all have reason to love him.

Seeing that same unhealthy trait in you- Well it's different. It's different when it's you! He'll tell you this while also being the exact same way. If he is in some kind of therapy/is on the mend, he might recognize this pattern. Not only that, he'll take the steps that BOTH of you need to improve that line of thinking.

Little gentle reminders if you say something, "ah, ah! We don't need to be useful to be given nice things and love." When you do the same back, it'll make him soft and gooey. You'll both get better about it, you have each other.

#gotham riddler #60s riddler #btas riddler #2022 riddler #telltale riddler #arkham riddler #zero year riddler #foxwriting

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wishitweresummer · 1 year

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Now How Do You Want It (Dream x GeorgeNotFound x Sapnap)

Word count: 5363

Warning: Intense tickling, restraints, and mouth tickles.

((This series is called Glass House! Previous part: Now Admit It. And the Next Part: Now What Do We Use.)

Surprisingly, it was Dream who got annoyed first. He just didn’t really understand. His brain was always trying to logic everything out, while Sapnap just kind of got and accepted that George acted illogically sometimes.

Luckily, Dream’s confusion and annoyance really only just led to more flustering situations than anything. Since neither boy ever judged George, his feelings were never hurt.

Dream smiled at Sapnap and waved as the younger boy left the house; off to go skate. Then, he grinned.

“George!”, he called. He walked into the kitchen and listened.

“What?”, George sounded distant… in his room. Dream bounded down the hall and knocked on the door once before entering the room and closing the door fast behind him. George startled in his gaming chair. “What are you doing?”.

“Get on the bed, I want to talk.”, Dream said with a step towards the smaller boy. George’s cheeks brightened and he giggled.

“Dream, what!”.

“Bed.”.

George stared back up at him with those dark eyes and he could see the cogs turning behind them. Dream scoffed and grabbed him, throwing the screaming boy over his shoulder and tossing him onto the bed like nothing.

“Dream!!”, he screeched. Dream only laughed and climbed on top of him. Swiftly, little wrists were collected up and pinned to the bed above the boy's head. “No!”, he squeaked and burst into giggles, clearly anticipating a tickle attack.

Dream smiled down at the squirming boy. He watched as the giggles slowly came to a stop.

“I have an idea.”, Dream spoke. George cleared his throat, flustered but listening. “We come up with a code word for when you want to be tickled.”. George gasped.

“No!”.

“What. Why?”.

“I never want to be tickled.”. Dream rolled his eyes.

“Georgie, come on. We are way past that. Me and Sapnap are both fully aware of how much you love being tickled. So let’s just come up with an easier way for you to ask for it”. George looked like he would combust. He was writhing slowly like he was trying to escape and his cheeks and nose were dark red.

“Shut up…”, he whimpered.

See, this is what Dream doesn’t understand. They already knew, so there is no more embarrassment. Why wouldn’t George admit it? Why wouldn’t he let Dream help him?

“You trust us right? We’ve never made fun of you. Just let me help you.”. George was flustered beyond belief. Dream’s strength dwarfed George’s so he knew he was stuck here for as long as Dream wanted.

“Lemme go!”, he whined. Dream groaned.

Dream used his free hand to trail down George’s arm and teased gently into his open underarm. George burst into giggles.

“No!! Dream stop!!”.

“Think about it! There are probably so many times where you’re sitting in here all alone wishing we were tickling you! We…whoa.”. George had let out a piercing scream at Dream’s words. “Oh you are so dramatic!”.

“Sapnap!!!”, George cried. Dream giggled.

“You can’t be serious.”.

Dream studied the squirming boy, trying to figure out the state he was in. He hadn’t safeworded and he was mostly just panicked and giggling. The cute blush was crawling down his neck. Nothing new. Flustered, he was just flustered. The distress was because he knew he would be tickled and embarrassed. He was fine, though.

He trailed fingertips across his neck and collarbone, making him tilt his head down and sputter into giggles again.

“It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. We could make it a normal phrase so it doesn’t embarrass you. Like, ‘I’m thirsty’ or something.”. George only shook his head ‘no’ through his giggling. “It will make things easier for you!”. Dream only had George’s best interests in mind here!

He loved tickling George. He didn’t understand why George was so embarrassed about also enjoying it. In his head, he had found the perfect solution. Like the opposite of a safeword. If George was comfortable having a word that secretly meant ‘stop’ then why not have one that meant ‘go’? Dream pulled his hand away and let George breathe.

“I hate being tickled.”, he mumbled and let his head drop back against the bed.

“George, no you don’t. And there’s nothing wrong with that!”. The smaller boy only whined and struggled. Dream poked around his tummy to make him start giggling again. “Imagine what things could be like if you just admit it! You could ask us to tickle you exactly how you wanted!”. George cried out at the words. “What if there was a way you wanted to be tickled and I didn’t know? That would be so sad!”. George’s eyes flashed with something before he smooshed his face against his own arm. Dream gasped and stopped his poking. “George?”.

“Shut up.”, he whined.

“No! Is there a specific way or spot you want to be tickled and you are too nervous to tell us?”. George squeezed his eyes shut. “George, please? You can tell us! You have to!”.

Dream released his wrists and sat up, watching George cover his face with both hands and start to catch his breath. He was going to need some back up here. He slipped his phone out of his back pocket and opened Sapnap’s contact.

-•We’re in George’s room, need your help as soon as you get back•-

Dream lifted George’s shirt and scribbled gently against his bare stomach, smiling at the squeaky giggles and the way he jumped and batted at the tickling hands.

“Don’t worry Georgie. Me and Sap are gonna get it out of you.”. George only whined and shoved at his hands. Dream kept his tickles light, just biding his time for Sapnap to get home.

~•~

Luckily, the afternoon looked like it was going to be rainy and Sapnap was already hopping back into his car when he got Dream’s text. Not bothering to respond, he headed home with his music turned up, smiling about the idea of tickling George to pieces.

He made his way into the kitchen and hung his keys up. Somewhere, George was giggling. It sounded squeaky.

“Georgie! Is Dream getting you?”, he sung loudly, following the noise and finding George’s room. He opened the door to find the squirming boy a blushing and giggling mess under Dream’s big hands.

“Sapnap, we have a problem!”.

“Oh no! What’s the problem!”. They were being over the top and cheesy. George groaned and shoved at Dream’s hands again as Sapnap climbed up on the bed next to them.

“No we don’t! Get away! Sapnap, he’s torturing me!!”, he said through giggles. Dream tsked.

Sapnap settled near them and grabbed George’s hand.

“George wants to be tickled in a specific way, but he’s too nervous to tell us.”, Dream frowned. Sapnap looked actually troubled, frowning down at the squirmy boy. George tugged his arms down just enough to hide his face. Dream and Sapnap exchanged a look.

See, this was troubling. Dream and Sapnap genuinely wanted to know and knew George wasn’t going to say it.

“Really?”, Sapnap asked. George whined. “Hey, actually? Why don’t you just tell us. Then we can tickle you how you want.”. George waited a beat, then started to thrash wildly.

“Hey!”, Dream yelled. They both struggled to hold down the boy as he tried to actually get free. “Calm down!!”.

“George!!”.

“Let me go!! I hate you!”.

“Tickle him!”, Sapnap yelled. George screamed as four hands descended on his tummy and sides.

“No!”, he screeched and laughed hysterically. His hands flailed against the attacking ones. “I hate you!!”.

“We have to calm you down!”, Dream laughed, still tickling him. The two exchanged an amused look at how frantic George was now. Definitely, not calm.

Eventually, they lifted their hands away and the boy was left gasping for breath on the bed underneath them.

“Are you ready to listen?”.

“Yes, fuck.”. Dream and Sapnap looked at each other and then back at him.

“How do you want us to tickle you? If you tell us then we will. Any way you want, we promise.”. George’s mouth dropped open and his cheeks flushed darker. He refused to say a word. “Do you want to like, not say it? What if you show us?”.

“I hate you. Let me go.”. They both sighed.

“You should be able to do that. You do that all the time!”, Sapnap said. George looked like he would cry he was so frustrated.

“No I don’t!!!”. Dream’s eyebrows furrowed and he pushed back George’s hair.

“Hey, it’s okay! Georgie, c’mon.”.

“I don’t like being tickled.”, he whispered. Dream looked over at Sapnap a little helplessly. Sapnap shrugged, then grinned mischievously.

“Yeah, I know. You love it!”, Sapnap laughed, quickly dissolving any tension. All three of them burst into giggles and George reached over and shoved him.

“Shut up!”. Sapnap grabbed his sides, making him squeal.

They fell easily into the usual tickle shenanigans, dropping the topic for now.

~•~

Dream and Sapnap reconvened in private to discuss.

“I don’t think he’s going to be able to tell us.”.

“Why won’t he just show us? He sends us stuff all the time!”.

“I know. It’s like, he won’t do it directly. I hope we didn’t spook him. I feel bad.”.

“I know, I don’t like thinking he wants something and we haven’t done it.”

How would they get it out of him?

~•~

Attempt number two came the next day. Sapnap was hidden behind Dream’s open bedroom door with Dream perched on the edge of his bed. He summoned George with texts. It took a bit of convincing.

George finally appeared in the doorway.

“God, what do you want?”, he asked as he walked in. Sapnap slammed the door closed and George yelped, whipping around.

“You don’t have to call me god.”, Dream said amusedly. George backed away from Sapnap, giggling already.

“What are you guys doing?.

“Some experiments.”, Sapnap said as he crowded George back against the bed. Dream grabbed his waist as he got near and dragged the screaming boy onto the bed.

“No!!!”.

Quickly, they worked together to drag him up on the bed and locked his wrist into a cuff at the top right of the bed. George froze.

“What?”, he squeaked. The two only laughed.

“Sorry Georgie. It’s just, it’s hard to experiment on a squirmy subject.”. George whined and started to blush.

“You can’t do this.”. Dream scoffed, tugging his other wrist over and quickly locking it into place. George bucked and cried out in panic.

Excitement zipped through George’s spine and made him shudder. He had never been so helpless.

“Let me go!!”. Sapnap grabbed his ankle and started tugging off his sock. “No!! Hey, no!!”, George screeched. He didn’t pull it away though, seeming to wait until the sock was removed before starting up his bucking again. Dream laughed and grabbed his other ankle. Soon, both socks were flung across the room and George had both his ankles locked down into cuffs at the bottom corners of the bed.

Dream and Sapnap sat on their knees at either side of George, admiring their work. George was practically shaking in his mix of fear and excitement. Begging and pleading seemed to go out the window for now in his flustered state. He felt naked in his basketball shorts and thin t-shirt. Stretched into an X, he was helpless.

They waited for him to drop his safeword, but he didn’t. Dream clapped his hands together.

“Alright! We are going to tickle every single spot in every single way. And hopefully, that includes the way you’ve been craving! How does that sound?”. George gasped and choked on his spit, coughing and squirming.

“Get away from me!”, he cried. “No way!!”.

“Then, do you want to tell us so that we just do it?”.

“I don’t want anything!! You are idiots!!!”. They just ignored him and settled up higher on the bed.

“Ready?”.

“No!! Don’t!!!”, he cried. His cheeks were already burning brightly.

Dream and Sapnap trailed a gentle touch lightly down both of George’s arms and the boy erupted into giggles. They pinched at the muscles and drew a few cute little squeals from him. Tnen, they leaned down and nibbled at the space right above his underarms. George cried out and bucked, falling down into frantic squeaky laughter.

“Are you going to use your mouths?”, he squeaked out. Dream sat up with a giggle.

“Of course! Why, does the thing you want involve mouth tickles?”. Sapnap sat up with a smirk. George whined and shoved his face into his arm.

“No, I don’t want anything!!! Shut up!!”. The other two only laughed and continued their experimenting. A featherlight touch fell upon George’s ears and neck. He squealed and wiggled. He shook his head uselessly and the cuffs clanged loudly as he tried to pull out. “Quit!!!”. Sapnap sat up and Dream crowded closer, blowing a raspberry into the side of his neck. George squealed, falling into frantic laughter as Dream pulled away and Sapnap dove into the other side. George laughed hysterically as they repeated it over and over like a tickly game. In no time, he was in tears. He thrashed and laughed like a maniac as raspberry after raspberry was pressed into the sensitive skin of his neck. “Please!! No more!!!”, he cried.

“Awww he’s crying!!”, Dream coo’ed as they both sat up. George closed his eyes and gasped for air through his flustered giggles. “Very tickly, but I don’t think that was it!”.

“Me either! Let’s move on.”.

“Wait…”, George whined. But, the two didn’t care.

A hand found each of George’s open underarms and spidered gently against them. Death spot. George screeched and jolted at the soft touch. The tickling picked up. The two found the sensitive muscles at the bottom of his underarms and rubbed in ticklish little circles. George screamed and thrashed in his restraints, helpless to the tickling.

“Aww tickle tickle!! You like this spot huh?”, Sapnap coo’ed. George could only shriek his protest. When they focused in like this on his worst spot he was useless. He tilted his head back against the pillow and the hysterical laughter poured out of him freely. There wasn’t really any indication that this was the spot that he had been craving, but it was so fun to see George lose control over something so small. He was screaming with laughter and the two were barely moving.

“I hate you!!!”, he managed the words. They both laughed as they came to a stop.

“This is so fun Georgie!!”.

“And if you think it is too, you can just stay quiet and we’ll keep tickling the muffin out of you! That’s what you want huh?”.

“I want you to shut up!!”. They both gasped dramatically at the words.

“What?”, Dream asked and dug into his ribs roughly with both hands. George convulsed and cackled loudly, like it was ripped from his throat before he could even process it.

“Dream!!”, he screeched. Sapnap leaned in and found a space on the ribs so he could tickle as well. George screamed and thrashed. The two didn’t let up and soon the boy was just jolting in place as screaming laughter poured out of him. “Stop!!”. George desperately jerked his body off the bed and back down. “What the fuck!!!”. The other two laughed at his ticklish anguish.

“Are you going to lose the attitude?”, Dream asked.

“Please!”, he squeaked. The two backed off and George went limp on the bed, giggling hysterically. Sapnap coo’ed at George. He gasped for his breath weakly, fighting against giggles. “You guys are going to kill me before even getting to the thing!!”, he whined. They both gasped. ‘Oops.’.

“Oh, so you admit that there is a way you want to be tickled!!!”. George’s eyes went wide and he clammed up. “George!”. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and refused to meet their gazes. Sapnap wormed one finger in between two of George’s ticklish ribs as if to encourage him. High pitched giggles spilled from his lips.

“I can’t think!! Leave me alone!!!”.

“So whiny. Why don’t you just tell us what you want?”.

“Sapnap, get out!!”. George squealed as the tickling became too maddening. How would he survive this? They started at the top! Sapnap snorted.

“I’m barely even touching you!”. George’s giggles only grew more frantic and he shook from the electricity jolting him from the inside out.

“Are you serious?”.

“Georgie if you don’t toughen up you aren’t going to survive!!”.

“You guys suck so much!!”.

Sapnap slowed his finger wiggling and the two giggled as George dramatically went limp.

“Ready?”, Sapnap asked Dream as he hovered his own hand over George’s small chest.

“No!”, he yelled, then burst out laughing as two hands grabbed his chest and tickled him. He wasn’t used to being targeted there and shrieked in protest.

“I wasn’t talking to you, silly.”, Sapnap grinned.

“This is a good spot, huh?”, Dream coo’ed as he watched George jump and laugh, trying to shake the tickly hands.

“The goobies!”, Sapnap yelled. All three of them laughed harder.

“Ticklish goobs!”.

“Shut up!!!”, George screeched.

The devious hands crawled down, lifted up his shirt, and started playing with the bones of his ticklish ribcage. George’s head dropped back into the pillow and he wailed with laughter.

“You already…stop!!!!”, George struggled through his laughter. A loud yelp sounded as the hands were suddenly replaced by teeth. His entire body lifted off the bed and squirmed wildly as Dream and Sapnap nibbled across his ribs. George screamed with laughter. “Fuck off!!!”. The two tickle monsters just nibbled away as the ticklish boy thrashed helplessly. “I’m dying!”, he cried. “Mercy!!!”.

Dream sat up and laughed, using both hands to rapidfire poke up his side and ribcage.

“You are literally fine.”. George could only shake his head, completely hysterical. With Dream’s evil fingers and Sapnap still nibbling away at his ribs, he was sure he would die.

“Please!”, he squeaked out. They both lifted up, but left their hands hovered over his squirmy body. George gasped greedily for air, but couldn’t stop giggling. It was developing a cute rasp to it. Dream and Sapnap smiled at each other over him. Still no safeword.

Sapnap dropped both of his hands down to the jumpy bare tummy beneath his fingers and tickled fast, startling George. A shriek tore from his throat and he dropped his head back, cackling loudly.

“Are we getting close Georgie?”. Dream grabbed a hold of the bucking hip and wormed his finger into the boy’s bellybutton. George hiccuped and squealed. An adorable stream of bubbly laughter escaped him as he squirmed under the tummy tickle torture.

“Such a cutie. Does that tickle cutie? Right here?”, Dream asked with a fond smile. George could only cry out in ticklish anguish. His dark red cheeks had tears smeared across them and his hair was starting to stick to his forehead with sweat.

“Are you excited for some raspberries?”, Sapnap sang. George screamed and shook his head ‘no’. They both laughed.

“He sure sounds excited!”.

Dream and Sapnap made eye contact, then swiftly pulled their hands off and ducked down together. A devastating raspberry was blown into both of George’s sides at the same time. All of George’s noises cut out. He squeezed his eyes shut and thrashed wildly. His little chest heaved with the laughter his vocal cords couldn’t keep up with. It was quite a sight. His entire body convulsed, but he couldn’t catch enough air to scream. Mercilessly, Dream and Sapnap just moved inwards and delivered another matching pair of raspberries onto George’s belly. A shaky wheeze flew out of him, but he mostly just gasped for air.

See, they had a suspicion that what the ticklish boy was craving was either nibbles or raspberries on his sensitive upper body. Mouth tickles somewhere, they were sure. Dream leaned in more and smooched loudly against George’s bellybutton, then wiggled his tongue inside. George screeched and bucked his hips, shaking his head ‘no’ as he finally released his wild laughter. Sapnap peppered ticklish little kissies up his side to his ribs. George was inconsolable with laughter. Tears ran freely down his red cheeks and he found himself unable to protest in the embarrassing torment. It was, in fact, not the specific way he craved to be tickled. But, fuck did it tickle. His entire body shook and thrashed under the affectionate tickles.

“Please…”; he managed to squeak out. The two pulled off, giggling and wiping their mouths.

“That wasn’t it?”, Sapnap asked. George hiccuped loudly through his frantic giggling. His entire body was buzzing from the strange attack.

“You’re going to fucking kill me.”, he whined. He sounded defeated.

Which is funny, considering he could end the torture by either admitting his secret or safewording. Neither left his lips. So, the torture continued.

“Is it gay now if I put my tongue in there too? It’s like, kind of a kiss since you just did it.”, Sapnap joked and he leaned teasingly closer to the quivering tummy.

“It is!! Don’t do it!!!”, George cried. “Get away!!”. He whined in fear. Now that he knew what was coming, it was terrifying. He squealed loudly as Sapnap shoved his tongue into his little bellybutton. “Noo!!”, he wailed. Suddenly, there was more nibbling against his ribs from Dream and George was cackling again. Helpless and under attack, he could only laugh and squirm. He tugged roughly at the cuffs securing him in place, but it was no use.

Sapnap lifted off with a giggle.

“George, tell me you’re ticklish.”, he prompted with a smirk.

“No!!”, the boy cried. He squealed as Dream teased his teeth against a particularly sensitive rib. Sapnap smirked and dove back in, wiggling his tongue into the ticklish bellybutton. George screeched. “Get out!! Sapnap!!!”. He quickly fell back into hysterics and uselessly squirmed his hips in Sapnap’s firm hold. “Please!! Okay!!! I’m ticklish!!!”.

“Yes you are!”, Sapnap murmured happily into the bellybutton and slurped his tongue loudly against it. George let out a tortured cry, laughing harder.

“No more!!! Fuck!!!”.

Eventually, Dream sat up and giggled, nudging Sapnap to sit up as well. They both smiled fondly as they watched George giggle himself silly.

“It tickles…”, he whined. His skin was buzzing from all the tickling.

“Ghost tickles?”; Dream asked, amused. He crawled a hand across the jumpy tummy just to make it worse.

“Did we miss anything up here Georgie?”, Sapnap asked. George just shook his head ‘no’, lost in his giggles. “Great! Let’s move on!”. He grabbed his narrow hips and drove his thumbs in fast, startling a scream from George.

“No!!!”. George bucked and collapsed back into hysterical laughter. It was breathless and frantic. “Please!! Don’t!!!”, he cried.

Dream knocked Sapnap’s hands away and replaced them with his own, roughly tickling at the squirmy hips. George screamed again, dropping his head back to let loose his desperate raspy laughter. Dream’s hands were much bigger and stronger. “I hate you!! I hate youuu!!”, he wailed. The other two laughed.

“Tickle tickle tickle!!”, Sapnap sang. George screeched in protest, lifting off the bed and thrashing when dropping back down.

“This is a great spot! Is this what you wanted? Huh, giggly gogy?”, Dream smirked as he slipped in George’s secret Twitter handle. All the boy could do was shake his head ‘no’ as his red cheeks only got more wet from his tears.

“Poor little giggly gogy four oh four. Does it tickle too much?”, Sapnap coo’ed, crawling up and wiping George’s face. “Or can you take more?”.

“I can’t!”, he squeaked out.

But, the Tickle Monsters moved on and grabbed his thighs anyway. A wheeze racked his body before he rasped out a noise of protest. The persistent grabbing and squeezing at his ticklish thighs only drove him crazier and crazier though. In no time, he was convulsing against the bed and laughing hysterically.

“Mercy!!!”, he tried again.

“Oh is it your little chicken legs? You wanted us to tickle them?”, Sapnap coo’ed.

“Shut up!!!”, George screeched. His thighs were quivering under the touch, but he was too restrained to get away. They focused on massaging roughly into the muscles above his knees. Surely, he would die. “No more!! No more!!!!”.

Holy shit, how was he going to survive this? With each passing day, the other two would show him less and less mercy as they got more comfortable with tickle torturing him. Neither of them flinched at his cries of ticklish anguish. They were starting to get terrifyingly good at picking him apart.

There was no way he was going to be able to ask for what he wanted. Could he even admit it when they actually get to it? What if they don’t actually do it…

George’s little heart stuttered at the reality of the situation. Either they would find it out or they wouldn’t. They already knew he wanted something, so why couldn’t he just spit out what it was?

A squeaky rush of giggles burst out of him as sneaky fingers teased behind his knees.

“Get out!”, he peeped at an embarrassingly high pitch. The other two giggled. “Don’t!!”. His knees flexed and spasmed uselessly as they spidered into the open pits of both. It was usually a hard spot for them to get when he was squirming wildly, but now it was wide open for the torture. It was a shocking type of tickle. Sharp jolts of ticklish energy shooting through his legs had him bucking helplessly. The crazed giggles pouring from his lips was overly cute, littered with embarrassing yips and squeaks.

George’s mind was swirling with that pleasant dizziness he craved. As horrible as the torture was, it was cleansing. His head rattled with vague thoughts of ‘tickle’ and not much else.

The fingers left his twitching skin, leaving him shaking with raspy giggles. It was kind of nice to not have to put thought into where his limbs were flailing, restrained like this. George ran into that mind block he always did. An internal discovery with nowhere to put it. Without meaning too, he huffed his frustration out into the air.

A featherlight touch teased his ankles and made him jerk against the cuffs.

“Is it something with your feet, Georgie?”Sapnap asked softly. The two had climbed off the bed and were both posted at a foot. George just whined at the words, still tittering.

“C’mon, giggle bug.”, Dream teased his fingertips up the small pale foot. George squealed and flopped against the bed.

“Don’t!”, he cried. Sapnap grabbed the foot and shoved his fingers between a few of the toes, dragging a screech from the ticklish boy.

A zing of excitement shot through his spine. They were so close. Was he really going to get what he wanted?

It had been some dumb throwaway tease Sapnap had yelled during the filming of a Minecraft video. The idea had wormed into brain and he hadn’t been able to shake it since. It’s been weeks now. They had gotten close before, but only enough to make him more curious and desperate. God…how embarrassing. But, if it didn’t happen tonight he was sure he would break down and beg them.

While he was sure he hadn’t acted any differently, he felt Dream’s sharp knowing gaze on him anyway.

“Toes?”, Dream dragged the word out carefully as he started to play and wiggle with them. Sapnap grinned wolfishly and followed suit. George’s giggles kicked up into a panicked cackle. His feet buzzed with oversensitivity and he had to close his eyes. “Ohhh it’s toes for sure huh? What do you want us to do to them?”.

“What?!”, he shrieked, snapping his eyes back open in horror.

“Cute little toesies…”, Sapnap coo’ed and leaned a little closer to the squirmy foot in his hands. George screamed loudly at the slight movement. Sapnap froze. Dream scoffed in amusement.

“Something spook you there, Georgie?”, he purred.

Suddenly, Dream jerked his body down and hovered his face teasingly close to the foot in his possession. George burst into laughter.

“No!! Please no! Fuck! Nonono!!!”. He laughed uncontrollably. But, neither boy was tickling him.

Dream chuckled darkly. Sapnap smirked wickedly. George was caught.

Both feet were trapped further in tight grips as Dream and Sapnap fell to their knees.

“No!”, George screamed. Finally…his toes were attacked with quick playful nibbles. They tensed and wiggled at the ticklish bites. A flustered cry flew from George’s lips before he fell silent, convulsing wildly. ‘Fuck, that tickles.’. Fireworks burst behind his eyes at the shocking sensation. It was cruel; the nibbles. Some voice deep inside him wondered how he could crave such a thing. The colorful sparks from the blinding light show showered down into his chest and his lungs gasped back to life. He threw his head back and desperate sounding cackles burst from him. It was a new laugh. Two sets of curious eyes watched him as they nibbled away at his ticklish toes. It was worse than he had imagined. The embarrassment was making everything feel more intense and the ticklish sensation was brutal. George squirmed helplessly against the bed and wailed with laughter, dangerously close to his limit. Tears wet his heated cheeks. A scream ripped from his throat and he tugged at his ankle cuffs roughly. His loud cackling laughter bounced up and down all the octaves as he simply lost his mind to the tickling.

As always, the two just kept at it despite the level of ticklish anguish the boy seemed in. He knew how to get them to stop. They were biting carefully against the sensitive pads and stems. Accidentally in sync, they both targeted his pinkie toes and George nearly broke the bed with how hard he thrashed.

“Skeppy!!!”, he cried.

~•~

It was his longest recovery time to date. Nearly five minutes after Dream and Sapnap had unlocked his cuffs and crushed him into a snuggle sandwich, George was still twitchy and giggly. While very cute and amusing, the other two were struggling to figure out how to calm him down.

Dream turned him into his chest and slid his big fingers through his sweaty hair, shushing him gently. Sapnap rubbed his back, but the initial touch made the boy squeak.

“Oh Georgie…did you push yourself too much?”, Sapnap asked softly.

“Did I?!”, he barked out a squeaky laugh. “You two are the ones who…did that!”. The sass earned him a quick taser to both his sides, sending him into a fit of giggles.

“You know what I mean, idiot.”, Sapnap shook his head fondly.

It wasn’t long before they figured out George wasn’t haunted with ghost tickles, but was just bubbling with giddy excitement. It was terribly endearing to see him broken down enough to lose the ability to hide his feelings.

“That tickled so bad…”, he mumbled into Dream’s chest. Dream grinned at Sapnap.

“What, your toe nibbles?”. George whined and giggled.

“Mmm your toes were quite tasty George.”, Sapnap teased. George squeaked at the words and nuzzled into Dream’s chest as if trying to burrow in.

“Yeah, I’m going to need seconds.”, Dream smirked. George cried out and smacked at his chest lightly.

“No way!!”, he spoke through a flurry of flustered giggles. “That was so bad!! It was crazy!!”.

Dream and Sapnap shared a surprised look. George usually had a really hard time actually speaking about tickling.

“Yeah?”, Dream tried carefully.

“I thought I was going to die!”, he whined.

Sapnap walked his fingers up and down the squirmy boy’s back, just keeping him giggling.

“Didn’t I threaten to eat your toes while we were playing Minecraft a few weeks ago? Like, when I was digging up to you?”, Sapnap asked slowly, realizing. George only whimpered. Dream sputtered and laughed.

“Sapnap this is your fault!!”.

“Shut up!”, George rolled on his back and slapped a hand over both of their mouths.

That only left him open for quick hands to squeeze at his sensitive sides and leave him squealing for mercy again.

#glass house #georgenotfound #dream team tickle #dnn tickle #georgenotfound tickle #mcyt tickle #lee!georgenotfound #ler!sapnap #ler!dream #I think there is one more chapter after this!!#do you guys like super-lee Gogy?

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tropes-and-tales · 2 years

Text

Team Prime, Part Four

CW: Two idiots in love; mutual pining; Bob is a unicorn of a man. Slight angst, but far less than earlier installments.

Word Count: 5227

Other pieces: This is part of a mini-series.

When the wedding weekend arrives, Bob finds himself so excited he can barely keep himself from acting like a fool. He’s a grown man, a lieutenant in the Navy. It wouldn’t behoove him for someone to catch him grinning like a fool or kicking his feet like an excitable child.

An entire long weekend with you, though. Of course he’s happy. Of course a hundred different scenarios are bouncing around his head, since weddings are so romantic by default. He gets to spend time with you, walk into the reception with you on his arm, dance with you—

You fly in with Hannah and Eric, and Bob is the one who picks you up and drives you to the rental near the venue. When he sees you in baggage claim, you seem unexpectedly collected.

“How were the flying jitters?” he asks you in the car, and he’s surprised by your laughter.

“Gone!” you exclaim, and you throw up your hands, make a “poof!” gesture as if you’re a magician making something disappear. “I haven’t been afraid to fly since…well, since we flew to Vegas, I guess.”

Bob arches a brow at you, smiles at your glee. “Side effect of the accident?”

He hears Hannah inhale sharply from the backseat, but you ignore her. You laugh again.

“Maybe. Maybe getting life-flighted cured me.” You pause, glance over and make eye contact with him. “Or maybe I understand flight now. You know…lift and thrust, yaw and roll…”

“You remember!”

Another laugh, and it makes his chest feel like it’s full of light to hear you so happy. “I kinda remembered the flight to Vegas, but when I got on the plane this morning, I remembered some of the stuff you told me after all.”

“You’d told me that flight was illogical. That humans weren’t meant to fly.”

“The wrong thing to tell a fighter pilot,” you chuckle, shaking your head.

“Oh, I’m just a back-seater,” he clarifies as he navigates onto the freeway. “I don’t even have a cool call sign.”

“What is it?”

“It’s, uh, Bob.”

“No, I mean, what’s your call sign?”

He winces. He’s never wanted a cool call sign so badly in his life. “My call sign is…Bob.”

His admission makes you erupt into fresh gales of laughter, and even if he’s the butt of the joke, it doesn’t feel mean-spirited, so he laughs too. It is ridiculous.

“Oh, it’s too good. Bob Floyd, also known as Bob.” Your laughter dies off, but then you reach out and poke him gently in his flushed cheek, and it’s so much like that day a year ago that he suddenly can’t speak for the tightness in his throat.

-----

The first evening, Thursday, everything goes perfectly. People are trickling in from all corners of the earth, so you and Bob have a long stretch of just the two of you. You’re in the AirBnB and he’s in a nearby hotel, but he comes over to your rental to help you fold programs over take-out.

“Team Prime, reunited,” he says, and you hold out your hand for a high-five.

Over Pad Thai and drunken noodles, the two of you catch up, though you text and talk on the phone so much, there isn’t much untrod ground. You hesitate, then ask him how he’s feeling.

“I’m great,” he replies, a little confused at your somber tone. “Why?”

“Well, you were engaged too. And now you’re…not.”

He smiles down at his noodles. “You think this wedding is going to stir up sad thoughts?”

“How could it not?”

He’s touched, as he always is, that you remember to be concerned for him. To check in with him. As the two of you eat, he tells you that he plans to only marry once, that marriage is for keeps with him. That if he had married Jessica, he’d probably be miserable already.

“And she probably would be miserable with me too,” he points out.

“Oh, who could be miserable with you? You’re the best,” you say, and your head is bent over your food so he can’t see your expression—and you can’t see his own expression of pleased surprise.

He thinks this might be a side effect of your injuries. You seem to have less guile now, less benign cunning to flirt or hide your feelings or hedge what you’re saying. You often blurt out the truth with him, he finds.

“You don’t have to worry about me anymore,” he tells you. “I’m good.”

-----

The next day is the rehearsal, and Bob is given a glimpse of your newfound anxiety.

He helps Eric run errands all day. He presses the wrinkles out of his dress uniform, gets a haircut, helps ferry guests to and from the hotel. He doesn’t get to see you until the rehearsal, and he can tell from your expression—the tight quality of your face, like you’re clenching your jaw—that you’ve had a rough day already.

He can guess that some of it is stress from the wedding, but the rest could be family related. As he stands with Eric for the ceremony run-through, he can see how your mother fusses with you. She keeps brushing your hair away from your face, keeps leaving her seat to whisper in your ear. You’ve alluded to the issues with her in your endless phone chats with Bob: how your parents have infantilized you since your accident. How Hannah stepped in and whisked you away to southern California so that you’d have a shot of independence.

The rehearsal reaches its end, and the bridal party practices its walk back down the aisle. Bob gets to link arms with you, and he reaches with his free hand to grasp your hand that’s lightly gripping his arm.

“How are you holding up?” he asks low near your ear. He can feel how you’re dragging your feet a bit, slightly unsteady even in your white sneakers.

“Tired,” is all you can manage at that moment.

“Want to skip the rehearsal dinner? Or we could get our meals to go. I could take you back to the rental and we could eat there…”

You glance at up at him. Your smile is lop-sided. “I think that’d create a minor scandal, the maid-of-honor and best man disappearing.”

“Not disappearing. Our whereabouts would be known.”

You hesitate to answer, and Bob can see that you want an out. You’re tempted to take him up on his offer, but you want to be a good sister too…

“I think I should probably stay. But thank you for looking out.”

Bob squeezes you hand. “Always.”

-----

The dinner goes well. Bob and Eric catch up, chat about Navy gossip, about deployments of mutual friends. Through it all, Bob smiles inwardly to see his friend so obviously happy. Eric and Hannah have been together for a long while, but the love has only grown deeper through the years.

Halfway through the meal, after Bob catches another indecipherable look from Hannah, he asks his friend what the deal is.

“She’s just protective of her sister,” Eric says.

“Protective of me?” He’s mildly offended; he’d never knowingly hurt anyone, and he’d certainly never hurt you of all people.

Eric looks at him askance. “No, dude. Protective of situations that could hurt her.” At Bob’s baffled expression, he adds, “she likes you a lot, but she thinks no one will want to date her now.”

“She likes me?”

His friend snorts. “Yeah, she liked you before too. She had it bad for you. It kinda crushed her when she found out you were engaged.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, yeah. You turned on that whole Bobby Floyd charm too much and she fell for you. I guess you being engaged didn’t come up until that weekend in Vegas.”

There’s a hundred other questions Bob could ask, but all of the missing puzzle pieces fall into place in sudden, startling clarity. Your sudden shift in mood in Vegas—after that night at the club when he told you about his engagement. When he went on and on about Jessica…

Your decision to skip the flight back to California with him. Your decision to rent that car and drive back. Your decision that put you on a literal collision course that nearly killed you.

What happened to you—it is his fault.

“Excuse me,” Bob manages to choke out, and he rushes out of the restaurant, makes it as far as the edge of the parking lot, then throws up from the sudden, awful realization.

-----

Hannah is the one who finds him.

He’s outside in the parking lot, sitting on a concrete curb. His elbows are on his knees, and his head is in his hands. The guilt is so sharp that it feels like he’s been flayed alive, and he almost misses the sound of heels clicking on the asphalt. He looks up in time to see your sister making her way to him, and she plops down beside him.

“You blaming yourself?” she asks without preamble. Bob nods miserably, feels another acid burp creeping up his throat.

“I blamed you too for a while,” she continues. She hooks her hands around her knees, draws them up to her chest. “When she was out of the coma but non-verbal, I just kept thinking, ‘why did she have to fall for you?’ Of all the people in the world, the two of you just clicked. Why not some other guy? Some guy that was available?”

“She skipped that flight to avoid me, didn’t she?”

Hannah nods. “Mostly. She thought driving back might clear her head.”

“If I’d known—”

“But you didn’t. And you were engaged, so it wasn’t on you. I stopped blaming you because of course it’s not really your fault.”

“Does she…” He trails off, struggles to get the words out. “Does she remember?”

“No, but we talked about it.”

“And she’s not mad?”

“At you?” Hannah barks out a peal of laughter, then elbows him sharply in his side. “Fuck, Bob, she could never be mad at you.”

“She should be.”

Her laughter dies off, and she sighs. They sit in silence for a long moment, and Bob sits with his guilt. You’re not mad at him, but you’ve always been kind. Gracious. You should blame him. You should be so angry that you write him off forever—

“I went to therapy, you know. When she was in the hospital and rehab. It helped a lot.” Hannah offers him a rare glimpse into her usually-staunch persona. She glances at him and shrugs. “It’s a cliché, but dwelling in the past does no one any good, but especially not her. She gets depressed that she has no future.”

“She’s doing so well, though.”

“Yeah, she is. But she focuses on where she struggles and ignores how far she’s come.”

Bob nods, and Hannah gazes at him for a long beat. She has that same inscrutable expression, but Bob understands it now.

“She doesn’t think she has a future,” she repeats. “So I guess I’m saying, if you care for her too, she’s not going to make it easy for you. If you’re not willing to fight for it, then you need to cut her loose gently before she gets too deep in it again. I will not see her hurt. Understand?”

He nods again, swallows despite his dry mouth. “Yes, ma’am,” he manages to croak out.

*****

The dinner is a disaster insofar as your mother will not stop babying you. You want to remind her that you graduated from college, that you have a master’s degree, that you held a good-paying job in Silicon Valley for years. That a single bad day in the desert surely didn’t erase all of that.

She tries to cut up your chicken piccata for you. She presses you to drink more water. She asks if you’ve taken your medicine for the day, if you’re getting a headache, if you need to go back to the rental to sleep.

She asks if you’re ready for the bridal party dance, if you’re ready to give your speech. She frets at the possibility of you embarrassing yourself, asks if maybe you should pass off the speech to someone else—

You stand up, sudden, and announce that you need some air.

Outside, you see a pair of people sitting together, and once you’re closer, you see that it’s Bob and your sister. They look deadly serious, and Bob looks pale and sweaty. You wonder if he is upset about his failed engagement, and though your instinct tells you to turn around and go inside, to leave them to their private moment, you find yourself walking over to them.

Hannah sees you first. “There she is,” she calls out in a sing-song, and Bob looks up too—though he can’t quite seem to meet your eyes.

“Everything alright?” you ask.

“Of course.” Hannah stands up, brushes off the seat of her skirt. “Escaping from mom?”

“Of course.”

“You wanna head back to the rental?” She turns and glances down at Bob. “I think Lieutenant Floyd could probably handle that.”

He finally looks at you, and his eyes are glassy. You swear he’s about to cry. Though he doesn’t, not right now. He swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he says that yes, he can drive you home if you’re ready to leave.

-----

The ride is silent. Bob is silent, which normally isn’t an issue, but there’s tension in the car. The companionable silences the two of you typically have seems to be gone. His pallor hasn’t improved, and he has such a death grip on the steering wheel that his knuckles are white and shiny.

At the rental, he puts the car in park, then pauses before he kills the ignition. He climbs out of the car, and when he comes around to your side to open your door and help you out, you put a hand on his arm, tentative. To still him.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He shakes his head, and he pulls his arm from your gentle grip, but then he turns to face you. In the fading light, you can see how distraught he looks—his mouth a frown, his blue eyes swimming behind his thick lenses.

“How are you feeling?” he counters, ignoring your question and asking his own.

“Tired. Nervous.” You worry at your lower lip as you think about your mother’s fussing. “What if I mess up the speech? And hell, what if I mess up during the bridal party dance?”

He chuckles, and it makes his grim expression soften. “Do you remember in Vegas, we had a dance lesson? Trust me, we were the best dancers then, and I bet we’ll still be the best tomorrow.”

“Team Prime, huh?”

He holds out a hand for a high-five, but when you go to slap him, he captures your hand instead. Shifts his hold like he’s about to lead you out onto a dance floor, his warm palm gently gripping yours.

“We can practice the dance, if you want.”

“There’s no music.”

“Sure there is. Here.” He releases you, then pulls his phone out. He fiddles with it, and you hear the opening strains of the song Hannah and Eric picked for the bridal party’s dance. He turns the volume up, then sets the phone on the hood of his car.

“C’mere.” He holds a hand out, and you can’t resist skipping over to him, taking his hand. You settle your other hand on his shoulder, and your stomach does its usual fluttery flip-flop when he puts his free hand on your waist and draws you closer.

“See? You’re already doing better than before.” His soft voice is low, right by your ear. “You kept trying to lead. The instructor had to set you straight. You told me it was an affront to feminism that you had to follow me.”

You laugh. “I don’t remember that.”

“Hmm. Convenient.”

He leads you in an easy circle, slow and steady. More swaying than actual waltzing, but you think it probably looks okay. You stumble once or twice, you step on his foot…but being in his arms calms your anxiety, and you feel some of your angst about tomorrow melt away.

The song ends but then repeats, and Bob doesn’t release you. He keeps leading you in that easy circle in the driveway, and halfway through the second attempt, he clears his throat and glances down at you.

“I’m sorry about Vegas,” he says.

“It happened.” You shrug in his arms. “The more time passes, the less angry I am.”

“I’d probably be angry forever.”

“You? No, I don’t think so. You’re too good to wallow in bad feelings for long.”

He sighs, and that close, you can feel it fanning over you. “You give me more credit then I deserve, honey.”

Honey. Sometimes when the two of you talk on the phone, when he seems comfortable or tired enough for his faint midwestern drawl to surface, he calls you different pet names. Sweetheart. Honey. Every time, it makes you feel all light and airy, like you could float away.

“I give you exactly as much credit as you deserve,” you reply.

He grumbles good-naturedly but doesn’t respond. The song repeats a third time, then a fourth, and he doesn’t let you go once—he only turns you in lazy circles, keeps you tucked close to him.

*****

In the course of planning for his own wedding that never happened, Bob was told time and again by vendors, by friends and family—hired a good photographer, because the day flies by so fast, there’s no way to remember everything.

He finds that even when it isn’t his own wedding, the same applies.

The morning is a blur that he won’t remember in the days and weeks to follow. He runs last-minute errands for Eric. He showers, shaves. He dresses in his carefully-pressed dress uniform, and he wonders idly if you’re the type of woman who likes a man in uniform. Jessica told him once that the white Navy uniforms made him look like an ice cream truck driver.

His first real, tangible memory that he’ll revisit over and over? When he finally gets to see you again.

You don’t see him just yet. You walk in with your sisters, a bustle of female activity and chattering, but he zeros in on you: in your navy blue dress, your matching canvas sneakers. The single white flower pinned in your hair.

You’ve always been beautiful to him, before and after. You’re beautiful now, but there’s something insecure in your bearing—the way you walk so carefully, the way your shoulders are drawn up by your ears—that makes him want to run over to you, wrap his arm around you. He wants to protect you from world, keep anyone who might gawk at your scars or your unsteady gait far away from you.

He knows he loves you. He knows it to the marrow of his bones. He’s laid awake many nights, turning it over and over in his head. With Jessica, it hadn’t been certainty as much as habit: his girlfriend from middle school, they just fell into the habit of being together. He considers it a blessing that they realized their growing detachment when they did.

You, though? He knows it’s love. He’s certain. He knows that there’s challenges. You get headaches easily. You can’t drive yet. You have an overbearing mother who wants to protect you too. You have various therapies to help you regain what you’ve lost.

But the real challenge is what both Hannah and Eric said: you think your romantic life is over. You only see yourself as a broken thing, not someone worth loving.

If you’re not willing to fight, Hannah had warned him. People may look at him and see an unassuming man. With his thick-lensed glasses and baby-face, Bob Floyd puts no one in mind of a fighter…and yet, he’s exactly that.

He’s ready to fight you, for the sake of being with you.

-----

The ceremony flies by. Bob finds that he can’t quite tear his eyes from you. You make it down the aisle without tripping (he catches your visible sigh of relief once you’re by your sister’s side), and you manage your duties—taking your sister’s bouquet, straightening out her veil—with aplomb. It’s Bob who messes up, fumbles the rings, drops them with a clatter onto the small dais.

But then…then, after the couple are married and share their first kiss as husband and wife, Bob gets to offer you his arm and walk down the aisle with you. He gets an entire hour with you and the wedding party for all the photographs.

Hannah and Eric, subtle as bombs, make sure the photographer gets one of just you and Bob, and your sister drops him that cool gaze of hers that he now understands.

“You okay?” you ask as the two of you are posed by the photographer. Your voice has a teasing lilt to it. “I think the videographer caught the ring drop on camera.”

“Oh, that was intentional,” he jokes. “Yeah?”

“I didn’t want you to be the only one worrying today. I also plan on tripping into the cake at the reception.”

You laugh, and you do your signature move—you poke him gently in the cheek. That’s the shot the photographer gets, the moment right after: neither of you looking at the camera, each of you looking at each other with obvious affection. It’s the photo that Bob will eventually save as his phone’s lock screen, once Eric sends it to him with the winking emoji.

It’s the photo he’ll look at when he’s on an aircraft carrier, months from now, about to carry out an extremely dangerous mission with an uncertain outcome. It will be a tangible reminder that he needs to survive, he needs to get home to you.

-----

At the reception, your speech goes better than you probably thought it would. You do stutter, a bit, but Bob doubts anyone really notices. He knows you do, though. When you finish and sit back down, he sees how you drop your head, how you bite your lip.

So he’s does what he planned to do. He starts his speech, then drops his small stack of index cards. He spends a long beat putting them back in order. He makes a joke, asks the assembled guests if they feel safe knowing his steady hands are on the weapons systems of billion dollar fighter jets, and it earns him a good laugh.

It also earns him grateful smile from you.

Then comes the dance. It feels so natural after last night. He took you through it five times, ostensibly to make you comfortable but as much for how it felt to hold you and dance with you without everyone watching.

“I know you dropped your index cards on purpose,” you murmur as he leads you across the dance floor. A beat, and you add, “thank you.”

“I don’t know what you mean, honey.”

You snort. “Oh, so Bob Floyd is a shameless liar now. You’re not the man I remember from before.”

“I thought you didn’t remember me from before. Sounds like you’re the shameless liar.”

You cluck your tongue in mock disappointment. “It’s such a happy day. Why are we fighting about who’s the bigger liar?”

“Is that what this is? Fighting?”

“Yup.”

He pulls you closer. “I think I like fighting with you.”

You don’t reply, but you tilt your head up to look at him, and your expression is so much like your sister’s—slightly narrowed eyes, studious, cool.

-----

He decided last night to talk to you at the reception. After dinner, after the speeches and first dances. After the cake-cutting when Hannah and Eric cut into it with his ceremonial saber (“Overkill,” you whisper to Bob, making him chuckle).

Once the lights dim and the dance floor fills, Bob finds you. He takes your hand and leads you outside, and it’s almost as if the universe is conspiring with him because the night is perfect. Balmy with a cool breeze, a perfect crescent moon hanging low in the sky. A million stars.

“Take a little walk with me?” he asks, and you nod.

He scouted the place out earlier. He leads you now to a small arbor with a bench under it, and the two of you sit. He turns to face you, and he takes your hand in his own.

“I had a whole speech in my head,” he starts, “but I’m drawing a blank now.”

“A speech about what?”

“I l-like you,” he stammers. “I liked you before. I shouldn’t have because I was unavailable, but I did. And then…well, you had your accident, and in the meanwhile, my engagement fell apart. And when you came back in my life and I was free to have feelings for you, I…I fell for you.”

“Oh. Oh, Bob, I don’t—”

“Let me finish. Please.” He squeezes you hand. You look stunned, but you finally nod for him to continue.

“Maybe you don’t believe me, and that’s okay. I just want a chance to prove it to you. How I feel. I’m not…I’m not great at this stuff, but I know how I feel about you. I fell for you. I’m in l-love with you, honey. And I just want a chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

She’s not going to make it easy for you, Hannah told him, and she was half-right. You do fight him here—you shake your head, you start to list out reasons why you can’t be with him—but Bob finds that it’s an easy victory in the end. You don’t put up that much of a fight.

“Make a list,” he cuts in gently. “Make a list of all the reasons why we can’t be together, and we’ll work through them together.”

That earns him a smile. “A list?”

“I’m a WSO in the Navy,” he points out reasonably. “I’m used to tackling problems logically.”

“So I’m a problem?”

He moves closer to you and loops an arm around your shoulders. He pulls you against him, and he chances a near-kiss, his cheek pressed against your hair.

“No, you’re a menace, but I love you all the same.”

The words just slip out, unintentional. His heart is thudding so loud in his chest that he almost misses it entirely—your shaky exhale, and your own mournfully whispered “I love you too.”

*****

With Hannah and Eric on their way to their honeymoon, the brunch the next morning is a sedate affair. Most of the bridal party is hungover and half skip it altogether. Your parents, blessedly, left early to beat the traffic. You’d hate for your mom to be hovering as you present your list to Bob.

The man himself settles right beside you at brunch, and you get the same butterflies you always do. He hardly seems real. He’s too kind, too perfect. You know he’s not naturally extroverted, yet he made himself the butt of the joke at the reception to take the attention off of you. Before that, practicing the dance the night before. And before that, just him, being perfectly, wonderfully Bob.

You want nothing more than to say yes. To be with him. To even try. You love him too, yet isn’t it the truest sort of love to set someone free?

“You have your list?” he asks once the waitress brings your drinks. “Let me see it.”

You stayed up most of the night to list out every conceivable reason why you can’t be with him, yet when you hand over the piece of paper, Bob only nods and reads it over as he sips at his coffee.

He doesn’t call you ridiculous. He only addresses it point by point.

“Number one. Therapy.” He glances at you. “That’s vague.”

“I have multiple therapists. A lot of appointments.”

“So?”

“So…people feel a certain way about therapy sometimes. They judge.”

“I don’t.” He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a pen, strikes a line through number one. “Okay, number two…”

Back and forth. He reads through your list and shoots down every reason as you eat your eggs and he eats his waffles. He teases you gently, but he never makes you feel bad about it.

“Okay, so number twelve. Children.” That earns you an arched brow, and his cheeks tinge with pink. “Eager to get me into bed?”

You own face burns in embarrassment. Of course you’ve entertained the idle (and not so idle) thought of what it’d be like to sleep with Bob, but you can’t admit that over brunch.

“We should follow out the natural progression of relationships. Marriage, kids. There’s a very real chance I can’t have kids. Any pregnancy would be high-risk, and I—”

“So follow out the progression. We get married, we don’t have kids. Or we adopt or foster. Or we become that couple in the neighbor who adopts old dogs to give them a good life in their elderly years.”

Your hands tremble at how easy he makes it sound. How easy it could be. Thing is, you can picture it: you and Bob married, childless, but happy. Maybe with a house of old dogs as he said, the house full of dog beds and old shelter dogs with white faces lazing in the sun, the two of you taking slow walks with them, enjoying the evenings together…

You set your fork down and fold your hands in your lap. “You’re being glib.”

“I promise I’m not.” He looks at you in earnest, his blue eyes wide. “There’s nothing on this list that’s scaring me away. Like…” He glances down, revisits number four. “Unsteady hands. You really think your struggles with threading a zipper is that big of a deal-breaker?”

You sigh and turn to face him more directly. “Bob, you’re career military. I know what that means, okay? Follow the progression. Military wives…there’s a lot of pressure there. I wouldn’t be able to support you the way you’d need.”

He chuckles, shakes his head. “What do you think you’ve been doing for the past few months? When you talk to me on the phone every night and cheer me up after a rough day? That’s support, honey. That’s all I need.”

You stare back at him, half-mesmerized by his gaze. His eyes are so wide behind his thick lenses, he looks comically bug-eyed. It’s hard enough to not smile, but then he starts nodding at you encouragingly, obviously trying to sway you.

“Say yes,” he pleads quietly. “Say yes. We can take is as slow as you want. But just say yes.”

How can you resist him? You can’t, so you decide not to even try. You fell for him before, and you lost your memories but fell for him again. You’ve never believed in fate or destiny or soulmates, but that has to mean something—falling for the same man twice, in two separate, very different epochs of your life.

“Okay.” You nod back, mimicking him. “Okay. Yes.”

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd imagine #top gun maverick #tropes and tales

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