Well, they did NOT survive their teenage codependent homoerotic friendship
I have the priviledge of being an adult and being able to look back on my teenage years happy that I made it out. It wasn't easy and I had my fair share of pretty dark experiences, so I've been thinking A LOT what would have happened to me if I had found myself in a position like Andre when I was 17. So I wrote it down - the story of Andre and Cal's relationship from (mostly) Andre's POV and the whole emotional turmoil of ending your life alongside your best friend. All with a couple of not-so-subtle personal throw-ins. It's a mess and a long one on top of that, I'm sorry ;__;
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After years of living with all these thoughts you’re too scared to open up about, suddenly it turns out that your (only) lifelong friend is actually not that different. Not only doesn’t he flinch at your uncanny remarks; he actually thinks they’re spot-on and laughs at your jokes that would probably send you straight into detention.
So far, the more people learnt about you, the more they drifted away. Suddenly, it doesn’t happen. Quite the contrary, the messed up things seem to strengthen the bond instead. For the first time, someone welcomes you into their inner life just the way you are and doesn’t expect you to “mend your ways” before they let you in. You gradually uncover the parts of yourself you have never shown to anyone before. It feels like the weight of the world is lifted off your shoulders. Like it was destined to happen. It feels real.
It is not at all surprising that in the end, you brought out the worst in each other. After all, your final bond was built on the acceptance of the darkest parts of your personalities. You fed off each other to the point of lethal codependency. You were nothing without him and he was nothing without you.
It was insane. But you felt validated. Starving for someone who understands, you clung to each other and never let go.
So, when you’re standing in that library, guns slung over your shoulders and blood spilling beneath your feet, and that guy, who led you out of that lonely misery and gave your life a spark, tells you that you’re done - well, you’re done. You’d follow him anywhere because what other choice do you have? You killed people. You’re not getting away on your own. You’re not doing it without him. It’s either both of you or none of you. So you agree.
But deep inside, you know there’s so much left to say. The world is wide enough for the two of you, why wouldn’t you want to explore it? We had a plan, we were supposed to last. All of that is suddenly cut short. Just like the lives you’ve just taken. What an irony.
And suddenly you wish you had never left that car. Or that you had swerved it just before pulling into the parking lot. What the fuck are you doing?! That’s when it should have been said: I’m done. You’re done. We’re done.
You never figured out if it was platonic or romantic. You probably didn’t even know what platonic meant. But there was one thing you had no doubt about: that loving him was the easiest thing in the world.
… until it wasn’t.
That love tripped you up just when everything you thought you wanted was only a few inches away. Suddenly, it felt like jumping into a lake only to realize that concrete bricks have been tied to your feet.
You might have been done with the revenge, but you weren’t done loving him. In fact, you barely even started. You never even fully acknowledged it. You repressed it, scared of and confused about the intricacies of your own identity and feelings.
But what are you supposed to do about it now? Where will all that love go, if you refuse to go down together? Do you even have a choice at all? You won’t make it on your own. The only choice you have is whose hand will fire the shot that will end it all. There is no “if”.
It’s pretty safe to say that you agreeing to a double suicide is a spur-of-the-moment decision. No one would think clearly when faced with this kind of choice under such circumstances. You have just taken more than a dozen innocent lives. If they catch you, it’s game over. It’s a pathetic failure.
You were supposed to escape in a blaze of glory: a getaway car, a police chase, a rain of bullets fired towards you as you take one last look in the rearview mirror knowing you’re never gonna see this town again. You’ve turned the place that destroyed you into smoldering ruins and now you kiss it goodbye. It doesn’t get better than this.
But it’s not what happens. Suddenly, as you look around the room and glance over the dead bodies, you realize the thrill is gone. The excitement has vanished into thin air. The only thing you’re hearing are police sirens and people whimpering in pain. The reality of what you’ve done and what awaits you comes crashing down on you. It’s not glorious. It’s not rewarding. It’s bleak and hopeless. It’s a dead end.
—
Andre had to tone down Cal's carelessness during the preparations. No, we’re not gonna break into Brad’s garage and risk being spotted. No, your open mic poetry evening was not a fun idea; it was inconsiderate and dangerous. No, even if we had an M-80, we wouldn’t use it for a ceremonial explosion at my family’s vacation home where everyone could see it.
And suddenly, as they’re wandering through the school looking at the carnage they caused, the roles get reversed. It’s Cal who has to lead Andre into the grim reality.
We’re not making it out. We can still leave on our terms though. It’s your call.
The question is, did Cal really believe they didn’t stand a chance or did he use the circumstances to get what he wanted: for both of them to die?
If Andre didn’t agree, would Cal have the guts to shoot him himself? I don’t think he would. There was only one way Cal wanted it to end. I think Cal may have had some sort of feelings for Andre, but, in a fashion similar to Andre, he didn’t know exactly what these feelings were as he never got around to disentangling them. Cal was mentally ill, heavily unstable and out of touch with reality, but I think deep inside he still had the ability to feel. He could barely connect with that part of him, but it was still there. And Andre kept it alive because he did something no one else would ever do for Cal. He provided Cal with the means to die the way he wanted. A spectacular way out.
And Cal would be forever grateful for that, even if that “forever” would come to an end in just a matter of seconds. How do you even thank someone for a favor like this? Thanks for letting me die, even though you didn’t know I planned it? How do you find someone who you don’t even have to ask for it? Hey, what would you say if we killed a bunch of people to send some twisted message that only we understand and then we blew our brains out?
The thing is, none of them had to ask. The idea was already there. Maybe except for the “blowing our brains out” part. In any case, this is a one in a million chance that you find someone like this.
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suna recently moved into a new place.
the building he's in now is much nicer than the last one he lived in, and in an even better part of town, too—it's a newly built place that's still only half-occupied, leaving him with so few neighbours on his floor that he claims sometimes it feels like he's got the whole building to himself.
living in a new-build (a half-build, technically, since there's still active construction happening in some of the units on other floors) presents its own unique challenges, though. since no one's ever lived in his unit before him, he's sort of like the guinea pig; the first to discover which of the design elements are functional and which aren't. like how the tap in his bathroom had accidentally been installed backwards, so the hot and cold water markers were switched—a realization he regrettably only came to after stepping into an ice cold shower for the first time.
or how the intercom system in the building isn't quite up and running yet, so every time he has guests over he has to come all the way down to the lobby to let them in himself.
"wow, what are the chances of running into you here?" rintarou drawls as he opens the building door for you, allowing you to step in out of the cool night outside.
pretty good, you'd wager, because he knew you were coming and had to be here to let you in.
you're too tired to make any sort of snarky remark though, shooting him a pointed look instead as you step past him in the doorway and into the lobby's warmth. coming to suna's place had been a last minute decision made late in the evening when a poorly-timed (or well-timed on his part) text landed in your inbox; you weren't dressed for the weather, but had been close enough to walk from the little bar where a few of your friends had gathered that evening.
"cold out?" he asks you as he lets the door swing shut, turning and following along behind you as you begin making your way towards the elevator.
"freezing," you reply, still holding your coat tightly around your frame. you're narrowly fighting back the way your teeth threaten to chatter.
"sorry, I came down as soon as you called to tell me you were on your way," rintarou frowns a little as he takes in the way you have your arms wrapped around yourself for warmth.
"no, i know," you wave off his concern, pressing the UP button on the panel next to the elevator in the lobby. "i should have called sooner but i didn't want to take my hands out of my pockets since it was so cold on the walk here."
you'd only fished your cellphone out of your pocket when the building was in sight a few metres down the road, preserving every little bit of warmth you could for as long as possible.
"you know, you wouldn't need to wait for me to let you in if you'd just let me give you a key fob."
the elevator doors slide open to take you both up to rintarou's floor, and your glance over at him from the corner of your eye as the two of you step inside.
you don't want one of suna's key fobs. firstly because he'd already broken the only spare he had thanks (indirectly) to you—having once tried to toss it down from his third floor balcony while you were waiting out front in the middle of the night. it had landed on the pavement underfoot and shattered into approximately a million pieces—leaving him down to only the one connected to his own key ring. he'd told you it really wasn't that expensive to get his building manager to replace it, but you'd vehemently spurned the suggestion, which brings you to the second point—
having a key to rintarou's place (however temporary) just feels too... serious.
too serious for you and him, and whatever this decidedly unserious thing between you is, anyway.
"who's to say you won't destroy that one too?" you brush off his suggestion as the elevator doors slide closed.
the inside of the elevator still has those thick, padded blankets hanging up to protect the mirrored walls while they finish construction, and still have people constantly moving boxes and furniture and whatever else into the vacant units units. it makes the already confined space feel even smaller, and you try to ignore it as suna presses the button for his floor on the panel off to the side of the doors.
"fine, freeze then," rintarou shrugs, but you can feel his eyes on the side of your face.
"the cold wasn't even the bad part," you sigh, wincing a little as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. "i haven't worn these boots out before and my feet are killing me."
suna glances down at your feet, taking in the knee high boots you have on your feet.
"oh," he says, his tone a bit different now in a way that makes you look at him suspiciously. "those are nice."
"you're such a freak," you laugh under your breath and he peeks up at you without a hint of guilt on his face.
"i mean it," he insists.
"i know you do," you snort.
the elevator dips slightly as it arrives to rintarou's floor, and it makes you wobble a bit unsteadily. rintarou wraps his arm around your waist to steady you without missing a beat.
"they really hurt that bad?" he asks, peering down at you curiously.
from this close you can see just how unfairly long his eyelashes are, and how they flutter as he blinks down at you. you hate how nice it is to feel his warmth seeping into you when he holds you like this. you hate the thought of him stepping away again even more.
"yeah, it's my own fault though," you answer quietly.
the elevator doors slide open, and you move to step out, but rintarou rushes ahead of you. you watch, confused, as he crouches down just on the other side of the threshold of the sliding doors.
"really?" you ask him with a laugh, rolling your eyes as he waits for you to climb up on his back.
but it's late, and you're tired, and your feet hurt.
(and you really like how warm he is, even if you'll never say it.)
so you carefully hop on, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, and let him carry you off in the direction of his apartment—endlessly grateful for how few units on his floor are leased, and therefore how your chances of running into anyone in your current state are lowered.
you can only see the slightest bit of rintarou's profile while he carries you like this, but you can tell even from the glimpse you get that he's looking awfully smug as he carries you to his door.
"don't look so pleased with yourself," you mutter, squeezing your legs a bit tighter around his waist in warning.
rintarou's hands slip down from where he was loosely holding you behind your knees until they grasp your thighs and the leather upper of your boots.
"these really are nice you know," suna remarks quietly, his thumbs brushing along some of the stitching at the sides.
"i'm not keeping them on in bed," you warn him flatly, his apartment door now in sight at the other end of the hall.
"why not?" suna sounds so plaintive it almost makes you laugh. his grip slips all the way down to your ankles now. "it's not like they can hurt your feet while you'll be on your back, anyway."
"rintarou!" you hiss, slapping one of your hands over his mouth to shut him up, scandalized at what he's said in the middle of the hallway—lack of neighbours or not.
you feel his lips spread in an obnoxious grin under your palm, but you don't dare pull it away.
"keep it up and you're getting thrown off the balcony next, pervert."
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Still thinking about that one ask in my Askbox that literally vanished into thin air before i could answer it. But gone or not, I am GOING to talk about it, and no one — not even myself — can stop this.
So. On the topic of LTN!Siffrin having an sensitive stomach.
In the first comic I did for my Longer Than Necessary AU, Siffrin mentions that his stomach has gotten overtly sensitive, as a side effect from the constant tugging on it. I still can't share how long it's been (though it has been long enough that Loop can no longer count by loops), but it certainly is long enough to have that kind of impact on poor ol' Frin here.
Unfortunately, so does eating the same foods over and over again, making it both incredibly hard to eat most of the time and hard to keep certain foods down. Essentially, his stomach is fighting him every chance it gets; it'll either ache even more for the rest of the loop, or he'll land up throwing up.
Major problem with that second one: most of the food and snacks provided tend to come from Bonnie, which leads to trapping Siffrin in a cycle of desperately trying to keep anything he's eaten down if he feels it's coming back up. He does NOT want to upset them, or make them think it's making him sick or any other number of reasons when he does happen to eat.
He doesn't always succeed.
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One of the biggest arguments I’ve seen used by the Ob*d*l*s against Anidala, is that scene in the ROTS novel where Padmé says she could trust OW with the secret of the rebellion and was hesitant to tell Anakin and I just wanna say:
Padmé wasn't an idiot. She was an extremely intelligent and competent woman, perfectly able to understand that loving Anakin and thinking that he could be trusted with a certain politic-related matter were two very different things and reducing her choice regarding who to trust with an important political matter only on the basis of her feelings of romantic love diminishes her professionalism, and this is why I say y'all could never understand her.
Padmé didn’t have to "love" OW or even like him at all to know he was the perfect Jedi to ask for help in a secret political matter.
That's the point being made in the novel, she’s hit with the realization that Anakin in this particular moment could not be told this piece of info because of his relationship with Palpatine, and Padmé specifically mentions in the Junior ROTS novel that she didn't want to make Anakin “keep a secret” if he didn’t agree with their stance because it’d be “unfair.” So this also played a part in why Padmé didn’t think it best to inform Anakin about the Rebellion. It honestly had little to do with her actually lacking trust in him, and more to do with the circumstances she was in not allowing her to be open with her husband and her not wanting to make him choose between his wife and his “father figure.”
However, Padmé knows OW’s political ideas aren't tied to ONE particular person but to a philosophy, one which is closer to her own, at that point. None of this was ever meant to be hinted as “romantic” or even remotely insinuated as romantic. It’s strictly professional and even the tone of the scene makes that so abundantly clear.
All I’m saying is that, some of these proshippers are doing the most out here to try and prove their ship, like my loves? You forgot a very important thing called ✨ context ✨ and regardless of her rational thinking, Padmé still went out of her way to try and talk out all of this Rebellion secrecy stuff with Anakin when she confronted him in the scene where she asks if he ever thought they were “fighting on the wrong side.” Padmé didn’t trust OW in the same way she trusted Anakin (with her entire self and being) she had the level of trust and love for Anakin that was only meant for him.
Mixing up her unwavering faith in Anakin as her husband with her trust in OW’s devotion to duty as her comrade/ally is purposely deluding yourself, because the two aren’t the same and therefore can’t be compared. An example of this is: Padmé constantly putting more value to Anakin’s words over OW’s in the end of ROTS when he came to tell her of Anakin’s “crimes”. She completely disregarded what OW had claimed about her husband and instead made her way to where Anakin was herself, to ask him directly. Despite what the truth was, this is proof of her trusting Anakin unconditionally, and I didn’t even think I had to spell that out because it’s as clear as day.
In conclusion, Padmé didn’t trust OW more than Anakin, she just knew the circumstances she was in didn’t exactly make it easy for her to openly talk with her husband about these matters and that’s part of what played into the issues they had in ROTS, it’s exactly what Sidious wanted.
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