#How is it :3c Was it convincing enough to trick the eye

[sysig]

Uh

Also holy shit lol

Loved this little rant, especially considering this

happened immediately after lol. Honestly, I was more surprised that there actually was a floor to the Mind Control Facility!

And of course I had to return to the HD Remix, since I hadn’t actually ever been down there in the 2013 release! But first-

I swear I have a talent for breaking these games. I don’t do it on purpose!

I couldn’t even trigger the Coward ending, it was like the Escape Pod ending except there was no out!

I also managed to get to a black screen on another restart, but this wasn’t another falling-through-the-floor situation?? I dunno what happened lol

But I did get there eventually! It’s pretty <3 I actually landed on a platform so I was closer to the catwalk until I wandered off of it and got surprised haha

You can see the platform there on the left, and how much further down I was. It’s pretty cool!

Swirl <3

[the-banana-0verlord]

Hi there, I'd like to request something for Twisted Wonderland. Could I get reactions of Leona, Azul, Jade, Vil, and Sebek to a (preferably gender neutral) s/o who's usually pretty thick-skinned and gives as good as they get having a strong reaction to something the character said in an argument? As in, usually in an argument the s/o isn't easily upset, so if they're reacting this badly something must be really wrong. So how would those five characters react if something they said actually seemed to hurt their s/o who usually seems damn near unshakeable? Bonus points if it's the first time they've ever seen their s/o cry and it's their fault >:3c

Thank you for the request! I feel like I made it just “S/O cries during an argument”, but I hope I incorporated enough elements to fit your request!

How the Twst boys would react to their ususally strong S/O crying during an argument.

Notes:Gn reader, The relationships described here are not very healthy, because the boys have toxic traits that make the relationship toxic as well. The argument is about this toxic trait, and the Reader can choose if the boy overcomes it or not.

⚡⚡⚡

Sebek Zigvolt

⚡The argument was about how he always priviledged his duty over you.

⚡He let slip that if he had to choose between Malleus and you, he'd choose Malleus. He didn't mean it, of course, but no one has control of what they say during times like this.

⚡You wondered if he even loved you at all, and the tears flowed.

⚡His booming voice was silenced as he watched you with wide eyes trying to wipe your tears off your face in pride.

⚡He's not the touchy type, but he'll pull you into an akward hug, rubbing your back gently.

⚡“I-I'm sorry. Please don't cry.... I love you more than anything.”

����🦁🦁

Leona Kingscholar

🦁Due to his natural laziness, you always felt like he didn't care about you or your relationship.

🦁When you confront him about it, he brushes it off. He knows he loves you, so you should too, right?

🦁He finally realises he's been wrong when you start crying, yelling at him why wouldn't he listen to you for once!

🦁He's never seen you cry before, which makes the shock even greater.

🦁“I know I don't really show it, but I do care, Herbivore. I promise that from now on, I'll be better.”

💅💅💅

Vil Schoenheit

💅You try to keep strong through it, but his constant nitpicking absolutely drives you crazy.

💅He's convinced he's doing it for your own good, but even the best of intentions can lead to disaster.

💅One day, enough is enough, even for you, and you finally snap. He takes it badly.

💅You don't know when it happens, but at one point you realise you've broke down in tears.

💅It's then he knows that he had been wrong for pushing this far. It's his fault the mascara he had obliged you to wear was running down your cheeks.

💅“I'm so sorry love. I had no idea I've pushed you this far. I'll do anything to make it up to you.”

🐙🐙🐙

Azul Ashengrotto

🐙He's always piled up in his work and restaurant. There's always something to separate the two of you.

🐙His ambitions get the the better of him and he sometimes ends up not talking to you for a week or more.

🐙The loneliness creeps in. You go numb and start to ignore him as well. That he sees as a problem.

🐙He confronts you about it. The frustration you've kept in for months breaks through the form of tears.

🐙Crying is something he experienced way too often, and he never wanted you to feel.

🐙“Please... I hate seeing you cry... Name something, anything and I'll do it for you.”

🍄🍄🍄

Jade Leech

🍄He is a master manipulator. More often than not, you view yourself as his puppet, one he can use at will.

🍄You keep the feelings in. You don't want him to think he's won by breaking you.

🍄But what's meant to happen happens, and the feelings spill.

🍄His intentions were never to deceive you. He's surprised when he sees your watered cheeks.

🍄When he tries to embrace you, you struggle, because you think it's another one of his tricks.

🍄Ultimately, the strenght leaves your body and you sob in his arms.

🍄“Shhhh... I love you, okay? I would never lie to you. Never.”

***

Hope you enjoyed it!

Have a good day/night!

[sodascribbles]

two weeks of whump: day one

(read on ao3 here!) For @promptsforyourwhumpfic's Two Weeks of Whump! Thank you :] Poker | Shock Collar | Ashes Characters: Sly Cooper, The Contessa, misc. wolf guards Content: the titular shock collar, mentioned conditioning/'training', very minorly implied whipping, swearing. Note: i assure you, it only goes downhill from here >:3c

Maybe if she didn't want to get shocked, she should have paid better attention.

He’s still learning how to properly utilize the Voltage Strike that he’d tomfuckered his way into while scuffling in Rajan’s temple. He’d panicked and had just sparked up, lightning arcing from his cane as he’d swung.

He didn’t currently have his cane, unfortunately. Hopefully he could still do it.

. . .

He’s dead. He can’t quite find it in himself to be guilty, but he’s definitely about to be dead.

Sly had meant to use the Voltage Strike alongside some kind of escape plan. Knock out some guards, turn off the power, something.

She’d startled him. He’d shocked the Contessa. He’s about to die.

An icy fury burns in her eyes as she glowers at him. Like a deer caught in headlights, he freezes, ears pinned to his skull. He has half a mind to apologize— but he doesn’t get the chance. (And he really doesn’t feel bad. For a split second, before the oh shit had settled in, he had thought it was funny.)

The Contessa smiles. Her expression remains dangerously dark, mandibles clicking as she fucking grins at him. If he hadn’t already been convinced of his imminent demise, that would have done it.

“Hold him here for a moment,” she hisses between her teeth, still smiling.

When she returns, the guards practically scatter away from him, desperate to avoid her wrath. Suddenly unhindered, Sly scrambles backward. He pins himself to the wall, claws scrabbling against the stone.

She has something, held behind her back like one might hold a surprise present, still beaming. He growls, only for it to pitch up into a frightened hiss as she continues to approach.

Unfazed by his (frankly pathetic) attempt at a warning, she gives a quick gesture. Two of the wolves lurch into action, taking him by the shoulders and wrenching his head upward.

“Get off of me—!” He thrashes, of course he does, but the struggling doesn’t do much.

She clicks something into place around his throat. It digs, turning his breaths quick and shallow. It’s not enough to choke him— that is, until she hooks a claw into it and yanks, and he’s cut off with a sharp strangled sound.

“That’s a fascinating ability you have, Cooper,” she coos, waving a ‘hand’ once more and allowing the wolves to release him, “Unfortunately for you, I’ve come prepared.” He flattens backward again, hand coming up to press at the strange—

—collar? She’d collared him?

“Go on!” The Contessa claps her hands together like an excited child. “Try your cute little party trick now.”

…Sly really, really doesn’t want to do that. But he knows better than to disobey an order like that. (The gashes still crisscrossing his back ache pointedly.) So, reluctantly, he reaches into that feeling, letting—

—White hot agony arcs through him. He lets out a choked cry, now-twitching hands coming up to desperately scrabble at the collar— at the shock collar. He’s sent spasming, writhing away from the pain— get it off, get it off, get it—!

All at once, the worst of it is over. It’s like a switch is flipped (belatedly, Sly realizes that’s probably exactly what happened), and the pain sizzles off into an ache. He slumps, eyes glassy, panting.

The Contessa stands over him, looking positively thrilled. “Well, that was a wonderous show,” she coos, crouching down enough to cup his chin and tilt his gaze to hers. He whines, ears pressing down as he tries to pull away. Her grip turns bruising, and he stills. “I think I’ll keep that on you for a while. Teach you some lessons, yes?”

Sly hisses, and almost immediately regrets it as she draws back to turn the collar on again.

“Now your training can truly start,” she smiles, though she knows he can’t hear him. “I can’t wait.”

[cutegirlmayra]

May I request cute Tails and Amy friendship? You can choose which version just them being cute friends? Maybe they defend each other when someone tries to mess with them? Love your writing

Watch 18:19 of Pajama Blogs - Prompt Requests - Ep 1 for juicy first thoughts on this prompts! (I may divert away from it, but we’ll see :3c)

Thank you so much! I try hard to stay pumped with energy so that I can give you all reading material during these trying times, lol. So let’s hope and press our hands together in a prayer that I’ll entertain, satisfy, and bring joyful feels to everyone through my prompts and fanfiction updates :Db

Prompt:

“Still working on that observatory, eh, Tails?”

As Tails was about to hammer in on his half-finished ‘dome-effect’ he wanted for his upper-level room, he blinked a moment at the familiar voice and excitedly looked down.

“Amy!”

“The one and only.” She winked, grinning widely.

He had managed to get half the curve of the wall done, a dark, steel grey for it’s base color as it held a half-finished walled hole where the large glass would be for viewing the stars. He would insert a self-made telescope between there, and design a way to bring the view as though a holographic light performance right into his ‘black room’ when he wanted to personally ‘sit among the stars’.

“Permission to come aboard, captain?” Amy joked, placing a hand on the ladder and saluting him.

Tails’s twin namesakes wagged in joy, smiling and closing his eyes as he nodded, “Permission always granted! B-but be careful of the rickety-”

“Ah!” the ladder seemed to tilt as a piece of metal began to bend.

“Amy!” he was about to fly down but she summoned her hammer, wedging it into the place where the metal was bending.

“Phew~” she sighed out in relief, having some sweat trickle down the side of her face before climbing up again.

She removed her hammer and used it to place the metal back into the proper alignment again. “You might have given me permission, but did you consult your ship on that decision?”

The two laughed.

“Sorry about that. Everything is still a work in progress, and honestly, it’s kinda revolutionary if this actually works.” Tails scratched behind his head, then explained how new this technology and optical illusion trick really was.

“Yeah,... kinda amazing, Tails.” Amy admired the work already done to give Tails a space to mediate and enjoy the nature of wonderful night sky above him. “I remember when I first met you, that the dark used to be such a scary thing for ya.” She kid, looking to him kindly but nudging him with a tease.

He blushed slightly, looking away, “Well... then you and Sonic showed me how beautiful it was! A-an-and besides that, I’m too old for a night light.” he tried to seem so mature... but that pout made it obvious he just didn’t want to be looked down upon.

“Right. So a big sky-show isn’t the same thing?” She looked over to see he had already marked a place with some cushions, a reading-outlet to the side of the wall imbedded in with a shelf for the books, and a big fuzzy blanket. The tape read: Second Bed.

It all made her smile, “What a lovely little R&R space...” she lowered her eyes, wondering if he still got lonely like she did... and this was his way of coping.

He lived far away from the city, and although Amy lived down a winding road, she would visit the city often enough for groceries and other fun shopping sprees.

What did boys do to occupy their time?

“Heh, I wouldn’t say a 3D projected model of a precisely positioned magnifying glass and hyperized telescope make for a sky-light.” he tried to defend himself, and it was rather cute to Amy.

“Well, I bet Sonic’ll love to bunk here more often.”

The tone suddenly shifted as Amy and Tails both looked down, away from the other.

“Have you... heard from him lately?” Amy asked, almost worried that she already knew the answer to that question.

“No.” Tails sighed out, before dramatically leaning back and letting his head fall back on his shoulders, “Not since Eggman last showed up.”

“Yeah... he’s been rushing off more and more lately on some daring-dos that apparently don’t require any of us to come along...”

There was a quiet somberness...

“Yeahhhh...” Tails once again leaned properly back in place and dipped his head, scratching it softly...

He seemed friend-sick... and as Amy observed him more, he even looked starved for conversation.

“Hmph!” She puffed up the side of her cheek, “Well, we’ll have to give him the ol’silent treatment when he gets back this time too! Serve him right for all those times he’s left us behind on all the fun!” Amy rambled off, but Tails perked up a bit, looking over to her with a slight turn of his lowered head.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Just you wait! He’ll come back ready to tell us all his cool stunts on his new latest adventure, and we’ll be just chatting it up about your awesome star project!” She posed with her arm out and her hand upon her muscle, as though Rosy the Riveter. “That means we should wrap this little project of love up and really see what it’s made of!”

“Y-you mean it?” Tails looked thrilled by her offer. “I-I mean, if it’s not too much trouble... I could use your hammer for a few things.” He looked down at the metal that had bent out of place. “You’re strong arm means I could patch the rest of this in one hammer hit! It’ll remain sturdy if you’re strength! Ah...! Sorry!” he looked back over and saw Amy frowning embarrassedly, pushing her fingers together. He wagged his arms out to the side of her, apologetically. “I forgot... how you sometimes take the praise for your strength a little...” he felt awkward now, seeing her begin her usual spiel.

“But I’m... elegant... A-and lady-like when I do it... right?” She looked over to him as though pleading for his approval.

“O-O-of course, you are! I-I even remember Sonic saying something about it! Your hammer is super cute and only adds to your-! Uhh... c-charms!” Tails bundled his fists up and started shaking them profusely around, not sure how to convince her a ‘giant hammer’ was somehow ‘girlish’ but he did his best. “And besides, I don’t care what anyone else says, Amy! You’re super useful thanks to your strength! Just like I am with my brains.”

He was so determined to succeed in cheering her up that Amy couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

She took in a deep breath and got over herself, straightening up. “Yeah... well, I have to be strong, to look after and protect you and the others.” She ruffled up his hair and he laughed lightly, slightly moving away from her touch as a brother would to his older sister.

“I’m sorry that you’re sensitive to that.” He admitted, “You really are super cool when you hit a robot miles away!”

She flinched.

“I-I-I meant that in a good way!” he shook his hands out again, “Honest!”

Amy just laughed, “I can cook too, you know. Why don’t we finish building this thing and then I’ll make us something good to eat. We can turn it off with some smores and maybe crackers or something too later tonight!” Amy’s usual optimism was restored and Tails immediately caught on to it’s wave.

“Woah! You mean it! T-that could take all day...” His ears lowered just slightly.

“Pfft!” Amy turned with a proud look upon her face, placing one hand to her hip as she sat off the edge with him and then slammed her hand to the top of his head again, making him flatten slightly as he was sitting slightly on his knees. He looked uncomfortable, like her force had made him do an unwilling ‘split’ sort of with his knees being parted and he looked as though in strained pain. “Think nothing of it, Tails! As you said before, my hammer strikes are good on one blow! We’ll have this done in no time, so..? Can I stay the night?”

He continued to flinch and twitch in the pain, “S-sur-sure, I-I-I don’t mind... mmm...” he had a small tear forming at the right of his eye.

A few hours passed as the two worked hard, and finally, the dome was done and the telescope he had already completed for the room was successfully moved up to the upper-room... with a lot of back-strain and power from the two working together. Tails had to really test his twin-propelling tails’s weight limit on how fast they could twirl to lift something, and Amy’s powerful arms and back were put to their ultimate test as well!

But somehow, the two worked great together, though bickered and taunted the other at times...

“You can fly higher than that, Tails!”, “D-don’t act like I’m the only one lifting my weight here!”, “AH! What is that supposed to mean!? I’m as light as a feather! And this is... nothing... compared... to what I can lift!”, “Then push harder!”, “You fly harder!”, They both ‘ggrr’d and finally got the massive telescope up that ladder...

When everything was set up, Amy put on a movie for Tails to rest and started cooking up some dinner. She wanted to leave room for the late-night snacks, and coming back in, noticed Tails wasn’t watching the television.

“Huh?” She looked up the ladder to the room and smiled, seeing the computer light on as he must have been programming the telescope and other functions. “He works so hard... he must be excited to show it off to Sonic.” she felt a slight bit of envy. She sighed, “Not like girls and guys can have that strong of a bond... botherhood and sisterhoods are really exclusive, huh?” she frowned, not liking the idea that she could never be as close to Sonic or Tails as the other was with them.

She called down Tails though, and they had a nice dinner together, complimenting their success as Tails hoped it would all work, but Amy told him not to worry.

“You’re incredibly good at designing these technological masterpieces, Tails.” Amy scolded him for about to open his mouth to answer with food in it, and seeing her hand raised and her eyes closed while one opened slightly, he chewed and swallowed before continuing.

“W-well, that doesn’t mean that their isn’t going to be some error on my part involved...”

“I’m sure Sonic will love it. I know I’m excited to see it.” She picked up his finished plate, going to wash them and as she removed her apron...

“Sonic? I was building this for us to view it together, tonight.”

Her face shot up, touched.

Her heart seemed to rise up as though being elevated to a status it thought unattainable.

“R-really?” She always had felt a distance between the boys, and found it just seemed easier and less forced when interacting with Cream... but Cream was still so young too. She loved picking flowers! Don’t get her wrong! She had just gotten really, really good at making flower crowns for so... long...

She placed her apron that she had borrowed from him down, planning to wash it if needs be as well, but turned back to Tails.

He didn’t seem to notice how much that meant to her, already wiping his hands on his white fluff like he would if he was greased up in oil or gunk stains from working on his pet-projects like the X-Tornado and this Observatory. She puffed up her cheek, “I still need to teach you proper manners, huh?” she whispered under her breath, but smiled and touched her heart.

He was already racing up the ladder, and she immediately went into mother mode.

“Ah! Tails! D-don’t move so fast after eating!” she reached a hand up but he called down to her.

“Bring up the treats! I think it’s loaded all the settings in by now! ... Yeah! Yeah it has!”

His excited voice sprang her into an excitement, “W-well, hold on! I’m coming!” It was like he just called out that the fireworks were gonna start...

She rushed through the cleaning and threw the plates into the dishwater, a little rougher than she usually would like to and washed herself up before charging up the ladder. “Don’t let it start without me!”

“Hurry!” Tails called, and she immediately started to leap passed rings on the ladder to just reach out and jump pass a few steps.

“I’m here!” her quills looked a mess as she clung to the edge of the room, Tails rushing over and helping her up as she huffed and puffed in her strain to get there in time.

“Haha, and you tell me not to rush.” He teased her back.

“Hmph.” she blew up her bottom bang of the three quills on her forehead and then smiled to him, cheekily, “If I get stomach cramps, I’m blaming you!”

“Over here!” He laughed a moment at her response but was too excited to show her what he had set up.

“Ah... Tails...” Amy felt so important and loved then, seeing he had taken the large fuzzy blanket and got in it, opening a space for her to join him.

“S-sorry, is this too... um... close?” He squinted an eye, lowering his arm that was gesturing for her to intimately cuddle up within it and watch the show together.

She shook her head, holding back tears and hoping to not confuse him. “Absolutely! I-I mean, it’s perfect! Don’t change a thing!” she crawled down and got into the blanket, taking the other side as she felt Tails bouncing in his seat.

“Okay, good. Three... two... one... Ehem,” he cleared his throat, like a child about to press ‘liftoff’ on a rocket. “Computer! Activate Spatial Definity Mock 5 Advanced Overhead Project 3.2.7.”

Amy blinked her eyes rapidly at such a long line...

“What? You couldn’t have called it, Sky-light?” she teased again, “For nightlight?”

“Quit it...” He nudged her lightly, embarrassed she kept teasing him on that one. “It sounds cooler this way... and it reminds me how long it took to set up the program and make it run right. I haven’t tested this final version yet, so SDM5AOP 3.2.7 is a perfect name for-!”

“O-okay, as long as it makes sense to you.” she decided not to question it.

The whirling of a computer was heard and the two waited anxiously for the results...

“It has to take a second to go through all it’s processing. Lots of... kinda like doors to hurdle through and collect data for.” He explained.

“...Do you... wish Sonic were here instead of me?” she looked away from him for a moment. “I mean... not that you would have a preference b-b-but...” she thought this was a bad, killing the mood he had tried to set up and wish she didn’t say anything. “Nevermind.”

“No, I think you’ll appreciate it more than he will.”

She felt that ranking skyrocket again, as though her tiny significance in life was suddenly bumped up again to a higher sphere of importance in this little fox boy’s life.

“W-... What makes you say that?” she was trying so hard to hide the sparkles in her eyes, but her quivering voice gave away how happy she was to hear that. No, not happy, overjoyed to know she was considered such a special friend to him.

“You actually helped me complete it!” He spread his arms out as the first little light formed in the blackened room.

“Ah!” Amy saw it first, marveling as it faded and then grew brighter and brighter to show the actual dimensions of the star that was currently in the sky, or at least, the radiance of it.

She marveled as he continued to talk, not noticing multiple other little constellations starting to form over his literal head and scattered all throughout the room. Accurate and pronounced, their distance was a miniature diorama of the actual space of the universe...

“I knew you’d want to see it... I’m sure he would too, but Sonic would rather be in the stars then just viewing them... though he does all the time. Heh, I guess you’ll be able to brag about how you were the first to see it! I-if it works or not... It’s still a longshot, s-so... don’t get your hopes up too hig-”

His face was yanked towards the direction of the star, then Amy started shaking his arm. “Ah-AH-AHHHH!!!” she freaked out as a very distinct cosmic entity was defined in the space.

“AH-! AHHH!! IT ACTUALLY WORKS!” Tails flipped out as they both cried out-

“EARTH!”

Then, one after another...

 “The Milky Way!”, “It’s the galaxy from Chris’s world... and look! Here’s our constellations!”, “Ohhh! It’s our solar system! Ahhh! It’s so bright!”

“...Do you think Cosmos seeds found good land to grow on?”

The two suddenly stopped gawking...

Amy couldn’t even look to him, and him the same.

Instead, she scooted closer to him in the blanket, felt his tails solemnly wrap around her for support and comfort, and placed her arm to his opposite shoulder to pull him into the gap of her neck.

He laid his head on her shoulder, tearing up.

“Is... is that why you made all of this?” Amy’s heart tugged on her vocal chords, making them choke slightly.

“...Yeah.” he admitted. “If this was Sonic, I don’t think he’d be willing to talk about it... not like you.” he looked down a moment.

“No, don’t look down.” Amy’s voice plucked up an octave. “Look at your amazing work, Tails. Look at how vast... how beautiful the universe is... I’m sure you’ll see evidence of Cosmo’s seed blooming all over the place. You know why?”

She ducked her gaze down slightly, moving her head to make sure she didn’t obstruct his view.

He smiled lightly through his tears.

“Because life never quits, that’s why!” She pulled him into a half-hug and continued to snuggle up in the blanket. “Hehe, because Cosmo would want you to look at these stars and know that she’s everywhere. Smiling just as brightly as any of these ol’stars and wishing you the best forever!”

She felt his shoulders bounce a little...

She knew Sonic would have done an alright job if he were here too, but...

She was so glad...

Holding him and tucking him in better into the blanket...

That she was the one he shared this whole project with.

That she was the one... who could dry his tears tonight.

-Author: And now I cry, wow, hands slapped together in a prayer really did wonders for myself in this prompt, how about you? lolol To those of you who actually did the gesture and wished me the best, this one’s for you.

[spinelwritings]

Hmmmm... Maybe a one-shot of Spinel x Reader in the 1950s? Like doing a movie production or just having a singing/dance competition...? If that's fine :'3c

I kind of struggled a bit with this one just figuring out what to write, but I hope it’s still pretty good!

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

You closed your eyes, blocking out the rest of the world. You took a deep breath, focusing on the way your lungs expanded and the air filled your chest, then slowly let it out. Only when you had managed to fully calm yourself did you open your eyes to the chaos of the film set once more.

You needed to be calm no matter how excited you really were. It was your first acting job after almost three years of auditions. Not only that, but you were a main character too! Needless to say, it took a lot of self-control to keep yourself calm enough to function. You were about to start the first shoot and you refused to mess this up.

It was a gangster comedy sort of thing. The main character was in the mafia, trying desperately to seem competent despite how stupid he really was. You were supposed to play the love interest. You had to admit, you went through the script and didn’t find it all that funny, but hey, a job’s a job and you could really use the exposure. If you acted well enough then maybe if it did end up failing you could still be picked out as someone good enough to work in other things. 

“Alright!” The director shouted, getting everyone’s attention. They all froze and looked to him. He gave some speech welcoming everyone to the first day of shooting, trying to get everyone pumped up to get this movie made. The crowd cheered when appropriate and you clapped with them, but your attention wasn’t really on the director. Instead, your eyes were drawn to someone in the crowd. There was a woman there, dressed in a button-up shirt and smart dress pants, the sleeves of the shirt rolled up to her elbows and the top buttons undone. Her hair was slicked back into a pair of pigtails and dyed a muted shade of pink. She must be another actor, playing one of the mafia’s goons.

And she was staring right at you.

You tried to ignore her but you could feel the heat rising up in your cheeks. Thankfully you had enough make-up on that it probably didn’t show. Probably. 

It was later on in the day that she actually talked to you. You were both in this scene. The mafia boss was trying to convince you that you should trick the main character into revealing his incompetence or something of the sort. The woman played one of the goons, standing off to the side, just staring at you. The whole time you filmed you could feel her eyes on you, roaming over your body. It made your skin crawl. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

But as you were soon to find out, she was not one to keep her thoughts to herself. Between shoots for that scene she went up to you, almost bouncing, a huge smile on her face. 

“Hey! You’re pretty good!” she said, her voice bubbling with delight. You could feel your face heating up again at the compliment and couldn’t help the small smile that forced itself on your lips.

“Oh, thank you!” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted but the woman only smiled wider.

“I can’t believe this is your first movie, you’re a natural! Did you do plays at school or something?”

“I did! I started in elementary and was in the play every year through high school. I absolutely loved acting, that’s why I decided to become an actress.”

It was a short conversation, but that’s all you could say before the cameras were on again for the next attempt. The woman returned to being the silent, cold mafia croney, all her bubbly personality gone in an instant. You had to admit, she was very good.

You didn’t know why but she made a point of talking to you whenever she got the chance, between shoots, during breaks and lunch, even on your way out of the studio. You didn’t mind in the slightest. She was just so charming and sweet and she seemed so incredibly interested in you. It was something you weren’t really used to, someone caring about what you had to say or what you thought so much. 

The two of you became good friends fast. How could you not? It was a normal sight on set for the two of you to be next to each other, giggling about something or another. After some time you even started spending time outside of the studio, going out to dinner or for walks around the park. You could never get tired of her. She always seemed to have something interesting to say and never failed to make you laugh.

Maybe it was because the two of you got along so well that your scenes together tended to be some of the best. There was a chemistry there that the other actors just didn’t have. 

You weren’t looking forward to the last day of shooting.

[beatricebidelaire]

sugar honey ice & tea

featuring: Kit Snicket, R, the Duchess of Winnipeg, Bertrand Baudelaire, Frank Denouement, Ernest Denouement

summary: Kit, R, Bertrand and Frank (or Ernest) play bridge in a room in the Hotel Denouement.

word count: ~2.6K

title from Bring Me The Horizon’s song

alt: ao3

[01]

Frank and Bertrand reached 5D, and Bertrand laid out his cards as R led the King of Hearts.

“Thanks,” Frank said curtly, frowning a little.

“Good luck. I considered trying for slam,” Bertrand admitted, and then studied Frank for a moment. “And your expression is making me thinking I should have.”

“I’m just planning on how to play this hand,” Frank replied evenly. “Low, please.”

“Yeah, that’s just his usual thinking expression,” Kit assured Bertrand. “It’s close, though I might’ve cuebid the spades.”

“I think you meant certainly,” R raised an eyebrow. “And the results might’ve paid out.”

“Only when I’m feeling bold,” Kit laughed. “Which I guess, when playing bridge, is fairly often.”

They continued with the hand, and 5D made eventually.

“6 Diamonds is cold, isn’t it?” R questioned, counting the tricks in her head.

“If I finesse the right side for the club queen, then I’ll be making 6,” Frank said. “There’s not enough clues though.”

“I always feel like you’re great at finding the queens at times that matter,” Kit sipped the ice tea and chewed on the ice cubes while R redealt the cards. “Like, not when it’s just overtricks, like now, but if it’s a matter of make or going down, then you guess the correct side more often than not.”

“Sometimes it’s also because when the contract’s on the line, you could only finesse for a certain side, though,” Bertrand said, thoughtfully. “By the way, stop stealing my tea, K.”

“Mine ran out of ice cubes,” Kit shrugged.

“I’m half-convinced that Frank’s just great at peeking,” R handed out the newly dealt cards to everyone.  Her face lit up slightly at her cards, and opened 2NT.

“Please,” Frank rolled his eyes, “if anyone ever saw me doing that, then it’s Ernest they saw.”

“You really need to stop using that line every time someone accuses you of something,” R said, unimpressed. “No one else does that.”

“Yeah, not even me, and I have a twin,” Kit shook her head. She responded to R’s 2NT with a 3C, and looked glad to see the 3H response.

“Because no one confuses you and Jacques,” Frank argued. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Ernest does that.”

“Technically, I don’t think he ever said ‘if anyone ever saw me doing that, then it’s Ernest they saw’,” Bertrand countered.

“Actually, he might’ve when he’s pretending to be Frank,” R said thoughtfully. “But I guess that still files this under Frank’s unique traits if people are only doing this when pretending to be him.”

R and Kit reached a small slam of hearts after a series of cuebids and asks, and Bertrand considered over which card to lead.  

“Though I suppose in a similar situation, I could say that ‘if anyone saw me doing that, that’s Beatrice disguised as me’,” Kit mused, laying down her cards for R. “Good luck, I think this one has great chance.  Don’t you love my nice club suit?”

“Ohhh, thanks, that definitely looks helpful,” R grinned as she studied Kit’s hand. “In all honesty, that does sound like something Beatrice would do.”

“I disagree, B wouldn’t want to do some action that K doesn’t want to be associated with as K --  not for K’s sake, but just because it’s probably something she would love to be attached with her name and won’t want someone else taking the credit.”

“Classic Beatrice,” Frank shook his head roughly.

“What latest thing in the hotel has she broken lately?” Kit asked, half-amused.

“Well, not lately, and let’s hope it stays this way,” Frank sighed, and Kit laughed.

“Well, I suppose Bertrand have a point,” R tilted her head, pausing a bit after throwing in Frank with the Ace of Spades, looking a little dreamy.  “She is rather bold and iconic that way.  It’s her charm.  Very delightful in her own style.”

The other three people stared her, and R flushed. “I’m just stating a fact!  Anyway, whatever Frank returns, you’re either giving me a ruff and discard or leading into the table’s Ace and Queen. Making six.”

“I suppose it makes it so much possible for things to happen the other way, like Kit doing something and later claiming it was Beatrice,” Frank said logically.

“Except I don’t do high profile dramatic stuff like she does and if something didn’t look dramatic enough, nobody’s going to believe it’s her, so it won’t work,” Kit said. “Beatrice and I would make great partners in crime though, balancing each other out this way.  All elements of personality traits there.”

Frank and R exchanged a look, the expressions on their faces indicating they’re thinking about the same thing.  Bertrand, on the other hand, teased directly, “Ah, your favorite brand of romance, isn’t it, K?”

“Shut up, B,” Kit glared at him.

“She’s not here now, you don’t need to tell her to shut up,” Bertrand said slyly, and R’s and Frank’s smiles turned into outright laughter.

“Shut up, all of you,” Kit huffed.  She turned her attention to the bidding sequence, ignoring them, and then studied the hand she had.  After some consideration, she doubled the 3NT.

“Wow,” Frank said, raising an eyebrow. “there’s no need for that.”

“Oh, this is absolutely just about the cards,” Kit smiled, a little sweet and a little menacing. “I compartmentalize well.  You’re going down, boys.” She drank the ice tea from Frank’s glass this time, crunching on the ice cubes.  All others passed, and Kit led the Diamond King.

Frank laid out the Dummy’s hand and Bertrand studied it in concentration, planning out his route. “Well,” he said slowly, deliberately, “game on, Snicket.”

[02]

R and Kit settled in 3S, and Bertrand led a small diamond.

“How are things in the hotel lately?” R asked. “King please.” She directed Kit.

“We finally got a new popcorn machine,” Frank said, covering the K with Ace.   He surveyed the Dummy, and decided to switch to a heart.

“This is a hotel, not a movie theater,” R pointed out, reasonably. “What do you need it for?”  She counted the number of hearts in both dummy and in hand, and frowned at the card Frank returned, then looked at Bertrand suspiciously.

Bertrand met her gaze and calmly ruffed the heart.

“Good thing I didn’t go game, though it seems like 3S is in danger as well,” Kit commented. “Also it’s for movie night. By the way, I think it’s my turn to pick what to watch again.”

Frank tried to remember who picked the movie for the past couple of times. “... I’m quite certain you just like, skipped Ernest.”  He paused a little, studied the cards, and then played the King as Bertrand led a club, looking relieved when it held, then returned a heart ready for Bertrand to ruff again.

“Oh yeah, that was intentional,” Kit informed Frank. “He has bad tastes in movies.”

3S went down one at the end, and Bertrand gathered the cards together and shuffled them.  The next hand was dealt, and R preempted a 3H at the first seat. Bertrand looked conflicted for a while, but eventually decided on 3NT.

“Well, this looks like it could be fun,” Kit said as everyone else passed.  She led a heart dutifully, and grinned at R, “as the lady requested.”

“Good luck,” Frank said, “don’t know if my hand’s going to be much of use.”

“Thanks, well, it -- ”

“Might be more useful if we’re in a different contract?” Frank guessed.

“Yeah,” Bertrand admitted, “doesn’t mean this doesn’t have a chance though.  Play the jack.”

After some struggles, 3NT eventually went down 2. “Perhaps double would’ve been better,” Bertrand mused. “We could get to 5C that way.”

“Well, for this hand, probably, though 3NT could easily be the better choice if my hand my club King and Queen were hearts, so it’s really hard to say,” Frank shrugged. “Better luck next time.”

[03]

“Did you guys change the ice tea recipe?” R asked, putting down her glass after drinking it. “It tastes differently today -- oh, it’s honey, isn’t it?”

“City’s latest fashion at the moment, so I’ve been told,” Kit said wryly. “It’s very in, apparently.”

“At Hotel Denouement, we cater to our guests’ ever-changing fashion choices.” Frank said smoothly.

“Well,” Kit said archly, “I prefer my tea bitter.”

“Unfortunately,” he countered easily. “You’re not a guest here.”

The two of them engaged in some silent fight of frowns and challenging stares while Bertrand and R focused on the cards in hand.  Bertrand opened 1C, and Kit took a break from the silent fight to cover with 1S.  Frank bid 2H almost immediately.

They reached 4H fairly easily, and it was a straightforward contract that eventually went over one. Kit dealt the next hand, then opened 1H.  Frank overcalled 1NT.  R bid 2H and ended up as the final contract.

R watched in interest as Kit played, feeling something was off.  Kit should be finessing Frank for all the high spots cards, considering his overcall, yet she wasn’t doing that. And Bertrand did turn out to have some of those spot cards too, which was … interesting. “That’s a really light overcall,” she said as they finished up the board, the clues clicking in.

“We’re nonvul,” “Frank” said, as if that explained the situation. It did sounded like a legit explanation, but also an evasive enough one.

“True,” Bertrand agreed easily, “pass the sugar, will you, E? Hope both honey and sugar are enough to stop K from drinking my tea after she finished all her ice cubes.”

“Frank” -- well, Ernest, really -- blinked for a moment and then shrugged. “Fine, I guess the light overcall really gave it away.  Frank doesn’t do that, does he?”

“Frank might lean on the aggressive side when trying for game, but he sticks to certain principles,” R said, “And Dewey bids more conservatively, so I’ve started suspecting it’s you halfway through this board.”

“Amateur,” Kit scoffed, “I noticed the moment he sat down, try to keep up.”

“Me too,” Bertrand chimed in. “Though admittedly it was only because K gave him a deathly glare. Why did you think I just passed 2H?”

“Good decision,” Ernest smirked. “We cooperate so nicely.  I should come play with you guys more often.”

The bidding for the next board got really competitive, everyone having something to bid.  The contracted ended up as R declaring 5H doubled, though she wondered if she should’ve doubled Ernest’s 4S instead, considering the difference between E and F’s style.

Ernest doubled R’s 5H immediately when it was his turn, giving R a sharp grin, and the fact that Kit didn’t redouble made R feel like the contract was definitely going down.

It did.

“Would 4S have make?” R asked, already suspecting the answer.

“Absolutely not, with the hand E has,” Bertrand said, amused. “Thanks for saving us from that.”

“Sorry,” R told Kit, and Kit waved it away.

“It’s fine,” she said, “hmm, I feel like you’re always quite hesitant to double though. You should try a little more, it adds to the fun.”

“Like playing with knives,” Ernest added, “figuratively.”

“Speaking of literally and figuratively, I heard about what happened last week to Gustav’s script, did Beatrice and Olaf really changed all the ‘literally’ and ‘figuratively’ in the script because they didn’t like their roles?” Kit asked.

“They did,” R said. “Crossing out everyone one of those in the script from typewriter by pen.  Like … read through the whole script in one night and finished changing all of them.”

“That requires some dedication,” Ernest commented. “Wish they do these kind of things more often instead of experimenting with, I don’t know, our new hotel popcorn machine. I don’t want it to explode.”

“Dedication? More like pettiness and too much time on hand,” Kit shook her head.  She saw R’s expression, and said drily, “and now R’s thinking that it’s dedication on Beatrice’s part and pettiness and too much free time on Olaf’s part.”

“Well, am I wrong?” R asked defiantly.

“Only 50%,” Ernest said smoothly. “The Beatrice part, in case you’re wondering.”

[04]

Frank and Bertrand reached 3NT, and Kit tried to get Bertrand to tell her why he and Beatrice got briefed with a secret mission last week.

“I don’t even need to know what the mission is, I’m just, out of professional, non-personal interest, want to know why they choose you and Beatrice to work on it. Well, and knowing what it is would be a bonus too, but not strictly necessary.”

“And people said I’m the one who couldn’t get over Beatrice,” R whispered to Frank.

“Not mutually exclusive,” Frank told her, in an equally low voice.

“No offense but that,” Bertrand said drily, “sounds like the exact opposite of professional and non-personal.”

Kit considered a bit, then said slowly, “You know how J still thinks you’re the model driver you let him think you are on your first date? Like, no clue at all about how you actually drive?  And I can rectify this situation any second?”

Bertrand narrowed his eyes slightly, “Don’t play your trump card too early, K, you never know what you’ll force out.”

“This is a notrump contract, there are no trump cards to play,” R interrupted them.

“Did Gustav convince you to join in the literally versus figuratively agenda?” Frank asked, hiding a laugh.

Kit and Bertrand ignored them, and R told Frank, “we should get some popcorn, this looks like it’ll take a while.”

“It’s right next door, I’ll go grab it really quick,” Frank said quickly, hurrying out of the room.  When he came back, someone else was with him.

“I heard there’s drama and popcorn and I don’t want to miss it,” Ernest said cheerfully, grabbing a chair.

“I’m just saying, I’ve got secrets on you too,” Bertrand said to Kit calmly.

“Can I interrupt? Because if this is in reference to Beatrice, then we all knew about it, not just you,” Ernest pointed out, then grabbed a bite of popcorn.

“To be fair, isn’t Jacques still the only who doesn’t know how he drives either?” R said.

“Ah, so everyone’s just keeping quiet for potential blackmail material, my favorite kind of scene,” Ernest nodded sagely. “Continue.”

“Frank, hand me some popcorn so I can throw it at your brother,” Kit said.

“Does Beatrice really not know?” Frank asked sceptically, ignoring Kit’s request.

“Beatrice is … surprisingly unobservant in certain aspects, all things considering,” R said neutrally.  Everyone turned to stare at her. She blinked. “I mean like, just in general, you know, not particularly referencing anything.”

“Makes one wonder if she would believe it coming from someone else, doesn’t it? She must’ve already heard all sorts of rumors about people having a crush on her.” Ernest mused. “Which might turn Bertrand’s leverage into nothing substantial.”

Kit slowly grinned. “Wow, I’m hiring you as my next scheming consultant.”

Ernest raised an eyebrow, and saluted her half-mockingly, “Ernest Denouement, at your service, Ma’am.”

Bertrand turned his gaze on Frank, “Why did you have to bring him in?”

“I’m wounded, and we partnered so well together last time,” Ernest said, shaking his head, putting one hand on his chest dramatically.

Kit looked at Bertrand, a smile playing on her lips. “So?”

“Okay,” Bertrand sighed. “You win, I’ll tell you about the mission later, alright? Just. Don’t tell Jacques ….. Please. And I don’t just mean the mission.”

“Deal,” Kit said immediately. She picked surveyed the table and the already played cards. “Well, let’s get back to the board, shall we?”

One of the Denouement triplets stood up, “I’ll leave you guys to it, then.  I should get back to work.”

“So,” R said brightly, “who wants more ice tea?”

[kirilisms]

ooh, are you still taking drabble requests? might i request a therius drabble that takes place post-therion's chapter 3? :)

adfkdsjgs this is probably going to be more pre-Therius, a lot of character monologuing and Therion trying to sort out things (his mental state at the end of CH3 isn’t the best, considering he’s just come to terms with his own trust issues and is about to go kill his murderer), but still…..Therius :3c

To the other people I still owe drabbles, I think I’ve mentioned this to y’all one-on-one but I got motivation and they’re getting really long so I’m working them into oneshots orz This one is short and sweet, like a drabble should be!

(callout post: 1,282 words is not a drabble.)

Spoilers for Therion’s CH3, obviously! (I would also like to say that what Cyrus describes in battle is literally what happened to my party and I cried a lot).

Therion feels like an idiot, to say the least. Cordelia exceeds every expectation he’s ever had of her, and he’s a thief. Preconceived notions and conclusion-jumping isn’t supposed to be in his job description.

And yet here he is, making every mistake a rookie knows not to.

He wonders who else he’s mistaken, how many people he’s created a persona around that doesn’t fit who they are. Ophilia? Probably. Primrose? Most likely. Cyrus?

“I see you’ve run away from us yet again.”

Apparently.

He glances up at the other from where he’s sitting underneath an apple tree, taking in the studious gaze he’s being given and returning it with a bored stare. Everyone else has left him alone, for the most part; they know that, whenever he checks in with his handlers, he wants some time to himself, and after the fight with Gareth - and the encounter with that man, whose name he doesn’t even want to think about at the moment - that applies doubly so. Cyrus, though, is different, always barging in, checking to see if he’s ‘quite all right’ (the scholar’s words, verbatim) or just watching to make sure the thief doesn’t do anything stupid.

Therion isn’t sure if it’s annoying or heartwarming, but he hopes for his own sake that it’s the former.

“I haven’t run away,” he replies coolly. “What would be the point, when you’re all so willing to fight my battles for me?” It’s all hot air, and they both know it, but he wants to see if Cyrus reacts.

The scholar takes the bait, almost too easily. “You speak as though you haven’t been plotting your dramatic escape from us for weeks now.” He sounds irritated, and if Therion imagines hard enough, he can see them sitting in a classroom, Cyrus clicking his tongue irritably as though he’s just interrupted a lecture. It’s amusing, to say the least. “The truth is that you’re afraid to pull us into your battles, but you refuse to understand that we put ourselves there.”

Therion is quiet for almost too long a moment, if the way Cyrus quirks an eyebrow is anything to go by. Finally, he responds. “I still don’t get why. Is there something you want from me? Nobody just works for free.”

It’s almost the truth; Alfyn works for free, but he’s an idiot, so he doesn’t count. The others, though, they each have something to gain, and Therion doesn’t overlook the fact that they’re stronger in numbers. Just like the nobles who flock together for money and riches, they’re all adventurers who flock together for protection and strength. It’s common knowledge.

However, Cyrus looks surprisingly…..well, surprised at his question. “Is companionship not enough of an answer?” Therion wonders briefly if Cyrus ever thinks about fixing his brain-to-mouth filter, but decides against asking aloud. “We could be asking the same of you, mind. When Tressa was fighting against Gareth, and you…..”

He trails off, but Therion knows exactly what he’s talking about. The force of the blow to his skull was too strong for him to forget so easily. Alfyn patched him up soon after, and Tressa apologized ten times over for almost getting him killed, but it all ended well enough. Nobody had mentioned - at the time, at least - that it was Therion who had jumped out in front of her to catch the attack, rather than Gareth leaping at Therion himself, but he’s pretty sure that’s what Cyrus is talking about.

Cyrus’s eyes dart away from Therion for a moment, making him wonder if something else specifically is on his mind, but there’s no room in the conversation for him to ask before Cyrus is speaking again. “What I mean to say is, you’re not the type of person to sacrifice yourself for somebody you don’t care about.”

“All right.” It’s not an agreement, nor a dissent, just a statement. Regardless of what he says, though, Cyrus is right. “So you’re saying I care about you. Collectively.” The group, he wants to clarify further, but there’s no need so he holds his tongue. 

“Yes, but also too ignorant to tell us this yourself.” Cyrus pauses. “Or perhaps too scared.”

That was a nail on the head if Therion ever heard one. “You don’t say, professor.”

It’s sarcasm, but Cyrus takes it for face value. “I do. You want to accompany us, and treat us as comrades and friends, but you hide it behind a mask of disinterest. You feign that mutual benefit and sharp wit is all that drives you to continue traveling with us, and to keep yourself distant, you mistakenly persuade yourself that our feelings are the same.”

Gods, Cyrus can read him like any multitude of the books he’s devoured, and Therion almost hates it. Almost, because he can’t quite find it in himself to hate the one person who’s taken the initiative to analyze him so thoroughly. “And they say you’re obtuse,” he drawls instead, once again feigning the sharp wit that he knows Cyrus hates. “What are you going to do about it, though?”

Cyrus’s response surprises him more than anything else in the conversation has so far. “I’m going to convince you.” It’s a promise, judging by the conviction in Cyrus’s voice, one that won’t go unfulfilled if he has anything to say about it- and with his track record, Therion almost believes him over his own denial. “Every day, until our paths diverge and perhaps even beyond that, I promise that I will make you realize that this trust we share does not have to be built on business transactions.”

“Good luck.” Therion snorts, but his confidence is already waning. It’s such a Cyrus thing to do, to speak in a way that forces him to let down his guard and let the scholar trick him into thinking things he shouldn’t think.

Apparently, Cyrus takes that as an approval to begin.

“We’re not going to betray you.” His voice is warm but holds another quality that Therion is scared to think too much about. It’s one that leads to attachment, and he’s barely starting to recover from the first wound over his heart. With his life hanging as precariously as it is - he already lost once, he won’t be an idiot and promise a victory he doesn’t know he can achieve - he doesn’t want to be the cause of another.

Still, he replies. “I know.” Because he does know. They haven’t betrayed each other ever since their first step, and now isn’t the time for the tides to change. No matter how many times Therion rationalizes this blind trust in his comrades as something more sinister, he knows it isn’t the truth. They’ve all found a home in each other, and whether he likes it or not, that’s not a bond so easily broken.

“You can trust me.”

Cyrus reaches his hand out to pull him up, and for once…..Therion accepts it. His hand is almost soft, barely calloused from waving his staff around rather than a sword or spear, and Therion can feel every small cut and bruise that has yet to heal from the battle with Gareth. How many will there be, he wonders, after they’re done with Darius? Enough to last a lifetime, he knows Cyrus would say if he asks him. But for you, each would be worth it. He looks at Cyrus’s hand again, replaying everything the scholar has sacrificed - his time, his morals, his own health - to help Therion on his own journey, and wonders.

Even when he’s up on his own two feet, he almost doesn’t want to let go.

“I know.”

[momentskrp]

SACRED HEARTS SPOTLIGHT:

today we’re showcasing our 3C tenant kim hyunwoo, who has been with us at sweetheart since august 2018. he’s currently a chef, but we hear he has big dreams of becoming a celebrity chef someday. turn to page 5 to read more!

PAST.

seoul, 2012;

“you can’t talk to her like that.”

“what’d you say to me boy? do you know who the fuck i am?”

the entire pocha goes silent, and suddenly it seems as if all the drunken customers in the place have sobered up. they all stare stupidly at the teenage boy in the middle of the tented stall. he’s tall, lean, cheeks flushed in a slight red, though it’s hard to tell whether it’s from the cold night wind outside or by his own temper. he’s still dressed in high school uniform, though his tie is loosened, blazer unbuttoned, and cuffs drawn. they’d wonder why he wasn’t already home studying or asleep at such a late hour, but there’s a mischievous gleam in his eye that gives away that he must not be a very good student anyway.

there’s a harsh clattering as the boy’s opponent rises from his stool. using both hands, the staunch, balding man shoves the table away from himself as he rises, and his mindless minions follow, stumbling in drunken daze as they do. soju glasses and beer bottles clink loudly against the food platters. soup spills over the bowls and onto the table.

“i don’t give a fuck who you are. you can’t fucking talk to her like that.”

the larger man steps towards the boy, slurred explicits seething from between his teeth. but the boy doesn’t budge. he can smell too many bottles of soju on the man’s breath.

“hyunwoo-yah, what are you doing? just listen to me and leave now. i will take care of things, but you just get going now. it’s really okay.”

the other women have emerged from behind the kitchen now, and they join the customers — drunk college students, salarymen, the brokenhearted — in idle spectatorship. they watch now as a small, wiry woman in her fifties yanks helplessly at her adamant son’s jacket, eyes desperately pleading for him to stop with his reckless stunt. her back is hunched, hands wrinkled from countless years laboring away in the crowded kitchen, keeping alive her pocha in an age when they were going extinct. why couldn’t he see that his opponent was not someone to be messed with? this was the first time she had seen her boy in weeks now, and the last thing she needed was for him to be dead at the hands of the local gang. it’s not like this was the first time she’d have to plead the goons to pay for their meal before leaving… why couldn’t he see?

“no mom, it’s really not okay. what about this is okay to you? why do you always say everything is fucking okay when it’s not?!”

he angrily rips away from his mother’s grasp, viciously slapping her hand away when it reaches for his arm again. he doesn’t get why his mother puts up with this bullshit day in and day out. it made him sick to the stomach how she always acted like everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. when she’d be verbally abused by drunken customers, struggled to pay the bills, when he’d only come back home once every few weeks — even when his father left them ten years ago: “it’s okay”.

he’s too caught up with his mother before being harshly reminded of his other opponent by a heavy blow to the jaw, but he feels no pain. with naive courage, he shoves the drunken man backwards into the table, sending dishes and drinks clamoring to the floor as the audience gasps. he picks up a metal stool, swinging it over his head and slamming down with strength of all the injustice he’d felt in the world. in the midst of the chaos, he flees, running from the tent through crowded streets, lungs heaving against the cold winter air, a hollering gang chasing after him like a pack of hounds.

the metallic taste of blood fills his mouth from the deep gash in his inner lip, regardless of how many times he spits. It’s the last taste of home he’ll remember.

tokyo, 2014;

“so when are you going home? there can’t possibly be that much to learn in a kitchen.”

he shifts his head in the girl’s lap, giving a flirtatious tug on the hem of her skirt as he shoots her a fake look of hurt. her fingers stroke through his hair, and she giggles a bit. after graduating high school, he took the first flight out of korea he could find, eventually taking a job in at a rising restaurant in tokyo. If nothing else, the years he had spent helping in his mother’s kitchen had left him with solid culinary fundamentals, and though the pay wasn’t much, he was a quick learner, pocketing as many tricks of the craft as he could. plus the restaurant owner figured that the korean boy’s good looks were a sticking point for female customers of the restaurant.

“you really want me to leave you that bad?”

he was slowly starting to lose count of the number of months he’d been in this foreign city. obviously enough to where his japanese had improved to the level of fluency required for flirtation and persuasion. but now his female companion had him thinking. she was wrong about there not being anything to learn in the kitchen. he’d learnt that cooking could be pleasant, when not serving up food to drunken bastards in a pocha. that the top chefs could live lives of glory and pleasure beyond what his poor mother could ever imagine. that everyone has hunger, and everyone has taste, even if they don’t realize it. life is just a constant quest to satiate.

and so maybe she was also right. he couldn’t stay here forever. he had nothing to lose, so he might as well just shoot for more. he made up his mind to leave. an unreadable grin takes over his lips, and he gets up, gently laying her down now.

“well i’ll make sure you miss me when i do.”

paris, 2018

“get the fuck out of my kitchen!”

his french was still a while away from fluent, but he understood enough to get that much: he was being fired. grabbing the hat from his head, he hurls it to the ground, the other hand angrily working on the knot of his apron. he grabs the giant knife he had in hand, furiously slamming it point-first into the slab of lamb he had been working on. he’d put on display more of his recently erupting temper if he didn’t know how skilled his boss also was with a knife.

it had been close to four years now since he’d taken a one-way flight out of tokyo, converting his entire savings into euros before backpacking through the continent of europe. an endless chain of worn down hostels in italy, spain, and france had left him penniless, but deep in rich culinary experiences, pleasures of life, and the romance of the region. he was now utterly convinced that a chef was the world’s most honest, worthy occupation. the world was full of illusions and bullshit, but good food, and a matching glass of wine. what else was as undeniably good in the world?

is it good? does it give pleasure? the only two questions he was interested in answering when doing his craft. ironically, he found himself waltzing his way into the prime of 21st century hedonism. he had no idea what a drug-fuelled culture chefs often indulged in, and the restaurant industry’s high-stress, fast-paced culture would only fuel his appetite for drugs, alcohol, and sin. shit, sometimes he couldn’t even taste his own food right. honestly, it was fair that he was being fired from the best restaurant gig he’d landed thus far.

he bursts out the back exit of the restaurant, shooting an empty glare at some of his ex-colleagues chilling by the loading dock. fuck, he should’ve never taken up their offer to “try something new” a few months back. they yell something at him in confusion, but he doesn’t look back and continues to walk into the paris streets. he wishes he had somewhere to go.

PRESENT.

comfort food: food that provides consolation or a feeling of well-being, typically associated with childhood or home cooking. it was a pity how nothing about his childhood or home cooking was anything close to what he associated with consolation or well-being. rather, it’s what he retreats to now that over-indulgence has left him trashed and starving for any bit of hope and pleasure.

he’s lucky to have found a rising restaurant in seoul that will give someone like him a chance. they were impressed by his expertise of foreign cuisine, especially for someone who had no formal technical education and clearly lacked the financial means to have naturally developed such a fine palette. he doesn’t tell them it’s because he’s a bad son who ran away from home, abandoning his mother and ashamed of her cooking, which was for sustenance, not pleasure. he doesn’t tell them that he’s back home because he’s an ex-addict, fired from his last gig, and really has no other option.

he’s been living in the sharehouse for a few months now, and it’s honestly not bad at all, especially for the rent. if anything, it reminds him of his backpacking days staying in crowded hostels. new people, new stories. it’s less lonely that way. he’s glad to cook for the other residents when he can, as they make fine testers for new recipes and innovation that he can’t try on real customers back at work. the rooftop is a fine place to wind down too, especially on days when he’s allowed to sneak home a bottle of fine wine or liquor left over from the day. and although he hates to admit, he’s missed the irreplaceable charm of korean food. after all, food is everything someone is. it’s an extension of identity, personal history, culture, family, friends. it’s inseparable from those from the get-go.