#I actually kind of wonder if HE remembered that? or if he was just like oh that show was awful and I puked

[itneverendshere]

maybe wheezie or even sarah needing rafe to pick them up from school or attend a back to school night. like the school calls rafe to pick up sarah after getting in a fight. or the teacher calls him in to discuss that wheezie struggling in math

thank you for the request!!! 🫶🏻🫂 i think rafe's always had a soft spot for wheezie so i did this one for her cause i personally can see their dynamic being really cute.

 we're both older now - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Sitting in the passenger seat of Rafe’s truck, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. His hands were on the wheel, jaw clenched just enough for you to notice, but not enough to freak out.

It’s been months since rehab, and you swear, you’ve never seen him like this before—so focused, so... responsible. It’s kinda hot.

But that’s not what you’re here for. Not right now.

You’re headed to Wheezie’s school because, apparently, she’s been struggling with math. She didn’t want to tell Rafe because Ward’s rarely at home these days and she didn’t want to bother him. When you found out, you could’ve smacked her. You get it—Rafe’s been under a lot of pressure lately—but you don’t think she realizes how much he cares about her. That’s why you two are heading to a parent-teacher meeting like it’s the most normal thing in the world. It’s not. 

“I should’ve known something was off,” Rafe mutters, breaking the silence.

You look over at him. “You couldn’t have. Wheezie’s good at keeping stuff to herself.”

He shakes his head, his grip tightening on the wheel just a little. “I’m her brother. I should’ve noticed.”

You reach over, resting your hand on his arm. “You’re doing your best, baby. That matters.”

He lets out a breath, his tension easing under your touch. God, sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s the same guy who used to pick fights at every chance he got just a few years ago. It’s been almost a year since his last relapse, but every day you see him fighting to be better—for himself, for you, for his sisters. And honestly? It does something to you, seeing him like this. 

You pull into the school parking lot, and he parks the truck, turning off the engine. For a second, he just sits there, staring straight ahead. You know what he’s thinking. He’s wondering if he’s good enough to handle this, to handle all of it.

“You got this,” You say softly.

Together, you walk into the school, and after a quick conversation with the receptionist, you’re led to Wheezie’s teacher’s classroom. The room smells like dry-erase markers and stress, the kind you remember from my own high school days.

Except, this is a private school, completely different from what you were used to, and back then, you loved school. You were good at it too—really good, actually. Straight A’s, honors, full ride to a decent college…but life had other plans.

You look at Rafe as you wait for the teacher to start the meeting. He’s sitting up straight, listening intently, and your chest tightens a little.

The same guy who used to blow off any responsibility now sitting here, laser-focused, ready to step up for his little sister. The teacher starts talking about Wheezie’s grades, how she’s been falling behind in math, and you can see the guilt in his face. You squeeze his knee under the table, trying to ground him, but honestly? This was hitting a little too close to home for you, too.

“I can help her,” You hear yourself say before you’ve even really thought about it. Rafe turns to look at you, surprised, and you shrug like it’s no big deal.

The teacher blinks, probably not expecting the girlfriend to jump in with a solution. “What did you score on your final exams?”

You move in your seat, not expecting the question but not exactly shy about your answer either. "I got a 1600 on my SATs," You said, trying to sound casual about it, even though you could see Rafe’s eyebrows shoot up next to you. 

The teacher’s eyes widen slightly. "That’s impressive," she says, "You must’ve had a lot of options for college."

You shrug again feeling that familiar feeling of bittersweet regret. "Yeah, I had a full ride to a few places.”

“And you didn’t go?”

The way she says says it—like she can’t imagine why you wouldn’t go—hurts a little. 

"Yeah, well... life happened." You try to brush it off like it doesn’t bother you.

Rafe’s hand slides over to yours under the table, interlocking your fingers and giving you a gentle squeeze. It’s subtle, but it’s enough for you. To remind you that you made the right choices, even if they weren’t easy ones.

The meeting wraps up pretty quickly after that.

The teacher gives Rafe some advice on how to help Wheezie stay on track, and you both thank her before heading out of the classroom. As you walk down the hallway, he stays quiet for a bit, and you can’t really read what’s going through his head.

By the time you get back to the truck, he turns to you, his brow furrowed slightly, like he’s still processing everything. "You got a perfect score on your SATs?"

Three years into the relationship and he’s still learning things about you every day.

You let out a small laugh, brushing some hair behind your ear. "Yeah. It’s not a big deal."

"That’s kinda insane," he says, looking at you like he’s seeing a whole new side of you. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”

You shrug for the millionth time today, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I don’t know. It just never came up. It’s not like it matters now, anyway.”

"It does matter." His voice is firm, and when you glance over, you can see how serious he looks. "You gave up a lot to help your sister. That’s not nothing."

Your throat tightens, and you have to swallow down the emotion rising inside you. The way Rafe says it, like he actually gets it, means more than he probably knows. "I just did what I had to do."

He nods slowly, like he understands that feeling all too well. "You didn’t have to offer to help Wheezie today. But you did.”

You don’t want to make a big deal out of it. "I want to help her. She deserves it."

Rafe doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with this soft, almost disbelieving expression. Like he can’t wrap his head around the fact that you’re still here, beside him, helping his family without a second thought.

"You’re amzing, y’know that?" he murmurs, his voice low and warm in that way that makes your stomach flip.

You feel your cheeks heat up, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "Stop."

"I mean it." He reaches over, cupping your face gently with his hand, thumb brushing lightly across your cheek. His eyes soften as they meet yours, filled with so much adoration it makes you want to hide. "I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m really fucking grateful."

You bite your lip, glancing down at his other hand on your knee before looking back up at him.

"You’ve been working hard. For yourself, for us. I see that."

His jaw tightens just slightly, and he looks down, almost like he’s not sure how to take the compliment. But when his eyes meet yours again,

"I’m trying," he says quietly. "I’m trying to be better."

"And you are," you whisper. "Every day."

The months of hard work, the late nights when you’ve held him through his doubts, the mornings when he’s shown up for his family even when it was hard. It’s all there, between you, unspoken but understood.

Rafe leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you," he whispers. "For everything."

You close your eyes, letting the moment settle around you. "I’ll always be here," you whisper back. "We’ve got this."

“I don’t think I would’ve made it this far without you.”

You swallow hard, trying not to let it hit you too deep. But it does. Because for all the mess you’ve been through—his ups and downs, his relapse, his constant fight to be better—it always comes back to you. To this.

“I’ll always have your back,” You remind him quietly. “You know that, right?”

He nods, like there’s absolutely no doubt in his mind. “I know. You’re really good with her," he says after a beat. "With Wheezie. And with Milo."

You smile, leaning back in your seat. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta look after the kids, right? Might as well be me."

Rafe’s lips twitch into another smile as he leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, "Thank you, baby.”

“For what?”

“For sticking around,” he says, pulling back slightly to look at you. “Even when I didn’t make it easy.”

 “You make it worth it, Rafe. You always have.”

Because seeing him like this—happy, strong, responsible, and healthy—it’s more than just him trying. It’s him becoming the person you always believed he could be, from day one on that stupid country club. And that? That’s something you’d stick around for any day.

When you and Rafe pull up to Tannyhill, the sun’s already setting. You grab your bag from the backseat, and he takes a deep breath, his hand hovering near yours like he needs to hold onto you just for a second longer. When you step into the house, you’re greeted by the usual stillness that fills the place. It’s huge, but it always feels too quiet.

Wheezie’s sitting at the kitchen island, hunched over her phone, clearly trying to distract herself. Her leg’s bouncing nervously under the stool, and you don’t even have to say anything to know that she’s been dreading this moment.

As soon as she sees the two of you, she freezes, eyes wide, "Hey," she greets, her voice shaky.

Rafe glances at you, and you give him a small nod. You know he’s trying to figure out how to handle this—he’s never really had to play the role of ‘responsible older brother’ before. But he’s doing it. He’s trying. And that’s what matters.

"Wheeze," Rafe starts, as he walks over to her, and you can see the panic rising in her eyes as she sits up straighter like she’s preparing for the worst. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

She bites her lip, glancing between the two of you. "I-I didn’t want to bother you," she mumbles, her voice small. "You’ve been dealing with a lot, and I thought— I don’t know. I thought I could handle it on my own."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’s quiet for a second, and you can feel Wheezie’s anxiety practically buzzing out of her. She’s probably expecting him to yell, to go off on her, but instead, he takes a step forward and pulls her into a hug.

"You ever keep something like that from me again," he mutters into her hair, his tone firm but warm, "and you’re grounded."

Wheezie’s eyes go wide in shock, like she wasn’t expecting that at all. Her arms wrap around him a little awkwardly, but you can tell she’s relieved. She pulls back after a second, staring up at him with those big brown eyes of hers. "You’re not mad?"

Rafe shakes his head, but his expression is serious. "I’m not mad. I’m worried, Wheeze. I’m here, okay? I got you."

"I’m sorry," she whispers.

He sighs again, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at her. "Don’t be sorry. Just don’t do it again."

She nods quickly, and you step closer, offering her a small smile. "You’re not in trouble, Wheezie. I’m gonna help you with the math stuff, okay? I promise."

Wheezie looks over at you, clearly surprised, and then back at Rafe. "You’re… really not mad?"

Rafe rolls his eyes but in that big-brother way that’s full of affection.

"No, Wheeze, I’m not mad. But next time you’re struggling with something, tell me. That’s what I’m here for."

She nods, relief washing over her features. "Okay. I will."

Rafe reaches out and ruffles her hair, something so casual and brotherly it makes your heart swell.

"Good. Now go do whatever you do, and remember—grounded if you pull that shit again."

You slap his arm, “Will stop cursing in front of her?”

He shoots you a half-smirk, looking completely unbothered. "Please baby, she’s sixteen. You think she doesn’t curse?"

Wheezie lets out a small laugh, covering her mouth as if she’s trying to keep it together, but you can tell she’s relieved. 

"Yeah, but maybe not in front of her big brother," you tease, raising an eyebrow at him.

Rafe shrugs, looking like he couldn’t care less. "If she’s smart enough to hide it from me, more power to her."

Wheezie giggles again, and you can’t help but smile. "Yeah, yeah," you sigh, rolling your eyes at him playfully. "You’re a great role model, Rafe Cameron."

He groans, “Please don’t use the full name.” The corners of his mouth tug up in a grin that makes your heart skip. “Alright, no more big brother lectures tonight. We’re good, yeah, Wheeze?”

Wheezie nods, still smiling. “Yeah, we’re good.”

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for derpsheep behind the cut; weird amnesia Timberkon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“You can recognize their heartbeats?” Bernard asks incredulously–that is a very creepy and invasive thing to recognize about someone, much less be passively listening to, what the fuck–and then frowns. “Wait, got back from where?” 

“Long story,” Superboy mutters. “Alternate realities were involved. It sucked. But I got back here, and it’s supposed to be right, and there’s people I recognize, but there’s . . . different people, too. And no one here recognizes me. And I thought . . .” 

“That you were either totally insane or just stranded in the wrong reality for no discernable reason with no idea how to find the right one?” Bernard assumes. 

“That, yeah,” Superboy says tightly. “Definitely that.” 

“Good news, I guess, if you are insane, it’s a shared delusion, and if you’re in the wrong reality, so am I,” Bernard says. “Because again, I definitely remember you. And Hawaii. And Superman being dead. And like, all that shit in general. Also you kinda died that one time too? There was a statue, I’m pretty sure. Actually I think there were two.” 

Superboy’s smile is tight and humorless, and he digs his fingers into the inside of his wrist. Bernard has no clue how a dude in such severe and obvious distress can look so fucking good about, like . . . literally everything he’s got going on over there. It’s a lot of “everything”, is all. Superboy is a lot no matter what, obviously, but still. Like, extra a lot. Secret bonus levels of a lot. 

A lot. 

“I mean, there used to be,” Superboy says, and the pained smile he’s wearing turns–bitter, kind of. 

Fuck, Bernard feels so bad for this dude. Like so many levels of so bad. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way but I need to google some shit,” he says as he digs his phone out. Tim is clearly taking his sweet-ass time in the bathroom, and since he isn’t actually in there waiting for Superboy, it’s gotta be a Bat thing, which usually gives him a good fifteen or twenty minutes of fuck-around time before Tim makes it back with the weak excuse du jour. Or, like, three and a half weeks, one very memorable and kinda fucking awful time that Bernard had spent wondering if jumping into the timestream was how vigilantes ghosted you. “And maybe check some forums or something.” 

“I don’t think ‘is this weird dude at the boba shop crazy’ is gonna pop up on Bing, man,” Superboy says, still wearing the same bitter smile. Bernard wonders why he didn’t just go to the Justice League and explain himself to them. Like, they’d probably believe him, right? Or at least they wouldn’t instantly not believe him; they’d check things out or whatever. 

Alternately, though: half-Kryptonian full-telekinetic with Lex Luthor’s DNA and Superman’s face who doesn’t even know if he’s crazy or not.  

So like . . . that seems like an awkward conversation to have with Superman, maybe, Bernard allows. Or just fucking agonizing and terrifying and wildly, wildly likely to end in one of those stupid misunderstanding-based super-fights and, like, maybe also getting drop-kicked into the Phantom Zone because said stupid fight would be against Superman and that is, apparently, what Superman usually does with supervillain Kryptonians. And probably Superboy is having some very understandable issues about getting drop-kicked out of reality right now, if that’s a concern he’s had. Which–the Phantom Zone isn’t the same thing as an alternate reality, as far as Bernard’s aware, but also what the fuck does he know about the Phantom Zone? 

Bernard googles, in quick succession: Superman’s death, the Phantom Zone, and Superboy. He gets a ton of articles and photographs and blog posts with absolutely zero trace of Superboy in a single one of them, a lot of contradicting intel about what the hell the Phantom Zone actually is, and also some blurry candid photos of a ten year-old in ripped jeans and an S-shield hoodie that he’s never seen before in his life. 

. . . so that’s weird, yeah, Bernard observes, blinking down at his phone. 

“Huh,” he says, brow furrowing. “Hey, should I know this kid?” 

“Did you literally just google ‘Superboy’?” Superboy asks, which is notably not an answer to Bernard’s question. 

“Obviously, yeah, the entire internet is in my pocket, why would I not do that,” Bernard replies reasonably, still scrolling through random photos of this completely unrecognizable kid. Said kid continues to look like a total fucking stranger and Bernard continues to have zero clue who he is or why he’s wearing the “S”. Another clone, maybe? Like, an even mini-er mini-Super? Bernard can’t see his face all that clearly in any of the pics, still, but he’s at least got Superman’s coloring, it looks like. 

“Because Tim would give you shit about it, probably, I don’t know,” Superboy lies, because he very obviously does know. Probably better than Bernard does himself, come to think of it, which is kind of a weird thought but also, like, an obviously objectively true one. Superboy’s spent a lot more time with Tim than he has, even having been, like . . . unrealitied and all. 

God, that is still so disturbing a concept, too. 

[mrghostrat]

Haven’t been on tumblr in a long time.. I remember your streamer au, but nothing more. Id appreciate a small recap! :3

HII! for anyone who hasn't read it, it's a very slice-of-life collection of scenes for the most part, so there's loads of lil scenes i'll leave out of this. but here's a look back at the overall friends-to-lovers plot!

and they were streamers (10/16) (unfinished wip)

aziraphale and crowley are full time twitch streamers who live together in a london townhouse. crowley streams whatever he wants, usually toxic pvp games and "just chatting" hanging out and drinking. aziraphale streams all kinds of wholesome crafty content, such as cooking, baking, reading, and book binding.

crowley has been in love with aziraphale since... god, far too long. he'll never say anything because he knows aziraphale only sees him as a friend

aziraphale is bombarded with a hate raid during pride month, and is severely ill-equipped to moderate it himself. crowley jumps in to shut it down and fix his security settings to protect him further.

aziraphale brings crowley a cup of tea one stream (standing off-camera) when he's heavily focused on a game. he startles at the sudden presence, shouting "angel" accidentally for everyone to hear. aziraphale doesn't mind, but the chat go nuts speculating over the pet name and his relationship with his roommate

furfur, a sub-par streamer and tea-spill investigator, notes a connection on twitter between this "angel" and and old stream clip where crowley is caught ranting and rambling (very smittenly) about an "angel" in his life.

aziraphale's chat starts to wonder about the fondness between him and his elusive off-screen roommate

crowley posts in aziraphale's chat asking if he can have a bite of what he's cooking. he goes to the kitchen to try some, but the chat is too distracted freaking out that the notorious crowley is watching an aziraphale stream to realise aziraphale has actually handed a plate off camera. aziraphale seems troubled when he notices the chat is so beserk, so crowley makes a secret side account to send him a donation and tell him to keep up the good work

aziraphale comes home to find crowley in a discord call, playing party games with anathema, newt, and nina. he settles in beside him on the couch to join in.

crowley surprises aziraphale by raiding him at the end of his stream. he uses his 3,000 viewers to ask if aziraphale plans on going to a twitch meet-up in edinburgh. when crowley finally asks himself, aziraphale says yes.

the dark council, a huge and popular UK twitch team, tweets their curiosity about crowley's elusive roommate, wanting anyone with sleuthing abilities to spill the tea for them.

shaxx encourages furfur to investigate his theory that aziraphale and crowley live together, wanting him to impress the dark council twitch team to grow both their streams.

aziraphale and crowley drive to edinburgh together, playing games in the car, answering questions on twitter, and have a tense conversation on what to do if you harbour a secret crush. aziraphale thinks you should go for grand gestures, but crowley thinks it's best to bottle things up.

they attend the meet-up at a packed pub. crowley introduces aziraphale to beelzebub and promises to stick by his side, but as the drinks start flowing, they both get more comfortable to mill around and socialise on their own.

furfur, hired as the photographer for the event, arrives only after crowley and aziraphale separate from one another. but at the end of the night, gets a photo of them leaving the pub together in a drunken giggle fit, looking like smitten lovers. shaxx and furfur speculate they might be more than just roommates.

back in london, aziraphale makes plans for his holiday fundraiser stream. his viewers suggest a "roommate reveal" for £5,000. both he and crowley are flabbergasted that anyone is even slightly interested. furfur rushes to compile a tea spill twitlonger before the fundraiser.

while planning for his christmas events, aziraphale bakes a practise batch of angel cake on stream, crowley's favourite. he jumps up from the couch to eat a slice, accidentally wandering straight onto camera-- spoiling the fundraising surprise, and ruining furfur's tea spill. they're trending on twitter the next day.

aziraphale is hate raided again, but this time the raiders hack into his chat bot. crowley rushes in to reset the bot's data before they can export years of chat logs and sensitive viewer information. when the raid is halted, aziraphale is relieved, then devastated to realise everything has been wiped, until crowley assures him he made a backup of the logs, a la saving his books.

aziraphale finally realises he loves crowley. he's so overcome with affection for him, it starts to freak crowley out. crowley thinks he's getting swept up in the christmas season and is reading into affection that isn't actually there, and aziraphale thinks he's making crowley uncomfortable by upsetting the status quo

aziraphale becoems downtrodden by how closed-off crowley is being, and crowley panics when he realises he hasn't been subtle at all. he promises aziraphale hasn't done anything wrong and that he's just in his own head about their upcoming christmas party with their mods. aziraphale tries to believe him.

[thevoidstaredback]

Hey! So, it's been a while, but I finally remembered to come back to this! But, it's not gonna go the way you'd think.

If Danny had it his way, he'd be at his Aunt Alicia's house for the summer instead of New Jersey. This place is gloomy, grimy, and soaked through with so much crime that it's a Problem(TM). Like, seriously? New Jersey hasn't allowed the death penalty since he was seven, but can't they make, like, one exception? Get rid of The Joker and half of Gotham's problems are solved.

Unfortunately, he's only here as a guest, so he can't really do anything. Which, for the record, is a shit rule. Call a goose and goose, and that's exactly what Gotham City, New Jersey is.

It isn't all that bad, he supposes. Sure, the pollution blocks out the entire sky at all times, the buildings that aren't condemned are only feeding the rich while stealing from the poor, an entire twenty-four block are has been given up on by mostly everyone, the local vigilantes won't kill the recurring problems like the cockroaches they are- There was a good point to all this.

Oh! He has family here. That's it. That's the only silver lining, and it's bronze.

But, hey, it can't be that bad. From what he understands, his half-brother and company don't actually live in Gotham. Bristol, according to Talia is technically outside of Gotham City Limits, but is still considered as part of the city. Makes sense, aside from the fact that there's no bridge between Bristol and Gotham. Weird design, but he's not rich so he's not really inclined to care or understand.

Half brother, right.

Danny doesn't like Damian much, but that's because he's a clone...of Damian. Danny's a clone of Damian, not the other way around. Ra's makes that very clear

The only reason Talia wants him with Damian is because she's upset with Bruce Wayne. What is it with divorced parents and putting their kids on the middle of their fights? Or maybe that's just Talia?

Anyway.

Gotham, New Jersey is a dismal place. Danny's not germophobic by any means, he can't really afford to be, but even he's having a hard time being in the city.

It was so much easier hiding out with the Fentons.

Well, 'hiding' is a subjective term. Ra's and Talia knew where he was, so did Deathstroke, probably, but that was it.

Essentially, everyone he should be hiding from knows where he's been hiding, which means he's just been on some kind of twisted, extended vacation.

As far as Danny knew, Bruce Wayne had no idea he was coming. Damian knew because Talia had wanted him to pick Danny up from the airport. Weird because while Damian is technically older, Danny is still legally two years older.

Well, 'legally' is a stretch. He doesn't technically exist, outside of the LoA and Amity Park.

The point is that Damian is waiting for him at the end of the terminal, looking as much like an excited puppy as he can, with an older gentleman. Talia had given him nothing to work with, but Danny didn't really care who this guy was as long as he didn't try to make him do anything he didn't want to.

...living in the Midwest was doing wonders for his mental stability, but Ancients was it making him soft!

"'Danny', I presume?" the old man asked, his accent heavy.

Good, so Talia did give Damian his actual name. "Yep. You are?" He may not want to be here, but he still knows his manners. Even if he's only going to use the bare minimum of them. Malicious Compliance and all that.

"Alfred Pennyworth, the family butler." He didn't extend his hand to shake. Danny didn't mind. In fact, he actually preferred that.

Okay, so maybe he's a little bit haphephobic. Leave him alone!

"Danny," Damian greeted, a smile of excitement in his voice but not his face, "It's good to have you here. How did Mother convince you to come?"

"Bribery." Mostly.

Damian seemed to deflate a bit. "Father and the others don't know you're here."

"Do they even know about me at all?"

"No."

"Perfect! Then I can stay at a hotel-"

"For the entire summer?" Alfred raised his eyebrow, "I must insist that you stay at Wayne Manor while in Gotham. Master Bruce will most pleased to meet you."

"Why?" Danny scoffed, "I'm not his kid, nor do I want to be."

Damian slouched a little bit more. "Come, we must get back before the others send out a search party for us."

"Dramatic much?" Danny scoffed.

"Not at all," Alfred took both of Danny's bags before leading the way out to the car, "It' happened before in less time."

"I don't doubt it for a second. I'm calling Bruce a dramatic bitch."

Alfred smirked ever so slightly. "Quite right, Master Danny."

"Don't call me that."

"Alright then, what should I call you?"

"'Danny'. No honorifics, no add ons, no trying to fullname me, nothing else."

"And when you go out with the rest of the family?"

He scoffed again. "You really think they'd let me go out with them? I'm an assassin. In fact, the first thing I'll do the second I'm let out of the house is kill the clown bastard."

Damian rested his hand on Danny's arm. "They let me out with them and I tried to kill Drake. As long as you uphold a promise not to kill anyone, you'll be allowed to patrol with us."

They reached the car, Damian sat behind the driver while Danny sat behind the passenger. Alfred put the bags in the trunk. "So? What will you be called on patrol?"

Danny rolled his eyes, popping his headphones in and not looking away from the window. "Respawn."

Storyboard

[matrixbearer2024]

Just something I'd like to say about the Stan twins among other things I've seen here on tumblr and everywhere else. Also because I'm genuinely confused why this is even a thing. I don't really see the point in why people have to look at characters and say: good/bad, nuances exist and morality is mostly grey haha.

One of the reasons why I chose to write for Ford isn't really because I don't think he's a bad person, au contraire I know he's done really shitty things but I don't think he's bad. That would be an oversimplification.

If I had to be completely open about it, his situation is actually pretty similar to mine aside from the fact his sibling is a twin. My brother is two years younger than me.

But still, shit happens. Cornered by everyone and everything, one is labeled as gifted and special while the other is seen as stupid and useless, then the split between family and aspiration.

Granted, I've never made a deal with a demonic piece of geometry and I've gone through a different set of circumstances in a completely different time frame– but still. I get where his arrogance comes from and I get how being outcasted can make you prone to doing a lot of shitty things to chase validation.

God forbid someone comes to you and strokes your ego to death, that's the easiest way to manipulate someone with the picture of self-confidence and it's made of glass.

I can't say that what happened to me was a fortunate occurrence, but I was severely humbled at a young age and it's probably why I turned out differently. Ford never really did, he clung onto the idea of being special and being a coveted rarity.

Point is, I can kind of see where he's coming from and a lot of his fights with Stan I also kind of understand. I'm not condoning his actions, especially because I've had legendary fights with my brother before and remembering them all makes me feel like shit because there are things I've done I can never bring myself to forgive– but it's why I can understand why shit unfolded the way it did.

I'm not even going to go into grudges because I've held a grudge over someone for 12 years so I can also get why Ford would end up doing that for fucking 30– but yeah. I don't think either twin is really right or wrong. Stan got dealt a bad hand like my brother, and Ford got shoved into the limelight like me. I can understand the both of them well.

Also to those who wonder why Stan would even forgive Ford, I don't know what else to say other than it might be a sibling thing. I used to fight with my brother simply because he'd excel better in some of the things I do. I'd purposefully work harder to overshadow him and he knew. He would let me succeed and even rub it in his face because he saw that it made me happy.

Even after all this time he doesn't hold it against me so that's something I'm eternally grateful for. But yeah, he cared that much when all I did was be selfish. I still think it depends on some siblings but yeah, for these two they hit close to home just for doing what they do.

Not to mention, my brother's also had his moments where it looks like he's destroyed my things/projects on the sole reason that he thinks it's taking me away from him. That it's taking his best friend away from him.

One of those times was when I was creating a painting for a competition years ago, he got mad I spent so much time on it and accidentally knocked over the water container and it spilled all over my work. The painting was effectively ruined and I blew up at him for it.

Sound familiar?

Where Stan played off his destruction, my brother kept apologizing and owning up to his fuck-up. Where Ford refused to listen, I eventually just compromised with my brother and told him to help me create the new painting.

That painting didn't win any prizes but still ended up being exhibited, I'd show a picture of it with my brother and I next to it if I didn't like keeping my irl family private online.

Ford also being kind of unable to move on/deal with himself is something I do to detriment. It takes a lot to deal with that, much more overcome it.

Things change, time passes, circumstances shift. But yeah, this is just my two cents on it and kind of a window to why I also write Ford and Stan the way I do.

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Rat Bastard - Part 8

Pairing: You x Kyungsoo 

Rating: M (Mature)

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: There were too many beds, Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Idiots to Lovers, Giggles, Alcohol Consumption, Some Angst

Tag: @ilovemyapopbaby

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

There was something so weirdly liberating about showering naked. I know, I know, that’s how people do it, but listen, taking a shower, a genuine one, a real one with plenty of soap and shampoo and a razor and some gentle exfoliating and then with nicely scented lotion spread all over your skin -- all without the worry of someone walking in on you? You felt kind of as if you had died and gone to heaven. This heaven had warm water and it cascaded down your spine and washed away nearly every bit of tension you had felt in your body only moments before. Nearly.

It wasn’t as if the possibility of him walking in here and witnessing you in the shower was entirely gone, but you knew he wouldn’t. You knew, deep down inside where you knew all of the facts about all of the things you knew, you knew that he absolutely would not dare. He had made some silly rule with himself about not having sex without being in a committed relationship and unless he was about to walk into this bathroom and have his way with you, which he wasn’t, then you knew you were unequivocally, entirely, completely alone in here to do whatever it was you needed to do. 

And you had to, that man had gotten you so worked up you couldn’t even lather your skin up without feeling the need for some sort of a release -- you felt the need deep down inside of your abdomen, deep inside of your veins, deep inside of your bones. You couldn’t even remember a time when another human being had left you in such a state. 

The release you sought came to you too quickly. You longed for the clarity of mind that would follow but even after, even actual minutes after, you could still feel that unimaginable longing whenever you remembered the way he kissed you. 

Again and again, his face slipped into your mind. His lips, his tongue, his teeth, and the things he did to you with them. His chin resting just over your belly button, his nose that nuzzled into you, the long and deep inhales he took of you, the hot breaths that flooded, and his eyes, his fucking eyes, his eyes that looked at you but felt like they did so much more than just look; his eyes that took the air straight from your lungs, his eyes that inundated and flooded, destroyed and rebirthed. You felt absolutely insane. He hadn’t even fucked you and you felt absolutely insane. 

The reflection of yourself in the aged, clouded-over mirror had you looking positively glowing. You looked radiant all clean and smooth and naked and the flush you saw in your skin, particularly the natural rose color in your face had you giggling like a mad-woman all by your lonesome. 

He would be cooking dinner for you. Would he be starting it already? You absentmindedly wondered about the timing of it all. You had no idea what he would be making; you weren’t even sure if you’d really be able to taste anything as distracted as your mind felt. But you were going to eat it all because he was making it for you.

Him. He. That soft and kind, sort of, that charming and funny, kind of, the gentle and not at all supercritical or hypersensitive, the itty bitty tiny bit of a rat, even less of a bastard, your sweetest, most infuriatingly competitive, probably a work-a-holic, very likely sarcastic to a fault, the conservative and traditional man who -- maybe, hopefully, God you were praying right now, a man who believed in equality for both sexes and even maybe, Dear Baby Jesus please let him also believe in a woman’s right to make decisions for her own body -- Oh God you had to stop --

Him. Kyungsoo. Doh Kyungsoo -- your Darling? Ehh. Your Pookie maybe? Your sweet baboo? Little cinnamon roll baby wrapped up tight in mama’s swaddling cloth, Jesus Christ. Maybe not that far. Maybe it wasn’t an orgasm that you needed but a tranquilizer. 

Your…something. Yours? Well, he was something. You knew that for a fact, at least. 

That man was certainly something. The jury was still out on literally all of the rest of it.

So you were clean and you felt pretty. You had slipped on the plainest underwear and bra you happened to bring along with you. It wasn’t as if that man would be seeing any of it, and you weren’t doing it in the way that one would wash their car knowing it would increase the chances of rain that day. You were certain in the way he had resisted the sex with you in the most ironclad of ways, despite his body being ready, despite your body being ready and willing, this man was not going to see your underwear. You were also not going to pressure him into anything either. You put on the comfy set. They were for you only. 

Your dinner wear was another story. This was your first real date with Kyungsoo. You should look the part.

You’d packed two evening dresses for this trip and your favorite was a sexy little cocktail dress that fit you like a glove. It had the perfect neckline that complimented your rack. It had a silhouette that made you look at least five times hotter than you thought you actually might be and it had, above all else, a skirt that was too difficult to accidentally push up any higher than mid-thigh. No, no. This was the kind of dress that required complete removal for sexy times. If you were removing it alone, or putting it on as you were right now, it required near-contortionist-level skills to get the zipper up all the way, and taking it off required equal effort. There would be plenty of grunting, some embarrassing moans, and lots of huffing and puffing. All sounds that did not invite sex, well, not unless they were happening during, which they would not be. There would be no accidental oops my dress slipped up too high, oops this counter top is just perfect for my thighs to part and for your hips to slip, and oops there’s a penis inside of me. No. None of those shenanigans would happen in this dress. This dress would be your chastity belt. You would not let him down. Also, it was red. 

Your two-hour respite back to the bunks to shower and lie down turned into a shower, shave, moisturize, fragrance, then dress, coif, preen, pluck, and make-up session, and after settling on a soft and delicate make-up look as opposed to, say, a sexy, fierce look, mostly because you were running out of time and also you figured it was probably best to keep yourself far away from the dominatrix end of the spectrum for the sake of everyone involved. You did not once lie down, as you had so promised you would. You felt entirely too wound up for any sort of lengthy pauses that might lead to lengthy daydreams. 

You were out the door nearly exactly 2 hours from the moment you had stepped inside and you found yourself creeping as silently as the heels allowed down the dark hallway toward that blue door, placing a now, nervous and somewhat trembling hand on the doorknob lightly as you suddenly contemplated every single choice you had made back in front of that bathroom mirror. 

What if you were overdressed? You knew you’d be overdressed, this was a cocktail dress without a cocktail party in sight. This was a cobweb-covered, dusty, and dank emergency storm shelter at least 200 years past its heyday. You’d already done the makeup though. You'd already done the hair and you’d even spritzed the faintest of spritzes of your favorite scent in tiny, inoffensive spots like your inner wrists, directly behind your earlobes without overpowering your neck too much, and the tiniest dab between your breasts. 

What if you were too early? What if his 2-hour time frame wasn’t an exact science? Would you wander in there and interrupt his cooking too soon, fluster him, and make him drop a saute pan or burn a flatbread? Would your arrival at the 2-hour mark down to the second freak him out somehow?

Did men find extreme punctuality in a woman attractive or off putting? You wished you had your phone on you for a quick reddit search. 

You removed your hand from the door knob and you crossed your hands behind your back, taking a step backward and rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. You should give it a few minutes. You were counting inside of your head now, doing little head nods as you counted. Five minutes should be plenty. You didn’t want to seem too eager. Maybe you should give it ten. Ten minutes could be the new 15-minute buffer most people factored into their daily schedules when figuring out what time to leave for an appointment in the morning. 

You’d lost count of the seconds after a few rounds of 60 and you had to start all over around the four-minute mark. 

At maybe eight minutes you put your hand on the doorknob again, just holding onto it lightly and counting inside your head like a weirdo, and forty seconds into the ninth minute you heard a shuffling sound on the other side of the door a second before you felt that doorknob turning in your hand. 

You gasped out loud in surprise as the door swung open and nearly hit you and there was a similar gasping sound that came from the other side of the door as someone quickly stopped its forward motion with a hand gripped tightly around the edge of the solid metal door. 

His head peaked around the side and you quickly closed up your gaping mouth, doing your best to hide the surprised look in your eyes.

“Oh,” Kyungsoo said, “here you are.” 

You pulled your lips into a smile that probably looked too tense and it took only a few moments for your gaze to wander a bit over him. He had changed. He had done his hair in some sort of inhumanely attractive upward and back hairstyle with some light product and he was wearing a pretty navy blue color that complemented his skin. The shorts and plain t-shirt were gone and he was wearing jeans and Converse on his feet that looked so effortlessly cool with the outfit you were certain he’d walked out of one of your dreams featuring the sexy boy next door who had stolen your heart. 

“I was going to come and look for you,” he said softly and you widened your eyes some, waving them around the space in front of you that you occupied with a change of the smile on your face. His focus was on your face at first and you knew you had to respond to him. 

“You found me,” you said with just a little bit more embarrassment than you would have liked. You had to pull your lips in between your teeth to conceal the nervous perma-smile and you caught the light drift of his eyes as he noticed the effort you’d put into your look tonight.  

You got a straightening of his shoulders and a hardly concealed throat clearing. He was blinking, swallowing, and his face lifted, not quite pulling his eyes all the way away from you in this dress. 

“W-Wow, uhh--,” he bit down on the inside of his lip as he stepped aside at last to allow you enough room to enter this kitchen without brushing up against the length of his body as you did it. “S-Sorry, I only packed jeans. You look,” He was nodding once, then twice and you felt suddenly too nervous for this talk, “beautiful,” he whispered at last, finishing his compliment so you could finally nod your head, so you could finally let out the smile you’d been fighting the whole time, so you could open your own lips to speak. 

You used your hands, lightly waving them over the length of him without touching him anywhere, of course.

“I like the jeans. And the hair. And the shirt. And the shoes. You’ve got a real ‘college heartthrob that all the girls are not-so-secretly in love with,’ you know, ‘rolled-up notes slipped into your locker from many secret admirers,’ and, ‘nasty fights in the girl’s bathroom because they all want you but your true love is music,’ kind of thing going on,” you said with a lift of an eyebrow and a playfulness in your voice that happened sometimes when you were really flustered and trying to fill in any potential silence with ridiculous nervous chatter. 

Of course, saying way too much as usual; you could not help the word vomit. You were too nervous and not really able to fully look at him despite the vivid imaginary story you’d just attached to the outfit he was wearing. Instead, you wandered through the space, busying yourself with looking around the kitchen that it seemed he had cleared out some. The mattresses were all gone. There went yet another surface for the sex that would not happen. 

The lights were different, some of the switches on the wall were off and you saw that he’d set up about as good a table setting as he could with the limited supplies in this place. There was a tablecloth, which you thought might be a flat sheet from one of the bunk beds, there were two place settings with wine glasses and cutlery and you could even hear the faint notes of some classical music playing from somewhere in the kitchen. 

He had been silently following you through the journey and when you’d finally worked up any real nerve and risked a look over at him, he was leaning ever so slightly against the countertop with both of his hands laid flat on its surface. His eyes were closed up and he wore on his face the smallest, nearly imperceivable smile that, had you not had the last 48 hours or so’s worth of direct observation of this man’s face, you might have missed. When he lifted his head, there was an inhale and he brought his focus up and around the ceiling above his head once before all of that trapped oxygen slowly exited through his mouth. 

“Umm,” he said, “Thanks.” His eyes touched yours for a tenth of a second. “I think,” he squinted his eyes, lifted a hand lightly, and waved his rounded fingertips in the air for a moment, “I think -- that was a compliment, right? Not just a made-for-TV movie you were writing just now?” He was nervous. You could see it in the pinkness in his cheeks and the way his eyes refused to sink down into yours for longer than it took to keep track of your location. 

His nerves brought a smile to your face and you laughed lightly and covered your mouth with your fingertips, “Yes,” you nodded. “Yes, it’s a compliment. You look nice. Very nice.”

You could hear the nerves in your response and like a gentleman, so very unlike himself actually, he did not call attention to it. Instead, he spun on his feet and headed toward the fridge to pull out a bottle of wine. He was fumbling with the foil on top and he was digging through a drawer for the corkscrew and speaking rather quickly at the same time. “Do you want a drink? I think we should both have a drink.” And you’d never seen someone make such quick work of one of those stubborn contraptions. 

You were nodding, because, yes please, and thank God. You were moving to the table to grab both of the wine glasses and he was meeting you halfway with the open bottle poised and ready to pour you giggled just a little bit when his flighty eyes touched yours and he giggled just a little bit too. He poured each of the glasses halfway full with the dark red liquid. The bottle was set down with a thud and his fingertips brushed lightly against yours when he grabbed one of the glasses, and to your absolute devastation, the most beautiful and disarming smile landed lightly on his face when you gave his glass the smallest clink with a tip of your own. 

“Should we toast?” you lifted your eyebrows with the echo of the clink still hovering in the air and his glass was already touching his bottom lip. He pulled it away for a second and his eyes were wider now. 

“I -- uhh, kind of just want to drink it,” his smile returned and you laughed out loud placing a hand on his arm to keep him from lifting it any closer to his lips. 

“Fine, say something,” he caved and his glass was back down closer to your lifted one. 

“Well now I can't think of anything,” you frowned and his lips closed up, a ripple of movement flowed through his face but you were thinking hard, trying to find something fitting to say in this situation. He waited patiently and when you gasped and smiled his eyebrows lifted expectantly. 

“Oh, I got it,” you lifted the glass with a renewed confidence in your voice, “To ‘No Sex Tonight,’” you said with a wide smile, and his eyes with lifted eyebrows above them widened even further. He was pulling his lips in between his teeth, biting lightly, and making no effort to toast with you. He wasn’t opening his mouth to say the toast. You leaned your glass into his and lifted your head, shaking it and wiggling your eyebrows just a little so he could say it too. 

“To--,” you began again, encouraging him to say the toast. 

“To No Sex,” he said with his eyes slipping away from your face as he glanced around the room.

“Tonight,” you added and you clinked the glasses together again, making the satisfying sound and ignoring the fact that he didn’t say the last word of your toast out loud but you did take his mouthing the word ‘tonight’ as acceptable behavior. 

His glass was lifted and he was draining the contents, lifting his palm to rub over the surface of his lips when was finished swallowing you took a pretty good bit of your wine into your mouth and swallowed it down, using your tongue to catch any drops of the red that may have remained. 

You’d smelled the food when you first came in. With the taste of this wine on your tongue though your nose was picking up on something that you thought might pair very well with this choice. The more you could smell the hungrier you felt. 

“It smells delicious in here.” 

“Oh, it’s ready if we are,” He set his glass down and rounded the kitchen counter to move toward the stove which had lights on it to indicate that something was still hot and bubbling in the various pots and pans you could see. 

“You can,” he had begun to grab the handles of the pans but quickly left them behind to return to where you leaned against this counter and his hand was out, pointing you toward the table setting. “You can sit here,” he followed you closely behind as you were ushered toward the spot, and before you had a chance to reach for the chair his swift hand reached first. You looked up into his pink face briefly and then simply sat down. The man was buzzing around you, bringing the wine bottle over to you for a quick refill, doing the same for his own glass which he took one more sip of before he sat it down and you watched as he left the table to go back to the stove. There were movements and sounds and clanks and clatters and soon he was returning with two small shallow bowls. 

“So I,” he was already speaking before he had arrived at the table, “umm, didn’t really want to go too wild tonight. I’m not a fan of hyper-trendy gastronomics; not everything has to be deconstructed. Food can just be constructed. Plus your stomach has been hurting so I’ve gone for a more modern comfort vibe, umm--.” 

You looked down at the pretty yellow-colored soup he’d placed in front of you with the contrasting swirl of white in the center. There was a side of some crusty bread that looked a bit like he might have baked too and that might have explained the yeasty smell you’d caught when you first walked into the room. He extended his hand with a palm up toward the dish he’d just given you. Then he clasped his hands together silently and he lingered, specifically not sitting down on his own side to enjoy his own starter. 

“We have a browned butter, butternut squash, and apple bisque to start. It’s warm and soothing. Sweet and savory, kind of thing.” You really had never heard him speak this fast; saying quite so much. Honestly, it was filling you with bubbly giggles that you had to swallow back down. This side of him was captivating to witness. He was clearly so passionate about food that hearing him talk about it felt like having a gossip session with your bestie and being so pulled into their words that you gasped in surprise or shock or horror with each new twist. You found yourself watching his face closely as he spoke and wishing he wouldn’t stop. He talked quite a bit with his hands and you caught the smallest line of red color on his pinky finger. His hands moved too quickly for examination. He had already moved to his seat and was sitting down watching you with those hands fisted lightly in front of his face. 

You lifted the soup spoon and dipped it lightly into the center of the swirl, catching some of both of the pretty colors of this thick soup and the first taste on your tongue had your eyes widening in genuine surprise. You hadn’t at all expected the depth of flavor in this. You’d kind of just expected something quite like that time you tried squash baby food on a dare but when you actually swallowed a mouthful you could taste something delightfully nutty on your tongue, something undeniably savory yet with a sweetness that went so well with the flavors. The bread, when dipped into it added a contrast in texture and you looked up into his expectant face with a tiny, but thoroughly impressed expression written in your eyes. 

He hadn’t even had any of his yet. He just sat there and watched you with a very well-concealed smile behind his hands.

“Are you kidding me Doh Kyungsoo?” you said between spoonfuls and that smile widened as he bit down on his bottom lip and lifted a single eyebrow over his eye, the ‘exterior’ one, “Why the hell is this so good? It should just taste like squash but, how in the world?”

You heard the slow exhale from his lungs and he lifted his glass to hide his self-satisfied smile behind it. You heard the smallest giggle from him and he dipped his own spoon into his bowl for a small taste. 

More than just being delicious it felt nice inside of your stomach. Something about his choice of vegetables, specifically nothing acidic or spicy, nothing too harsh at all but downright comforting as it warmed you from the inside. He had really made this with only you in mind. You could feel it inside, both figuratively and literally. Your stomach felt soothed with each mouthful. You reached the bottom with the smallest frown of disappointment that it was over. 

Still, you were thankful that he’d only given you a reasonable amount of this soup. You were sure if you had unrestricted access to the pot on the stove you would eat too much of it and pop. As it was now, you’d finished the entire thing and he was already standing and reaching down for your bowl to clear it away. 

He hardly touched his. You wondered if he’d just made this for you and if it wasn’t exactly his favorite. Maybe he’d sampled too much of it while he was cooking it. 

He was busy in the kitchen again. When he returned it was time for the entree and he had a wider smile right off the bat. Clearly, your enjoyment of the soup had gotten rid of any of the nerves from earlier. Or maybe it was the wine that did it. 

“Our entree tonight is braised, brown sugar, balsamic short ribs on top of, uhh, a gouda polenta,” he was placing the dish in front of you, pointing a finger at the different elements on yet another beautifully plated dish of food. 

“Mushrooms instead of spinach, which I think you don't care for,” he pulled his lips tight and winced lightly as he said it with a slight upward inflection of his voice, “and I would normally do scallions on top, but you picked them off of the fish yesterday, so we have safe and harmless, microgreens instead.”

You looked across the table at him, a hand laid just over the bare skin on your chest and a genuinely surprised expression on your face. How he even knew about the spinach thing you had no idea. 

“Did you change the recipe for me?”

“Of course,” he said, looking down at the dish in front of him and picking up his fork, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

He asked it like you were the one dropping bombshells here. 

“How did you know I hate spinach?” you took the first bite of meat with a scoop of polenta and made sure to grab some mushrooms too and you honestly felt like you could just die tonight, even without ever having sex with this man, as long as you could eat this dish from start to finish you swear to God you’d die with a big smile on your face. 

Kyungsoo was chewing and swallowing, grabbing a sip of wine from his glass to clear his throat enough for a response. 

“Oh uhh,” he wiped at his mouth with a napkin, “Claire’s birthday dinner at Bella Mia,” he said with an odd air of finality. 

You lifted your head, mouth too full of food to speak, but after a quick swallow you leaned further, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Bella Mia, that was,” you were racing through your memory, “last year?” 

His eyes dropped to the food in front of him. After a few seconds of silence he was nodding his head lightly and he lifted a tiny bit of polenta into his mouth with the tip of his fork. You went silent as you watched him and after a few seconds, his eyes looked back up into yours. He reached for the wine again, taking a small sip and you were still watching without speaking.

“How do you remember that?” you had to ask it. You simply couldn’t comprehend how one interaction at a restaurant a year ago could have led to him remembering that you didn’t like spinach. You didn't even remember the spinach from that night. You’d never order a dish with spinach in the description, not intentionally. 

“I just do,” he answered and his lips hung open. You were shaking your head, still not quite getting it and he inhaled a long and deep breath, closed his eyes up, and opened his mouth to speak. 

“You asked the waiter if it was possible to take the spinach out of the Spinach Lemon Ricotta Ravioli as if that isn’t the most insane request in the history of Italian food. It’s literally the first ingredient in the name of that dish.” 

You had a mouthful of food and you made a face. You had no memory of this event, but honestly, it sounded like something you might do. You swallowed and you were fighting your smile. A small giggle escaped and you reached for the wine. 

“I need you to understand that at those kinds of high-end restaurants, staff will come in before the sun even comes up to make the fresh pasta, the dough, the filling, the sauces are all prepped and made, some of these things cook for hours. There will be chefs arriving at 4am just to make things like the filling for your Spinach Lemon Ricotta Ravioli and you,” his words paused and his mouth froze as his eyebrows lifted and he shook his head, closing his eyes, his hand was lifted and he motioned in your direction. 

You took another bite of food, thoroughly entertained by whatever you had done that he was he was complaining about, 

“You,” he inhaled a deep breath, “pretty little troublemaker, so fucking cute,” the casually thrown-in compliment stopped your chewing and you felt a warmth in your cheeks but he wasn’t finished, “came in, smiling sweetly and asks this poor kid who survives on your tips if he is willing to go back into that kitchen, which, is like a warzone during peak hours and ask some type-A asshole to remove the Spinach from the 4am prepped and assembled Spinach Lemon Ricotta Ravioli.”

You were laughing. You covered your mouth and you threw your head back with it. His own smile was wide and he watched the laughter move through you until it settled and you were able to nod your head with the smallest shrug as a response. You had no defense. You must have done that at the time and he was right, you didn’t like spinach and would usually avoid it if you could. 

He settled into a soft silence and his smile was gone but his eyes were on you. “I asked Claire for your number that night.” 

It felt like a shock to hear this next part. You hadn’t known this. Claire had never told you. You searched his face for truth and leaned closer to him. 

“You have my number?” 

He nodded his head, closing his eyes lightly and licking his lips. His bottom lip was pink from the wine.

“You never used it,” you remarked and the head nodding didn’t stop. He made no claims to the opposite. 

“I didn’t use it.” 

“Why not?” 

He looked at you with a little bite of his teeth together that you saw through his parted lips. You heard the little hiss of air that escaped. 

“You scare the shit out of me.” It came out as a whisper and you pulled your face back, unable to quite believe that entirely. He didn’t act like someone who was even the least bit intimidated by you. There was nothing scary about you at all. You couldn’t even kill a spider, the thing you hated the most in the world. How in the world were you scary?

“I do?” you were shaking your head and he was nodding his head. “Still? But Kyungsoo, I’m just--” 

“Still do,” his lips formed an O shape and he spoke over whatever denial you were about to voice about how very un-scary you actually were. So what if you were sarcastic and kind of mean and temperamental at times and yelled at him and called him mean names. It didn’t make any sense. None of that was scary. 

“But, why?” 

You lost his eyes when you asked for the reason. He looked down at the table, lifting his half-finished plate and looking over at your empty plate, he simply stood up and grabbed both of them, taking them both over to that kitchen sink where you heard the sounds of water running. He was running too.

He’d gone out of his way to avoid it. You didn’t have it in you to find out the potentially terrible truths about how he really saw you, not tonight. You were having a nice dinner and a nice date with him. You’d both been laughing and giggling and the food was so delicious and felt so nice inside of your stomach, the last thing you wanted was to ruin it by pushing him to answer something he didn’t want to answer. What you always hated the most was being pushed into something you didn’t want to do and you owed him the courtesy of respecting the things he didn’t want to do. 

You wouldn't push.

The wine bottle on the counter was empty. You’d lifted it and shook it with a little frown on your lips. You could see Kyungsoo’s strong back as he moved at the sink and you slipped behind him to reach the fridge where you’d seen him pull the wine bottle from. You were pretty sure you’d seen a few more bottles in there. 

The sound of the fridge door opening pulled his attention away from the dishes he was washing and he angled his torso in your direction with his wet hands still under the running water.

“I’ll get it,” he said quickly and he was rinsing and reaching for a towel. 

“I got it,” you said. You already had the bottle on the counter and you had removed the foil to expose the cork. You were holding the corkscrew above the bottle, pointing it downward with the smallest push. Nothing really happened. You lifted the little arms up and down, noticing how the fat screw moved up and down too. It looked like a joyful little man with a spring for legs.

Kyungsoo was standing behind you, you felt the warmth of him at your back. His arms reached around you and you watched him grip your hand that held the corkscrew, his other hand landed over your other hand and he pulled you up so you were holding the neck of the bottle. It felt exactly like when you were his puppet and he used your body to cook a meal. Except he stood so much closer to you now. No witnesses were watching you both touch each other and you could feel so much more of his body behind you. His hand pressed yours down, corkscrew in hand and he was turning it as he pushed hard. Your wandering eyes watched the flex of his muscles in his forearm.. 

You felt a little bit dizzy and you could feel the effects of his closeness behind you. Your eyes drifted closed and you leaned against him. Letting your head fall back just a little bit so you could feel the weight of his head resting against your own. A low sound escaped your mouth and his breath caught audibly in his throat. His hand that was turning the corkscrew stopped its progress and he froze in place for three whole seconds before you caught the clench of his arm muscles. You’d long abandoned opening the bottle and your hand that had been so busy working had drifted up to just over your shoulder where his face was. You felt the smoothness of his cheek, the firmness in his tense jaw and when you turned your face into him, he hardly gave you any space at all for the spin within his arms and while you’d managed it you were standing so close to him that every bit of his skin was magnified. He seemed to be purposely avoiding your eyes even as you dipped your head to catch them. 

“Stop it,” he whispered and you smiled when his eyes drifted down to look into yours. 

“Why’d you take it away? I was doing it.”

“You weren’t doing shit,” he said with an undercurrent of humor. Behind you, he worked. He didn’t even strain with the effort, not even grunting or making any sounds to indicate that it was even a little bit difficult for him. He just effortlessly pulled the cork out behind your back. He lifted the corkscrew up with the cork still threaded through the spring. You turned to look at it, lifting an eyebrow to see the result of his efforts and he used both of his hands to lift the little arms up and down. It wiggled in his fingers.

“You were making it dance. That’s all you were doing.” 

He was gripping the bottle and walking away from you, doing the cutest little sidestep in the middle of his journey toward the table. You knew, just as you had been, that he’d been a bit affected by the closeness with you just now. 

Soon you had a glass filled with wine in your hand and you had this handsome man’s face back at your side. He was sipping and his eyes were still just a little bit too evasive in a way that put the smallest pout on your lips. You had an inclination that you were being just a little bit bad, but it was only a little bit. You hadn’t even kissed him earlier. You hadn’t touched him with your hands that much, very little actually, he was the one who had put his hands on you, he was the one who wrapped his arms around you and coated your back with his body and even placed his feet just within the same tile you occupied on the floor in front of that countertop. There was no reason why he needed to be stingy with his looks, just because maybe you’d imagined kissing him just now. 

After a few moments, he spoke.

“Did you like it?” 

You lifted your eyebrows and tilted your head, pulling the wine glass down from your lips. You swallowed and lifted your eyes to contemplate what exactly you were being asked. The fantasies about kissing his lips? Yes, you did like those. The closeness to his body? You craved more. Kyungsoo watched your thinking face and you caught the movement of his hand as he raised it up to your face, taking his thumb and lightly running it over your bottom lip. You could feel the moisture he pulled away there; a drop of wine he had wiped from your mouth for you. 

“Yes,” you said in a whisper and his eyes narrowed as he looked away from you for a second.

“You did?” he lifted a single eyebrow, turned from you again, and smiled into the wine glass.

“You finished it. You must have liked it. More so than the fish last night, I think.” 

“Oh, the food,” you giggled and took another sip, leaning lightly against the kitchen counter to keep your balance stable through the laughter. “Yes, the food was amazing, Kyungsoo.”

He was looking at your silly reaction with a widening of his smile. “Of course the food, what did you think I was talking about?” This man was cute when he giggled.

“I liked the fish too. It was probably the best fish I’ve ever tasted.” When your words were out his head was shaking back and forth but that smile stayed put on his pretty face. 

“You sat there, painstakingly picking off every single little bit of scallion you could find on the top of that thing. Do you have any idea how tiny I cut those? Some of them were microscopic and you wouldn't even take a bite until you’d gotten everyone.”

“They weren’t that small. I’m very good with picking things out of my food that I don't want to eat, I have excellent chopsticks skills.” 

“And I have excellent knife skills. I was just waiting for you to try it. And then when you did, you didn’t even say anything. A few bites, not even a head nod. Not even a smile. Do you know what that does to a man?” 

You reached forward and gripped the hand that was flying around in front of him as he talked and his eyes fell down to where you held onto him. You lifted his hand and moved your fingers so that you held on tight to his pinky finger, the one with the very obvious fresh knife slice on it. 

“Knife skills? Kyungsoo, you didn't even cut yourself when you were blindfolded. What is this?” you had a teasing giggle on your lips and his mouth opened once and closed back up again, clearly not expecting you to see the evidence of the small mistake he had made with the knife as he cooked dinner tonight. 

“I had you then,” he said through a rough inhale of air into his lungs and he looked away from you again, sipping on the glass of wine, draining nearly the rest of the glass.

It was a good thing he claimed to have a high alcohol tolerance because you had never made such claims and you both were working through these bottles pretty quickly. 

He was exhaling and he was closing his eyes, shaking his head back and forth and a rough laugh broke through.

“Do you know when the last time I cut myself during prep was?” His eyes were wild now, the smile sheepish and telling, “It’s probably been five -- ten years. I don't mess up, but you--” he inhaled again and stopped speaking for a second. 

“You.” you heard him repeat it. You, the source of all of his problems. Somehow you couldn’t find any reason to be offended. “You had me all fucked up.” 

“I did?” your smile was genuine. You were definitely flattered by this little confession of his. “Do you want me to put a bandaid on it?” You frowned down, not meaning the pity on your face one bit, “blow on it, maybe.” Your lips formed into a tiny ‘o’ shape and you exhaled a slow breath through your lips, lifting his hand up so his wounded pinky was positioned right in front of your lips. You felt too out of control again. You couldn't even remember the last time you felt this giddy. Or the last time you’d flirted this intensely with a man who flat-out refused to have you but definitely wanted you as badly as you did him. 

It was while you held his hand that a thought came back to you. A call-back to before the kiss, before the man pulled you into him and hugged you so tightly, burrowing his face against your belly. Long before you’d even known the depths of his actual feelings for you and your mind sharpened to that thought so intently that your eyes widened with the realization. You were speaking to him before you had a chance to really think about the words you were saying. Although with the wine, you probably wouldn’t have made very many adjustments before you just started blabbing.

“Kyungsoo,” your eyes were wide and you shook his hand within yours. His attention was grabbed in an instant just because of the urgency you had in your voice. You really hadn’t even considered it at all at the time, but now, “Kyungsoo! You could have had sex!” 

You said it with such shock in your voice and his wide eyes flattened and he narrowed them at you, watching your face for a long time as you simply nodded your head in excitement. He very carefully removed his hand from within yours while you were distracted.

“Scrabble, you could have spelled out ‘sex’! You had an ‘X’ Kyungsoo, an ‘X’, that is ten points! It would have sat on the triple letter score, that would have been,” You were counting in your head, lifting a finger to do little mental tabulations, “33 points! Why did you play ‘see’ when you could have had ‘sex’?”

There was something happening on his face. It wasn’t the face of a man who’d had such a grand revelation dropped right into his lap but his eyes were closing up, he was exhaling a very long breath and seemed to go on forever and he was shaking his head very shallowly as he did it. Why wasn’t he excited? He would have stood a chance against you. You frowned lightly at his disappointing reaction. 

“Don't you,” he was speaking. It was coming out slowly. There was some sort of attitude in between his words, “think,” he bit down on his lip and inhaled again, “Don't you think I thought about ‘sex’?”

“I thought about it. ‘Sex’ was the first thing I thought of. The very first thing, before anything else. ‘Sex’ was there --- in my head -- the whole time.” This was a revelation to you. Why didn’t he use it if he had already considered it? Why did he play such a shitty word when he could have had a good one worth a lot of points. 

“I couldn’t play ‘sex.’” He said it with a hand wave into the air in front of him. It felt very final of him to do. “Not with you.” he added with a widening of his eyes and his eyebrows lifted. He seemed just a little bit too worked up for this discussion about Scrabble. “Anyone else, yes, fine. It literally doesn’t matter. But not with you.” 

“Why not with me?” It was inconceivable. He was the most competitive person you had ever met in your entire life and he wanted you to believe that he wouldn’t do anything he possibly could to beat you? Sure 33 points didn’t come close to your 50 but still, he was never going to catch up to you with a measly 5 point word. It sounded a little bit like he wanted to lose. Like he threw in the towel and threw the game. 

“Because I like you -- like that,” He spoke quite abruptly and whatever protests you had planned got caught within your open mouth. 

“Like sex. Like, really, really like you. Like you make me feel fucking crazy, you make me fuck up while cooking, something I don't do.”

“Like I think about you constantly and I want to see you and be near you and hear your laugh and feed you. I want you to think of me and I want you to kiss me. Like it actually scares the shit out of me, how much I like you. Because…because--,” He rubbed a hand roughly through his hair, abandoning this thought.  

“So, no. I couldn’t play ‘sex.’ Not with you.”

You felt too stunned to move. You’d long since closed up your surprised mouth but you stood there looking at this man who had just confessed quite a lot to you and then he had closed up his eyes, lifted his hand to cover his eyes as he tilted his head back. You could see his eyes come open again and he looked up into the ceiling with about as much regret written all over his face as you’d ever seen. 

“Oh,” you managed. It was tiny and yet he heard it and his head sank down, pink cheeks, bright red ears --  all of him. You lifted your wine glass, with the little bit you still had left, slipped a very careful hand down to rest it under his hand holding his own glass, and lifted it just a bit higher, quite surprised that he hadn’t dropped it or spilled the last few drops during his passionate speech about how much he likes you and how absolutely head over heels he was for you and how he would rather lose at something than admit just how badly he wants you; and with the smallest little tilt of your hand you hit the rim of your glass against his, letting the sound of that glass clinking note ring out clearly in the silent space between you both. 

“To ‘No Sex Tonight,’” you whispered into the opening of your wine glass and you lifted it, draining the last of its contents, as you simultaneously lifted the hand that sat below his wine glass until it reached his lips and you felt him give in, raising the glass and swallowing what was left. 

The silence between the two of you withstood. Neither of you said anything after the stupid toast and you cleared your throat actually beginning to feel quite desperate for something to fill in this silence. You almost couldn’t breathe in here. 

“You didn’t seem to eat much,” you had to speak, even if the words were just a flimsy subject change. You had actually been interested in his odd behavior with the amazing food he had spent two hours preparing. 

“Oh,” he said with a wave of his hand and a head shake, “I’m uhh, kind of sick of my own cooking.” he even had the audacity to make a face that had a tinge of disgust. You threw your face back and away from him, lifting your hand to cover your chest in absolute disbelief. 

“You what?” your question betrayed the absolute disbelief you felt. 

“I mean, I just can’t. Especially something that takes a long time to cook. If I’ve been smelling something for hours, sometimes it just overstays its welcome. I can’t really explain it.” 

You tried to remember seeing him eating before and he did in fact seem to pick at his fish and not really eat it with the same vigor that you had devoured your filet with. But then again you remembered him with the eggs benedict. He had cleared that dish completely; you saw the empty plate and all. 

“But you ate all of the eggs this morning.” 

“Oh, you made that. I liked that,” he said with a hand wave. He was again, refilling his glass of wine and tipping the bottle opening to do the same for yours. 

You were shaking your head, remembering how heavy of a hand he had in that dish, how vigorously he was shaking your hand to get that hollandaise sauce to reach the correct state of emulsification, and how hard it was to keep up with him as he did it. 

“Kyungsoo, you just held my hands, you made it.”

“No way, That was you. I just touched you a little and showed you what to do. I helped very little in that, you did most of it. You did great. The tomatoes were a little,” he held up his index finger and thumb, “large, but I actually liked how they felt to bite into. I think I’ll start adjusting my cutting every now and then and just fucking go for it like you did.”

“Rustic, you know?” He was teasing you, you could feel it in the soft smile that had landed on his lips and you scoffed out a quick laugh. 

You reached out a hand to swat at his chest and he giggled, seeing you coming he reached up to grab ahold of your hand, keeping your palm flat against his chest for a few moments. 

“Do you have room?” His question was vague and of course, your mind had been focused on feeling that steady rhythm of his heart beating below the thin fabric of this shirt he was wearing. Below your palm, you could feel the firmness in his chest muscles and it took you longer than it should have to acknowledge that he spoke to you. 

“Dessert?” You knew he couldn’t have been asking if you had room in your bed for him tonight because yes, yes, a thousand yes’s, he could fit beside you and inside of you and — he was nodding his head, “did you make dessert too?” you asked.

“Something very simple. We only had eggs and milk here. Crème brûlée.”

You felt the sudden excitement. It was one of your favorites! Not just because it was delicious but you absolutely loved cracking it with the spoon. You were smiling and nodding and you lifted up your hand, moving it up and down a little as if you held a spoon. 

“Ooo, can I do the cracking?” 

He laughed once while heading to the fridge and pulling it open. 

“Yeah, let me torch it.” He pulled out two ramekins and made quick work of sprinkling sugar on top of each of them. Then he had fire. You watched him hold the fire and you were standing right beside him holding two teaspoons held up in front of your face and you watched and you waited with wide-eyed excitement. The sugar that he had sprinkled slowly began to change color and it melted and bubbled and you leaned over his shoulder to watch it.

The second the torch was off you leaned forward with a spoon outstretched.

“Wait, wait,” he was laughing harder, “you need to wait a few seconds.”

He touched very lightly on top of the toasted sugar and nodded his head twice, “Okay, go.” 

You reached forward and smacked it hard. The first crack was the absolute best and you tapped the spoon again a few more times, delighted with the satisfaction you felt inside. You kept cracking until there was no more cracking to be had and he was holding his belly with laughter as he watched you do it. You felt like a child at Christmas time.

When you pulled your face back up and looked at him you had only one question for him. He was already giggling and shaking his head with his eyes closed.

“Kyungsoo,” you whined. He was nodding his head already, answering the question he already knew you were going to ask, “Kyungsoo are you going to crack yours? Can I crack yours?” You had your hands lifted into a begging posture and your spoon was still lifted, with bits of sugar from the first one still stuck to it.

 “You can,” he giggled and nodded again and you wasted no time, not willing to risk that he might change his mind and regret giving you cracking permission; you hit just as hard, cracking it all over until it was completely shattered and all of the cracking was finished. You pulled your face up and smiled widely. 

Kyungsoo had reached for a spoon and was dipping it into the pudding, lifting up a small bit and bringing it up to your mouth. You opened your lips and accepted the bite. Of course, it was delicious. It was sweet and creamy and expertly set. The bits of torched sugar on top added a pleasant crunch. He was dipping his spoon and taking a bite from the same ramekin as you had tried and you looked down at the other dessert, dipping your spoon and pushing another mouthful into his surprised mouth. He pulled it in, chewing and swallowing and the back and forth continued for a few more minutes until both dishes were completely empty and you simply couldn’t handle any more food tonight. You felt thoroughly done. You felt insane with the giddiness, struggling to come up with a single flaw no matter how hard you thought about it. Maybe the only regret you felt inside of your heart could be just how well-behaved you had been all night long. You hadn’t once done anything that might lead to forbidden sex that he definitely didn't want and as you watched his face, he definitely looked content to lean against this countertop and simply exist beside you in your presence. 

He had said that, after all. That he wanted to be near you. To hear your laughter, to feed you. 

“Kyungsoo,” you called his attention and he turned his face to you, still a little bit rosy from all the laughter but much calmer now that the wild excitement you were feeling had faded some. His eyebrows lifted and his eyes roamed around your face with the tiny hum that left his chest. You held your breath and closed your eyes. 

“Do you want to be together -- with me -- in a relationship?” As soon as it was out, you felt a surge of nerves flood through your stomach. The effect was so strong and instantaneous and he seemed completely frozen in place, his eyes were still on your face and only the smallest tick of his head was his only movement. His smile and all traces of that happiness were gone in an instant. He just stared at you with a completely caught-off-guard expression in his eyes and his mouth motionless and silent.

And he stayed that way for the four, five, six deep breaths that you took, not moving a muscle and definitely not answering your question with a loud, definite, ear-bursting yes. In fact the longer his silence went on and on, there came a moment in his silence where you could no longer look at him. You had to look away and you closed your eyes up tight when you heard the inhale and the exhale that came from his lungs, but absolutely no words came out of him. Nothing. He said nothing. 

You exhaled a small scoff of disbelief.

This question came too soon. You were an idiot. He liked you, sure but that didn’t mean he was ready for anything serious with you. He wasn’t even ready to give into the most basic human act of sex without being absolutely completely sure he was committed to someone and that they were committed to him. There had been a reason he hadn’t ever asked you for any sort of commitment. Not only did he not want the sex, but he didn’t want you, not really, not like that. He had told you twice about how scared he was of you. Was this why he had stood you up that night? Was this the reason why he had been so hesitant to get close to you for so long? 

You shook your head and lifted your face, opening your eyes and pushing the smile to your face. You sold it so well. He was looking down at the countertop, absentmindedly picking up grains of sugar with his fingertip, moving all that had spilled into the smallest pile and you could see the conflict written all over his face. 

“Sorry,” you whispered because you were sorry to him. Sorry that you had to say such an abrupt thing when he obviously wasn’t ready for anything like that. Sorry that you couldn’t be the solution to all of his worries and problems in his life. Sorry that you actually caused a few more problems for him than you meant to. You watched him, catching the drift of his eyes as he looked halfway up but he never pulled his attention completely up to you. “I understand,” you said a little bit louder. “Thank you for a lovely dinner, Kyungsoo. It was amazing. You are amazing.” 

You had to leave though. You simply could not stand it here, in this atmosphere you had created with your enormous leaps. Why you simply could not control yourself, you had never been able to figure out. The worst part about you, the thing you absolutely hated the most was your flimsy self-control. It had gotten you fired when you lashed out at that bitch who baited you daily. It had led to you lashing out in anger at friends in the past. At Kyungsoo when you’d felt that he’d done you wrong. You hated everything about yourself right now. You always leaped first and asked questions later. It was the worst. You were the worst. 

You tapped twice on the back of his hand, a small farewell, literally the only thing you could do besides the flimsy apology and you spun on your heels, taking very swift steps out of the kitchen, through the blue door that slammed with a heavy noise on your way through it, down the darkened hallway passed the room with the bunks and further down until you reached a dead end. There was only a big exit door here. It blurred around the edges with the tears that filled your eyes. This was the way out of this place for good. 

The rain had stopped long ago and you pushed the door open, reaching the edge of the front patio and its steep steps. You sat down on the top step wishing and praying to the heavens above that the rain could start again soon because you were desperate for something to hide the tears that streamed down your face. 

Links: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

[ceasarslegion]

I am aware of the irony of soap boxing about this but it's entirely possible to soap box too much, and lean into buzzkill territory where it becomes very hard to talk to you and therefore very hard to want to talk to you at all. I saw this happen a few times when I went to a con recently, which turned me off of wanting to go up and ask for the exhibitors tumblr URLs to see if they wanted to hang out more.

Specifically, I went to an anime trivia panel that included a bunch of classics like Cardcaptor Sakura, Ouran High School, Berserk, etc. Whenever one of these shows were mentioned the exhibitors went off on weird tangents to make absolutely sure everybody in the room knew how problematic they thought they were and how they don't support anything that the shows obviously (/s) did, in case you were wondering. They also made weird comments about a lovely artist who had a sign saying she had an nsfw flipbook and had no real limits for commission orders because "what if the kids here saw that??" I was thinking of going to anime karaoke until they said they were hosting that one, and I decided not to because I was put off by the possibility that they would take some kind of moral issue with whatever anime op I tried to sing.

Another one I went to, someone shared that the nanowrimo website had tons of worldbuilding and character resources and one of them INTERRUPTED HER to lean into the mic and make sure everyone in the room knew they didn't support nanowrimo and thought they were really bad and awful and that no one should use them, and the whole room felt really awkward because we were like dude??

And recently I stopped talking to one of my coworkers because he takes some kind of moral issue in every little thing I show him. I told him to watch Madoka Magica and he made it all the way to the op before slamming me about how he thought it was pedophilic and a slippery slope and "how could you watch something like that???" and refused to hear anything about how not all nudity is sexual and human bodies are just human bodies sometimes.

This makes you so freaking hard to talk to man, sometimes I think people should stop being so obsessed with if other people will think they support the worst possible interpretation of something and just chill the fuck out. It's not that deep if someone has fond memories of Ouran High School, it's just an anime. It's not that deep if someone remembers a place to get resources, it's just a website. It's not that deep if a show shows actual human bodies in non-sexual settings. Calm the fuck down.

[anoddlystoatishhyena]

Just Like Glass

CW: slight body horror (disfigurement/amputation)

(This is also quite a long post, so bear that in mind)

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Notes: THIS IS MY FIRST WRITTEN THING EVER I HAVE NO EXPERIENCE WITH WRITING - This is somewhat based of Land Of The Lustrous/Houseki No Kuni because I have been SO hyperfixated on that, and also inspired by this image that I have found on Pinterest:

If you know who originally made this picture please let me know Ok back to the fanfic-

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It'd been a while since Glass Joe would get to fight against another boxer, having been injured pretty badly in his previous fight against Bald Bull. The Turkish boxer had managed to do quite a number on him, so much so that the Frenchman's personal doctor was worried some damage would be more permanent than the usual brain damage or broken ribs. Luckily, Great Tiger offered to help, to speed up the healing process if it meant Glass Joe could get another turn in the ring faster. How kind of him. Now Glass Joe's in high spirits, not just because he's not in pain from his former injuries. The Administrator has just informed him that his next fight is only tomorrow, and it's against Disco Kid of all boxers. The happy-go-lucky boxer from Brooklyn is the only other fighter with a negative win-to-loss ratio, so Glass Joe was hoping he'd be able to snag another win from this next fight. It won't fix the ninety-nine losses, but he figured he had to start small to work his way up.

"I'm telling you, mon vieux, I'll be able to improve my win to loss ratio eventually!" The Frenchman exclaimed, explaining his plan to Von Kaiser as the two walk down the hall. "I may never make it a positive one, of course, but it'll be better than just one!"

Von Kaiser could visibly see the pep in Glass Joe's step, as he stomps next to him in his usual stiff and tense walk. "...I must say, Mein Freund, I admire your dedication. You've been doing this for... how long now?" "Hmm... around twenty years, if I'm not mistaken." "Really now?" Von Kaiser paused, his eyes narrowing for a moment as he attempted to do the maths in his head. "...I've been here around twenty-two years. I will admit, I'm surprised time has flown by so quickly." "It really is a wonder, non?" The Frenchman remarked, as the two finally make it to the WVBA's lobby. "Perhaps we can reminisce over a lovely coffee and croissant from the local café? My treat, mon amour!" This is met with a stern sigh and weary chuckle from the German boxer, Von Kaiser moving one of his hands out from behind his back to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You always find a way to twist my hand into taking you to that café, don't you?" He scoffs, though his tone is more of a joke than an actual show of annoyance. "...Fine. Let's go."

Luckily, the weather is perfect for a small walk to the cafe - The sun is bright, the clouds adorn the sky in many odd shapes, and there isn't a drop of rain in sight. The two older boxers walk out of the lobby to the WVBA, Von Kaiser reaching for the stairs' railing and holding onto it with one hand tightly. "Remember to actually use the handrails, Joe." He speaks up sternly, glancing back at the Frenchman as he begins to descend the concrete stairs. "I don't want you undoing the work Great Tiger has done to heal you." "Oui, oui, I know..." Came the dejected reply, as Glass Joe reaches for the handrail and begins using it to get down the stairs as well. "...It feels like you tell me to use the handrails every time- wuh-woah!" Of course, Joe being clumsy ol' Joe, he somehow manages to lose his footing, missing a step and grabbing onto the handrail to catch himself. The sharp sound of glass breaking cuts through the air, stunning Von Kaiser into silence for a moment. Glass Joe can see Von Kaiser tense up from the sudden noise, the German boxer's grip on the handrail nearly denting the metal pole as Von Kaiser attempts to calm himself down. Once he recovers enough to begin breathing normally again, he sighs with a disgruntled scoff as he glances back at Glass Joe. "D-Did you somehow manage to break your little compact mirror again?" "...Non, it wouldn't have been that loud.. Maybe Aran broke one of the windows back inside." "But the noise came from here." "...You're right, maybe-" Glass Joe begins to talk, but the second he stops looking around for the source of the noise, and looks down at his foot, the one that missed the step, he goes silent. His foot has somehow shattered into pieces, the translucent, glass-like shards reflecting the sunlight as they lay on the stairs. The impact has reduced Glass Joe's right foot to nothing but a jagged stump, the two men staring down in horror at the gemstone-like shards now scattered across the ground. "M-Mon dieu.." "..Oh mein gott."

[starzzmissthesun]

i think you should totally drop whatever hc/ideas you have lying around honestly...i would love to see more into ur brain...pls <33

:DD

Hi!!!! Sorry this is a little late, I got so distracted with an animatic im working on(😈) and then a stupid essay😭😭 being honest rn... Almost all of what I've been thinking about is my fic.. 😔

But!! I can still go a little into that without spoilers. I've finally figured out The Perfect ending for this story that I feel fits with the overarching themes I wanted to tell. I've been making sure that every little detail fits with the themes I wanted to show, I wanted it to overlap Regulus and barty's characters and their overarching themes with PD. I also didn't want to just replicate PD cause I feel like that doesnt have the depth or commentary I want to out into it. Idk ive always thought it's super fun to put everything as some sort of symbol or metaphor or foreshadowing. I'm like literally so close to being done drafting and then I can actually talk about it a little more😭

Anyways! I've also been thinking about barty post regs death 😔(when am I not) But more specifically how every memory he had would almost be tainted, everything now would have an air of questioning and unsureness. Even memories where Regulus isn't there, just wondering where was he? What was he thinking? Am I remembering this right? What could've I changed? What was the domino that caused all of this to happen? Eventually finding it hard to accept the way it really was, having the "I guess it was" and feeling it, but overintellectualizing it. His logic and reasoning is his downfall in this situation, that's what makes him go crazy. (Side note I NEED to make a little post about his intersection between intelligence and madness) Hes doing a complicated version of when there's a task that seems so simple that you think it's a trick, but it's not, it's just that. What happened with Regulus was just that.

Also, I've recently self reflected and realized that a lot of my barty characterization is similar to how I think of Leonard Cohen's art(who I LOVE LOVE LOVE) Idk if you've listened to him or read any of his work, but I HIGHLY suggest it, it's perfect for fall. Anyways, a lot of his songs and poems carry themes of having a twisted self image, not completely self deprication though it may seem, but something else. It's closer to understanding and knowing that you are. Different. And unconventional. It's an uncomfortablility he has with himself. Being soemthig twisted from what you should've been. A lot of his stuff is also to do with tragically losing someone, out of their own choice, and still feeling very loyal yet bitter. Also of loving something so much that it turns dark, or it goes too quick, it spirals. Also his love songs are very barty's perspective on bartylus to me. And like, obvious war mentions. I could give some specific recs similar to barty or them if you'd like.

Another thing is of Regulus and his relationship with his dad. Though I see it completely reasonable if his dad was just kind of, not there and neglectful, it could give very interesting implications to his character, I like it the other way around. Orion seeing what a more carefree attempt at raising a child does and keeping Regulus even closer than he did before. I think Orion always liked Regulus more, despite him being the second, because he was a model son. I don't think he wanted this life or even to have kids, so Regulus being so complacent and in line with what he was supposed to be as a pure blood made him the decided favourite(as much as he could have one). He was always keeping a close eye on Regulus and he could feel it, but he didn't do anything out of place anyways. Orion could tell when he was even thinking something he wasn't supposed to. I believe that, no matter how much she tried, walpurga was too caught in her own head about her duty as a mother to see S+R as anything other than Her Kids, as property that she was supposed to care for and tend to, she obviously loved them, but couldn't see through them. But Orion was there around every corner looking through regulus' eyes into his soul to search for any thing out of his perfect kid.

Anyways.... That's all I can think of rn😭 but if you have questions about ANY of them lmk!!! I love yapping about my little thoughts 😁😁

[blindmagdalena]

Hello!

Wonderful "Eat Your Ego, Honey" got me wondering:

what would happen if Homelander was interested in a stripper?

She's known for her dancing and, he sensed, her secret superpower/-s. Would he be furious that a girl dances in front of some "dirty" men? Would he torture her for being afraid of him? Would he be uncomfortable with the smell of her sweaty body?

I literally see scene of meeting: she's dancing to gothic metal in the dim lights of the room; Homelander is freaking out, jealous and horny (because he feels like she's having a blast dancing).

Thanks for your fanfics, I adore it! Because of your headcanons I fell in love with Homelander and decided to watch the series...

anon. the absolute RABBIT HOLE you sent me spiraling down with this ask is genuinely insane. firstly tho, thank you!! i'm so happy you enjoy my work and have been inspired to watch the show! i hope you love it as much as i did.

okay, now, onto the meat of this. i can't imagine Homelander ever being in a strip club, but i absolutely can see Vought having a dancer supe who performs at shows! and then i started thinking about what kind of powers she might have.

(this got long. strap in.)

and okay. bear with me here. i have the FAINTEST memory of a kids show (something like goosebumps or are you afraid of the dark) where they told a monkey-paw type story of a girl who wished that everyone would like/love her. and of course this turned out to be a fucking nightmare. people were obsessed with her automatically to a scary degree and she was eventually swarmed and maybe killed by the aggression of the adoring crowd? i don't remember.

but that made me think about her power being something of that nature. a chemical that compels people to adore her. when she sweats, and that sweat evaporates off of her skin, it fills the air people in the vicinity inhale it. it's what makes her dances so incredibly popular! but too much exposure to her powers can cause, uh... scary side effects in people. make them deranged. obsessive.

she hates it. it's destroyed all the relationships in her life. it's pretty much inevitable that she'll eventually effect the people around her, and it either freaks them out to the point they break contact with her or creates a completely inauthentic infatuation with her. it's impossible for her to know if anyone actually likes her, or if they're just under the influence of her powers.

she, like Homelander, would know what it's like to be "loved" in the most hollow sense of the word.

how cut to Homelander who's present at one of these shows where she's dancing and oh my god something smells incredible. downright intoxicating. it calls to every fiber of his being and he follows the scent of it until he's close enough to the stage, and it shocks him to his core to realize it's a person.

except! Homelander is so fucking chock full of V himself that he's not wholly affected by her... idk, pheromones? whatever you want to call her aura of effect. but he IS intrigued by it. by her. by the way her body moves and how she seems to have cast a SPELL on the entire audience.

he expects he'll be able to get a chance to speak with her after the performance, but bafflingly, she gets the FUCK outta there as soon as her set is done. naturally he has to follow!!!!

and okay i just had so many ideas for this! i even thought of One Single Friend she has who's a fellow supe and, due to his own powers, he's immune to her effect. i haven't figured out how exactly. maybe he doesn't breathe the way normal humans do. or he has some kind of innate filtration that makes him immune to gasses and things. his supe name is something stupid like... The Filtrator.

speaking of which her supe name would probably be like. Enchantress. something that alludes to the charming effect she has. but her friend knows how her powers work and he playfully calls her The Perspiren. perspiring siren. 😭😂

anyways i think they could have a lot of really interesting parallels! and of course Homelander would be intensely possessive of her, but he's also a HUGE exhibitionist and i think he would get off on knowing how badly everyone wants someone that's his.

he wouldn't ever physically hurt/torture her, but he would of course become violent if his possession of her were challenged or threatened in any way. if anyone touched what's his, or presumed they could take her. anyone she showed interest in would definitely wind up dead.

can you tell that i thought WAY too hard about this.

idk if i would make this an oc or a reader fic. i feel like this could definitely work for my first proper supe!reader fic! it's got a ton of potential. thanks so much for sending this!

[sneez]

adaptations of l'homme qui rit rated according to a) book accuracy b) how much i enjoy them and c) gwynplaine's makeup (in chronological order of release)

das grinsende gesicht/the grinning face (1921), dir. julius herska

accuracy rating: 3/5

reasonably book-accurate with some weird changes like gwynplaine stabbing himself to death onstage which i do not remember from the book i have to say

ned rating: 2/5

ehh it was alright. nothing special but not egregiously bad either. i was not a fan of the conflict introduced between gwynplaine and dea (nor the fact that gwynplaine voluntarily starts an affair with josiana) but it could have been worse (foreshadowing). ursus wears a great hat

makeup rating: 3/5

i wish he was smiling more but it's fine. he is cute :-)

the man who laughs (1928), dir. paul leni

accuracy rating: 3/5

most of the same events happen but not necessarily in the same context or order, which personally i think is fine for a film given that an accurate adaptation could have the potential to be quite confusing or boring at times (also foreshadowing). conrad veidt and mary philbin are overwhelmingly lovely and make me cry. i also wholeheartedly support the altered ending because the actual ending keeps me up at night

ned rating: 10000000/10

this is the best film that has ever been made in the history of the universe, objectively speaking

makeup rating: 4/5

i think this is about as good as it gets without torturing your actor to an unreasonable degree. this is somehow the only gwynplaine who actually looks like he is always laughing, which is remarkable given the title of the book. confining gwynplaine's mutilation to his mouth is a significant divergence, but personally i think it is a wise decision for a visual adaptation (or at least one in which gwynplaine is played by a physically normative actor) given how much work conrad veidt's eyes do in conveying gwynplaine's personality and interiority. i would still love to see an adaptation in which gwynplaine actually looks the way he does in the book, but i can appreciate the difficulties in realising it, so in the meantime i will rotate 1928 gwynplaine lovingly in my mind

l'uomo che ride/the man who laughs (1966), dir. sergio corbucci

accuracy rating: 0/5

what in the goddamn

ned rating: 2/5

actually kind of fun if you can ignore the fact that it's supposed to be an adaptation of l'homme qui rit. also the only adaptation which has given gwynplaine anything close to his terrible book dye-job. points withdrawn however for 'fixing' both his and dea's disabilities in a way which vexes and haunts me

makeup rating: 2.5/5

not even close to a smile but it's alright i guess. i think they were going for 'scary' more than anything else so it doesn't read as gwynplaine to me (not to mention the fact that they changed his name to angelo so he is straight up Just Some Guy)

l'homme qui rit/the man who laughs (1971), dir. jean kerchbron

accuracy rating: 5/5

basically just the book in tv form, which is severely excellent and also slightly boring at times. i enjoy it far more than i resent it but it does make me appreciate how bizarrely structured and paced the book is. i greatly respect how much effort was put into representing the themes and talking points of the book, although the difficulty of translating these to screen comes across in the weirdness of some of them (aristocrat being carried around beneath barrels of wine and making the worst drinking noises imaginable springs to mind). also has by far the best version of gwynplaine's speech to the house of lords (and one of the best gwynplaines in general) and my favourite ursus of all ursuses ever

ned rating: 3.5/5

in my head this is the most wonderful perfect adaptation and then i watch it and i remember how much of it i find mildly uninteresting. if i were only ranking it based on the ursus/dea/gwynplaine segments it would be a 5/5, but there is an awful lot which is not particularly compelling to me, either because it doesn't translate well to the screen or because it highlights how much time hugo spends saying the same thing over and over (affectionate. mostly) or because it is weird. the cinematographer also has a penchant for panning over a large group of people and lingering on their faces one by one, which starts to become very funny once you notice it. my feelings are mixed and i am vexed. it does however get many bonus points for not one but Two (2) ursus and gwynplaine hugs

makeup rating: 3.5/5

pretty good! he still doesn't look like he's smiling but i can see all his teeth (win) and the scars at the corners of his mouth are a neat detail, even if they are not book-accurate. philippe bouclet also does a great job emoting with his big sad wet eyes. bonus points for including the scene in the house of lords when he briefly suppresses his smile

l'homme qui rit/the man who laughs (2012), dir. jean-pierre améris

accuracy rating: 3/5

not bad until the josiana plotline unfolds and then it gets weird and bad and i hate and i don't like it. dea is very cute, gwynplaine is alright, gérard depardieu is ursus

ned rating: 2/5

i did not like this film much but it did have some cute bits which i enjoyed, especially with young gwynplaine and dea at the beginning. ultimately though i found it very flat and remarkably emotionless considering how overwhelmingly emotional the book is. it also just looked ugly, which you would not think would bother me considering how much i enjoyed the 1971 tv series (featuring gwynplaine's bodysuit with a mouth painted on it), but the fakeness of the sets and the weird anachronistic costuming was very distracting, especially gwynplaine's jeans. gwynplaine should not be wearing jeans i don't think

makeup rating: 1/5

rubbish. bad. cowardly. that is a conventionally attractive man with lines drawn on his face. try again and do better next time

человек, который смеется/the man who laughs (?2012), dir. ???

accuracy rating: 5/5

absurdly accurate to the point of including direct quotes from the book in most of the songs, as well as referencing book details like the fun club and the fight between helmsgail and phelem-ghe-madone, which is absurd (positive) in a musical which is less than two hours. gwynplaine and dea are wonderful. during one of dea's songs gwynplaine brings her flowers and then rolls around on the floor holding onto her legs like a sloth. this musical also single-handedly made me care about dirry-moir because the actor playing him does such an incredibly good job. no homo sadly but everything else is outstandingly accurate all things considered

ned rating: 5/5

i love this musical so much i have listened to it several dozen times i love it it is so good you should listen to it it is on youtube here it is very good i promise. visually it's nothing special but the songs are either a) relentless bangers or b) devastating, which is the perfect combination in my humble onion. i have no idea who directed it or starred in it because i can't find any information about it and my russian is not excellent but it is so worth watching. also worth noting that it is all in russian and there are no subtitles, but if you are familiar with the plot it is very easy to follow. excellent wonderful marvellous i love this musical so much (thank you to beloved @elmorinn for making me aware of it :D)

makeup rating: ?/5

the above picture is the best view you get and i still can't see it very clearly so i am withholding my rating. it looks like it's just lines again but i have much more tolerance for a stage play doing that than a film. rank pending

the grinning man (2020), dir. tom morris

accuracy rating: 2/5

definitely recognisable but with so many changes i can't accept it as the same story. i also think that most or all of the changes damage the plot quite significantly (setting it in an alternate reality rather than eighteenth-century england, making ursus dea's biological father, barkilphedro being responsible for everything ever, etc.) but the relationship between gwynplaine and dea was lovely and the cast did a brilliant job

ned rating: 3.5/5

i like it! i enjoy it much more as its own production than an adaptation, but i love the puppetry and it is generally very fun and full of energy. i have only watched it once so far but i would definitely watch it again. labyrinth is also a very good song and i have listened to it many times

makeup rating: 4/5

not book accurate at all but it looks wicked so i am rating it highly for effort and effect. it is also curious that despite defanging almost every other aspect of the story they decided to double down on gwynplaine's trauma by having him wander around his entire life with a giant gaping bleeding wound in his face. did he not already have it bad enough!

[crowleysgirl56]

Book Omens! A meandering journey to reading Good Omens to my son. The finale!

Well we finished it! Here are some thoughts and observations from both my son and myself (mostly myself actually).

- did I miss something or did Hastur just not do anything further once he got out of the answer-machine and ate all the telemarketers? In the show he manifests in the Bentley then gets discorporated and sent back to hell when Crowley drives through the ball of fire on the M25. But the book just has him coming through the phone line, turning into maggots, devouring the room of telemarketers and then that’s it. Also, it’s been a while since I’ve watched season 1, do they show that the telemarketers are brought back to life because the book has one of them call Newt and then gets annoyed that they’ve lost an entire day because they think it’s still Saturday (assuming this is thanks to Adam putting the world right again). Anyway, this is all to say that I find it odd that the thread of Hastur is just left hanging like that. Which makes me wonder if he was always supposed to have a major part to play in the book’s sequel (and therefore season 3). I recently read an old interview where Pratchett said the makings of the sequel are built into the book. Could this be one of those threads?

- on the subject of Hastur my son said that while he was stuck in the answer-machine Crowley should have just turned him into The Best of Queen, and HOW THE HELL HAS NO ONE THOUGHT OF THAT?! This kid is so clever sometimes he’d make Crowley proud.

- another major thing I noticed and I’m hoping I just didn’t miss something crucial here, is it’s never explained where Crowley got the holy water from. Is it implied it was Aziraphale in the book and I just completely missed it? All of this backstory was of course included in season 1 and I’m wondering if it was included specifically because it was never explained in the book. And again, because there was no explanation, would this have been included in the sequel?

- a sudden though regarding the bikers. There’s never any indication that they were restored. I don’t know if this means anything specifically, but considering there’s the short gag at the end of the book that implies the telemarketers were returned and also the delivery man, I wonder why this didn’t happen for the bikers. Again, is this another thread for the sequel?

- I’ve taken some screen shots below of more passages in the book that made me realise why I never thought Aziraphale and Crowley were romantically coded to each other the first time I read through the book (and I think I might do a deeper dive into these passages in a separate post).

Any thoughts about this is welcome. But again, it seems to be one of those “squint to see the deeper relationship” cases here.

- I will admit however the fact that they had no problem holding hands may have been what gave people pause to think about their relationship. Though could their relationship have been framed platonically, like for example Frodo and Sam in LoTR? (don’t come at me for that comparison. I get that Frodo and Sam are shipped constantly, but Tolkien very specifically said their relationship was about platonic companionship and the type of companionship that hetero men seem to be afraid to show each other in modern times.)

- the last passage involving Warlock was really interesting. Again I couldn’t remember if it’s included in the show, but there definitely did seem to be some kind of implication that there was more to Warlock than him just being the swapped child. Again, was this another thread for the sequel? Was it implied that he would now be the new antichrist? Or could he perhaps be the second coming? Will we see him in season 3?

So, overall impressions. My son liked it but I think a lot of it went over his head (I had to stop and explain a lot of religious canon to him, a lot of the satire, and most of the jokes). He liked Death and the rest of the horsemen and also the bikers. He identified with Adam but still didn’t quite understand why Adam just didn’t use his powers for good (bless him). He didn’t really feel anything in particular for Aziraphale and Crowley (sob!). He also asked me to explain what happened season 2 and why I’m sad about it. He is also now very sad for me, and is very angry with NG.

Maybe one day he’ll read the book again for himself and find the humour much more relatable. He is interested in reading Discworld again and maybe this time will stick it out.

I personally am glad I read it again for myself. And I’m also really grateful for all the fanfic that we have that expands on the story and the characters. Thank you so much to the fandom for your fabulous stories and your love for these characters. And thanks for following along with my ramblings.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Hmmm... So the whole thing about Zhouzel's mother having to eat 1000 souls might explain at least part of why the initial (failed) ritual was set up as a boxing match (immediate souls to be fed after she's eaten the warrior offering, albeit probably not nearly enough but a start), and Zhouzel supposedly being a god-slayer that fights the other entities explains why the man in the trophy store described Zhouzel as "brave", though he also described it as "rising in the light of Adothi" and I wonder now if Adothi is simply the name of its mother or something else entirely.

-> Okay below is a lot of random, loosely connected thoughts that have been circling around in my brain regarding the happenings of the world and its entities, but please note before venturing further that 1. A lot of it is quite out there, incredibly speculative (if not full-on conspiracy), and likely to be flat-out wrong and 2. I haven't like relistened to the episodes properly so there could be plenty of important details I'm forgetting/missing. So please, feel free both to refute any of the theories being proposed here if you think that evidence exists to the contrary, and feel free to share your own thoughts and theories (no matter how "out-there") on the mysteries of Peachyville and everything beyond it, I'd love to hear them.

OKAY. Speaking of the trophy guy, flame has been playing an interesting role in the narrative thus far. The trophy gu- oh Hal that was his name- Hal wields it in an attempt to spare both himself and the party from whatever fate Peachyville is apparently destined towards should the powers that lie beyond the veil (Zhouzel included) be unleashed, then we learn from the book Trudy finds [did it have a name? I can't remember] that the being unleashed from the failed ritual (presumably this was also Zhouzel's mother) is weak to fire, then related to and following that we have that pretty horrifying scene where the flamethrowers come out through a portal (more on that in a moment) and kill everyone who was trying to escape, then in this episode the ritual room has fire extinguishing foam prepped and ready to go. So what's up with that? Are all the entities weak to fire (unlikely, since The Doodler does not appear to be)? Is it just some of them, or really just Zhouzel's mother? Could there be some other entity associated with flame in some way or another? One that inspires its own kind of madness, as in the case of Hal?

The flamethrower scene is quite interesting and raises a number of questions. The goal was almost certainly to do away with the entity in the ring, but whether that was with the goal of reattempting the ritual down below or fighting the ritual entirely is unclear. The latter case is rather interesting, because it implies that there are people other than Moth Jesus (and Relish Wet?) and the PCs actively trying to prevent The Bisons from summoning Zhouzel, and that these people may be quite powerful and dangerous in their own right. Moreover, in his phonecall with Trudy (who he believed to be Tucker), Dr. Man actually suggests exactly this: that there are people working against those still involved in Project Heartland (or whatever's become of it now) and that betrayal within the organization has already occured. So who then? Actually *one* of these enemy factions we've already known for a while now: the soviets. Everything that "Penny Picket" had to say to Tony in episode 4 and that which E.B. White had to say about her in episode 5 (describing her as the "former KGB occult operations officer") suggests that 1. the soviets are aware of and against the plan to summon Zhouzel, and 2. the british are most likely in favor of and associated with it and Project Heartland alongside the americans. So maybe the portal and flamethrowers belonged to the soviets, but are there more possibilities than that? Well, Mama Anderson (I can't remember her first name if it's been said), as you may recall, wanted Kelsey to win against The Bison's chosen warrior, which as we saw of course fucked with the ritual, so it seems likely albeit not certain that she and the Anderson gang are enemies of The Bisons and against Zhouzel's summoning as well, possibly responsible for the flame thrower incident, though the extent of their intentions remains unclear (they could just be a gang mainly concerned with money, of course, or things could go much deeper than that).

Leaving that there and instead returning to the topic of flame, I ask again, could there be some entity associated with flame and fire? It's a farfetched theory at the moment, but not entirely out of the question. Of those mentioned, Zhouzel and Adothi (if Adothi is the name of an entity at all and not just something else entirely) are most likely out of the question, as is The Doodler of course, and I highly doubt either The Maggot Whore or "The Cloud Thing" would be. Daegon perhaps? [Okay, now we're getting into real conspiracy theory territory for a moment or several] The only "Daegon" I could find (with that spelling at least) is the mortal combat character hehe, but in all fairness to the theory that guy is a demi-god and does have fire-related abilities. Not connected to Daegon specifically but still to the possibility of a fire-oriented entity, when Trudy reads from her book she reads the following passages:

In 1503 I saw through the veil And cried 666 words in a wail Ask me a question and draw out 3 cards And with them I'll show you the fate in your stars

For our purposes right now, it's the 666 portion that's of particular interest, since it alludes to more classical/biblical notions of something demonic/devilish and hence associated with fire. Guillermo Campos' accounts and existence may nod to the existence of a more devilish entity as well (referring mainly to his ties to catholicism, sins, and the inquisition). As a small and mostly unimportant sidenote, though I don't have any real evidence to support this, I somehow feel as though these passages may be related to the "Testimony of the Unknown Pagan", referenced in episode 9. Also, both Trudy's and Guillermo's books suggest that contact with all that lies beyond the veil far precedes Project Heartland.

As a small, final note tangentially-related to that last point, books also seem to be a reoccurring and important matter, as evidenced by the individual books mentioned as well as the existence of the archives themselves. The Maggot Whore, moreover, is said to read from The Book Of Many Eyes (and this book is mentioned again by someone talking to Dr. Man in the hospital in episode 7), which kind of makes me wonder if we'll finally encounter her(?) at the archives, though to be honest the zoo feels just as likely to me (something something rotting flesh). This reoccurring motif of books above all else has me wondering what's in store for Peachyville's happiest and snappiest schoolmarm, and that's not even getting into the implications and consequences of the decision she made today.

...

Okay okay one more thing that absolutely doesn't matter and never will but the implication from the episode 3 intro that the film "four father's in fantasy land" was used as part of a failed experiment orchestrated as part of Project Heartland (that failed experiment of course being what happened to Hildy/what we saw footage of in Oakvale) makes me wonder if there's an original version of the film, and hence of the S1/S2 universe, before its tape was altered by the Heartland experiment, where the doodler isn't released and S2 of course goes very very differently. OKAY THAT'S ALL GOODNIGHT PEACHYVILLE, GOODNIGHT.

[p5x-theories]

Have you gathered any other fun i guess quirks that could be considered characterization for Wonder? Like how many outfits he has meaning he may have an eye for fashion for example

Hmm, good question! It's hard for me to remember anything unprompted, heh, but I will say I personally believe all the Persona series protagonists have quite a bit of characterization present in their games (despite being alleged blank slates), so in general I do try to pay attention to this stuff, because I like putting that picture together in my head.

I try to factor this into my story summaries, too, especially if I mention that the player doesn't really have a choice with something, or if I think it's interesting that the player has a choice at all. For instance, when Riko collapses after awakening her Persona, the player doesn't get to choose whether Wonder offers to help her, just what specifically he says when he offers. This one is particularly interesting to me because Cattle's response treats this as Wonder not properly reading the room here (Closer was offering to help because she (and Cattle) thought a girl should help her, not because all three of them were going to lend Riko a shoulder), but the player is essentially "forced" to read the room wrong because evidently there's no way Wonder wouldn't also offer to help her. In general, Wonder seems very open to helping people; the fact that he has all these side quests is proof of that, especially since a lot of them kind of start as "Wonder sees someone having a problem and tries to help with it, or at least find out what's going on".

Oh, the gachapon machines could be taken as another quirk of his! You can collect the toys from them as Joker as well, but Wonder has a deliberate display case/shelving area for setting up each of the full sets, with layouts that make it obvious which ones he's missing (implying, to me, that he likes to have a full set on display). But on the flip side, so far I've never see Wonder get a souvenir while hanging out with someone, so he doesn't display any of those in his room like Joker does.

Not exactly a quirk, but another thing that stood out as really interesting to me (maybe especially because Wonder's team isn't as well-known as the original Phantom Thieves were, even by this point), is that Wonder can kind of imply that the Metaverse/shadows/etc. exist in a couple text conversations with Kiyoshi during his Confidant, when Kiyoshi brings up something supernatural that he wants to "investigate". I know it happens more than once, but not super often. But then later, in Kiyoshi's rank 15 event, when Kiyoshi kind of admits he has an active imagination, but he really does see things others can't sometimes (his implied ability to see Personas, or at least see two/multiple of someone if they have a Persona), while Wonder seems to realize this is Kiyoshi being able to see Personas or something related to the Metaverse, there's never any option to tell him about it, or even imply it exists here. It kind of makes it retroactively seem like Wonder's willing to "joke" about that stuff in a text message, but not actually tell anyone, even a close friend, even when there don't seem to be any consequences because the police don't believe the Phantom Thieves exist? It is also possible Wonder's just not a very good liar, so he's only willing to "joke" about it in texts, where he doesn't have to be a particularly good liar to play it off, heh. But I keep thinking about it.

Merope's another interesting Confidant interaction, because while many of her rank-up events allow Wonder the option to express doubt/distaste/a general unwillingness to go along with Merope's idol obsession, ultimately in her rank 20 event he seems to be along for the ride. Even a bit before that, the player can't make him turn down her Mementos request, and when interacting with the Shadow of Narumi's producer, none of his response options give the impression that Wonder's only doing this for Merope. While it's the player's choice whether Wonder is relatively on-board with Merope's idol obsession from the get-go, by the later ranks of her Confidant he seems to have been won over (at least to some extent) regardless of what the player wants.

Oh, another tidbit that comes to mind- we know Wonder's been living in his house at least since he was little, probably his whole life, meaning it's most likely that he attended Kokatsu last year (as a first year) as well, but he notes that he's never been to Kokatsu's annual beach event before. We don't know how long this desire-stealing stuff has been going on, but considering Riko says attendance for the beach event was much, much higher in previous years, and in general the desire problem seems to be getting worse over time, Wonder probably still had his desires (or at least, more of them) as a first year. If so, it says something about what he was like prior to the start of the game that he "obviously" (his words) still didn't attend the beach event that's apparently so popular with students.

This is more general, rather than specific instances/quirks, but I've gotten the impression that Wonder's generally a little less confident than Joker, but gets attached to people quickly and likes to help them. Not to say that you can't read Joker as being similar, but like I said with the side quests, Joker doesn't even have those. At the start of the game, when he didn't have desires, Wonder doesn't know what he wants for the future, and doesn't seem particularly bothered that Ms. Katayama's worried about him because of it. But in Chapter 3 (sorry I'm still typing this story update!), he's right there with Riko, Shun, and Motoha blaming himself for causing Katayama more stress, and when they can't steal her Treasure because they're not sure what'll happen to Akashi sharing her Palace, he's so clearly bothered by it that Ruferu gives him a pep talk about how he's a good leader and they still saved Katayama's Shadow today.

Wonder's reaction to his visions also feels like a point of characterization to me. While he clearly is alarmed by the bad ones (jolting awake after the nightmare at the start, most obviously), already by Chapter 2 he doesn't seem to doubt that they might be real in some way, because he uses information from them to help (asking Yamagoshi the right question, designing their Phantom Thieves logo, understanding what they need to do while fighting Shadow Katayama), and starts to wonder if he's lost memories like Ruferu did. A lot of people might've brushed them off for longer, or been more suspicious of where they're coming from or what they mean, but Wonder seems to trust them by this point, and in general seems to trust people quickly. He questions where they're coming from and what he's seeing, but I don't get the impression he doubts that they're in some way real.

Heh, sorry, that might've been a longer and (especially towards the end) more generalized answer than you wanted, but like I said, I like thinking about this stuff! I hope it was at least an interesting read, and maybe covered at least some of the stuff you were hoping to hear.

[satureja13]

After the Boys did what they could for the Grim Reaper for the time being, they started their day with their yoga/meditation/tantra practise.

Somehow the Little Goats are always attracted to Vlad ^^' And not only the goats. Even Kiyoshi can feel the air heating up by the way Ji Ho looks at Vlad. While Vlad, the master of self control, tried to not look Ji Ho's way to keep things from getting even more awkward between them. Breathe in through the nose - breathe out through the mouth. Repeat. (And Freezer Boney already became friends with Logan, Wicket and Skully.)

Then they went down to the lagoon to cool down. And seize the short time they have here at Tartosa until their meeting with Ms Coombes and athena.

Poor Sai is still sad he wasn't able to spend the night with Jeb. He urgently has to come up with some ideas to seduce him. But how, if he's constantly keeping his distance to Sai? That's ridiculous. Jack and Kiyoshi are more intimate with each other as mates, just mates, or whatever they are, than Sai and Jeb as a couple...

Jeb: "Come in, Vlad. The water is wonderful!"

Same crap as last year when they'd been here and Jeb was avoiding him.

Such a beautiful day! It's still warm here at Tartosa and the water in the lagoon is just right.

And since the holiday season is over, they have the place for themselves.

Well almost. Some guy started chatting with Jeb... Until they noticed Sai torpedoing right in their direction ö.Ö'

If Sai can't have Jeb, no one else will. Some guy: "Eh - I have to go. Bye."

Jack and Kiyoshi separated from the others and went to the beach. Jack was building diligently and pondered about their mateship and the times they had been in their secret relationship.

Kiyoshi must have had the same thoughts: "I'm glad we don't have to hide anymore and that we can talk openly about anything." Jack: "We'll do that, right? And it won't be weird." Kiyoshi: "We will. And it won't." Jack: "I could have never imagined we'd ever be so comfortable around each other. Even when we were together, I'd been nervous and anxious all the time." Kiyoshi: "And I'd been so pressured to treat you right and then I did everything wrong all the way." Jack: "Well, not everything. Our woohoos had been epic." Kiyoshi agreed with a hum. They remembered their epic woohoos for a while - until they got reminded of just how tight these swimming trunks are, and they stopped. Jack changed the subject: "And I never understood what you wanted from me." Kiyoshi: "Now you can feel it too. That we're fated mates. *he let out a laugh* All it needed was getting struck by lightning." Jack: "So, what when the heat strikes me again, will... will you - eh, help me - again? Getting rid of it?" Kiyoshi: "Sure. Anytime. I mean, if it's ok for you?" Jack smiled, relieved: "More than ok. Thanks, mate." Then Jack thought that sand pile looked a bit like a 🍑 and got distracted again...

Too soon it was time to leave and get ready for their meeting. Sai: "Are you trying to bury Kiyoshi like Vlad and me last year?" Jack laughed: "Aouwww, that was fun! But no. I'm building a dam to keep the water at bay so we have more space at the beach." (Even though the beach is so large, there is only a small areal where you can actually place your towels and stuff. When I told Jack to build in the sand, he already had to kneel in the water -.-) And poor Sai didn't even notice how longing Jeb looks after him! But it's for the better I guess, since that guy is still with Jeb ö.Ö'

Ji Ho: "If you're planning to bury Kiyoshi like Vlad and Sai last year, he's lying behind you ;) " Jack laughed and played along: "Ah, dammit ^^' "

Outtakes

The Little Goats also practice yoga. Here, Little Goat shows us how to do the 'Dead Goat' pose... It's not as easy as it looks though, keeping your arms and legs in the air for a while at that angle...🐐

The second time Ji Ho kind of glitches here in the lagoon. Last year, he changed into his sports outfit while still in mermaid shape (trousers and shoes too ö.ö) And here he's doing the crawl, which is not his usual mermaid swimming style.

Greg tends to show up to look after his son ;)

With bored confidence ^^' Or does even he look a bit worried? Or sad and curious (since he lifted one eyebrow)? I'm having such a hard time reading faces... I have no idea if that comes from my face blindness or autism. How does he look for you?

And when they left, the guy who chatted with Jeb, finished Jack's 'dam' because he thinks it's a project worth finishing ^^' Vlad is applauding him for his determination.

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Here comes the Sun' from the beginning ▶️ here Last Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 23-28

[bastardlybonkers]

feetman