#and considering exactly where my interests lie; i have to do it in this way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shinysobi · 2 months ago

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sleepless in busan

he's been running his whole life, and hadn't realized how tired he was.

well, this was supposed to be a collaboration that unfortunately fell through, but the image of diner owner jihoon was so stuck in my mind it refused to leave, so here we have chapter one of this monstrosity (don't even ask) I've yapped in everyone's dm's about this at this point.

genre: angst, fluff, mentions of drinking and smoking

a/n: to all the people whose inboxes I have invaded: kae @ylangelegy, tiya @gyubakeries, jay @ppyopulii and many, many more, I do hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Special thanks to jay who beta read this in record time, i love u my fellow woozidan

w.c: 9.1k

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | masterlist

Verse one—haemul-tang.

Now, of course, there are methods to running a restaurant. Jihoon is perfectly aware of this, and yet, he has made it a personal mission to flout each and every rule of that (bar the safety precautions, because well, he isn’t an asshole, never mind what Jeonghan says. Jeonghan has to say an awful lot, apparently, because, and this is true, he’s been telling Jihoon about the apparent health and safety violations of his diner. Jihoon knows this is a false and untrue accusation, because the health department has been to visit once in the six months that Jihoon has been running his diner, and it has all been up to code. Likely, Jeonghan was trying to get underneath his skin by feeding him lies, and Jihoon cannot put it past Jeonghan simply lying to get ahead in the game. And unfortunately for him, Jihoon really cannot get angry with the man, because he simply has his best interests at heart, but he will use his God-given, natural right, to get pissed off and complain. A tiny little thing like friendship is not going to stand in the way of him complaining about Jeonghan, no matter what other people might say about him. He’s a grown adult now. And grown adults can complain about their best friends. And Jeonghan is the kind of person who would lie to get under Jihoon’s skin. Seeing him squirm is like a shot of dopamine for him.

“It doesn’t matter how good the food is, or if you’re being considered for an Orange Ribbon, Jihoon,” the offensive man in question is sitting at the bar at the moment, staring at Jihoon, infuriatingly attractive, “the state of this place is disgusting. This is probably the fourth time I’ve come to see you this week, and already it's filthy. Do yourself a favour and shut this down before you get inspected for a health code violation.”

Jihoon says nothing. Saying nothing in response is the easiest way to rile Jeonghan up, because after half a moment’s silence, he pipes up again, “you clearly hate running this place. Take my advice, and go back to your old job. You know, the one that you used to have, since you left everything and began a diner, of all things.”

Jihoon scoffs, rolls his eyes, and says, “what do you want me to go back to? Being a pianist? Being a performer? Or being a producer for the company? Because as far as I can recall, I am still doing that, just not in person. I still make songs. I’ve just stopped going into the spotlight.”

“Exactly. Do you know how much we spent trying to find you? You just dropped off of the face of the earth, without a single explanation as to where you were going or what you were going to do afterwards. People thought you had died, you know.”

“My parents knew where I was.” It is strange, how easily he slips back into being a petulant teenager in front of Jeonghan, who, when Jihoon had first met him, was a rather petulant teenager himself, but manages to not sulk too much, lest Jeonghan make fun of him, “and I was doing fine. I just didn’t want to deal with everything.”

“Your parents can keep a secret; I’ll give them that.” Jeonghan grouses, “I thought they were professional spies at some point, because nothing I said could make them open their mouths about why their only son dropped off the face of the earth after his contract—a very alluring contract that I fought with the company executives to secure for him—expired, and why he had not been picking up the calls of his friends.”

Jihoon has the self-awareness to look bashful. He was an asshole to all of them, he knows. Jeonghan was the one who was the most affected, but all the others—Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Minghao—he’s been a jerk to all of them, dropping off of the radar because he just couldn’t deal with the fame and what came with it. “I’m sorry about that.”

“What were you even doing for all those years?”

“I was doing things. Other things, not producing or playing the piano in front of a crowd.” Jihoon shrugs, “ran away to Paris. I Learned how to cook. Came back to Busan, opened this diner.”

“Man,” Jeonghan runs a hand over his face, “you used to love performing. And then you leave without a word, for years, and then I find you running a diner in the middle of Busan. What really is going on here, Jihoon?”

Jihoon sighs, “not today. Nothing I can tell you today, I’m afraid.”

Jeonghan nods, “fair enough, but you have got to come back to the industry.”

“I’m still writing songs!” he protests, “is that not enough? I said I’d still be producing, and I am making songs for the company. Is writing consecutive hits not good enough for you?”

“It sounds like it’s not good enough for you, man,” Jeonghan says, finishing his food and placing a ten-thousand-won bill on the bar, “keep the change. And for god’s sake, fire Soonyoung. Or at least, make him stop coming here. He’s going to ruin his public image if he starts serving people in your diner. Look at him, he’s putting food in front of people wearing a tiger-print apron.”

“He works without pay,” Jihoon replies, “there’s really nothing I can do about a person who comes in and volunteers their time. Also, the only way he said he was going to serve people was if he was allowed to wear the tiger print apron.”

Jeonghan lets out a long-suffering sigh, “at least make him go home at a normal time. It’s good that he’s spending his break away from people, but serving drinks and food in a diner owned by Lee Jihoon is not really the answer.”

And with that, Jeonghan is gone, and Jihoon is left alone, with three other people in the restaurant, two of them being served by an overenthusiastic Soonyoung wearing a striped apron. He really had meant to let everyone know about his whereabouts, really. Even after all those years of being at the company, being a pianist, then writing and producing songs, even after all of that took a toll on him, he had meant to let the people closest to him know.

But he hadn’t, and his relationships had suffered as a result.

“Jihoon,” Soonyoung drifts into his field of vision, an orange-striped monstrosity, “shouldn’t you be closing up shop? Last call should have been half an hour ago.”

“Hm,” he nods, “I’ll close up shop. You can go ahead, if you want to.”

“You don’t look good,” Soonyoung says, worry laced in his voice, “should I call someone? Jeonghan-hyung? Your mom?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jihoon can feel the telltale signs of a migraine coming along, but he ignores it in favour of being nice to Soonyoung, because Soonyoung will definitely go and tell Jeonghan if Jihoon is not well, and he doesn’t think he can handle the emotional turmoil of dealing with Jeonghan on two consecutive days, “just go, I’ll clean and close up.”

“You already cleaned,” the other man points out, “you were cleaning before Jeonghan-hyung came by, and I finished the rest of it for you. You just need to wash the dishes from the last two customers and take out the trash, and you’ll be done.”

Jihoon stares at him, a newfound appreciation for Soonyoung colouring his vision. Yeah, screw what Jeonghan has to say about him working here, he’s going to let him work. If he likes it, let him do it. as long as it doesn’t interfere with his work and rest.

When he takes out the trash, Soonyoung having gone home earlier, sits in front of the diner, still wearing his work clothes, and takes out a cigarette. He really shouldn’t be smoking, but here he is, trying to get rid of a habit he had thought he’d left behind. So many people in his life—his parents, the record label execs, Jeonghan, Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Minghao, Soonyoung, now, and he’s managed to let down at least eighty percent of them, soundly. What was he thinking, opening up a homestyle diner in the middle of Busan? He knows why Soonyoung comes out here to work with him, even if his own house is in Namyangju. He’s aware of why Jeonghan has been running around to get him to come back to Seoul. But unfortunately for Jihoon, he enjoys the smell of the sea a bit too much. Likes Busan because he can wake up and go for a walk and have breakfast with his parents, come back to open the restaurant, and live a life that is enviable, perhaps. Hard, but enviable.

He presses the code to lock the doors, then pulls the shutters down. Time to clock out.

—

“No, Seungkwan, I refuse to go to your home for the holidays,” I tell the man sitting in front of me at the café, “I barely know your parents! Why would they want to host me for the holidays!”

“They love you already, noona,” the man wheedles, fully aware of the power of a handsome face, “please, they haven’t ever met a writer in real life.”

“I’m not a zoo animal to be paraded, Kwan. Besides, I have my own, very loving family, to get back to for the holidays.”

“But you won the Daesan literary award!” Seungkwan groans, “please, noona, it would mean so much to my parents if you came to visit them.”

Unfortunately, I’ve never really been able to say no to him, which is a weakness of mine that he exploits on the daily. Besides, who really contributed to the award? Was it me, who wrote the story, or was it Seungkwan, who found my manuscript languishing in a pile of rejected scripts and fought for it until it was published? I thanked him in my speech after I won, but it doesn’t seem enough.

“Fine,” I say, “I’ll go on the day after New Year. I can get a ferry or something.” Ugh. Never mind the fact that Seungkwan has something else brewing (he always has) in that mind of his, travelling the day after New Year, when all the roads are bound to be filled to the brim with people arguing, yelling, and trying to make their way to their own families, is not exactly my idea of heaven.

But, on the other hand, Seungkwan was my best (haters would say my only) friend, and I would actually enjoy his company, so I make a face, but make a purchase for a ticket to Jeju either way. I can always bully him into giving me a ride to his house after I land. I will have to make my excuses to slip away from my home, but I think my parents would be happier if I spent at least part of the holiday at a friend’s place rather than at theirs. It would stop the questions of ‘when are you getting married’, that’s for one.

I make a face at the amount of money I was being charged for single two-way ticket to Jeju, and I show the screen to Seungkwan, who pulls a frown of his own, “I’m taking that out of your pay check, Boo Seungkwan.”

“You don’t even pay me,” he counters, “and don’t pull that face. We all know why you’re even saying yes to this. You just don’t want to deal with your parents asking you when you’re going to get married.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve known you for three years, so it’s kind of obvious to me,” he preens, “are they still on your case about that?”

“They mean well,” I take a sip of the too-sweet boba tea, “but after a point, they get overbearing. Even they are aware of it, which makes me think that they’re just doing it on purpose.”

“And they still don’t know that you’re a writer?” Seungkwan has this look on his face, the one that I’ve dubbed ‘Incredulous Seungkwan Face’ where he has heard a piece of information so outrageous it cannot possibly be true, but here it is, in his face, as he tries to process it, “come on, at least tell them that you won an award! At least then they’ll stop asking you about when you are going to get a proper position at your job, and I don’t have to lie every time they ask me about it.”

“They ask you about it?” I groan, “I thought I told them not to bother you about anything, but they ask you about it.”

“They worry about you, that’s why,” Seungkwan sips on his coffee, “of all the writers I’ve met, you are the one who’s the most secretive, despite being one of the most famous.”

“You’ve been talking to more writers?” I gasp for dramatic effect, “cannot believe you are betraying me.”

Seungkwan gives me an unimpressed look, “As opposed to who is betraying you?”

I twiddle my thumbs. “You know, who else.”

“Never mind that,” Seungkwan sighs, “at least tell me that you’re coming to Jeju for New Year’s. I’ve already told my parents about you, so you know, no pressure.’

“Yeah, no pressure, you dumb shit,” I grumble, “I’m going to be terrified the whole time.”

Seungkwan laughs, before standing up to leave, and finally, I am all alone in the shop, with only my brain for company. Daesan Literary Prize. Until the previous month, I had no idea it was even a real thing, and when Seungkwan had called me up to deliver the news of my winning, I thought it was a prank call delivered to the publishing house. But it wasn’t, and now I am—well, what am I? a writer? An accomplished one? Someone who makes a fair bit of living from her craft?

Doubtful.

“Why are you based in Busan?” Seungkwan had asked me, when we met for the first time, an open question, that I had failed to answer, just stammered my way through a bunch of excuses that didn’t make sense to either of us, but at least he had accepted it, had not pressed further, had not asked the question, why do you avoid Seoul?

The boba shop is on the edge of the wharf, and I make my way to the sea, salty air whipping onto my face, realising, after a long time, ah, I miss my mom. It’s in times like these that I miss the days of my youth, when all I had were dreams clogging my senses, when I thought about nothing but becoming famous, being known for my writing. And when I’ve finally managed to achieve even a little bit of that goal, I hid away in the middle of a city where no one knew my name, or at least, even if they did, had the sense to look the other way. Seungkwan doesn’t press, doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t go beyond his limits. Even if he could, he never once asked me about the reason behind leaving.

My phone rings, “Hello?”

The familiar voice of my sister floats in through the speaker, “are you okay?”

Are you okay? There is an answer to this, but I’m not sure if I should be telling anyone about it, really, are you okay? Who am I to say I’m not, beg for love and attention and all the other things that come with the experience of being loved and cared for, to be an important person in anyone’s life?

“I’m fine,” I reply, kicking away a stray pebble, “just walking on the beach. It’s a Sunday.”

“You love that damn beach too much,” my sister grumbles, “even ran away from the city you were born and raised in, just to see the beach. Have you had your fill of it now? Aren’t you sick of seeing the same thing over and over again?”

“The sea changes every day, you know,” I laugh, “I come here every day to find a different person waiting for me, the same way that you have your family, I have the beach for myself.”

“I wish you would at least think about it, you know,” my sister sighs on the other end, “I just feel as though you’ve been running for years.”

“One has to stop at some point, right?” I laugh, “I’m fine, eonnie. I like it here, actually. The sea is—it’s comforting.”

“Do you want me to tell you about New Years?” she asks, still cautious, “or do you want to skip it this year?”

“I’ll come, don’t worry. Mom and dad will miss me if I didn’t show up at least once,” I laugh, “hey, at least we get mandatory leave those four days.”

“I thought you would have other plans.”

“Seungkwan invited me to go to Jeju for the New Years, so I’ll probably do that the day after New Years,” I say, “I don’t know, might cancel that. Would like to stay with my parents for the holiday, you know?”

“Mom and dad would be overjoyed if you went to a friend’s house for New Years,” she replies, “ah fuck, the kids are acting up again. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Bye.” She hangs up, and I stand there, in the middle of the beach, the sea a comfortable distance away from me, and wait a while.

I hate Seoul. Hate the bustle of it, hate how people move quicker than they need to, but who knows? Maybe they do need to move that quick, maybe they all have places to be, things to do, more important than the life of a twenty-something who does not know exactly where her dreams began and where her reality ended.

Most importantly, I hate how I miss it.

In the dying light of the sun, I kick away pebbles, hoping to find a different outcome for all this want inside of me, and come up with nothing.

—

Jihoon is scared. He’d been staring at the work computer in his room for an hour the past night, and all he ended up realising was wow, I’m fucked. He’s staring at the amount of drafts he has in his computer, titled neatly, with the day and time of composition (as if that really mattered, but Jihoon was a stickler) and really, he can’t sustain himself with recycled beats and old compositions he’d made in the earlier days of his contract with the company. He’s been unable to really make anything anymore, has essentially kept staring at the screen, unable to even make a single tune. It’s a far cry from the Woozi of his previous years, who had a new song to be presented for scrutiny at the company meetings every single week. Jeonghan might take offence, but he is not the one who has to craft songs, only has to present them, and he can wait a few more days.

Jihoon knows he’s good at making songs, he’s been called a genius far too many times for the term to not go to his head. Three years ago, just before his contract ended, he was awarded Producer of the Year and Songwriter of the Year, a distinction reserved for three people before him. He'd written around thirty songs that year, more than anyone else, and had his hands in the production process for at least twenty more. Writing songs came easy to him then, as easy as breathing. He could sit with a draft in the morning and be done by lunchtime.

And then breathing became difficult, so all he could do was clutch his chest and run.

Jihoon shakes his head, standing at the doorway to his apartment building, he has to get groceries for the restaurant today; the produce will be coming in a bit later than usual. Which means delays in the prep, which means delays in getting orders out. It’s funny, how he’s become accustomed to thinking like a restaurant owner, even though he had no idea about this stuff when he first started out, washing dishes in the back of a Parisian bistro, telling the whole world to fuck off just because he could. All of that was the bravado of a twenty-year old, someone who had enormous power thrust into their hands before they even realised the gravitas of it, and most of the time, people watch on in a sick sense of pleasure, hoping to see the other person drown.

And well, he was a good swimmer, but swimmers drowned too.

By the time he ends up finishing his prep for the day, there is only about ten minutes left for the lunch regulars to begin walking in, and he makes a face, realising, not for the first time, that running a restaurant, even if it’s a homey little diner on the edge of the Busan wharf, is a lot of work.

Soonyoung walks in halfway through the afternoon, rubbing his eyes as if he’s just woken up. He picks out his designated apron from the rack, and Jihoon averts his eyes because he cannot bring himself to be the one to tell him that the tiger-print is an atrocious one. In many ways, he’s grateful to Soonyoung, who works at the diner without asking for payment, just grateful to be able to hide away from the reporters in Seoul that seem to constantly be on his ass for something or the other. Soonyoung had entered the company when they were at the last stages of The Seventeen Project, something that was being touted as the 'next big thing' in k-pop since BTS. Jihoon was also dabbling in producing, sick and tired of the failure and the scrutiny. He had initially felt sad for Soonyoung, given how he was walking into a company that was on its dying breaths, desperate to try anything to get by. They all knew, the HR knew, the producers knew, hell, even the trainees knew. Production had seemed like a safer alternative at that time, and he was eager to do anything for a paycheck. Turns out, Soonyoung, or Hoshi, as he called himself, was the goose that laid golden eggs. Or was it Jihoon who was the goose? Either way, Hoshi’s popularity meant more work for Jihoon, more money for the company to be poured into the other struggling groups. When one succeeds, everyone gets a piece of the pie. Years later, and he was begging for his contract to end.

The shift is a slow one, meaning he has more time to think about his impending doom, where he is hunted down the sands of the beach by a group of company executives, headed by Jeonghan, who, inexplicably, has a contract termination notice for his diner in his hands. Jihoon knows it’s an unrealistic dream, but it does not keep it from shuddering in fear whenever his mind conjures up that image.

“One seafood stew,” Soonyoung sets down a ticket in front of him, jerking out of his thoughts, “should I say last call?”

Jihoon checks his wristwatch, already past midnight. He wants to keep the diner open a while more, but he still has to go home and decide on what to send Jeonghan for the upcoming deadline, something that he has been avoiding to the point that Jeonghan had to make the damn trip to tell him to fix his mistakes. He has to do something, or the tentative bit of goodwill that he has, will all go down the drain. At least he can talk to the others over the phone every once in a while, he won’t be able to do that either anymore.

“Last call,” he shouts over the counter, and the customers begin to stand up and leave, “Soonyoung, clean as much as you can, then leave the rest to me.”

“Ah, well, you see,” Soonyoung says, half-apologetic, because Jihoon knows how much he loves performing, “I’m going back to Namyangju tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Your vacation finished early?” he asks, keeping it light, “you stayed back longer this time.”

“Ah, you know, vacation is never really a vacation with these people,” Soonyoung laughs, “but, I’ll still be in touch, if you want me to.”

“Of course I want to remain in touch,” Jihoon laughs, “drive safe on the road back home, huh?”

“Sure, sure,” Soonyoung walks out of the door, “keep the apron for me, would you?”

“Fuck no.”

Soonyoung leaves, and Jihoon is alone, back in a void of his own making. He could just clean up before leaving, but Soonyoung is apparently a much more diligent worker than he had ever thought he would be, because he’s left a spotless kitchen and nothing for Jihoon to take care of, nothing that he can do in order to make himself feel useful. So, he sits at a corner table, looking out onto the beach. He’s been raised in this city for all his life, and yet he’s never really seen the city. He’s never even been on a Blue Line tour, for god’s sake.

With a sigh, he stands up, dusting off a table top. I’ve still got to go back home and work on a draft, useless as it might be. All these responsibilities are probably not good for him; his mother (and his doctor, but he fears his mother more) has warned multiple times against him overdoing it, but Jihoon is part of a group of people who just don’t know when to give up.

The bell rings, and even before he can stand up to look at the person walking into the store after hours, a voice rings out, “are you still open?”

Jihoon turns around, and he truly, really, fully intends to say “no, I’m afraid we are closed for the day,” but instead says, “why do you ask?” because the person in front of him, with the faint scent of cigarette smoke on her, looks straight out of a novel—hair windswept, eyes shining with unshed tears, the heroine of all his dreams brought to life.

If she was a song, she would be—

—

Social media is a disease. I keep repeating that to myself, walking along the wharf. I’m happy now, social media is a disease. I should have never really gone on Facebook after work ended, instead I should have done some overtime work to at least assure myself of remaining in the same company for another year. Unfortunately, I had the bright idea to go online, where by some cruel twist of fate, there they were, happy, married couples who wanted to show themselves off to the world because they can, and they don’t have anyone else to think of when they post happy pictures or whatever.

As I stared at the photos of the gorgeous destination wedding, because of course, who can stop themselves from doing horrible things, all I can think of is university, years ago, perhaps the last time I felt any real sort of happiness.

Don’t contact me ever again.

Hope you heal from whatever you are going through.

The subtext was clear, and try as I might, I could not get anyone to tell me outright, you’re a bitch. You’re a bitter, insecure bitch, and I hope you never find happiness again. Then again, that would not have come off very nice over text.

I lean against a shop, lighting up a cigarette, but the words don’t leave my mind. Hope you heal. How many times does one have to be on the opposing ends of people leaving them to realise that maybe, just maybe, they are the problem themselves? Your ex-partner was a piece of shit and you tolerated all his actions. That makes you even more of a terrible person in my opinion, even if you left him, because at the end of the day, you are a bitter person.

The worst part is I agree with it, all the accusations that are basically condemnations, I agree with them all. I smoke too much, I’m insecure, I don’t have the courage to even talk to anyone properly.

“Ah, fuck,” I mutter, because of course the tears are coming right now, hard and fast when there is no one around to even see it because if no one sees my tears, are they even real? I’m tired, hungry, and overstimulated from the workday, and all I want is a place where I can settle down and think nothing until I get something to eat. Except it’s after midnight, and every shop in a fifty-metre distance from me is wrapping up their workday, closing down shutters and leaving to go back home.

There’s only one shop open on the beach, and I walk towards it, harsh ocean winds ruffling my hair. The bell makes a noise when I step in, announcing my presence to the only other person inside the space, the owner of the store.

“Are you still open?” I ask, and he turns back to look at me, and in the warm yellow glow of the shop light, the man seems like he’s been waiting for me all along, with his kind face, and the soft way he tells me, why do you ask? Instead of just declining outright. Am I overthinking again? Probably.

I take a deep breath. “I just—I saw you were open, and I didn’t feel like having a meal from a convenience store again.”

He laughs at that, “no, no we really don’t, because convenience store meals are the scourge of every working person’s stomach lining, aren’t they?”

I say nothing in response, and he turns back to the kitchen, “We only have the seafood stew left, if that’s okay?”

“Seafood stew is fine, actually,” I take a seat at the bar, staring at the man who’s preparing my meal. A philosophy professor in university had once told me, that one of the ways to get to know anyone, is to look at them from behind once. People have their defences up when you look them in the eye, and they tend to hide themselves away from you. Every time you look them in the eye, they have their ways to deflect, no matter how truthful they are. Everyone has some sort of secret they want to keep, even from themselves. When you look at someone from behind, everything becomes visible—the way their shoulders drop when they walk away from you, the telltale signs that give away their hurt and their anger.

Looking at this man, with his starched white shirt, probably ironed carefully in the morning, preparing a meal for me, I can think of only one thing.

Ah, this man. He looks so lonely.

I’m not unfamiliar with loneliness, given the general trajectory of my life, but this man, he seems to have made the loneliness his own. It’s almost as if he does not want to move away from the dark cloud that hangs around him, as if he’s made himself comfortable in the blanket of his own self, to the point that I don’t think he even registers that he has people around him.

Or maybe, it isn’t your fucking problem, a voice tells me, one that sounds uncannily like my tormentors, because what else could top off this truly delightful moment? If it's not your problem, then don’t go around poking your nose in other people’s business. You’ve done enough; let it go.

The problem is, I’m not good at letting go, and haven't ever been good at it, even as a child. Screaming and crying over old books being given away or sold; keeping record of every moment in my life until it became too much for my diary. Letting go of people was easy; letting go of myself was difficult.

And yet, you’ve managed to run away from your old life, to a place you barely know. Haven’t you been practicing the art of letting go?

“Seafood stew,” the man says, placing a steaming stone bowl in front of me, “here you go.”

“Wait, aren’t you about to close?” I ask, a wave of guilt coming over me suddenly, “ah, shit, I’ll make sure to eat it fast.”

“Unless you want to end up in the ER tonight, take your time,” he replies, “Although, since you asked so nicely, I’ll let you know one thing: you’re also eating my dinner, in case you wanted to, maybe, tip me some more.”

I stare at him, half in disbelief, half in wonder, until he begins to laugh, “don’t worry, the house dinner is secure, so you don’t really have to give up half your food.”

“Half my food? How aren’t you sure I didn’t want to give the whole thing up?”

He laughs again, pointing to the bag sitting beside me, forgotten altogether in the process of sitting down, ordering, and whatever else that entailed, “you’re an office worker, on their way back from working, roughly six hours overtime, and you look like you haven’t had a single bite of food since the morning. Of course you were not going to give up the whole meal, I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Hence, half.”

“Hence, half of the meal,” he smiles, “and here I’m being generous.”

I narrow my eyes, but take a spoon and dig in anyway. It’s a seaside diner, I tell myself, there’s no way you’re going to find a Heston Blumenthal hiding in the sands. It’s humble fare, the kind you like.

The first bite, and I want to kick myself for being this wrong. It’s a homely dish, no doubt, but the workmanship behind the dish is exquisite. It's simple, clean, the aftertaste of it not too overpowering. It’s a reminder of Busan, the sea present within the three spices he had used—chilli powder, soy sauce, and soybean paste. It's subtle, briny, and delicious. I used to consider myself a gourmet, because at one point in time, I used to be rich enough to eat at good restaurants (and I enjoyed it), but after this dish has announced its presence on my tongue, I don’t think I can really say that I’ve had anything as good as this.

“You look like you’re enjoying it,” the man says, smiling, “is the stew that good, or are you just starved?”

“Both,” I muse, “it has been a long day.”

“That makes two of us,” he grins, “care to unburden yourself?”

I narrow my eyes. As good as this dish is, I doubt I want to tell my life story to this man, who I have known for all of half an hour. For all I know, he could be a serial killer, using this diner as a front to get intel on his next victim. Also, why the hell would anyone listen to the story of a person who has been abandoned by her entire social circle? How much loss can be contextualised? At what point do I have to come to terms with the fact that maybe, just maybe, I am the problem?

“Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer,” he laughs, and adds on, to my horrified expression, “I realised that maybe asking for your life story without knowing you properly, might be a bad idea.”

“A self-aware man, I see.”

“A rarity these days, no doubt.”

I sigh, choosing not to reply, and busy myself with eating, keenly aware of him observing my every move. It’s awkward, but not entirely unwelcome. Despite watching my fair share of true crime documentaries, I don’t stand up and storm out of the diner, instead I stare right at him, realizing, however belatedly, he has beautiful eyes.

“Unburdening can be hard, I’ve come to realise.” He says, after a pause.

“Why? Is running a diner that hard?” I laugh, “you have the sea right in front of you.”

“The sea is not always benevolent,” he replies, “sometimes, the diner is tiring.”

I hum, “I understand. Adulthood seems to be a series of exhausting events, one after the other, with pockets of small happinesses scattered in the middle.”

“Happiness seems to be hard to come by,” he nods, “I keep forgetting why it was that I opened up a shop here, of all places. It’s on days like these, that I need a violent reminder.”

“Do you want me to shake you by the collar?” He laughs at that, and I feel a sense of pride, because I made him laugh. When was the last time I did that? “Happiness might be difficult to come by on most days, but it's not impossible to find, as you can see.”

“What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath, “I live my days on small, certain happinesses. Moments throughout the day, when I can think to myself, "ah, this existence is not too bad.”

“Moments like?”

I hold out my hand, “when I get my favourite chocolate milk from the store in the morning, I’m happy. When my mother calls me just because she missed me, I’m happy then too. Right now, I’m eating delicious stew. All this makes me happy, in small moments. One day, I think that these small moments of happiness will build up enough for me to live the rest of my life in relative comfort.”

“And this will be enough for you?”

“Well, it all depends on the kind of person you are,” I reply, shrugging, “and the kind of situation one is in; most people try to find as much happiness as they can, even in situations that would have broken their spirits otherwise. It’s just important to, you know, have hope.”

“You sound suspiciously like one of those late 2010’s Keep Calm and Go On posters,” he narrows his eyes, and I snort, “cannot believe I’m on the receiving end of hope-core propaganda.”

“Funny you should mention hope-core,” I wipe my nose with a tissue, “I learnt the meaning of the word from the intern at the office, just this morning, actually.”

“Ah, so you’re fully qualified to give me advice,” he grins, “Soonyoung was the one to explain that to me.”

“He sounds like he’s got his finger on the pulse of today’s youth,” I nod, “or at least, that is what my boss would have said, if he had heard those words. Seeing as he is not here, I will take this opportunity to act as a stand-in.”

He laughs, “Your boss seems great.”

“He’s—surprisingly nice, given how he has to put up with all my tantrums and issues.” I shrug, and he places a glass of tea in front of me, “as an employee, I think I am also obligated to tell you that I have the best boss in the world.”

“You don’t really have to say that,” he says, now wiping down the counter, “Soonyoung probably does not have a single good thing to say about me, but I still keep him employed here. Most bosses don’t really care what kind of people you are, as long as you get the work done.”

I sigh, yeah, there’s the actual problem. I’m behind on work, and everyone else has to pay the price because of me.

It must show on my face, my feelings, because as much as I would like to brag about my poker skills, it’s evident, my discomfort. This man does not prod, instead, offers me another tissue with a smile. He doesn’t push, and I don’t reveal anything. It’s bad manners, really, to be spilling all your secrets to someone you’ve barely met, and within the first half-hour too.

The seafood stew is finished by this point, and I stand up, pushing a ten-thousand won bill towards him, and he fixes me with a look. I shrug, holding it out, “For the haemul-tang,” I say, smiling, “and for listening to my woes.”

“If I took money from the girl who gave me bad millennial advice, I’d be ruining the sanctity of this kitchen,” he says, so seriously I cannot even bring myself to laugh, “come by another time when I have more to offer than the leftovers of the day, and then I’ll take your money. Not before that.”

I make a face, “nothing in life is free, is it? Because now, I have to come back to your diner once more, in order to get my money’s worth.”

“I’ll make sure to serve you my best dish, that day.” he says, and I laugh, because apparently this man doesn’t only make good seafood stew, he also makes other dishes that are, presumably, just as good, “what is it?”

He smiles, conspiratorial, “well, you’ll have to come by again to find out.”

“And if I simply abscond? What if I never come back again?” I stare at him, lit warmly under the lights, soft, yellow, almost ethereal. This was the kind of encounter people fantasised about, wrote about, thought about incessantly. This was what dreams were made of. He’s smiling at me now, because for all the bad things in the world, sometimes, you do get to meet a stranger and even strangely, you both connect on some level that neither of you really understand. If I could, I can stride forward to the bar, and ask him for his number, something I do not really think he will be averse to. I could just do it, establish a connection with someone. And it would not even take a lot of effort, just a conversation. A few lines of words, spoken easily, lightly, as though it did not matter. I could do this. There was no reason I had to remain lonely in this city, when I could have a singular friend to talk to, on nights like these.

Do you even deserve this?

I take a step back, and the back of my knee collides painfully with a chair. I wince, and before he can come to my aid, grab my jacket and bag. “I’ll come by again—” are the only words I manage to say, before opening the door and stumbling out onto the street. God, its fucking cold. If I could just reverse the flow of time, I would never go into that damn restaurant, never would have struck up a conversation with anyone, least of all that man. Someone whose name I don’t even know, someone who (hopefully) will no longer be here when I take a walk on the beach tomorrow.

Before coming to this city, I had not really thought of myself as someone who was cut out to make large decisions. In fact, I thought of myself as perfectly average, right in the middle of the pecking order, someone whose existence brought neither great joy, nor great suffering. The middle ground between two warring sides, and apparently fooling no one. Busan had not even been on the radar before, had not even been in any of the plans I liked to draw up when I was a child, ranging from “World -famous chef” to “President of the United States of America” (yes, I know, that one was a mistake. I wasn’t aware we needed to be old men to be considered for that role). Nowhere in those crudely written crayon drawings had I put the words “Small-time editor for a company in Busan”. I suspect if I put it in one of those sheets, my elementary school teacher would have called my parents, because there was no way that the girl with the best grades in the school would imagine becoming a lowly office worker in a mid-tier city.

Unfortunately, I woke up one morning, four years ago, and decided that Seoul was simply too oppressive for me, and I needed to leave. It was nothing as dramatic as running away in the middle of the night, which was a pivotal point in one of the stories shared by my batchmates on a class outing. Imagine being subjected to a half-drunk woman rambling about the time she was almost robbed at knifepoint, and framing it as a heartwarming story of youthful problems, as something everyone did, at least once in their lives. “How else did you cope with the stress of the exam?” Because apparently, getting into one of the most prestigious universities in the country implies you had to have been in the throes of extreme irrationality as a teenager, or else it does not count. No, my act of leaving was as boring and adultlike as possible, practical and dry, to the point where people did not really understand why I left. That ruse lasted a while, of course, until the rumours began to grow so insistent that no one, not even my mother, that most oblivious of women, made the trip to Busan and insisted on staying with me for a whole week. She didn’t believe them, of course, and asked me only once, on the final day, I’m hearing things about you, you know. Are they correct? I don’t believe them, but I’m asking you again.

They’re not correct, mom, I had said, feeling only slightly sad at lying this blatantly, I do not know what you are talking about, and I know that is not correct.

And my mother had believed me, but a false rumour is only marginally worse than a half-true rumour. And even if they were not true, why did you run? Why did I run, when it meant that everyone could point their fingers at me and say you ran, therefore you are guilty. On what count, we do not know. But you are guilty. And you will remain guilty, for the rest of your life.

I light up another cigarette, walking rapidly away from the diner. The chill in the air has become worse, with the winds sharp enough for me to huddle into my coat as I make the short distance home, five minutes away, but I smoke two cigarettes before I even step foot into the building, and a third is halfway to my mouth as I punch the code in the lock.

You’re gonna die of that one day, man. At least put the cancer sticks away.

I flick the lighter even before I reach for the lights.

—

She smelled strongly of cigarettes, Jihoon noticed, out of everything she did, it was the cigarette smoke that stood out to him, heavy and surprisingly, slightly comforting. She was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, but—the spicy smell of Dunhill cigarettes, a cross between clove and mint ones, that, that was a scent he was familiar with, years of suffocating boardrooms and producing studios that seemed to be made for the express purpose of forcing him to bend to the will of the executive members. The faint tobacco smell was a reminder of the years he spent in that company, giving up on his youth to chase his dreams. They’d all stopped smoking after a while—him, Jeonghan, Wonwoo, Minghao. Or at least, he thought they had. He can’t be sure anymore.

He'd been at his work table for hours in the morning, with little to no work done, but his hands reach for the headphones of their own accord, now, and he starts humming a tune under his breath. It’s a wistful tune, one that would have Jeonghan breathing down his neck, but for once in a while, Jihoon finds himself incapable of caring. Sure, he has to make an upbeat boy group song, and what he’s doing is an indie ballad. But also, he’s been steadily running out of his saved drafts, and Jeonghan would have become aware of it, one day or the other.

He's got only a rudimentary beat done, but it's more work than what he has had in months. It’s a soft progression, reminiscent of the indie songs of the late 80’s, and Jihoon wonders if he should compose a city-pop song for the new female soloist from the company. He could get away with it too, sending over unauthorised songs. Anything will work, as long as the company gets their check.

Jihoon, did you hear? You’ve been nominated for Producer of the Year.

Jihoon, make sure you’re present at the meeting tomorrow.

Jihoon, I’m sorry but you’re not a good fit for the debut team.

Jihoon, make sure you get that track finished by next week.

He leans back into the chair, heaving a sigh. It was destined to crash and burn from the start, wasn’t it? Late nights, strict deadlines, short breaks. Jihoon was on top of the world, but it took mighty little to get him to come crashing down. All of a sudden, he was in a strange city, with no one to talk to him, but more importantly, no one to answer to. How pathetic was my life, if I only managed to taste freedom at the age of twenty-six?

But today, she was there, standing in front of him, and Jihoon had felt, for the first time in a long while, a strange sense of déjà vu—or was the feeling merely camaraderie? That they knew each other, or some level, even if they had never met each other before. She reminded him of a time when he knew nothing but work, cigarette smoke enveloping her like a crowd of despair. And she’d seemed sad, too. Sad enough to not look at him when she spoke.

He'd never managed to get her name; she had come into the diner, into his life, and disappeared with nothing but the faint trace of her habits behind her. He’s never really wanted to know someone this desperately. He could ask someone for help, but his parents would probably ask him to sit back and do nothing at all.

She’d said one thing that had stuck out to him. One day, I think that these small moments of happiness will build up enough for me to live the rest of my life in relative comfort. Even in his moments of despair and depression, he had had support. His parents were there, rallying behind him, keeping their mouths shut about his whereabouts because they knew that Jihoon was not well. He’s one of the lucky ones, the people who had both money and a good family to fall back on, a fact that he says his prayers daily for. All he had to do was tell them I’m not doing well, dad, and they had opened their arms to shield him from the rest of the world while he recuperated. Small amounts of happiness, she’d said. What were his small doses of happiness? To be able to get dinner with his parents every two days? His father, a stoic man who didn’t take off the watch Jihoon had given him—his first present—for a whole month, and his mother, the woman who had been the one to put him in his first piano class, the person who kick started his career, essentially, to be able to be a good son to them, to be a filial person, is that happiness? He thought he was happy, at one point, when he was cranking out a song in two hours and being lauded for it, when he had the high life, going from country to country every year, aspirational discretionary income stored in a platinum account.

Are you doing well? You look—

I’m fine.

He’d repeated the words so many times that he had started believing them. I’m fine. I can do it. This doesn’t bother me; words that made no sense to him, yet happened to come out of his mouth on a daily basis, and what was funnier was that everyone seemed to believe his obvious lies.

He has things to do for the next day; keep track of purchases and go to the market to get things wholesale, banal duties that keep him sane, except Jihoon cannot focus on anything but her right now. You’re going insane, Jeonghan would say, except Jeonghan isn’t here to save his ass right now, is he? It’s just Jihoon at the moment, going slightly insane, apparently.

He’s going to find her tomorrow; more accurately, he has to. She owes him the price of her seafood stew.

—

I wake up before my alarm rings, apparently trained better than a soldier. The morning is crisp, calm, and bright, and as I make myself a coffee before stepping out of the house, I’m hit with a pleasant breeze through one of my many windows. Seungkwan has left me a message in my inbox, sent at three in the morning.

“Remember, you’re supposed to send in your first article by next week. We’ve worked really hard for this serialisation, so don’t miss the deadline, although I’m sure you won’t, because you understand my problems, anyway, remember the deadlines, please.”

I’d almost forgotten about this. The serialisation was a big deal for Seungkwan, since my mainstream success meant the same for him, as my editor. He was the one who worked for the pitch; sending in letters to the chief of the department, begging them to give me a chance. The fact that it was only approved after I’d received an award, doesn’t take anything away from his hard work.

The call to Seungkwan goes through immediately, and his sleep-deprived voice floats through the phone line, “What’s up?”

“What’s the deadline for the serialisation?”

“No mincing words, I see,” he mutters, “next week.”

I sigh. Next week. I’ll have to come up with an idea and a way to execute it, all within a week. “At least tell me if there’s a brief.”

“Brief?” he’s immediately wide awake, “don’t tell me—you haven’t even written anything yet?”

“Besides the point. Just tell me if there’s a brief.”

“That’s the whole point! If you have no idea what to write, man, I don’t know how to say this, but I might lose my job.”

Now it’s my turn to be speechless, because what the fuck does he mean, “What?”

Seungkwan sighs, “look, I really didn’t want to tell you this, but I did bet my job on your column. Sure, the award was a good push, but the Editor still didn’t want to give it to you. Our best writer used to write this column, and now—”

“Now he’s dead,” I reply, “yes, I’m aware, Seungkwan, that my opportunities depend on the timely passing of literary greats.”

“Good god, and now I’m late for work. Just remember you have until next week for the deadline. And write something fun, new age, one that the readers will relate to. We’re already losing subscribers to the magazine as is.”

“Ugh,” I open my mouth to tell him some more, but unfortunately, he’s cut the call, desperate to get to his job on time, and I’m left, standing in the middle of the street, because fuck it’s no longer my writing that’s on the line, it’s Seungkwan’s job as well.

taglist: @facethesunflower @hisnowbie2

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lu-is-not-ok · 1 month ago

Note

I was doing my usual round of replying entire story to look at all of Hong Lu’s lines, as any sane individual would do, and noticed this:

Nothing crazy, I just thought that it was interesting how in both cases it’s Sinclair taking note of how chill Hong Lu seems about everything.

Mhm! Funny you bring this up, as Sinclair and Hong Lu do have an interesting rapport between one another.

Sinclair is shown to be one of the only people on the bus with the potential to call Hong Lu on his bullshit, as he's the only one whose upbringing is anywhere close to being comparable to him, as the two rich kids.

This is further explored through Sinclair being one of the very few people to show outward concern or doubt towards Hong Lu, like in the scenes you show. Most of the other Sinners tend to brush off whatever weird shit Hong Lu might say, with the first scene you sent in showing Gregor doing exactly that. Unlike Sinclair, the rest of the Sinners don't really know what to expect from wealthy Nest-born people, and so they just take Hong Lu at face value.

I find that interesting because it appears Hong Lu himself is aware of this fact.

There are multiple moments where Hong Lu, when sharing information, leans on what Sinclair says first and frames his knowledge as just a cultural difference. He never explicitly corrects him, but the information he brings up is always the actually right one compared to Sinclair.

In addition, there's that one moment in Canto 5 where Hong Lu scares off Sinclair while retelling a spooky story and in response seems to drastically change its ending. You can tell it's one that doesn't fit the rest of what he was saying based on everyone's reactions.

My interpretation of this scene is simple - Hong Lu fucked up and misjudged Sinclair's tolerance. So, when Sinclair ran off, he over corrected himself and changed the story to be more palatable to the person closest to him in class. Notably, he's doing so while Sinclair is already gone, so it's not something he's doing for Sinclair specifically, it's more so just the baseline he chose for the facade he wears around all of the Sinners.

In a way, you could compare this to how in Regular Check-up it was revealed that the Golden Bough brought everyone's power levels down to Sinclair's. Hong Lu, in a somewhat parallel to that, is making his facade at Sinclair's level - a rich kid who doesn't have much worldly experience, but isn't anything special.

...A big fuck off lie considering how knowledgeable Hong Lu has actually proved himself to be, and considering that it appears his Family has much closer ties to H Corp than his "shareholder of H Corp personally visited our household" anecdote implied.

#ask #jailgarden #lu speaketh #limbus company #hong lu #hong lu lcb #sinclair lcb #i love the character writing in this game #because you really can see how unique everyone's relationships are with each other

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pboogerswbb · 4 months ago

Text

SO IT GOES - chapter 1

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, drinking Wordcount: 5.4K A/C: another pregame treat!! need my girls to deliver tonight!! anyways, here is chapter one, this one is about to start a little slower and i'm sorry about that but i promise it'll pick up and get more interesting, i got big plans for this one y'all!! anyway please leave feedback/thoughts/reviews whatever for me, i love them :)

Before London

The Dallas roads are busy, stretching out for miles out into the horizon as I stare out the window. My lungs craved fresh air, itching to open it. But I knew the air outside would bring no such relief, the humidity of this time of year already bringing me one step closer to packing my bags and making my way back to Connecticut. Everyone told me to turn the AC on, but I was much too stubborn and stuck in my ways. My dad would have come over himself and turn it off if he knew I was considering turning it on in April - much too early for his liking.

I had been here for a week now, seven long days. Each one making me more homesick. I missed my girls. I missed my team. I missed the normal weather and the East Coast. It was so bad I was on the phone with my dad every night, complaining. I knew as much as he loved me, he was getting sick of it.

“Paige, let’s figure this out,” Britt’s voice comes through the speaker phone, five garment bags sent by her laid out on the bed, ready to be opened.

“What do you even wear to this sorta thing?” I ask, speaking into the phone. My hands are opening one bag after another.

“Baby I dunno, you just gotta pick something. What kinda vibe do you wanna give off?” Brittany asks sweetly as I place my phone on the bed in front of me, pulling my shirt off over my head.

“I can’t think, it’s too hot,” I complain, rubbing my face. “I hate it here, wanna come back.”

“Paige, you gotta push through this. Try and look at it differently, at least you like your teammates!”

I whine and lie down, my back hitting the soft cotton of the sheets. “Do you think they’d let me take my sixth year?”

“Oh my gosh girl you gotta pull yourself together,” Brittany laughs, which in turn makes me laugh too. I knew I was being dramatic, my team was great, the coaching staff seemed amazing. But it was my first time living alone, I didn’t know what to do with myself and all this energy I had. I felt like I was two days away from jumping off the walls.

Lou and Arike had both taken me under their wing, and the few joint practices we’d had with the team the past week seemed promising. Not good, but like there might be potential for something with hard work. I was well taken care of and grateful for it, but the thing is at Uconn I was spoiled. I got to live with my best friends. To spend every moment with them, get on their nerves and not worry because in the end they were my sisters.

“Where are you going?” Britt asks.

“Some sorta steakhouse,” I answer, rubbing my eyes.

“Boujee or like… Texas?”

I snort, grabbing the phone from beside me.

“It’s a nice place I heard. But Rike been here for so long she mighta forgot what nice is,” I joke sitting back up.

“Then go with the blue bag.”

Unzipping it, I find a pair of black shorts, and an oversized dark green crewneck sweatshirt.

“Ion know about this Britt it’s a lil… boring,” I mumble looking over the outfit. When did I last wear dark green anyway.

“That’s why you dress it up girl! Wear a collared shirt under it, put on some chains, some nice shoes, trust it’ll fit the vibe, you don’t wanna be doing too much. Have I ever let you down?”

I sigh. I could see the vision the moment she started talking. “No you have not,” I reply. “I gotta start getting ready. Thanks again.”

“Anytime Paige,” she answers and we hang up. I know silence can’t echo, but it’s so overwhelming it almost feels like that’s exactly what it’s doing. Storrs was always loud, lively. Now I had it so bad I was even missing KK’s neverending rambling.

Quickly putting on a playlist to get rid of the aching pressure on my chest, I begin to get ready, rapping along to a Drake song loudly - but who cares I live alone now. I sleek back my hair, pinning it into a bun - the one hairstyle I knew how to do. I put on some diamond studs, and take my time picking accessories, choosing just the right silver rings to match the chain on my neck, a cross hanging from it. Of course, Brittany had been right. The outfit was great, not too much for a nice restaurant but still totally me.

“Shit,” I mumble to myself when I check the time, realising Lou must be waiting on me downstairs. Grabbing a white cross-body bag I run out the door, quickly making my way down where, just like I thought, the brunette was waiting, tapping on the steering wheel impatiently.

“Sorry I’m late,” I yelp climbing into the passenger seat. Since I barely knew Dallas, Lou had decided it was best if she drove both of us.

Shaking her head, the girl driving merges onto the road swiftly. “Not gonna be making a good impression if we bring our rookie to the party late,” Lou complains.

I scoff, leaning back against the seat and tapping on the back of my phone, feeling butterflies grow in my abdomen. I knew I made good first impressions, that people seemed to like me. I wasn’t called the ultimate rizzler for nothing. But it was still daunting, I was about to meet all the people who worked behind the team, behind me just so we could do what we do.

The past week had been so strange.The change in dynamic was drastic. I had become so used to being the older one, the one to call the shots, to have so much wisdom to give. Almost naively so. All of a sudden I was back to being the baby - the one who didn’t know anything, who had to depend on others. I thought I was prepared. But the transition was hard to navigate. I didn’t quite know how to act, if I was honest.

“Yo chill, I’m not even that late,” I chuckle lightheartedly, looking out the car window, my eyes trying to find something worth changing my mind about Dallas for.

“Ten minutes is too much, we gotta pick up Rike too,” Lou complains, hands on the wheel. It was only April but the humidity made it feel like summer. “Were you late talking to that girl?”

“What girl?” I ask.

“That girl from last night!” Lou laughs, elbowing me.

I shrug, like I had no clue what she was talking about. A complete lie. I hadn’t been thinking straight ever since I saw her.

“Ohh you mean that girl downstairs!” I say sarcastically. The brunette next to me sees right through it though.

“Never heard your voice get so quiet and shaky I swear,” Lou says, a blush setting on the apples of my cheeks thinking back to last evening. “You were fully stuttering.”

“No way bro!” I groan, biting my lower lip so as to not laugh. Though I knew better. I was definitely stuttering.

I hadn’t seen much of the girl, just her face poking through the door into the hallway. But something about her took my breath away, I couldn’t look anywhere else. It was Lou finally elbowing me that made me realise I had been staring at the dark haired girl. She was so beautiful it physically pained me to look away, but with a struggle, I had done so.

But then she spoke. And if I wasn’t trembling before, the lilt of her voice had me weak in the knees immediately. It was deep, yet simultaneously sweet. Nevermind the accent that hadn’t left my head all night. Lou made fun of me relentlessly all night because apparently, my voice was shaking when I talked to her. I think she was full of shit.

“You were, I don’t blame you,” the brunette murmurs. “She was hot.”

I kiss my teeth, looking out the window. “Don’t matter, she could be Zendaya and I still wouldn’t get into all that.”

Lou looks bewildered, eyes flickering between me and the road.

I grin at her, shaking my head. “Nah I’m staying celibate. Scout’s honor. Got me that Natty last season.”

It was true. For the first time last season I had not been involved with any girl - and it worked out pretty well in the end. It got me the ring. Adapting to a new team, new city, new life was already hard enough without fucking around. Girls had a way of making everything complicated.

“You? Celibate?” Lou asks, her tone skeptical. I suppose she remembers a different Paige from when we were both Huskies. I had changed a lot though, grown up.

“Trust,” I nod as we park in front of a nice apartment building, Arike making her way out and into the car.

“Yo,” she greets us, and I nod into the rearview mirror, meeting her gaze.

“Sup my rookie!” Arike grins and squeezes my shoulder. “You ready for tonight?”

“Aren’t we just gonna eat and go home?” I ask but Lou and Rike are quick to shake their heads.

“Nah these things don’t end till late, we know how to party here you know what I’m sayin?” The girl in the back grins.

“Don’t blame you, nothing else to do here,” I complain half-jokingly.

“Yooo not too much. You’ll grow to like it,” Arike laughs, grabbing her phone. “Just don’t drink everything people offer you today, got it?”

“Yeah, everyone’s gonna be trying to get you drunk,” Lou chuckles. “My rookie year they had me almost blacked out.”

“Almost? You were blacked out. We had to carry you to bed.”

I laugh and sigh, rubbing my jaw, my nerves stirring within my abdomen. “Great.”

The restaurant is buzzing with people, an entire second floor reserved just for the Dallas Wings employees. Arike, Lou and I show up fashionably late, but to my pleasant surprise everyone’s too busy huddling around the bar, lining up for drinks. I smooth over my green sweatshirt, already feeling the heat get to me. How the hell was I supposed to dress for weather like this? It wasn’t even summer yet.

I walk over to Satou, who’s grinning widely at me.

“Look at you, our baby rookie. Let’s get you a drink!” She smiles convincingly. I glance at Arike and Lou behind me, snickering amongst themselves already. So it begins.

“Feels wrong to drink at a team event like this,” I tell the taller girl, guiding me towards the bar. I was more used to sneaking drinks into hotel rooms, doing our best to hide them from the coaching staff. Guess this is what growing up feels like.

“Nah, don’t worry. Everyone’s chill here,” Satou laughs and orders us two beers before I have the opportunity to interrupt and ask for a Shirley. Reluctantly I grab the beer, cheering with the girl next to me.

“To the saviour of the Wings!!” She jokes and I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

“Sorry, but could you check if they are Manzanilla olives?”

The accent. I immediately turn my back on Satou, my body working before my mind can as my eyes scan the room. And then I see her. The girl from the apartment underneath mine.

She’s standing at the other end of the bar, holding a black clutch in her hand as she talks with the bartender. Her dark hair is down, in perfect waves, not one strand out of order. The dress she’s wearing isn’t red, but more maroon, shade matching the red of her lipstick to the hilt. The one-shoulder dress leaves her left one completely bare, and the golden jewelry sitting against her light brown skin makes her sparkle in the moody lighting. No words would do justice, I know that much. My knees nearly buckle at the sight of her. This strange girl whose name I didn’t even know, yet kept haunting my existence here in Dallas.

“Oh they’re not? Then nevermind the martini, could I just get a glass of Chardonnay please?”

If I had been nervous before, then it was nothing compared to the way my stomach was stirring now. Which is insane considering I didn’t even know this girl’s name. Hell, I better just avoid her tonight. I’m not on my a game. I should just keep my distance.

“Paige! That’s the girl!” Lou is half whispering, half screaming over the crowd, incredibly obviously pointing at the dark haired girl. To my relief she doesn’t notice, too busy swirling the wine in her glass around and sniffing it.

“Shut up,” I mouth to Lou as she walks up to me, Arike on her tail.

“What girl?” Arike whispers, already eyeing every woman over my shoulder.

I give Lou a look, widening my eyes and telling her to keep her mouth shut. But of course, it fails. I had no power here.

“We ran into this hot girl in Paige’s building yesterday and Paigey here got all shy and nervous.”

Arike bursts out laughing, and I’m pretty sure my face was going completely pink at this point. So I sip half of my beer quickly, letting the girls get over their laughing fit.

“You done?” I ask in annoyed, eyeing the girls.

Gasping for air, Arike nods and grins at me. “Well go get her.”

“She can’t, she’s celibate,” Lou answers. The shorter girl standing next to her scoffs, clearly finding amusement in that.

“Yeah, good luck with that. You’re the new hooper in town, gon’ be drowning in pussy. I was,” she says, sipping her beer. “The rookie year is crazy.”

“Oh trust, she was drowning in it at Uconn too-”

“Okay okay, chill guys,” I interrupt the conversation, Satou standing next to us quietly and chuckling to herself.

“So which one is it?” Arike asks. Glancing over my shoulder I see the girl from downstairs talking to some guy around the same age as her. Just as I’m about to point her out, Satou and Arike are waving that exact guy over.

“Yo Trey!! My guy!!”

All of a sudden he’s walking over with her. I feel my face going red, my breathing growing ragged, my eyes quickly flicking to the floor. She was like the sun, as much as I wanted to I couldn’t look directly at her - it might blind me.

“What’s up, my favourite girls!” The guy - Trey, apparently - says brightly and dabs all of them up.

“Ahh and the prodigy!” He grins, turning to me. I lick my lower lip and smile back, offering my hand. “I’m the guy with the camera, you’ll see me around. Trey.”

I dab him up, ignoring the tingling on the left side of my body where the dark haired girl is standing, evidently feeling as awkward as I was. Except she was better at hiding it, looking around the room with an air of confidence.

“Well I’m the one with the basketball, you’ll know where to find me. I’m Paige,” I flash him my most charming smile. Everyone laughs at my joke, except the girl beside me. I quickly decide that perhaps getting drunk wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“Oh this is Zari, she’s new from England, Linda finally hired someone to work on the social media shit,” Trey explains, pointing to the girl between me and him. I blink stupidly when I look at her. Somehow she was more beautiful up close which made my throat feel tighter. I quickly sip my beer again, looking to the ceiling. Fuck, pull yourself together. I wasn’t this superficial - feeling like this just because someone was hot. Who knows, she might be the worst person you’ve ever met.

“That would be me, hi!” She says when I realise I was barely listening to Trey before, completely not making note of her name. She shakes everyone’s hand, smiling kindly. Fuck, are my hands sweaty? Better wipe them on my shorts first. I gotta make eye contact - I’m sure a couple seconds will be enough. It might be all I can bear.

The girl turns to me, her right hand extended. I glance at it, gripping it gently. Her hand shake is surprisingly firm, but I barely notice, feeling as if my skin is on fire. The moment our eyes meet I look away, knowing that everyone and their mothers could tell I was blushing right now.

“I forgot your name,” is all that comes out of my mouth, so clumsily I wanna hide behind the bar and never come out when I realise how rude it sounded.

To my shock she’s not taken aback at all by my bluntness, instead holding herself with an almost regal air. I wasn’t sure if I was intimated or turned on - either way I was overcome with a desperate need to make her like me. Surely I was off to a horrible start.

Our eyes meet again. Hers are dark green, deep and rich like the pine trees back home. I can feel myself wanting to sink in deeper, to bask in their familiarity. To feel the sting of cold air and smell the snow falling from the sky and to bask in the scent of pine all over me. Before I know it I notice her glossed lips move, but my ears barely pick anything up. An I? And I think there was an A at the end? You gotta be kidding me.

“I- Ivanna?” I stutter. She chuckles softly, as the others around us snicker amongst themselves. Bitches.

“No, darling, let’s try again,” she smiles, her tone so sweet it’s bordering on condescending. I fucking swoon at it. “Izara.”

I nod, not sure if the heat on my face is from how hot and humid it was inside the restaurant, or from the public humiliation in front of this gorgeous girl. I chuckle mostly to myself, rubbing my jaw and looking around to break eye contact finally. Far too distracting.

“Izara,” I repeat, noticing Satou, Arike, Lou and some of the others laughing at my clumsy behaviour. I was just begging Izara didn’t make note of why I was acting a fool.

“Zari is better,” the brunette says, a slight teasing tone to her voice. I breathe heavily out my nose, trying to get the blush to settle from my cheeks.

“Zari, got it.”

“Took you long enough,” Arike teases, making everyone laugh, except Zari who just smiles at me.

“Guys, not all of us are used to the Texas heat. It messes with your head,” she says with enough authority in her voice to make everyone around us stop laughing and give me sympathetic looks.

“Uhh yeah, it’s hot,” I answer bluntly, my voice shaking a little as I rub my neck. On top of the mess I was, I could feel myself sweating. I have to get home as fast as possible. Or not home. But back to the apartment I was staying in for now, until the moment I could go back home to the East Coast.

“Shit, I’m Paige by the way,” I say, realising I never introduced myself to Zari. She scoffs, waving me off.

“Paige, it’s my job to know who you are,” she points out. It’s funny, and I want to laugh. But nothing comes out of my mouth, I’m simply unable to, her proximity leaving me completely discombobulated. So I just sip my beer.

“Right.”

Paige Bueckers hates me. The moment she met me I could tell. Maybe she was offended by the fact I didn’t recognise her last night. Figures, a star like her would have a huge ego. Still, I had one job tonight. To make her like me. And I had done the exact opposite. I could tell by the way she avoided my gaze, the way she barely wanted to shake my hand, abruptly pulling it away from my grip. She barely talked to me, wrapped up in a conversation with everyone besides me. I couldn’t afford to disappoint my boss, if I did it would be bye bye Dallas and hello London.

I’m sitting between Trey and another colleague, Ava, both caught up in a lively conversation as I cut a piece of my steak, wrapping my lips around the fork and chewing on it. Glancing up from my plate, I see Paige throwing her head back as she laughs with her teammates, her entire demeanor so much more lively now that I wasn’t close to her. A slight irritation was growing in me, watching the carefree way she’s joking around with the people around her part of the long table. Who was she to make up her mind on whether she liked me so fast. I was the kind of person you grew to love. I’m sure she would as well.

“Okay everybody!” Curt Miller stands up clinking his glass with the cutlery. Suddenly everyone goes quiet, including the blonde. For a second our eyes meet, sending a strange jolt around my body. Blinking, I shift my gaze to the man, clearly ready to give a speech.

“Alright alright,” he laughs, “I just wanna thank everyone for coming here tonight. I was never good at these so let me keep it short. This is gonna be a big, exciting year and I’m so grateful to the Wings for giving me this opportunity. I know I’m a new face to some of you, but I’m in great company,” he grins and points to Paige. “And Linda here mentioned something about a new media employee too!”

Like on cue Linda stands up a few chairs to the right of me, nodding. “Yes Curt, we’ve got some young blood to help this year all the way from England. Izara here, should help us grow our social media reach.”

I smile, trying to focus on appearing together and poised, some people glancing towards me.

“Awesome news!” Curt grins as Linda sits back down. “With two young talents I’m sure we’re gonna have a hell of a year,” he says, glancing at both me and Paige. I see Arike rub Paige’s shoulder, clearly excited and happy about how the lottery turned out for the Wings this year.

“Now since I’m boring everyone out of their minds why don’t you two say a few words.”

Pause. I feel a panic rise from somewhere deep in my abdomen. Don’t get me wrong, I had no issue with public speaking, no issue with performing. What I did have an issue with was improvising. I was the girl who planned, who made lists, who used to finish her essays the day before a deadline. With a plan I was golden, but to expect me to say anything, planless, was causing jitters. I was just hoping it didn’t show on my face.

Mine and Paige’s eyes meet, and I immediately know that I wasn’t as composed as I wanted to be. That she knew I was panicking. Bet this is just gonna make her hate me more.

Instead, to my surprise, she clears her throat and begins speaking with an easy confidence.

“Uh well, way to throw us under the bus Curt,” she jokes, immediately making everyone chuckle, including me. “Guess I know what kinda season this is about to be.” Another round of laughs around the table giving her time to scratch the back of her neck as she thinks. With a slight smirk on her face she continues.

“This is a big moment for me. I grew up with the sport, already knew I had a chance to go pro when I was eight. I’ve been waiting for a while to get to the league and to finally be here… It’s surreal. I feel really blessed, really grateful,” she says looking at her plate and then letting out a sly, quiet laugh. “Crazy that I’m drinking with the coaching staff right there, I’m so used to having to hide it.”

I chuckle with the rest of the group. There’s something about her, a smoothness, a charm that makes it impossible not to like her. Even improvising like this she seems completely in control, like she knows she’s got everyone wrapped around her finger. It’s impressive. I can’t look away.

“Geno didn’t let you drink?” Curt asks lightheartedly, making Paige’s blue eyes widen.

“He would’ve put belt to ass, lemme just say that.”

More laughter. Paige looks around meeting my gaze.

“Zari, I know you got that cold right? So maybe I should just speak for you so you have a voice tomorrow?”

Huh? I furrow my brows looking at her confused, but her eyes won’t budge, boring into mine. And then I realise. She’s trying to let me off the hook.

“Yes please,” I smile back, looking down to my lap. Something about the way she did that all for me, picked up on my nerves, found a way to get me out of it, was making my insides flip. You wouldn’t do that for someone you hate I suppose.

“I gotchu,” Paige grins, looking back to everyone around the table. “I think we’re both just really grateful for the opportunity and really excited for the season. Anyway, thanks guys.”

Everyone claps and I do too, my heart warming at the way Paige Bueckers had just saved me.

“Wait, you're sick?” Trey whispers.

“Uh, a little.”

“Hope you feel better Zari!” Ava says as I wave bye, walking towards the exit.

“Thanks guys, I’m sure I will,” I say, knowing I felt just fine. Great even, after a few glasses of wine. As I step out into the evening, I hold my fur coat in my hands, too hot to put it on. To my surprise I see Paige standing right outside the restaurant, scrolling on her phone. Interrupted by the tapping of my heels, she lifts her gaze, the intensity of her blue eyes surprising.

“Hey,” she smiles, avoiding looking at my face again. She was really giving me mixed signals.

“Hi there,” I say, walking closer. “Thanks for rescuing me earlier.”

She looks at the parking lot, a sly smirk spreading across her face.

“Nah, you’re good,” the blonde grins, diamond studs in her ears sparkling. “Not a fan of speeches?”

I shrug, taking that as an invite for conversation. “No I can certainly be… If you give me approximately two weeks to prepare. Minimum.”

Paige chuckles, nodding to herself. “You’re that kinda girl huh?”

“Desperately so.”

She shifts on her feet, looking for something to say.

“That’s a good trait to have, I try to plan too but usually doesn’t last for longer than a week or two,” she explains. I nod knowingly.

“My brother’s a bit like that,” I sigh. I was already missing him.

Paige turns to me, looking for my gaze.

“You got a brother?”

I nod, “Yeah, he’s younger. Your age.”

She’s taken aback. “Hollup how old are you?”

“Turned 25 last month.”

“Damn,” she says before thinking. I scoff, my eyes widening, though finding amusement in her reaction

”Are you calling me old?” I ask with a serious tone, her face immediately going bright red.

”No, no no, not at all. You look… great. Amazing, and like. That’s not even old, I'm just trippin’. I just assumed you were my age but like a year is nothin-” she rambles, tripping over her words.

”Paige I’m taking the piss,” I laugh. She stops, looking at me confused.

”You’re what?”

Oh right, Americans. ”I’m joking around.”

She laughs. ”Taking the piss?”

I laugh too, the air immediately easing between us.

”I’mma start using that,” Paige chuckles, glancing at me.

”You’re welcome,” I grin.

She scoffs. ”I didn’t say thank you.”

”You should,” I demand, more seriously, meeting her blue eyes. She immediately folds, blinking her long lashes.

”Thank you.”

I suddenly feel hot, warmth rising to my cheeks. I quickly look back to the ground, the intensity of her gaze too much right now.

”Hey, uh… I think we live in the same building,” she murmurs, watching the sky. Shit, she had recognised me, of course.

”Yeah… I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you. I really should have,” I quickly explain, feeling a little abashed but trying not to let it show.

”No, I just meant, I ordered an Uber. You need a ride?”

Oh. So she wasn’t mad. She was offering me a ride.

”I’d love one. Are you sure?”

”Totally,” Paige answers, smiling at me softly. She fans her own face, trying to find any relief for the heat.

”Shit it’s hot,” the blonde groans. ”Do you mind if I take this off? I got a shirt underneath.”

”Oh, no go ahead darling,” I tell her.

With a sigh, Paige’s hands grip the back of her green sweatshirt, pulling it over her head. As she does my eyes can’t help it, flickering over her lower abdomen where both shirts have hiked up, showing a sliver of pale skin and black boxers peeking out of her shorts. Something about it makes my throat go dry. I’m not exactly sure what. The feeling almost unfamiliar to me.

”That’s so much better,” Paige groans with relief, fixing the white oversized button up, chains resting against her chest. I feel my ears growing hot, quickly averting her gaze.

She’s not horrible, on top of being gorgeous she’s fucking great - funny, sweet, charismatic. Would be so much easier if Zari was an asshole like I had hoped earlier. I could feel butterflies in my stomach every time she looked at me. That familiar warmth that I knew too well.

We walk to the Uber together, and I make sure I open the door for her - I didn’t know her that well, but I could tell she was classy. On a whole different level than me.

I climb in after her, unbuttoning more of my shirt for some airflow. For a second I think I catch her staring, but I knew it was unlikely. She was definitely giving me straight girl vibes. Of course my stupid ass was ogling after a straight girl - nothing new to me. My eyes immediately land on her thighs, her legs crossed and pressing together as she sits next to me. Okay, get a grip Paige.

”So… How you liking Dallas?” I ask, unable to take the silence in the car.

”I haven’t seen much of it, just moved the other day,” she answers, her voice low but smooth, I could’ve listened to her talk all night. ”It’s very humid.”

”Damn that jetlag gotta be hitting hard huh?” I ask, looking at her.

”I look tired?” She asks, offended. An immediate panic takes over, my hands gripping the sweater in my hands. Shit.

”No you look fucking great. I would’ve never th-”

”Paige. I’m joking.”

Oh. I let out a sigh of relief, chuckling awkwardly. I look out the window, shaking my head at myself. I really needed to chill.

”Taking the piss?”

She lets out a loud, bright laugh, grabbing my forearm. The gold rings on her digits sparkle as her long, manicured nails dig into the white shirt. Immediate goosebumps rising underneath on my skin tell me I’m completely fucked.

“Exactly!” She gleams, her smile wide. “You did so good.”

That. I need to hear her say that again. I clear my throat to interrupt the bad thoughts, feeling Zari’s hand move off me, skin tingling as the weight of her touch lifts.

We pull up to our apartment building, both of us climbing out.

“I can transfer you some money for the ride,” Zari suggests as I let her into the building, eyes falling on her ass just for a second. Okay, no. Look away.

“No, Ion need you to,” I tell her sternly as we begin to climb up the flights of steps, her heels tapping against the tile of the floor. The sound echoes off the walls until we stop by her front door, silence draping over us, making me painfully aware of the way my heart was pounding in my chest.

“Well,” Zari smiles, turning to me, her green eyes even more prominent with the dark makeup surrounding them. Only then I notice how catlike they are, sharp and alert. Challenging almost.

I wanna say something smart, something witty. Something to make her laugh, or blush. I’m rummaging through my brain for anything coherent at least.

“I’ll see you at work,” she says, opening her door. I was running out of time.

“You’ll know where to find me,” I stupidly let out. Zari turns to look at me one more time and nods.

“Don’t stomp too loud please.”

With that she gets in, leaving me there with nothing to do but blink at the closed door and notice the flutters around my stomach. Rubbing my jaw, I slowly climb up one more flight of stairs, mind spinning around the girl. Completely, utterly out of my league. It only made me want her more.

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#paige bueckers #so it goes #lilas writing #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers x female oc #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #wnba x oc

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genshingorlsrevengeance · 11 months ago

Note

Any girls of your choice having their S.o come back home and the first thing they say is "If I asked you to kill someone no questions asked could you do it?"

(Genshin Impact/GFL) Getting asked if they would kill someone for S/O

Genshin: Arlecchino, Jean, Chiori, Eula, Dehya, Lynette, Shenhe, Noelle, Rosaria, Xinyan, Girls Frontline: M4A1, M16A1, M4 SOPMOD II, HK416, AK-15, AN-94,

In the words of our glorious Steve Harvey: KILL!

Arlecchino is a little amused by S/O's question, but more curious than anything. Who could they possibly need her to kill?

And that was pretty bold of them to ask, considering who she is, and the fact she had not even been home for all of ten seconds.

Not that it exactly bothers her.

(Arlecchino) "An interesting propsal to walk in on. If I asked the same for you, S/O, would you?"

Jean felt the wind (HA) knocked out of her with that question.

After a long day of dealing with shenanigans at the Knights' Headquarters, this is what she gets?

Initial shock wearing off, she frowns at S/O, not thinking that this joke was funny.

(Jean) "No, I would not S/O. Who would even say yes to that question as soon as they came home?"

(Chiori) "Probably, if they were a particularly nasty customer."

Chiori answered as soon as she opened the door to her home and not even batting an eye.

There was many a day she would if it was legal.

But alas, throwing trash out her door and windows would have to suffice.

Eula raises an eyebrow at the question, closing the door behind her.

Honestly? She's a little offended at the question.

(Eula) "Do you take me for a barbarian? Absolutely not, I'm not like the rest of the Lawrence Clan!"

This is not what she wants to talk about before she even gets to sit down.

(Dehya) "Woah, someone got you super pissed off today?"

Dehya can't help but laugh and also think someone got her S/O in a bad mood.

Otherwise, why would you ever ask a merc if they would kill someone?

But if they were particularly nasty, she wouldn't even need payment to, but otherwise no.

Lynette rolls her eyes at the question.

(Lynette) "I can't magic someone away permanently, S/O."

That was a lie, she technically could, but that was reserved for orders from the House.

And anyone that tried to constantly interrupt her resting mode.

Shenhe doesn't flinch at the question, instead answering immediately.

(Shenhe) "Yes."

Pray that S/O doesn't ask that question when her ropes are off.

Because then they actually will get a body.

Noelle gasps audibly.

(Noelle) "What?! Of course not! I'm a maid, not an assassin!"

Noelle is absolutely flabbergasted that S/O would even ask a thing!

She proceeds to give them a lecture that violence is not the answer, regardless if it was a joke or not.

Rosaria first thinks in her mind:

Oh, now you tell me this after I come home from my work.

(Rosaria) "Hello to you too."

If S/O really did know what she did at night, then this was the strangest way to confront that.

Xinyan takes a second to process S/O's question as she moves her guitar before it bumps into the door.

...Say what?!

(Xinyan) "The heck are ya talking about, S/O!? And what makes ya think I would do that either?!"

Absolutely not! She's a musician, not a hitman!

M4A1 glares at S/O, not amused in the slightest.

(M4A1) "Last I recall, you're not my Commander, S/O."

After coming back to base, and given Griffin's status, the question isn't really that lighthearted to her.

Especially after an operation where she's constantly fighting to survive.

M16 chuckles, crossing her arms.

(M16A1) "We're T-Dolls, not drones. Buuuut, why do you need me to do it?"

She knows they're (hopefully) joking, and doubts its anyone at Griffin that she needs to knock the head off.

If it was Sangvis, then let her at 'em!

VIOLENCE

(M4 SOPMOD II) "Who needs killing?!"

SOPMOD is always happy to fight, and she just needs only the slightest reason to start blasting.

And it seemed S/O was giving her one!

HK416 scoffs at S/O.

What kind of question was that for someone who just came home?

(HK416) "You aren't the one paying me. So, no."

Unless her S/O became the client for 404's operations, then they could talk about proper killing.

15 sighs at their question, moving to put her equipment up.

(AK-15) "No."

She wasn't really in the mood to entertain these kinds of questions from S/O.

Besides, Angelia was the one who gave those kinds of orders anyway.

AN-94 shakes her head no.

(AN-94) "Only if Angelia or AK-12 gave the order, S/O."

She takes that as a genuine question, and gives S/O a genuine answer.

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thechaoticdruid · 1 year ago

Text

Indulging Curiosity

Astarion x F!Tav (Smut)

Plot: After a particularly gory fight, Astarion can't help but get hot and bothered seeing his favorite little druid all covered in blood. So he invites Tav to join him for an evening of pleasure. Tav begins to reflect on how sex wasn't exactly how she imagined.(This is basically a continuation of Firsts, but this time I decided to use the name Tav instead of Winnie for the reader's enjoyment. THIS CAN BE READ WITHOUT NEEDING TO READ FIRSTS)

Content/Warnings: MDNI. HEAVY Smut. PiV sex, anal sex, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal and anal fingering. Dom/sub, sub Tav, previously virgin Tav, Dom Astarion, light hair pulling, pillow talk, praise kink. Gore and action in the beginning. Galeshaming.

The road was long and treacherous. Tav and her companions had already faced many foes. These gnolls were no different. It was pretty clear as the young druid slashed one of the beast’s heads clean off, watching it drop down and roll off into the dirt. The gnoll’s blood had completely coated her scimitars and even splattered onto her face and chest. Astarion swiftly slashed his rapier across one of the gnoll's throats before stabbing it right through its windpipe. As the gnoll dropped to the ground dead, Astarion looked back at Tav, eyeing her blood coated figure.

Be still my undead heart.~

He licked his lips, mouth watering at the sight of his lover drenched in blood. Tav glanced back at him as the others of their merry little group took a moment to catch their breath, the fight had taken quite a toll on the group. Tav’s eyes met Astarion's and immediately she recognized that look he was giving her. It was the same look he gave her the day they'd stormed the goblin camp, before the night of the tiefling party. She looked off to the side with a blush. Tav was no longer a virgin, but honestly despite the experience it felt as if nothing changed. She would still choke on her own tongue whenever he flirted with her. And gods why did her first time have to be so clumsy!?

The memory of her screw up where she ended drinking the blood she brought for Astarion will probably forever stay burned into the back of her mind. Haunting her as she lies awake at night.

Tav groaned with a frown kicking some small rocks across the dirt road with frustration as Astarion approached her.

“My, my, someone's made a mess of herself.” Astarion said, running a finger over Tav's cheek and collecting the stray blood that dribbled down.

He immediately dipped his finger into his mouth to lick it clean.

“If you start straight up licking me one of these days we are going to have a serious talk.” Tav rolled her eyes.

“Oh no no no! I would never do that….Well not in front of the others anyway…” Astarion said, grinning cheekily. “But if you're interested there are a couple of things I'd like to taste in private…”

Tav felt a shiver go down her spine.

“Like….Right now?” She asked, face turning bright red.

“No pretty thing, not right this second. First we probably should convince the others to set up camp for the evening, then I'll steal you away and eat you right up.~” Astarion purred, eyes looking over the human female longingly. Tav couldn't help but squeeze her legs together. The way he said the last line made her ache between her thighs.

“Okay…. I'll go talk to the others then.” She said, quickly walking away, face flushed as red as a tomato. Tav scurried over to where the others were still gathering their bearings. Eyes glanced around the group as she considered her words carefully. Karlach and Lae'zel looked raring and ready to go while Wyll, Gale, and Shadowheart were more on the exhausted side.

“You know the sun will be setting soon and that last fight with the gnolls was a killer on my back. Think I might need to lie down and rest awhile.” Tav spoke up, her tone slightly uneasy.

“There is still daylight. The more time we waste the greater our chances of being turned into disgusting ghaik become. And I would rather fall on my blade than transform into my enemy.” Lae'zel hissed out, snarling in Tav's face. The human female gulped, feeling a bit intimidated by the fearsome gith.

“B-But look at them!” She began pointing over at the others. “They’ll be massacred in this condition and then we'll never reach the creché at all!”

“They just need a quick breather, soldier. It's not that bad.” Karlach replied.

“Not that bad? Don't you hear Gale’s old wizard knees cracking!? He's about to collapse!” Tav exclaimed.

“What? I'm not that old.” Gale scoffed.

“Those creaky knees don't lie Gale!” The human druid crossed her arms.

“I have heard Gale's knees cracking at the most inconvenient times.” Wyll added.

“Perhaps Tav is right, rest would probably do us good. Besides, we can always leave come first light tomorrow.” Shadowheart suggested.

Lae'zel sighed, “very well, but if one of us so much as shows any sign of change I am holding our ‘leader’ responsible.” The gith fighter growled out.

“I…..will accept full responsibility.” Tav gulped, nervously.

The things I do for vampire cock….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After convincing the others to make camp for the evening, Tav participated in helping with the set up despite not having a tent to herself. The druid female was usually content sleeping under the stars (and if it rained she'd use her druidic magic to conjure up a thicket like shelter). However as she hunched over to pick up some firewood she noticed a certain red eyed elf watching her. His blood red orbs were glued to her backside. Tav bit her lip before hauling the wood over to the campfire Wyll had been able to start up before dropping the rest in. It was then she returned the vampire's gaze. He smiled at her seductively, long lashes giving her a wink before gesturing to her to come to him with a finger.

Tav felt her heart race and her cheeks flush. She looked around at the others before scurrying off to follow Astarion as he walked off away from camp, leading her towards a cave at the edge of the river. Tav made sure to grab her bedroll and blankets as she trailed after him like a little lovesick puppy. Before Astarion Tav had never known a lover's caress or as far as she was concerned not even a lustful glance. The druid was convinced she was homely and undesirable.

She'd been told that all her life. The vampire spawn was the only one who'd ever made her feel wanted, but deep down she knew there was a catch. There was something he wanted from her. She assumed it was the guarantee of a willing meal, but she wasn't completely sure. It pained her that their little fling would inevitably come to an end eventually. Astarion made her feel special.

Ashamed as was to admit it she found herself becoming smitten with him.

Tav stepped into the cave, hearing the sound of water dripping down from somewhere. She walked over and noticed what looked like a hot spring off in the distance. A pair of strong arms wrapped around her, causing her to squeak and drop her things.

“Hells Astarion! You scared me!” Tav turned her head to see the grinning rogue.

“I can't help it. I've been thinking about feasting on you since our last night together.” He chuckled, pressing his hips up against the druid's plump backside. He was already shirtless as he pulled her against his bare chest, almost immediately going in for a kiss after she had turned her head back.

“Mmmm!” Tav was a little taken back by his eagerness, but she instantly melted into him, eyes slowly closing as she kissed back. Their lips moved together in sync as Astarion cupped her breasts gently squeezing and kneading them.

Astarion eventually pulled back, leaving a slight string of saliva connecting their lips as Tav panted. Before she knew it the vampiric elf pushed her down into her discarded bedroll, he smirked at her playfully.

“So sweet of you to bring blankets again darling. Though you'll probably need to wash them by the time we're done here.” He looked at her, licking his lips as his hands moved to pull her shirt over her head. Tav swiftly discarded her bra once she was bare, letting the vampire spawn get a nice view of her large round breasts. Tav looked down shyly when she noticed him eyeing up her chest. A single clawed finger traced around her nipple, teasing it and making her shutter.

“I'm not sure what you see in me. In my body….” Tav sighed a bit.

“What's not to like? Especially when you have these.” Astarion playfully cupped her tits before leaning his head down to plant kisses on each of them. He swirled his tongue around one of her hardening nipples before wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently.

“A-Ahh…. A-Astarion…” Tav moaned, as Astarion slowly moved to her opposite breast and repeated his actions as his hand moved to massage the other. Her breath hitched and her eyes followed him as he moved down, planting kisses over her plush protruding stomach and moving downwards. His fingers hooked onto the waistband of her trousers before he looked back up at her.

“May I?” Astarion asked before Tav quickly nodded in response. He pulled her pants down along with her boxer like underwear.

“Ahh…” Tav couldn't help but let out a lewd whimper as her elven lover ran a finger over her wet folds, coating the tip of his finger before licking it off slowly.

“Mmm…. Delicious…” Astarion leaned down and ran his tongue over her clit, causing Tav to dig her nails into the bedding beneath them. He slowly and teasingly lapped over her cunt, eventually dipping his tongue inside. Tav closed her eyes and threw her head back.

“F-Fuck….” She gasped feeling his tongue slide in and out of her as he buried his head between her legs, his nose pressed against her clit. His hands cupped her ass cheeks as he lifted her up slightly, Her legs rested over his shoulders while the vampire spawn moaned into her cunt. Tav blushed darkly covering her face as she listened to the slick wet sound of his tongue plunging in and out of her. The feeling was an indescribable pure bliss. Something she honestly had never expected to feel.

“Astarion….N-Ngh!” Tav cried out, feeling his fingers move up to play with her clit as he continued to eat her out. Eventually he pulled back as he felt her flutter around him. He let out a breathy sigh, salvia connected his tongue to her cunt momentarily before he pulled away from her fully.

“Astarion!” She whined, the sudden emptiness causing discomfort.

“Turn over, my pet.” Astarion simply ordered as he gestured to her with his fingers. Tav sighed and did as he asked without further complaint.

“Good girl. You're such an obedient little thing.” He purred, running a hand over the curve of her ass before giving it a slight pat. Tav bit her lip, this position for some reason made her groin tingle in excitement. Astarion slid two fingers into her pussy from behind as his free hand rubbed over the growing bulge in his trousers. He huffed a bit, red eyes dazed with lust as he gazed down at her dripping womanhood. He thrusted them in and out a couple of times, eliciting some delectable little whimpers from his human lover before he dropped his pants. His cock was rock hard as precum dripped down from the tip. He pulled his fingers out and sucked them clean, moaning softly at her taste before he lined himself up with her pussy and pushed into her from behind.

Tav arched her back and cried out pushing her ass back up against him almost instinctively.

He gave her ass a slight smack before grabbing her hips and slowly starting to thrust. Tav was a moaning whimpering mess as his hips slapped against her ass, cock pushing in deeper, stretching and pounding her soaking wet cunt.

“Oh look at you.” Astarion clicked his tongue, “our strong fearless leader...Mmm…Completely powerless under my touch.” Astarion said in between moans as he shifts over her back, pinning her down underneath him as he continues to rut against her ass, his cock pushing even further into her pussy, the head pressing up against a particularly sensitive spot.

“Tell me pet, do you like being at my mercy, hm? Ahh….~” Astarion moaned a little noisier than before, feeling Tav clenching tightly around his cock. “Mm! I'll take that as a yes.” He let out a pleasured sigh, snaking his hands underneath the human female to grope and squeeze her breasts all the while continuing to pump himself into her.

“Astarion…I-I feel it…” Tav gasped, repeatedly pushing her ass back against his hips. “I'm about to….A-Ahh!” Tav suddenly came with a cry, coating his length in her juices. Astarion smirked and kept up his thrusts.

“Naughty girl, I never said you could finish before me.” He suddenly began to increase his speed and force, ramming himself in and out of her innards. Her rear end turned light pink from his hips, constantly slapping against it. It took a while longer but eventually she heard him let out a rather delectable sounding grunt before spilling his hot, sticky seed inside her. Astarion huffed, tongue peaking out of his mouth slightly as he panted before slowly collapsing onto Tav’s back.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The two had made good use of the nearby spring in order to clean themselves off before curling up together back on the blankets and bedroll. The night was still young the two of them were afforded a brief reprieve before continuing their indulgence of one another. Tav laid beside Astarion. Her eyes glanced over his perfect flawless form. She wondered what it would be like to pepper kisses all over him, but she felt too nervous. Far too timid to make the move herself.

She smiled to herself a hint of a blush spreading across her cheeks as she thought over the possibilities of what else might occur tonight.

The position of their last little tumble had put some rather intriguing ideas into her mind. It reminded her quite a bit of the ridiculous erotic novels she'd found….definitely not stolen laying around in Sharess's Caress. She had become rather fond of one whose main characters were a high elf lord and a young half-elf man.

Tav found herself picturing herself and Astarion in one of the positions from the book and bit her lip a bit before shyly nuzzling her face into his chest.

Astarion who'd been resting his eyes suddenly looked down feeling a slight weight against his right breast.

“Something on your mind, dear?” Astarion smiled down at her tucking some stray hairs behind her rounded ears. He traced a finger over them playfully. The elf always found human ears rather strange in a cute sort of way.

“Just…Thinking…” Tav said shyly before suddenly her chin was gripped gently and she was turned to look up at her cheeky vampire lover.

“About….?” Astarion had an air of mischief in his eyes as he looked down at her expectantly.

“I never thought it was like this, if I'm honest. S-Sex…I mean….” She clarified, “a friend of mine had once told me men only care about their own pleasure.”

“And how many men exactly has this friend been with?” Astarion asked with a raised eyebrow. He almost sounded a bit offended.

“One I think…She only ever talked about one guy she'd been with.” Tav shrugged.

“And you believed her? You are so adorably naive, you know?” Astarion tapped her nose, causing Tav to pout.

“I didn't feel like I could ask anyone else. She was my best friend.” She explained, “but I suppose you are right. She also said it hurts a lot, but you've haven't hurt me yet.” Tav smiled a bit.

“Why did you agree to sleep with me if you believed that?” Astarion asked in complete confusion. He was beginning to wonder just exactly what kind of man Tav’s friend was involved with.

“I…I'm not entirely sure…I know it's true we could die any day, but honestly I don't know if that's really the reason I agreed.” Tav chuckled a bit and sat up. “Perhaps deep down…I just wanted you more than anything at the time…” She murmured.

“Well of course, who wouldn't want their first time to be with someone as beautiful as I?” Astarion ran a hand through his hair, playing with one of the ivory curls.

“You are very pretty I won't lie, but a pretty face will only get you so far.” Tav hummed and relaxed nuzzling her nose back against his chest.

“I don't think I would have agreed if you didn't have such an entertaining personality.”

“Entertaining? And how exactly do I entertain you?” Astarion asked.

“You make me laugh.” She said simply, “you're sassy, witty and so very dangerous. It's exciting.” Tav’s tone was honest. There was no seductive flirtations, just pure sweet admiration.

“Keep the flattery up and I might not be able to stop myself from devouring you whole.” Astarion teased before grabbing her chin and planting a hungry kiss on the human’s lips. Tav blushed a bit, her heartbeat racing as she returned it. Astarion pulled back, continuing to stare into her eyes as he caressed her cheek with a clawed index finger. “You've been a very good girl so I'll let you decide what happens next.~”

“Uh…I…” Tav turned bright red, she knew what she wanted, but the idea of asking made her rather nervous.

“Come on, tell me what you want my sweet.~ I won't bite…. Unless you want me too.~”

Tav wasn't sure why she felt so embarrassed about it. It was no secret Astarion had been with other men as well as women so this wouldn't be something he'd be disgusted by, but the act itself felt so taboo to speak about.

“Well…You know the thing you do with other men…?” She mumbled out, her ears as well as her cheeks were burning with embarrassment. Astarion rose an eyebrow as a mischievous smirk spread across his face.

“Sorry darling, I didn't quite catch that. What is it you want me to do?” He asked, that infuriating smug look not wavering for a second.

“T-The thing you do with men.” She said a little louder.

“My sweet, I have done a lot of things with a lot of men. You'll have to be more specific.” He teasingly ran a finger over her chest.

Tav internally screamed. She could tell he was just fucking with her at this point.

“I….I want you…to…put it in my ass…” She mumbled under her breath.

“Hmm? What was that, pet?” Astarion kept taunting her with his knowing grin.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass!” She suddenly snapped.

“Oh! Well, why didn't you just say so?” Astarion chuckled a bit at the end. Tav glared at him with a pout. “Oh sweetie, I'm only teasing. Besides you look so delicious when you blush.” He said before quickly flicking his tongue over her ear, causing a shiver to go down her spine as she let out a shutter.

“I am a little surprised. Most women don't really care for this sort of thing…” He said tracing a finger around her hardening nipple, “but I'd be delighted to indulge your curiosity.”

“Okay…”Tav nodded with a sigh of relief.

“Now, on your belly.” He ordered. Tav slowly shifted off of him before turning to lay on her stomach. Astarion sat up before running his hand over her plump ass, giving it a slight squeeze before he moved behind her. She heard him muttered something under his breath before suddenly his fingers were slick with grease.

Astarion spread her hole open with his clean hand before slowly sliding his index finger into her. Tav let out a noisy gasp, feeling a slight burn from his his digit pushing through her sphincter.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly, slowly pumping his finger in and out.

“Mmm…Mhm..” Tav nodded, feeling him begin to move his finger faster. The sweet sound of her moans and the feeling of her quite literally wrapped around his finger was enough to make his cock twitch. He moved his free hand down to stoke it a bit as he pushed his finger knuckle deep inside her.

“Ooh…” She shivered before suddenly feeling him add a second digit into her ass, pumping them both in and out as he groped his hardening length. Eventually the elf removed his fingers before greasing up his length.

“Are you ready then?”

“Yes…” Tav huffed and glanced back at the vampire as he lined himself up with her hole. He slowly and carefully pushed his cock up her ass.

“O-Oh g-gods!” Tav cried out, nails digging into the blankets as he stretched her. Astarion grunted slowly bottoming out into her ass as his hands gripped her cheeks.

“Nghh…” Astarion bit his lip, a pleased smirk threatening to form. “Mmm…How is that, love?”

“Ahh….It's good…Oh fuck….” Tav moaned out, her eyes rolled back into her head as she felt Astarion roll his hips against her ass.

“Excellent.” He huffed before positioning himself on top of her back, slowly sliding himself in and out. Tav pushed herself back against him as he soon began to increase his speed, balls slapping against her pussy from behind.

Tav continued to cry out, the sensation was a strange mix of discomfort and pleasure which just increased each time he pushed in deeper. Astarion slid one of his arms underneath her chest, almost immediately toying with one of her tits. With his free hand he gently grasped her hair, hips smacking against her ass cheeks with a satisfying clap that echoed throughout the cave.

“Star…. Astarion….Ahh…” Tav groaned feeling the vampire spawn press his lips to her neck.

“Yes, keep going love. You're cries sound so sweet.” He said, running his tongue along her neck before gently nibbling and sucking on it.

Tav grunted and whined, pushing back against him, trying to match his pace as he pounded her ass. Astarion eventually pulled away from her neck, leaving a bright red hickey on it before he pulled Tav's hair, making her look at him.

“Kiss me, my pet.” He commanded. Tav quickly turned her head pressed her lips to his, her tongue sliding across his bottom lip before being greeted with his. Astarion shoved his tongue into her mouth eagerly. “Mmmmm…”

~•~•~~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

The next morning Lae’zel woke the group up bright and early. She was very eager to get on the road and search for any sign of her kin. Karlach and the others all began to take down their tents and pack away their things before Wyll took notice of Astarion’s tent still standing up.

“Has anyone seen Astarion or Tav?” He asked aloud.

“Gods, I hope he hasn't finally gone and drained her dry.” Gale said aloud.

“Oh I doubt that. It's more likely she drained him.” Shadowheart chimed in. The others looked at her in confusion before she guestured towards a path away from camp.

Astarion walked up with a pleased smirk on his face. He was positively glowing. Meanwhile Tav limped behind him, hair messy, red marks on her neck as she let out a yawn.

“Good..*yawn*... Morning everyone.” She rubbed her eyes before moving over towards Astarion’s stool and taking a seat. She yelped before quickly standing up, gently rubbing her bottom.

“Rough night soldier?” Karlach asked with a smirk.

“I..uh…Sorta…” Tav looked down at her feet.

“Good gods Astarion, what did you do to her!?” Gale looked over at Astarion with suspicion.

“Nothing she didn't enjoy immensely.” Astarion smirked before glancing down at his nails.

END

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stardustizuku · 30 days ago

Text

So I really don’t like Encanto’s music

That’s a lie.

I actually love “We don’t talk about Bruno” and I will always cry about “Dos Orugitas”.

But, Familia Madrigal? Don’t like it.

Waiting on a Miracle? Don’t like it.

Surface Pressure? Don’t like it.

What Else Can I Do? On thin fucking ice.

And that’s apparently a very controversial opinion. I was a bit baffled to see that everyone universally loved songs that I would consider objectively bad. I’ve seen musical experts make extensive videos on how good it is, which for the longest time deterred me from even saying how much I disliked it.

But like, I really can’t stay quiet about it anymore.

Okay, so first of all, we have to talk about accents.

Lin Manuel Miranda is from Puerto Rico. If you’ve ever heard them talk, you notice people from PR have a distinct way of talking. They put a lot of stress at the end of every syllable, and they talk very very fast. No, really. They talk very fast. There’s an inside joke among Latino people that most of us can’t understand Puerto Rican Spanish because it’s so fast and has what I can only describe as a “choppy pronunciation”. This is to say, they cut off their words off, use a lot of contractions and put the stress of a syllable always in the same place.

You can watch this interview with Bad Bunny to see what I’m talking about.

You can hear it, it’s extremely fast paced with even intervals of stress in their words. When they sing (again any Bad Bunny song can work to prove my point) you can hear that same style. Fast paced, with even intervals in the stress of their syllables.

This is their accent, coming through their music. It makes marvelous songs. Puerto Rican have a very distinct accent and their music gave way for this new wave of reggae music we see. One filled with rap and hip-hop beats. This is because their accent makes rapping the most comfortable medium for them to sing in.

And. When you put that side by side with Lin Manuel’s music, you’ll realize that it’s exactly the way he writes music. Most Puerto Rican musicians sing and rap in Spanish, for obvious reasons, but Lin does it in English! That is why it piqued a lot of Americans’ interest. His style was common in Spanish but innovative in English.

What Lin Manuel did is truly amazing. He mixed hip-hop, rap and Puerto Rican instruments to create his breakthrough musical In The Heights. This mix was a hit because of how well these three mix.

Lin Manuel raps, not only because he’s a lyrical genius, but his own accent gives him a natural advantage. It works best in his first musical because it is about his own struggles and lived experiences, growing up in Washington Heights.

In Hamilton, he leans more to hip-hop culture, mixing more African American styles of music. He’s using that same Puerto Rican intonation and style, and mixing it with hip hop, to tell a white story.

The juxtaposition of them both creates something unique. Founding Father history is boring, white and frankly tired. Giving it this new spin, mixing all types of sounds and voices, creates an idea that THIS history belongs to everyone; not just white people.

But. That doesn’t work in Encanto.

The problem with Encanto is that he’s trying to do the same thing he did in both previous musicals - but there is no reason for Puerto Rican inspired sounds to dominate the soundtrack (And boy do they dominate it)

This is about Colombian music and Colombian stories.

Like, people from the USA and who grew up there, adopt the same view of culture: The idea that all Latino cultures are extremely similar, should be melted together, and that everyone is allowed to contribute to part of it. It makes sense. Latinos form a community in a foreign country, where everyone is brothers and sisters, shoved into the same places and spaces.

But that only happens in the USA. In Latinoamérica, because everyone (for the large part, and excluding political refugees) has their own country where to create their own country style. So, while we are all friends - we’re not roommates, we’re neighbors. So people intruding into their culture, seems more of a bad taste.

Colombia is Colombia. They have a cultural identity almost separate and foreign to any other country (EXCEPT those that formed La Gran Colombia in the years of old). It makes no sense for a story or movie about it to have Puerto Rican sounds, Mexican sounds, Chilean sounds etc.

And Lin Manuel doesn’t seem to notice that his music, at its purest, is Puerto Rican sounds mixing with the environment. So, when he got put in charge of Encanto’s music, he used his style to create it- which leads to this huge problem where two entirely different sounds and style get put in a hotpot and what comes out is…

Odd.

Why did this happen, again?

Well, many reasons: in part bcs cause Disney is Disney and doesn’t see Latino countries as their own thing, in part bcs I believe Lin was filled with hubris of his own success and in part bcs I think he just didn’t understand what a fumble he was doing; but that doesn’t change the fact that - they simply do not fit here.

I genuinely believe that, Disney being Disney, assigned their only Latino musical man to write the music for their Latino musical. Ignoring the fact that Lin Manuel has only one type of musical style, which is at complete odds with Colombian music or stories. Disney (in my opinion) waved their hand and let the Latino do their Latino stuff without bothering to check if they were the RIGHT type of Latino - and so, we ended up in this mess.

And Moana at least had Somoan artists writing alongside Lin Manuel to at least, reign in some of Lin’s more obvious attempts to make this Hamilton 2.0. But in Encanto? He had one artist writing alongside him whose only other connection to Latinoamérica was Coco.

And listen, I’m not here to say white people can’t write compelling music - Coco is a great example of white people stealing and replicating the aesthetics of a culture so well its scary - but it is iffy.

So, yeah. Encanto has Lin Manuel’s style all over itself like it’s In the Heights 2.0

The problem?

This is not about you Lin!

His style becomes horrendously apparent when he tries to mix in Colombian Music with lyricism genetically engineered to fit Puerto Rican Vocal Cords. Add to that that the fucking Main Character is voiced by a Puerto Rican artist and what you get - is music that signals one thing, and a voice that signals other.

Causing this entire thing to sound, not only convoluted - but also so off the beat you would think a white man wrote it.

Okay, so let’s take Familia Madrigal, and I’m gonna use it to point out the obvious:

Stephanie Beatriz is NOT COLOMBIAN.

Which, by the way, fucking shows. Her accent kills any indication you may have that Maribel is actually Colombian.

I know, that people from the USA failed geography in kindergarten and don’t even know that people from Latinoamerica are separated into countries - but surprise surprise they do. And they ALSO have extremely different accents.

Someone from Colombia speaks differently from someone from Argentina, or Mexico etc. So when Maribel opens her mouth, imagine my shock when, what I hear, isn’t a Colombian accent but a Puerto Rican one.

And while you think it can’t - it shows very much in the way people sing too.

It’s like a show brightly saying “this is a movie dedicated to London culture and it’s set in London using London narratives to tell it”.

And the main character starts speaking - and she has a fucking Texan accent.

Like, genuinely, from the bottom of my heart:

Why did Disney hire a Puerto Rican person to voice act their Colombian character…?

I get that they did something similar in Coco, but two things 1) Guatemala is pretty close to Mexico. 2) The sound design is so Mexican it’s scary. You CAN hear that there’s some missing timber and accent in some songs, but you just assume it’s due to Disney purposely flattening the more “ugly” parts of Mexican music (aka, this breathy raspy tone you use for some ‘corrido’ and mariachi music) because even the Spanish version is missing it.

But because Encanto was written by Lin - he’s writing lyrics with an undeniably Puerto Rican accent. THEN, you make the girl singing it a Puerto Rican girl, with a heavy PR accent.

And you’re left with this…song. That has lyrics genetically engineered to favor Puerto Rican pronunciation with Colombian Music in the background. It makes this weird, jarring sensation that, to me, feels like nothing I’ve heard before.

Which, if this were a new experimental musical, I would probably find it interesting.

But for fucks sake, Lin. This is a Colombian story. You’re supposed to be channeling COLOMBIAN vibes. Not whatever this is.

Okay, want an example? Compare “Familia Madrigal” to another Colombian artist (that isn’t Shakira) Bacilos: I think that Mi Primer Millón is the closest thing I can think of.

You’ll notice two things:

1) The voice that sings is so slow. It doesn’t rush every single sentence, the way it’s very characteristic of Lin. This is very common in Colombian music. It’s not fast paced. It’s lively! Fun! But not quick-paced the way Puerto Rican is. It’s relaxed.

And

2) The words drag. It’s not each syllable being stressed, but everything sorta drags and blends with the word in front of it.

It’s completely different from Family Madrigal - even if the music is kinda similar.

That’s what I mean when I say that Stephanie Beatriz’s accent kills any illusion of Maribel being Colombian. The way she sings would be PERFECT for a reggae song, or set in the nebulous America where all Latino culture is a melting pot.

But it doesn’t sound distinctly Colombian. It sounds - fucking American. And Disney American at that. Because there’s no hard defying Colombian aesthetic, but more of vaguely Latino sound.

The same happens in Waiting on a Miracle.

So, this works on two levels. First is the Disney “I want song” ballad, like Part of your world, I cannot stress how quickly it’s going, and how little it conveys.

As Colombian music - I heard Lin say that they’re using a Bambuco, a type of music known to have ¾ rhythm instead of 4/4 to symbolize Maribel. All family members sing in 4/4 while Maribel, the odd one out, sings in a ¾.

Except, when I heard this I was like:

What the fuck do you mean this is a Bambuco?

I was genuinely confused because Waiting on a Miracle does not sound like a Bambuco, not even in the Spanish dub, where like half the problems I have with the music are fixed.

But then you listen to background music without the vocals, and you’re like oh. Yeah, that kinda is a Bambuco!

The lyrics ruin it tho.

A popular Bambuco song is “El Barcino” which, when put side by side with Waiting on a Miracle, show that the lyrics ruin any pace the song is creating.

El Barcino uses letters that end and starts on vocals, and are short, to make sure that it has the least amount of syllables, even when it’s using quite a bit of words. It helps everything sorta blend together, with the harshest sounding letters like “r” and “ll” being left to the end. With that last word being the one that drags on the most.

Esta es la historia (4)

De aquel novillo (4)

Que había nacido (4)

Allá en la tierra (4)

Compare that to Waiting on Miracle that seems to do the opposite. It uses constant consonants that purposely break the sound, with no long words to drag at the end. In FACT it seems like the last word is the one that gets cut abruptly. With the middle of the sentence being the one that drags a bit.

I can’t heal what’s broken (6)

Can’t control the morning rain (7)

Or a hurricane (4)

Never mind that each line has a different syllable number.

The Spanish dub tries to fix this, and that’s why I say it’s much better. The actual VA attempts to sing in a way that mushes together the first few syllables, and puts stress on the last word - and the Spanish writers are fighting for their lives to shorten the syllables by using as many vocals as they can.

But genuinely, there’s just so much they can do, when Lin’s writing comes bashing with a hammer with its stupid tempo.

And I’ve heard people say that “well, Mirabel sings so different because she’s the odd one in the family”, which-…

Do you think that? Then why didn’t they hire a Colombian VA? Or a South American VA? Someone who could more closely emulate the type of accent Colombian people have?

My opinion, they wanted Stephanie because Lin is KNOWN to work with people from previous projects, in this case Stephanie was in his production of In Height Movie. I think he wanted her to land the job at Disney. Disney saw a big name with big backing and decided to cast her as the Main Character. And when this happened, Lin started writing her songs in a way that she felt more comfortable, or molding Mirabel’s character around parts of Stephanie herself (which is not unheard of, or even a bad practice. But it effectively ruins a pretty good song for me).

Less than Lin choosing Stephanie to sing this way bcs Maribel sings this way, I think it’s more of a Mirabel sings like this bcs Lin chose so, bcs it fits Stephanie better.

But again, it ends up sounding nothing like Colombian Bambuco. I don’t even know what it sounds like.

The problem I think, lies in the fact that three things are fighting like crazy in this song - Lin’s lyricism that has no business being here, a Disney Formula that was on its way to becoming so tired it ended up as “Wish”, and actual Colombian music that is sitting here being yanked and stretched to fit whatever these two idiots decide is best today.

As an “I want song” ballad, it also fails massively. I’m gonna go ahead and show an actual song in English to prove my point - Shakira. I’m using her first album in English (because it’s the one that is less touched by outside American influences), and picking the one that sounds the most like an I Want ballad throughout. It’s not a 1:1 but I hope it proves my point.

Take Waiting on a Miracle vs Underneath Your Clothes (granted, at this point Shakira still uses rock in her music (RIP Shakira rockera you will be missed) so I acknowledge the music is different. I’m focusing more on her voice rn)

You can definitely see the difference in the accent and way I’m so genuinely offended they hired Stephanie (her talent be damned, I want my Colombian artists to be given a chance)

You can hear the way Shakira sorta Just sings? There’s no choppy attempts to fit syllables into the right tempos. She dances with the music, instead of forcing herself through it.

Like, the “I can’t control the morning rain or a hurricane” sounds like it’s cut in pieces. But “And all the things that I deserve” just doesn’t. It stays in the beat with the music.

What's even weirder, tho is that recently, Shakira used Reggae and Puerto Rican style music to mix with her music.

Bizzarap may be an Argentinian musician but in her song with him she, well, raps and used that similar choppy style of lyrics that Lin uses - just that the background music is obviously not Colombian - but hearing her you can hear how different it is from Maribel’s singing.

And it’s a great example that my problem isn’t PR girls singing - cause honestly the song slaps - but that they’re doing it in Colombian story ; set in Colombia, where honestly PR culture has no business being here. Like, Venezuelan inspire music, Panama inspired music, or even Ecuador music wouldn’t be weird…But Puerto Rican? They weren’t even part of La Gran Colombia.

But okay, not everything is awful.

I actually love We don't talk about Bruno, because for all the reasons why Lin Manue style does not fit Colombian Music - musicals DO fit Colombian Music! And when done RIGHT, you get this masterpiece. They do everything right

Tia Pepa IS voiced by a Colombian girl! (Who also sung the Spanish dub, oh my god Carolina Gaitan the woman you are!)

The lyrics are repetitive and simple. Which allows people to actually sing! You can hear her drag the last word really nicely when she sings, it’s such a delight to the ears.

It’s followed by Dolores doing a RAP! A proper rap, to which they have a Puerto Rican rap singer!! No wonder she’s the highlight of the song! This was built for her, and she nailed it! Oh, my god, you see how amazing something can sound if you just know what you’re doing??? The Colombian girl who does the Spanish dub doesn’t pull it as good as the English dub.

The sudden change from Dolores to Camilo is great.

The ensemble is amazing. If Lin can do something good is an ensemble where everyone is singing their own verse.

Like I cannot stress how amazing everything fits for this.

What Else Can I do?

I say this is on thin ice because it shows that the problem isn’t just Lin lyricism but the fact that both Maribel and Luisa are voiced by Puerto Rican Voice Actresses.

That said, oh my god the Spanish dub is like 10x better. In English, they hired a PR VA for Maribel. But in Spanish? The entire cast is ACTUALLY Colombian!

(Fun fact! When I was listening to the Spanish Dub of this song I thought it was Mexican Inspired because the choppy Lin Style changed slightly to mix with someone singing with this melodic type of intonation - sounds extremely like a Tatiana song. Her version of the “Won’t Say I’m In Love” sounds so similar to this song. If you still think not, “Gotita de Amor” has such big vibes with “Inspiración” (Aka WECID but Spanish), it’s actually funny.)

It sounds really fun. But it’s again, not something I find ground breaking, The song is finally one that doesn’t put too much emphasis on the choppy Lin style - but that’s probably because THEY HIRED AN ACTUAL COLOMBIAN VA.

That said, this could have been a great way to introduce some Colombian rock - given that they ARE using an electric guitar in the background and she’s supposed to be breaking the idea of the ‘perfect daughter’ - but sure, let’s go for the generic Disney Princess Rebel sound. Sure, whatever, who cares about any sort of cultural references at this point, anyways.

(Never mind that THE Shakira started out as a rock girlie and her original albums could have been a great fit for Isabela - like Donde Estas Corazón or Si Te Vas)

Okay enough, at this point you either got what I was saying, or are still pissed that I don’t like the music.

Either angry that I don’t give Stephanie the flowers she deserve, that I’m too harsh on Lin, or that I have a vendetta against PR.

I think she’s an amazing actress, I think she has a great voice. I love In the Heights, I had a Hamilton phase, and was super into 21 Jump Street until I realized it’s copaganda (we don’t have time to discuss you). And I don’t think there’s someone who appreciate having reggae songs being put in the club downtown more than me, because seriously WHITE PEOPLE NEED TO STOP PUTTING ABBA TO SIGNAL THAT THE PARTY IS ENDING.

Now. My problem isn’t that. It isn’t even the fact that people from the PR were put in charge of writing a Colombian story.

The music from Coco is Amazing. I have no idea how they managed it, but every single song sounds like one I grew up with. Ernesto’s Remember Me sounds like something my mom would listen to when we clean up a Saturday morning. Juanita sounds like something my grandpa would listen to when he’s drunk and thinking of my late grandma. Llorona sounds like the songs I used to dance to in Folklore Dancing classes when I was a kid.

And it was written by an Italian guy.

I’m not usually one to gatekeep who gets to make music. But I think the key difference here is:

The Italian guy knew he was intruding in a place he didn’t belong. This was not his music he had to replicate, and he had to put extra effort to make sure it sounded authentically Mexican and not Italian.

Lin did not have this approach. At least not when writing the songs. He tried to sample Colombian music, but did not put the effort into making sure his own bias of what music should sound like affect the music he’s writing.

Because Lin didn’t feel like he was intruding on a place! He felt like he was in his own environment, where he could play with the sounds and incorporate them into his own style.

But he wasn’t. He isn’t Colombian. He shouldn’t have felt this comfortable

And no one ever thought to tell him “this doesn’t sound authentic” bcs a) he’s Latino, therefore his music should be authentically Latino (even when, in his case, he’s not Colombian) b) he’s always been able to sell.

It’s a bit of a bummer. Because even after Encanto released, I saw everyone giving him flowers and loving it and streaming it - when all I could do was stare at it and feel like there was something wrong.

It sounded like Lin. It sounded like Disney. But it didn’t sound like Colombia.

It speaks a lot about an issue in Latinoamerican spaces in the USA and Canada that non-Latino people have been trying to talk about for ages, just to be ignored. That is: American-born “Latinos” are not really considered part of the Latino community in full. A lot of the values and perspectives that are considered by the LatAm community as integral to our culture, do not get transmitted to American-born Latinos. They’re raised with a hyper-individualistic mindset, assuming they can take from LatinoAmerican countries, when they have not lived the -frankly- harsh reality of everyday here. They don’t understand the culture, or the language, or day to day struggles - yet they feel entitled grab it and create aesthetics with no regards to the realities of people who have to live those experiences.

A great example is, Lupita in her recent “Emilia Perez” role. She did not care for the actual struggles of people living in Mexico. Even though she’s considered “Latina” by the USA, she’s not considered so in LatAm. Because she lived within the American privilege, she never bothered to understand the culture she is from, and is more than ready to throw away what she believed to be her “community” for a chance at the table.

And while Lin didn’t do something as egregious as to defend Jacques, he still sorta perpetuates this idea. That he’s entitled to take what he wants from LatAm countries because he is “Latino”. Even when he was raised in New York, and should be treating the cultures of other countries with respect and acknowledgement that they are not the same.

Something I need to kudos for is hiring Sebastian Yatra. His contribution to this movie is genuinely the highlight of the entirety of Disney in this decade. Two Orugitas and Dos Orugitas are songs that I think about constantly. He’s a very famous Colombia artist who created some of my favorite songs (Tacones Rojos, Ojos Marrones, Traicionera etc), so I was very happy to see him involved in this movie. In fact, I think it made wonders for his career. His success with Tacones Rojos undoubtedly made bigger with people knowing from this movie.

There’s also Colombia, Mi Encanto. I like that song. I think it’s great.

There was genuine effort put into this movie. And trying to trash it entirely because I think Lin did a terrible job in research, isn’t fair. There are good things about this movie, and musically I’ve heard worse. It’s not…shall I say unlistenable? I do listen to some of these songs. They’re interesting musical theater pieces. And, for all I hate his work on this movie, Lin does have power with the pen. He’s a genius of a lyricist.

But I felt the need to point out that, while Encanto does have good music, it’s surrounded by a very distinct type of internalized American imperialism that no one will care to ever address

#encanto #lin manuel miranda #loli speaks #mini essay

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sassyandsodone · 8 months ago

Text

Mother

(A bit of a character study of Raphael. A lot of mommy issues, and a look at his relationship with his father's consort, Baalphegor.)

Baalphegor was not the mother of Mephistopheles’s cambion brats. But she had known many of them. Some had seen her as a threat, some had seen her as a potential ally, she was not a mother to any of them. But she liked this little pup.

Raphael was bold for such a puny thing. Once he had survived to an age where he could talk, everyone in Cania quickly learned, he could not stop. Every situation he foolishly backed into, he tried to talk his way out of. And while child-like charm was hardly useful against hellbeasts, he did have a gift for convincing any that would crush him like an ant that his father actually cared about him. That was usually enough.

In spite of his age, or lack thereof, he did excell at magic, unsurprising really considering who the child’s sire was. Even at an age before he could read, Raphael could teleport, not exactly perfectly but he could do it. Teleporting seemed to be his preferred method of transportation as he got better at it. He was always appearing and disappearing without warning, something everyone in the palace had gotten used to.

So, as Baalphegor relaxed in her chambers, a book in her hand as she lounged on her settee, she barely even looked up when young Raphael appeared on her floor in a flash of cinders. She could hear him panting, breathless, he must have been running before he teleported himself to her.

“My, my, little prince,” she said, “what sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Raphael picked himself up off the floor and brushed his hands across his clothes. He was still so young, she wouldn't even consider him an adolescent yet, merely a child. His horns were small and a second set was just beginning to grow in. He stretched out his little wings that had gotten ruffled with his fall.

“Gelugons are mean,” the child said, there was a huffing pretentiousness in his voice.

“No arguments.” Baalphegor turned the page of her book. “How exactly did you manage to upset one, pup?”

He huffed. “I'm not a pup.”

Baalphegor put down her book and looked at Raphael. It could not be said that most fiends cared for “cute” things but there was something very endearing to her about this child wrinkling his nose in disgust just like his father did.

“And yet, your fur is all ruffled like one. Sit. Let me fix your hair.”

Raphael’s nostrils flared as he gave another huff, but, like a good boy he came and sat on the settee. Baalphegor ran her fingers through his hair, catching her long nails on a number of tangles.

“So, what did you do to that gelugon?”

“I did nothing wrong,” he declared but Baalphegor highly doubted his assessment. “I am a son of Mephistopheles. It had no authority to bar me from going anywhere!”

She could still remember a time when Raphael couldn't pronounce his father's name. And she had been the one to coach him into doing it correctly, lest he insult his father to his face and incur his wrath.

“Oh dear,” she chuckled. “Did someone go snooping where he did not belong?”

Raphael stiffened, his tail flicked back and forth. Still too young to lie with complete confidence. His hand moved to his left pocket. He had something in there, didn't he?

“I'm a prince. There is nowhere I don't belong.”

He knew he had done something he wasn't allowed to. And he most certainly had taken something that wasn't his. Baalphegor smiled, one hand glided through his hair while the other summoned whatever he had in his pocket directly to her. A small crystal ball appeared in her empty hand.

Raphael quickly turned around feeling the item gone from his pocket.

She examined the sphere. It was dark as Abyss with reflections of scenes playing in it. A scrying tool. Her little prince seemed to be interested in spying on something.

“Oh dear,” Baalphegor said, “what would your father say if he knew his son was stealing from him?”

“I'm not stealing!” He twitched as he said it, though, not even believing this defense himself. “It's mine by birthright.”

“Mmhm, I'm sure your father will listen to that.”

Raphael reached for it, only for Baalphegor to make it disappear.

“Give it back!” Raphael huffed and his little wings flapped at her.

She smiled, a giggle escaping her lips. “Now, now, pup, that isn't how a devil would do things, is it? There is an exchange to be made. Or does your mother's blood dominate you?”

She knew that would stir him. The first insult that was always thrown at him was his half-human ancestry.

The little prince’s brow furrowed and he wrinkled his nose. “I am a son of Mephistopheles! I have nothing in common with sorry mortals!”

“Now, now, pup, we both know that isn’t true. And besides, for all its disadvantages, your mother gave you a great gift upon her death.”

He raised an eyebrow, quizzically, but said nothing.

“Her blood.” Baalphegor began to pet his hair again. “With your half-mortal blood, you were gifted a strong connection to the material plane. You can go where other devils cannot.”

He relaxed at her touch, his tail curling gently against her leg.

“The material plane is a trove of things we, devils, desire. And you, pup, can go and take it for yourself. You can slip between the planes.”

“I can?”

“Of course. If you're any good at magic, that is.”

His tail flicked. “Of course I am!”

Baalphegor gripped his shoulders. “Then why don't you prove it? I will give you back the crystal ball when you bring me a treasure from the Prime.”

Raphael was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. “...what do you want from there?”

“Oh, pup,” she sighed, “never give your client a chance at getting more than they asked for. If you had taken my deal before, you could have brought me anything. Now, I get to name my price.”

“That's not fair.”

“Devils do not play fair.” She tapped a finger against his nose. “Well, since you need to learn a lesson…” she trailed off, considering what would teach her little prince best. “...bring me an item that belonged to your mother.”

His tail stiffened and a look of confusion blossomed on his face. “My…mother?”

“Do your ears not hear, pup? Yes. Your mother. She was from the material plane, some trinket of hers must remain there.”

“But…” he paused, breaking eye contact as he tried to word what he wanted to say. “But I don't know who she is.”

“Oh? Well, my apologies, pup. I had a thought a child of the Cold Lord would be smart enough and skilled enough to discover that information on his own. My mistake.”

She watched to see the anger build up in him. Little Raphael may have only been a child but his pride was vast as his ambition. She could see a rage building in his eyes, a fire to fuel him.

“I'll do it!” he snapped. “Lady Baalphegor, I swear to bring you the greatest trinket of my mother's I can find!”

She smiled. Her little prince would grow up to be great, she would make sure of it. Baalphegor snapped her fingers and summoned a parchment. The infernal ink glowed red, the terms of their little agreement laid out plain for the child to read.

“Just sign here, Raphael.”

—

The years had not changed her little prince. Not in the slightest. From childhood into his teenage years, his skills had progressed. He was exceptional at magic, and had developed a flair for song contracts (much to the annoyance of any who contracted with him.) His silver tongue had gotten out of more trouble than it had gotten him into. His fire never calmed, his ambition never dimmed.

Raphael was no longer constrained by Cania, he had become powerful enough that he needn't remain if he did not want to. The material plane was his playground. Raphael had even given himself a human form, to make it easier for him to do whatever he wished there. He galavanted across kingdoms. He performed music and poems in taverns across Faerun, though he had tried to hide it, he could not hide from Baalphegor’s scrying.

And all the while he had yet to deliver on his vow to her.

It wasn't as if she never saw him working on it. Many times she had caught wind of him being in places in Mephistar he shouldn't be looking for information on his mother. But, considering how smart the little prince was, it was surprising how long this was taking him. Now, it could not be said he had a particular need for the crystal ball she had taken from him anymore, he was more powerful than it was. But a devil must hold true to its word. So, she had faith Raphael would deliver.

Baalphegor was adjusting her appearance, gazing into her reflection in the mirror, when a second figure appeared. She did not hesitate or startle. Baalphegor knew who would intrude on her personal time uninvited. It was Raphael who had teleported behind her.

“Well, pup, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

He bristled at the nickname but let it go. She had called him “pup” his entire life, he no longer fought it like he had when he was young.

“Lady Baalphegor,” he said. Raphael carried himself professionally even though she knew it was a front. “I have come to fulfill our contract.”

A smile parted her lips and she stood to meet her little prince face to face. He was no longer so little, no longer did he sit by her side and allow her to play with his hair. He thought himself a man, a mature devil with immense power. She didn't have the heart to tell him he was still hardly more than an ant compared to those who ran in the same circles as him.

“So you have. Well, what have you brought me?”

Raphael did not smile back at her, his lips pursed tight like the grumpy little boy he was. He held out his closed fist and into her waiting hand, he dropped a single golden hairpin.

One look at it and Baalphegor could tell he had succeeded. The thing practically oozed magic, every perfect twinkle in the light was a miniature dancing lights spell attached to it. The pin itself was in the shape of a magic sigil, and it was warm to the touch, almost like it was alive.

Baalphegor secured the pin within her own hair. “Congratulations, Raphael.”

His expression was still dark. “...she was Netherese.”

So he had uncovered it. Baalphegor gave a small chuckle. “Sit down, pup. Tell me what you learned.”

She took a seat on her settee and, despite the bad mood he was clearly in, Raphael joined her.

“She was human. From Netheril.”

Baalphegor waited, letting him speak at his own pace. His gaze was worlds away, his eyes dreamy. She could tell he wanted to speak, wanted to regale her with the tale. But he was holding back.

“I saw the cities in the skies.The arcanists. The enclaves…” There was a reverence in his voice. He almost sounded proud. Proud of his mother's home. Proud of his mortal side.

That tone itself was more than enough to prove he was still a child. Still naïve.

“Would you have liked to live there?” Baalphegor asked. She kept her inflection gentle and welcoming, like she was luring a mortal into a trap. Perhaps she was. Perhaps that's all Raphael really was at his core. In which case, he would be better off purged.

The little prince gave her a sideways glance, eyes narrow. He seemed to have noticed the trap. But he, curiously, did not speak up right away. And Raphael always spoke whether he had something worth saying or not. It was clear, he was genuinely contemplating.

“...No,” he said after a worrying silence. His tail may no longer have flicked involuntarily but it was just as obvious that he was lying.

Still, Baalphegor waited for him to explain why, to affirm that Cania was superior in every way to those sky rocks, that Baator was the only realm that mattered. But he didn't. He didn't prove he understood the lesson, just told her what she wanted to hear. Baalphegor sighed. If her pup was to stand a chance he needed this lesson drilled into his skull.

“Do you think you could have had a life there?” Her voice was restrained, she wasn't yelling, she wasn't crying, but displeasure rang through her words.

“...what?”

“I asked you a question, Raphael. Do you think you could have had a life there?”

“...I—” he began but he did not meet her eyes. A liar.

“Look at me, pup.”

Raphael took a breath and looked into her eyes. He looked so human. His orange eyes were sparkling with the foolish human notion of hope.

“...There was a wealth of things to learn there.” His voice was weak, small, just like him. “I was there for only a day and I saw things I never knew possible.”

Baalphegor smiled, her tone staying calm even as she contemplated punishments for him. “There is much more to learn here, little prince. All the souls in that empire aren't worth one book from our Archduke's library.” She chuckled. “Yet I know you and your ilk.”

Raphael quirked an eyebrow at that line.

“You're a creative, a dreamer, a sensitive sort. You've been living in fairy tales since you were old enough to read them.” She turned her gaze from him. “Perhaps you're right.”

“Lady Baalphegor?”

She put up a beautiful false smile. “I mean it. If you think you belong there, who am I to argue it? I'm not your mother. How could I be? I am a pure devil; you don't resemble me in the slightest.”

He bristled.

Baalphegor pressed ahead. “Your sensitive nature could have flourished in the prime. You'd never be studied in magic, no. Why would you need to be? You'd be nothing. But you could play your music, just like you do now when no one's watching you.”

She looked back at him and watched as he swallowed a lump in his throat.

“You could sing your tales of greatness that would be worthless outside of your empire, your city, your filthy taproom. But you'd have admirers of course. There are always types who fetishize monsters.

“And be assured, Raphael, you would be a monster. Your devil wings, such a lovely feature your father gave you, they would be nothing but a lead weight around your ankle. I suppose you could always say a prayer in the dead of night to those gods mortals seem to love worshipping that some hero would come and slice them, rend them from your back. Then you'd look like a common tiefling. And no one would be able to tell the difference.”

“No.” Raphael’s voice was stern, commanding, devilish. “You will not speak to a son of Mephistopheles in that way.”

She smiled. “A son of Mephistopheles and who, exactly?”

Raphael did not flinch, did not falter and she knew her lesson had reached him. “A son of Mephistopheles and a mortal broodmare whose only contribution to any realm was dying to birth someone far greater than she could ever be.”

Baalphegor pushed a stray hair behind his ear and leaned in to gently kiss his forehead. “That's right, pup. Never forget. You are superior to them in every way. Bearing you was the only good thing your mother ever did. Would you like to know what our lord did with her soul?”

His eyes did not sparkle. There was no place for hope in them. But they burned. They burned with his ambition, an insatiable fire.

“It doesn't matter.”

“Correct.” Baalphegor stood up and gestured to the hairpin she wore. “Pretty as she might have been, this is just as pretty. And it is worth more. I think you could sell it for 10 soul coins. Ten times what its owner was worth.”

Raphael stood. “Thank you, Lady Baalphegor. But I'd only give you 3 for it.”

“A hard bargainer.” She smiled. Her little prince would be great. She just knew it. “Alright.” She removed the hairpin, her lesson finally taught. “Shall we call it a deal?”

Raphael snapped his fingers and summoned an infernal scroll. “Just sign here.”

#baldur’s gate 3 #raphael #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #fan fiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baalphegor #my posts

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six-eyed-samurai · 7 months ago

Note

Hello ! (I’m not sure if your requests are open but I love your fics so I really wanted to try 😭) Could you maybe write a Genya x Male reader one ? Where like Genya deals with confusion and internalised homophobia after realising he fell in love with a guy ? IM SO SORRY IF YOU DONT DO MALE READERS OR SMTH LIKE THAT, HAVE A GOOD DAY !!

SUMMARY: Genya's emotionally constipated. It's the Shinazugawa genes - but even more so when it comes to...guys?!

A/N: KYAAH Ty anon glad you enjoyed, and DW my inbox is open anytime I'm just a little slow in writing rn because of exams and I'm moving house. I have done male reader before but I'm not too used to writing gay T-T so I'm sorry if this turned out the way you wanted

WARNINGS: Male reader in case you don't read the asks and only warnings/Minor swearing

Much romance happens at Kimetsu Academy.

There's Zenitsu and Nezuko, although Genya considers it more of an obsession on the blonde’s end seeing as Nezuko doesn't openly display any signs of liking him back romantically, whatever the delusional idiot thinks. There's also Tanjiro and Kanao, the perfect epitome of friends to lovers. And whatever Aoi and Inosuke have going on.

But none of that ever happened to Genya. Sure, he thought the occasional girl was pretty or nice, but aside from the fact he explodes into a tomato just from a simple “hello” he's never been actually interested. Of course that occasionally made him feel a bit left out amongst his friends, like he was missing something great, but hey, Muichiro and him would be single pringles forever and that was fine.

(Genya's very betrayed to find out Muichiro had received a confession…and was considering accepting it.)

But it was a little unbelievable to the Kamaboko Squad that in all of the sixteen years of his life he had never had a crush, hence the interrogation they were giving him that particular day during lunch.

“Have you never fallen in love? At all?!” Genya wants to snort; as if Zenitsu would ever notice anybody else's love life but his own.

“HAHAHAHAA! LOSER!”

Tanjiro calmly shoved Inosuke away from a fuming Genya, smiling brightly. “I'm sure Genya has one! And we'll be more than happy to help him confess!”

“Aren't crushes supposed to be secret-”

“Then we have to figure out who it is first!” Zenitsu hollers.

“No-”

“Is it Kocho?!”

Kanao, Tanjiro and Genya both look scandalised but Zenitsu barrels on. Aoi face palms. Inosuke steals everyone's food.

“Is it Kanrojii?!”

“Why is everyone you're listing so much older than me!”

“OKAY, OKAY! Uh…Koyuki-”

“SHE'S ENGAGED TO SOMEONE ELSE!”

“Sheesh, I got it, stop yelling! That Shabana girl?”

“Just why-”

“Maybe Genya does like someone but just doesn't realize it,” Kanao offers timidly.

“That's a good point, Kanao!” Tanjiro beams, causing Genya and Kanao to flush red but for entirely different reasons.

“How am I supposed to know if I like someone?”

“If you find them cute?”

“That seems really superficial,” Aoi says disapprovingly.

“You'll get really nervous around them, like your heart speeds up. You'll probably stare at them a lot too, and want to do lots of things for them, maybe hold open doors?” Tanjiro nods wisely.

“And they're the first person you look at to see if they're laughing at a joke,” Kanao agrees.

Genya considers. “Then none of the girls you just listed, honestly.”

“It's alright, you'll find the one for you one day. There's no rush now.”

“HAHAHA! TENYA IIDA IS GOING TO BE ALONE FOREVER! HAHAHHAA!”

“MY NAME IS GENYA!”

***

Truth be told Genya had lied.

It wasn't a lie exactly either. More of…an avoidance of the truth. He didn't feel that way about any girls Zenitsu had mentioned, or any of the girls at school.

But he did like someone, yes.

Or no. Definitely not. It couldn't possibly be.

“Oh, hey, Shinazugawa.” Your simple wave as you joined his side outside the classroom door was enough to get his heart pounding and slightly sweaty like he had just suffered an entire class with the gym teacher Tomioka.

“Thanks for holding the door!” You call out over your shoulder, flashing him a bright smile while entering the class and taking your seat. You immediately turn to start talking with your friends, something Genya's extreme thankfully for because then you can't see the tomato red that's painting his face as he's still stuck, frozen and speechless, by the door. Only Iguro-sensei’s cold “Do you plan to have the lesson by the door or something?” Shook him out of it.

You're so confusing, Genya thinks, averting his eyes when you catch his with a mouthed “oops” and raised eyebrows, because he wants to revel in your attention and hide in a hole from it at the same time.

It was a pleasant kind of confusion, though. The kind he wouldn't mind thinking about forever; it gave him an oddly warm, fidgety feeling inside like he had just drunk an entire thermos of hot chocolate and got marshmallows to top it off. Then he promptly slaps himself (mentally) because he shouldn't be thinking about this, that and you.

Not like it stopped him from staring at the back of your head all through class. He doesn't realize it until your friend turns their head around and makes a face at him, leaning closer to you to whisper something. Genya panics and ducks his head, burying it into his arms for a few minutes before he judges it's safe to look up.

And when he does you're smiling at him knowingly, as if the both of you knew something the rest don't. Oh good lord.

Your laughter is something Genya wishes he could make as well, when the whole class watches Iguro-sensei trying to tell Inosuke off, but the dumbass can't get the teacher’s name right at all. He finds himself laughing as well, a combination of that and because of you before it hits him.

“You'll get really nervous around them, like your heart speeds up. You'll probably stare at them a lot too, and want to do lots of things for them, maybe hold open doors?”

Oh shit. Check, check, check.

“And they're the first person you look at to see if they're laughing at a joke.”

And check?!

Shit shit shit shit shit-

Genya groans. He does like you after all.

But that's not right, it's got to be wrong.

You're a boy. Genya's not gay…at least he didn't think so…Then again he's never actually liked a girl. But he's never liked a boy either. Until you.

Forget it! You're not a crush, you're the reason why Genya is going to drive himself crazy right now! Hell, why did the idea feel so wrong but so right at the same time?

Genya rubbed his temples. If he was being honest the idea only seemed so wrong because…well, because he's just never considered that possibility before. It just hasn't really occured to him he might be attracted to the same gender. It's a new concept, yes, but…not really a terrible one. He got all red with girls yes but it wasn't because he like-liked them or thought they were cute.

Was crushing on a guy really going to be any different than a girl then? Genya groaned again. Judging by his behaviour these days…yeah, not really.

Okay, then if hypothetically he DID like you and he liked guys…how would Sanemi and his friends react? Would they still want to hang out with him? Would Sanemi still…consider him his brother? What would his mom think?

What a headache. What would…you think? It'd be pretty embarrassing to like you and you're straight, Genya thought. Then again was he even sure he was gay, even certain he had a big fat crush on you?

“Hey, you alright?” The voice startles Genya out of his thoughts. He lifts up his head and looks around, startled to see everyone's left. Shit, he hadn't even realized class was over. Idiot.

He glances to his left and nearly dies of fright.

You cock an eyebrow. “Um, seeing a ghost, Genya?”

“No!” He just about shouts, flailing his arms as he tries to stop himself from falling out of his chair. “I'm fine! Really! Sorry…just, just kinda out of it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Yeah, let's talk about how I've just realized I might be-

“It's fine, it's nothing important.” Genya notices your fidgeting however. “What about you?”

You hesitate. You're playing with your sleeves quite nervously. It's making him paranoid.

“I'm just…there's a new arcade that just opened up.”

“Sounds fun,” Genya offers. He's got barely enough brain cells still functioning from the close proximity between you both.

“I was wondering - um, do you wanna go with me? I can buy all the tokens,” you quickly blurted out and held your breath.

“Sure.”

“N-no. Just you and me. Like on a date.” You rub the back of your neck, looking away. “No - no pressure or anything! I know you might not be into guys, you might already like a girl-"

“You're gay.”

You wince at his tone. Genya wishes he hadn't sounded so accusing. “Last I checked, yeah.”

“Sounds fun,” Genya repeats dumbly, because holy shit, you like him you like guys too he likes guys he really wants to go to the arcade with you oh thank god-

You blink. “So that's a…yes?”

“Absolutely.” Genya waves his hands frantically. “If you're still up for it! Nothing’s awkward! I - I do want to go as a date, not as friends, and, uh-"

He snaps his head away, embarrassed, but he glances back long enough to see you grinning like you've won the lottery.

"Does 2 pm work for you?"

Shit. He really does like you after all. And with the way you're smiling at him like that maybe he can deal with whatever bullshit that's going to come next.

***

“Hey Genya, do you want to come over this weekend?”

“Muichiro wants to go to that pizza place again.”

The Tokito twins stare at him expectantly over the usual din of the Kamaboko Squad's usual shenanigans. Now or never.

“Sorry, I'm busy.”

“With what?” Muichiro looks out off; Yuichiro frowns in surprise.

“With someone.”

The silence was so thick you could've cut it with a knife - or Zenitsu's screaming.

“WHO?”

“HAR?!”

“Is it a date?” Tanjiro managed to slap a hand over the blonde's mouth while Aoi deals with Inosuke. The twins and Kanao's mouths hang open in surprise.

Genya picked at his food. “Yeah. At the new arcade.”

“Congratulations!”

“I thought you were planning to be single forever-”

“Shut up, Mui!”

“With who?"

He says your name and again the silence is thick.

Tanjiro's eyes light up in recognition and shock. “Isn't that the new boy?”

Genya nods stiffly.

“You're…gay?” Kanao asks tentatively.

Genya nods again.

“I had no idea! I never would've guessed either.” Tanjiro shakes his head, stunned. Much to Genya's relief…he's smiling? “But good for you, Genya, I'm sure you'll enjoy the date!”

This wasn't so bad after all. It's like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Now it's just how well…Sanemi will take it and his family. Probably not as easy.

“I thought it was a little weird you rejected that cute girl the other day.” Muichiro looks excited. “Now I've got a gay best friend!”

“What are you, twelve?” Yuichiro grumbles, but turns to Genya. “Have a good time then.”

“THIS IS UNBELIEVABLE! DON'T SHOCK US LIKE THAT, GENYA!” Zenitsu finally squawks, clutching his heart.

“Wait, what's gay?” Inosuke's lost. “Is Genma happy or something?!”

Never mind.

***

“Damn, I knew you were good at shooting, but basketball too?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him, pretending to throw an imaginary ball as Genya throws an actual one through the basket easily.

“Heh, this one's just easy since it's so near.” The machine flashes lights and beeps, displaying a new highest score. “And kinda short.”

“You are pretty tall,” you agreed, counting the leftover tokens. “Hey, we still have enough for that claw machine!”

“Seriously?”

So far the date's going pretty well. Genya hadn't made a fool of himself when you showed up dressed up in that letterman jacket and excitedly tackled him yelling about how you managed to get about an entire bag's worth of tokens. You both had spent your time mostly fooling around playing air hockey, shooting games (he had a moment of crisis before sitting next to you in the cramped space), he got forced to dance with you, you claimed he cheated at the racing, he won you a figurine as an apology for accidentally smacking your hand during Whack-A-Mole. Genya was kind of regretting that now, because you were now convinced Genya had amazing luck and could continue to win you more prizes. But as Sanemi said - a million times - those things were a scam, so Genya compromised by saying if only there was tokens leftover from the basketball game.

Alas and alack, he supposed, but you were already speeding towards the claw machine.

“Come on, come on, almost there, almost there!” Your chanting is barely heard over the obnoxious arcade music but you're practically breathing down his neck.

“Okay, okay, I got it, shut up for a sec.” Genya's grip on the controls is so tight he's actually afraid he might rip out the joystick by mistake like Sanemi last time…although Sanemi had done that on purpose during his rage quit and since had been banned from that particular arcade.

“Dear Kami-sama, please, please, please-”

“SHIT.”

“NOOO! So close!” Your head's tossed back in an exaggerated groan, flipping off the stupid claw that let go just a second too early. “I could've won that Hashira figurine!”

“I was the one playing!” Genya protested.

“I got the tokens!”

“I offered to pay you back! You said no!”

You punched his shoulder playfully. “Hey, this was supposed to be my treat. You can pay for the next date.”

“Next - next what-"

“Oh jeez, your face is so red now. Let's get some fresh air; I know a good dessert store.”

Genya's down bad alright.

***

“Where the hell have you been?”

It's already late by the time Genya lets himself into the house. His siblings should've been asleep, his mom too, so hopefully he could…uh, break the news the next day, when he's written and planned everything out, chewed off his nails and get that support you promised him earlier.

Luck had decided to abandon him since his second attempt at the claw machine however, since now he's been caught kicking off his shoes and smiling down at his phone, at the picture you've sent him of the figurine in your shelf.

>>Maybe I'll get more from you

You wi<<

He shuts off his phone quickly. Sanemi’s sitting on the sofa, arms crossed and does not look like a happy camper. Genya tries for an innocent smile. He probably looks like he has a stroke. If Sanemi were a cop, every criminal would be cracking in less than a minute under his interrogations.

“Out with a friend. Sorry I'm late, I was talking them back home.”

“Really? Saw all your friends - Tokito twins and that Kamado kid - earlier today. Try again."

“Someone else.”

“Cut to the chase, Genya, you were out on a date, weren't you?” Sanemi barks.

Genya's shoulders slump. “Yeah. Please don't be mad, I did tell Mom.”

“You should focus on studying. Your math grades are still too low.” Sanemi's expression softens, just slightly. "Who's the lucky girl?"

“Ah.”

“I swear to god, if it's that Shabana girl-”

“It's a guy.”

A very awkward beat of silence.

“WHO?!”

Genya almost expects to be attacked when he says your name. Or mauled after Sanemi demands every detail of what went down at the arcade. Maybe thrashed while finally confessing yes, he's not straight. But not stand there while Sanemi stares at him, strangely quiet.

“You two didn't do anything suspicious?”

Nope. You'd been quite understanding when he admitted he was still kind of getting used to the newness of…all this and offered to save a kiss for next time, causing him to explode into scarlet and try to poke you with his straw. “Aniki!”

“Is this a new thing or have you been…keeping this from me?” Unbelievable. His older brother almost looks hurt by that notion.

“A new thing, I swear, I wasn't planning on keeping anything from you, I was just waiting for the right time and right thing to say and I - I didn't know how you'd react.”

“Well…” Sanemi mutters something unintelligible, eyes moving away slightly.

“Um…what?”

“I SAID, AS LONG AS YOU'RE HAPPY WITH HIM, IT'S FINE BY ME! NOW GO TO SLEEP!”

Genya couldn't stop his grin. “Really? Thank - thank you, Aniki, and okay, I will.”

“And don't do anything too intimate before you're married!”

***

You spat out your straw. “He said what?”

Genya takes a long sip of his latte, slipping his hand into yours. “I didn't make that up.”

“No,” You say, shaking your head. “That sounds like Shinazugawa.”

#sanemi about to get a brother in law 👀👀👀#Sunny's Works #genya x reader #genya x y/n #genya x you #genya shinazugawa x you #genya shinazugawa x reader #genya shinazugawa x y/n #genya x male reader #genya shinazugawa x male reader #x male reader #kny X reader

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dock57 · 3 months ago

Text

Do I Choose to be Embarrassing Today? Perhaps.

[Well, possibly embarrassing for me to say out loud. I am, a shy fan, not going to lie- so often I don't really post a lot about what I love about a series. I often sit in the back, trying to find the perfect moment to escape through the back door before anyone can see how flustered I can get. This blog is the first fan blog I have ever made.

Anyway, this was not exactly what I was planning on talking about today, but, now its on my mind, consuming it.

Monkey Wrench is an adult show. An adult show I appreciate that gives us characters I would absolutely take on a date as well. I am a hopeless romantic...

So where am I going with this? I'm going to list what I find attractive, like, and reasons why I would date Beebs or Shrike.

Only those two, because they're the ones I would date the most. Everyone has their different tastes and attractions, so don't think I am saying that the others are not dateable, that would be a lie. Just two are my taste.

Shrike still needs work, let's be honest. I do mean in character development as well. Shrike as I would describe right now is going through his "rebellious" phase at a later age. He's the type I would be interested in, but, would really encourage to clean up his act before he considers a deeper bond, no one is going to fix him, that's his own work, and he needs to realize that before he thinks of going into a committed relationship. If he does.

The funny thing about my interest in Shrike- is that physical appearance wise- I am not really attracted to. I like to call Shrike my only "Twink Husband." Because he is. Though, I also would not really call him a typical twink either- A twink is more than just the looks.

Really it is Shrike's character that attracts me.

Shrike is humorous. Yes as a character he is supposed to be. He does end up usually being the one to be the end of a joke. I know there are times when Shrikes tries to be funny, and times when he is not- but I cannot help but to find Shrike cute when he is accidently funny. I find most of the time that Shrike focuses too hard on being someone he is not- and the times when he is more himself, are the times I think that when he is funny- in a good way. I mean let's be honest, anyone who is being themselves, is way better than being who they are not, especially if being themselves is harmless. I also would like to add that Shrike can make some pretty funny jokes at time. I think of the one when Beebs and Shrike are caught up by everyone in Ghost Egg at the Shuttle Station. I know there might be better examples, but I find what he said here to be funny to me.

I also need to add this part when they arrive to the station and Shrike is strolling along like this. In general, Shrike is just a goofy fellow, sometimes I wonder if he knows that.

2. I love when he is passionate about what he loves. This can be done to an extreme, but I think Shrike's passion is just the right amount of being healthy. I love how Shrike is passionate about what he holds close to him- I like that in people. I think not having a deep passion in interests can be a bit concerning, as I feel like that there could be an issue of being passionate to another as well. I enjoy the moments when Shrike speak about his interests and the excitement in his voice for them. I think that Shrike can also slowly learn to become passionate for others in their interests, even at the end of Us & Them when Shrike tries to attempt to play his acoustic guitar again for Beebs.

3. Is Shrike caring? Its in process. Shrike is considered to be selfish and pretty irresponsible. This is something I cannot turn blind to. He uses the company's money on irresponsible costs such as the Bucket becoming red, and of course blowing it at the Casino.As for being selfish, it usually is for when he looking for any opportunity to get money, which, doing favors and expecting money from it, is a selfish desire. Such as when in Us & Them, they response to the distress call. Beebs says "We should check it out-" Shrike points to Beebs' wrist and says "There could be money in it for us~"

You can also say he is selfish in Lythop Liberation as well, as Shrike only seem to start going after Dr. Agnes after she throws his Ship. As he does say "Grind up an entire species on your own time! But when you wreck MY ship... IT GETS PERSONAL!" Though, at the same time, Shrike does care about them being grinded beforehand as well as Shrike does shout out "WH-WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOIN'?" after they were put in the blender. This is why I say he is caring, but in process- it is definitely something he is starting to develop. I think Shrike is a caring person but does not show it really from the outside. I think he does it more through motives. I mean, I would love to do a post more in-depth about this scene in particular, but

The tension, the expression. This is what I mean when I think Shrike does care. He does try to help. But, he doesn't always make the right choice to do so. Shrike does respect Beebs and really has shown to care about him. Even earlier in the episode in Plague Walkers when Shrike is at the bar with Ricket- he only praised Beebs.

I believe that Shrike can become a caring person, I think as of right now, he needs the right push and motivation to do so. So although a process, a caring guy? Who starts to think about others and their interests too? Yeah I think that's a good trait to have.

As of right now, Shrike is a loser. A very lovable loser. One who I also love because I think Shrike might be the type to reflect on himself as time goes on and be open to change as it continues in the series.

Or, that's what I wish for- who knows?

Well then you have Beebs.

Beebs is definitely more of my type when it comes to physical attraction. I like the bigger guys, but its so rare to find good ones in media...

I appreciate Monkey Wrench for going with the approach of Beebs not being the stereotype for fat characters, especially fatter males. Usually they're the ones to be the joke in the end of the day, and not good jokes I might add, usually referring to their shape. Other times, usually fatter males are also just either the evil character arch types or the annoying ones, making them even more unappealing.

So Beebs is such a nice fresh of breath air from media. I have no idea if the creators were even trying, but they did make Beebs attractive, and as I said, not just physically, but as a character as well. I am so glad that Beebs breaks the norm for fatter males.

Oh that's a Caring man, all right. Oh we all know that Beebs is caring, as well as being sentimental. There are so many examples where Beebs shows it. Even if Norbert was annoying, Beebs cared about how they present themselves to him, especially when Shrike was threating to shoot him- Beebs tried to be reasonable and take the time to understand Norbert. Of course in Lythops Liberation, we know he cares about those little guys and what happened to Punti. We know even in Us & Them, that Beebs through out the whole episode tried so hard to think about others, not just their wellbeing but even their feelings as well.

Even though Us could have propose as a threat, Beebs took the time to know them first before making a judgement call- he tries to see the best in everyone. He cares to listen first, he cares about others and shows it through words and actions as well. I love that so much in a man- I think that's something everyone can agree is something that everyone should be.

2. Strong. I know I know, a overrated one. But look, I love me a strong man, especially when the strong type is. done right. I am not going to go over in details about how being physically strong in media is portrayed often incorrectly. Because what we are taught to be "strong" is not the strong you want. Now, will say that not all larger males are just magically strong, its a combination that often overlook. Beebs is the combination of fat and muscle that actually creates a strong character physically. He is what strong is. Of course he is strong as well when it comes to mentally. I give Beebs an applaud for not losing it yet... I bet it is exhausting. He has a good head on his shoulders and manages to keep it together in the most stressful of situations. But he also is strong when it comes to not reacting as well, or returning a reaction. Such as in Plague Walkers when Ajax wanted Beebs to turn back for what he said about his mother- and I KNOW Beebs was really the urge, he still managed to walk away and leave until Ajax comes after him. Though, every strong man- I hope knows- need a time to break down and let it out too...

You Know- You Know...

3. Responsible. And a good thing to counter Shrike who right now- is not. Really who doesn't like a responsible person? Not just getting tasks done, but even when it comes to admitting their mistakes, flaws, or actions. Beebs has been through a lot, and although he is not sure where he fits in the galaxy, Beebs has learn a lot already. From what I watch, I think Beebs has experience of what its like to see when his actions catch up, or when to take up on a task and not. He also questions or steps in when he knows what should be done and not, such as when Dr. Agnes blended the Lythops. Even though Mercs are not suppose to ask questions, Beebs definitely knows when its time to step in and decide between what is morally right and wrong. It is a bit hard to say what happened to Beebs and in his past, but he definitely carries whatever he did with regret, and knows that even he's not 100% clean himself. For all we know, he might be wanting to try and kindle that past, or not, even if running away can be seen as irresponsible, I think Beebs had a good reason, and a reason that may have been a question of moral choices. I think what I am trying to say is that, I find that Beebs is self aware of his own character and is also trying to improve himself as well. Beebs know he is flawed, and is trying to work on himself as well. I like that in a guy...

Beebs also has some work to do, but at least he is aware of it. Still though, I love Beebs and how they did such a good job at making him attractive, despite not being the particular and common types that would draw attention. Beebs is attractive for overall just being a really well thought out character who has good morals and traits, something that be rare to find...

Well, that was a long post. I'm going to now hide behind this screen by putting Tumblr off to side where I can't see it for now. Hope you guys, enjoy! And tell me if there is anything else that you guys think also makes them dateable...]

#monkey wrench #cartoon #dock57post #indie animation #indie cartoon #indie animated series #i love them

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